with tension that threatened to choke her. ‘Then I’ll have a better idea.’
How long to pack her gear, say her goodbyes and, above all, get her research in some sort of order? She feared however long it took wouldn’t be enough.
Anxiety welled and she beat it back. Time enough to give in to fear when she was alone. She refused to let this man see her weak.
Abruptly she stood. He rose too, dwarfing the booth and crowding her space. Instantly she was transported to the club where his touch had sapped common sense. Where just for a moment she’d wanted to lean close to his powerful frame rather than escape his hold. Fear closed around her.
‘I want to go home.’ Even to her own ears her voice held a betraying wobble. Paris had become her home, a haven where she’d been able to spread her wings and enjoy a measure of freedom for the first time. The idea of returning to Bakhara, to marriage …
‘I’ll see you back.’ Already he was ushering her through the café, one hand hovering near her elbow as if to ensure she didn’t do a runner. He dropped payment on the counter where the waitress beamed her approval.
What was wrong with the girl? Couldn’t she see he was the sort of bad-tempered, take-charge brute who’d make any woman’s life a misery?
Clearly not. The waitress’s gaze followed him longingly, needling Soraya’s temper.
‘Thank you but I can make my own way.’
To her chagrin he was already hailing a taxi—a miracle at this time of the morning. It was daylight but the city was just stirring. Before she could reiterate her point he was opening the door for her then climbing in the other side.
‘I said—’
Her words disintegrated as he gave her address to the driver. Her heart thudded and she sank back in her corner.
Of course he knew her address. How else would he have located her? But the thought of Zahir El Hashem shouldering his way into her cosy flat sent disquiet scudding through her. Instinct warned her to keep her distance.
She didn’t want him near her.
The fact that he sat as far from her as the wide back seat allowed should have pleased her. Instead it struck her as insulting. He didn’t have to make such a conspicuous issue of keeping his distance, so grimly silent.
What she’d done to annoy him, she had no idea. He was the one whose behaviour was questionable, following her every move in the nightclub. What was that about?
Fifteen minutes later they stood on the pavement before her building. He’d overridden her assurance that he needn’t see her to the entrance, just as he’d paid the taxi fare as she fumbled for cash. Polite gestures no doubt but he insidiously invaded her space, encroaching on her claim to be an independent woman.
Never before had that claim seemed so precious.
Her heart plunged as she thought of what lay ahead.
A promise to keep.
A duty to perform.
A lifetime of it.
So much for the tantalising sense of freedom she’d only just found. The dreams she’d dared to harbour. She’d been mad to let herself imagine a future of her own making.
‘Here. Thank you.’ She tugged his jacket off her shoulders. Instantly she missed its heavy, comforting warmth and, she realised with horror, its subtle spicy scent. The scent of him.
She looked into his shadowed face, unable to read his expression. But there was no mistaking the care he took not to touch her as he took the jacket from her hands. As if she might contaminate him!
Why had she, even for a moment, worried what he thought of her? She’d long ago learned to rise above what others thought, what they expected. Only by being true to herself and those she cared for had she found strength.
‘Goodbye. Thank you for seeing me home.’ What did it matter if her voice was stilted with indignation? She inclined her head stiffly and turned, unlocking the door.
‘It’s no trouble.’ His deep voice rumbled, low and soft as a zephyr of hot desert wind, across her nape. Too late she realised she felt his warm breath, a caress on her bare skin as she stepped into the foyer and he followed.
Soraya slammed to a halt and felt the heat of his big frame behind her. Static electricity sparked and rippled across her flesh. It dismayed her. She’d never known anything like it.
But, she rationalised, till tonight she’d never been so close to a man other than her father.
Would she feel this strange surge of power in the air and across her skin when she went to the Emir?
Despite the heat of Zahir’s body Soraya shivered.
‘I’ll see you to your apartment.’
Flattening her lips at his assumption she couldn’t look after herself in her own building, she strode across the foyer. No point arguing. She had as much chance of budging him as of moving the Eiffel Tower.
But she refused to share the miniscule lift. The thought of being cocooned with him in that cramped space sent a spasm of horror through her. She’d rather take the five flights of stairs, even if her new shoes were pinching.
Soraya was ridiculously breathless when she reached her floor. She shoved her key in the door and turned to face him.
He wasn’t even breathing quickly after their rapid ascent. Nor did he feel that strange under-the-skin restlessness that so unnerved her. That was clear from his impassive face. He looked solid and immoveable. Nothing pierced his control.
‘Here.’ He held out a thick cream card. On one side was a mobile-phone number. No name, nothing else. On the other he’d scrawled in bold, slashing strokes the name of a hotel she knew by reputation only. ‘Call me if you need anything. I’ll make all the necessary arrangements.’
No point in assuring him again she’d do her own organizing; it would be a waste of breath. He had the look of a man who heard what he chose to hear. She’d sort out the details later when she wasn’t so weary.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, resolutely hauling her gaze from his clear-eyed stare. ‘Good night.’
Behind her she pushed open the door to the apartment.
‘Is that you, Soraya?’ From inside, Lisle’s husky voice shattered the stilted silence. ‘We’re in the bedroom. Come in and join us.’
A stifled noise made her look up. Zahir El Hashem looked for once shaken out of his complacency. His eyes were wide and his mouth slack. He blinked and opened his mouth as if to speak but Soraya had had enough.
She stepped through the door and swung it closed. For the length of five heartbeats she stood, her back pressed against the door, waiting for his imperious summons, for there was no doubt he’d been about to speak.
Instead there was silence. Even through the door she sensed his presence, like a disapproving thundercloud. Her
