the carpet. Claiming diplomatic immunity, Sheikh Saif had left the country, while his brother, now Sheikh Khalid, had remained in the UK to clear up his mess. As far as Millie was concerned, he was responsible for allowing Saif to get away. The coroner’s court had managed to establish that drink and drugs had contributed to her mother’s drowning, but who had given her those things? Miss Francine had warned Millie to leave the past alone, but how could she ignore a chance like this? Sitting down at the dressing table, she plucked the pencil out of her hair and began to write a note on the order pad she always carried.
She flinched guiltily as the door opened a second time, and stood, as if to demonstrate her readiness to leave. The guard was talking into his mouthpiece.
‘Just collecting up my things,’ she said.
If he noticed that she was nowhere by the bed, he didn’t respond. He was too busy talking to whoever was at the other end of the line. She relaxed as he left the room. Maybe now she could finish that note.
Maybe not. The door opened again almost immediately.
* * *
He deplored ostentation. Even the intricately decorated solid-gold handle of this guest stateroom jarred as he closed his fist around it, but this particular suite of rooms had been kept intact, and was in the traditionally ornate style, favoured by his late brother. It served as a reminder to Khalid that extreme wealth could be extremely corrupting. He thought Tadj would appreciate the irony. The last time they’d stayed together had been in a basic tent when they were both serving in Special Forces.
After his brother’s death, Khalid had insisted on a deep clean of the entire vessel, following which he’d brought in several cutting-edge designers to modernise the ship, with the proviso that this vintage suite be left intact. The best palace craftsmen had worked on the project, and the suite had fast become a talking point, both for its recording of unique and authentic historical detail, and for the erotic hangings above the bed.
‘Your Majesty...’
He thought his guard seemed slightly uncomfortable. ‘Yes?’ Khalid paused with his hand on the door.
‘I didn’t expect you here so soon,’ the guard admitted.
Khalid was instantly suspicious. ‘Well, I’m here,’ he said, opening the door wide.
‘Millie?’
He would have known her anywhere, even after all this time. Eight years simply faded away. She’d changed beyond recognition, but the bond between them remained the same. She was a very beautiful woman. The braids were gone, likewise the spectacles, and there was no panic in her steady stare, reassuring him that her vibrant spirit was intact too.
The girl on the dock. Of course!
‘Your Majesty!’
She seemed equally surprised, and for a few moments they just stared at each other. Her long, honey-gold hair was still damp from the rain where her oilskins had failed to protect her. Bundled up loosely on top of her head, the messy arrangement boasted an unusual ornament in the shape of a pencil, which she’d just stabbed into it as she catapulted away from the dressing table to stand in front of him, in what he guessed was the best expression of innocence she could muster. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Writing you a note,’ she said with the frankness he remembered from all those years ago. ‘I suppose I don’t have to now,’ she added.
‘A note?’ he queried.
‘A request to meet with you—to talk,’ she explained.
The bright blue eyes were completely steady on his. Her gaze was as direct as ever.
‘Hello, by the way,’ she added, as if finally realising that this meeting was a bombshell for both of them.
‘Do you generally wear a pencil in your hair?’ he asked as her cheeks blazed red.
‘It’s useful for writing notes on how to fix boilers,’ she said.
He waved away the guard and steward as they entered the room to see what all the fuss was about. ‘Welcome on board the Sapphire, Miss Dillinger.’
Her look said clearly, I’m not a guest, and if it hadn’t been for these wretched sheets, I wouldn’t be here at all.
* * *
Electricity didn’t just crackle in the air, it was bouncing back and forth between them. She was so shocked at seeing Sheikh Khalid again, and in flowing robes that made him look more intimidating than ever, she couldn’t think straight. What annoyed her most of all was the fact that he’d thrown her to the point where she was quivering like a doe on heat, rather than standing her ground in front of him like a hard-working professional.
It was time to get real. This was not the tough guy in jeans who invaded her dreams most nights, but an all-powerful king in whose water-borne kingdom she was currently—well, if not a prisoner, at the very least, vulnerable, which was not a condition she ever flirted with. No one could call his brutal attraction charm. However divinely warm, clean and sexy the Sheikh might appear, he was in reality a granite-faced titan without a single decent bone in his body. He’d turned a blind eye when she’d begged him for help. So whatever her body thought of his blistering masculinity, Millie Dillinger remained unimpressed.
But...
Calm down and think. This was almost certainly the only chance she’d ever get to ask him about that night. Being as different from the women he must be used to as it was possible to be, with her no-make-up face and her long hair piled carelessly on top of her head—not to mention the pencil garnish—she doubted she was in any immediate danger.
‘When will you have finished your work?’ he asked with an edge of impatience, confirming her conclusion that she was not his ravishment of choice.
‘I have finished, Your Majesty. Please call the laundry if you need anything more.’
‘I’ll be sure to tell my housekeeper what you advise,’ he commented with withering amusement.
Fortunately, she’d always been able to take a joke, though the thought that he might have a sense of humour only made it worse. If he was actually human, how had he allowed her mother to die? Whatever he’d done or not done on that night, it had changed the course of Millie’s life, and had tragically ended her mother’s. She had to dip her head so he couldn’t see her angry eyes.
They came from different worlds, Millie concluded. In her world, people were answerable for their actions, but in his, not so much.
* * *
This was no milksop princess with a desire to please him, Khalid concluded, but a very angry woman, who was different and intriguing. She made him want to fist that thick gold hair and draw back her head so he could taste her neck. The girlish figure was long gone and had been replaced by curves in all the right places. Her features were pale from lack of sun, but her complexion was flawless. ‘We will talk,’ he promised as his senses sharpened. ‘And sooner rather than later.’
‘We must,’ she returned fiercely, clenching her fists, which were held stiffly at her side.
She’d had years to
