been dining incognito, to stride across the floor.
Sensing his approach, the young woman turned and stared, paling, as if she’d seen a ghost.
Three months earlier...
A CASUAL COFFEE in the steamy café next door in her lunch break from work at the laundry had never involved plugging Lucy’s body into a power source before. Lined up at the counter behind a red-hot Goliath with shoulders wide enough to hoist an ox, she reasoned it was only natural to be distracted, as her heart beat nineteen to the dozen. He was deeply tanned, with thick, inky-black hair that curled possessively over his neck in a way that made her fantasise about making it even more unruly; his short, rugged jacket might have been designed for no better purpose than to display his iron-hard butt, and long, lean legs. He was so big he achieved the impossible by making her feel dainty for the first time in her life. She was the woman targeted by slimming magazines who always planned to lose weight. And she would, just as soon as chocolate was written out of history.
‘Would you like to go ahead of me?’
She almost fainted when he swung around.
‘Are you speaking to me?’ popped out of her mouth before her brain was in gear. Silly question, when the most devastating black stare was directed straight into her eyes. It was the most arousal-inducing stare she’d ever been subjected to. There were eyes of all description, some of them very beautiful, but these were astonishingly beautiful eyes.
‘Can you move along, please? People are waiting to be served.’
Jerking alert as the lady behind the counter bellowed the instruction, Lucy shuffled along in line, and in doing so managed to stumble into Goliath.
‘Perhaps you should sit down before you cause a pile-up,’ he advised with amusement. His deep, husky voice with the intriguing accent, combined with his big, firm hands steadying her, blew her mind. ‘Now?’ he suggested as she stared at him transfixed. ‘I’ll get the drinks while you find the table.’
Finally, she came to. ‘Do I know you?’
‘I don’t believe so,’ he said, staring down from his great height. ‘Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate? Something to eat, perhaps?’
By now, people had turned to stare. One or two, having recognised Lucy, nodded and gave her a thumbs-up expression. She didn’t want to make a fuss. This was her local greasy spoon. Nor did she want to bolt, giving the man the impression he intimidated her. Who was he? she wondered. There was only one way to find out. ‘Coffee would be nice...thank you. Skimmed milk, two shots, please.’
As he turned to place their order she became aware of the buzz of interest in the café; most of it directed her way. Should she know him? Was he a celebrity? If only she paid more attention to the press. Maybe he had called in at the laundry while she was working in the back; no one could forget a face like that. He could pass for a sailor with his deep tan and super-fit appearance, but, with his commanding manner and expensive casual look, he didn’t strike her as crew.
‘When you’re ready,’ he prompted as he waited for their coffee to be prepared. ‘The table,’ he reminded her. ‘There aren’t many free. Better get moving.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, saluting ironically, but not before she’d absorbed his clean, spicy scent.
She did go to find a table, even though she wasn’t a fan of domineering men. This man had redeemed himself with that curving, dark-eyed smile. She guessed he used it a lot, but this was a packed café, and not much could go wrong over a coffee. It wouldn’t hurt to give him five minutes to see how he turned out. Her chums at the laundry were always complaining that nothing exciting ever happened, so at the least she’d be able to tell them about this when she got back to work.
She’d hidden herself away long enough.
As the unwanted thought shot into her mind, she shivered involuntarily, and recollections of her cruel, abusive stepfather came flooding back. Her mother’s second husband headed up a criminal empire peopled by ruthless thugs. Thank goodness he was in prison where he belonged. Lucy had left home at her mother’s insistence, to escape the increasingly unpleasant attention of her stepfather’s henchmen. She’d been lucky enough to find genuine friends on King’s Dock.
Having paused to acknowledge a couple of friends, she glanced at the man, only to see that he had not only paid for their drinks, but for an elderly couple’s pot of tea. He’d be up a tree, saving a cat next, Lucy thought with a smile as he crossed the café towards her. She had to stop being so suspicious of men. They weren’t all bad.
‘Something wrong?’ her new friend asked, frowning attractively as he drew near.
‘Nothing,’ she said, noticing how much attention he was getting. Both he and her stepfather were big, powerful men, but that was where the similarity ended. Her stepfather was a ruthless bully, and she could see nothing of the snake in this man. If eyes mirrored the soul she was safe; there was no evil in them.
Just heat, Lucy reflected with a bubble of excitement and amusement as he indicated that she should sit down. ‘Or are you going to stand here all day, blocking the aisle?’
When he lifted one sweeping ebony brow like that, and smiled into her eyes, it was impossible not to respond. Her stepfather hadn’t crushed her spirit yet.
‘Are you going to join me?’ she invited once she was settled.
She had to move the table to let him in. He was what might be referred to as a big unit, and she was hardly petite. And though he might be a player, and she his latest target, one cup of coffee did not a drama make. People knew her here, and she could leave any time she liked.
* * *
Today was turning out better than anticipated, Tadj concluded as he studied the lush-figured woman sitting opposite him. She had magnificent breasts, which even her bulky winter clothes couldn’t hide. But it wasn’t his automatic male assessment that struck him most, but her natural poise and unaffected manner. It was such a welcome change from the women who usually flocked around him, hoping for the position of wife, or mistress at the very least.
He’d been walking the dock, filling in time before a party that evening on board his friend Sheikh Khalid’s yacht, the Sapphire. Leaving behind the razzmatazz that went with the title Emir of Qalala, to mix with the crowds on the dock like any other visitor to the high-end marina, was a welcome release from the pressure of celebrity. Spending time with a woman who didn’t appear to recognise him was a novelty. The fact that this woman probably wouldn’t have cared less if she had known who he was was an unexpected bonus. He planned to stay on the Sapphire tonight, and a strange bed was always warmer with an agreeable companion at his side.
Or underneath him.
‘Are you sure this is okay for you?’ she asked, glancing around. ‘You seem to be creating some interest. Should I know you?’
‘You do now. And in answer to your question, this is perfect.’
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she pointed out.
‘No. I didn’t,’ he agreed.
A
