Midnight at the Oasis: His Majesty's Mistake. Jane Porter

roses.

      Yet another mistake. His chief of staff had misunderstood him.

      Makin blamed himself for the confusion. He should have been more clear with his kitchen and waiting staff. He’d requested a quiet meal with Hannah so he could speak frankly with her. He’d asked to have the meal served in her room so he could talk without interruption. It had never crossed his mind that his simple request would get turned into this …

      This …

      Intimate setting for two.

      Makin frowned at the gleaming display of silver, crystal wine goblets and fine bone china.

      His frown turned grim as the tall tapered candles flickered and danced, throwing shadows and light across the table, accenting the rich jewel tones of the embroidered cloth. More candles flickered in hammered iron wall sconces. Even the pool and fountain were softly lit as a whisper of a breeze rustled through the tall date palms standing sentry around the perimeter of the garden.

      Makin had come to Hannah’s apartment hundreds of times over the years, but they’d never dined here before, not alone, not late at night, and certainly never like this.

      When they met for dinner, the tone had always been professional, the focus centered on business. She’d attended numerous banquets with him. Had sat across from him at countless perfunctory meals where she took notes and he rattled off instructions. But it had never been this, never the two of them seated across from each other dining by moonlight and candlelight. The lighting changed everything, as did the soft sheen of the embroidered silk tablecloth. The shimmer of fabric, the glow of light created intimacy … sensuality.

      She’d never met him in anything but tailored jackets and skirts and demure blouses before, either. And yet she’d dressed tonight. As if this wasn’t just a business dinner. As if this was something more … something personal … as if this was a … date.

      Just the thought of being alone with Hannah on a date, in a filmy cocktail dress and high strappy gold heels, made him harden.

      It was a good thing he’d made the decision this afternoon to send her to a different office to work with different people. A good thing he’d decided to act swiftly. Relationships were tricky, particularly in the work arena, and he’d always been very careful to keep business and personal separate. But now, with Hannah, the line between work and personal life felt blurred. Around Hannah he’d begun to crave … something. And Makin was not a man to crave anything.

      “We need to talk,” he said roughly, gesturing to the table, deciding he wouldn’t wait for dinner to say what he needed to say. He’d just do it right away. Get it over with. He wouldn’t be able to relax until he’d broken the news and she’d accepted his decision.

      He watched as Hannah sat down gracefully, obediently, at the table and looked up at him, waiting for him to speak. On one hand she was doing everything right—sitting quietly, waiting patiently—and yet everything felt wrong.

      Starting with her orange chiffon cocktail dress. And the gold bangle on her wrist. And the fact that she had left her long thick hair loose about her shoulders.

      How could he coldly announce he was sending her away, transferring her to another department, when she was looking so good and lovely?

      Especially lovely. The lovely part frustrated him. He felt tricked. Played.

      Hannah didn’t wear vivid colors like juicy orange or exotic peacock. She didn’t leave her hair loose or smudge her eyes with eyeliner or stain her lips with soft pink color.

      He turned his back on her to face the pool. The rectangular blue pool was illuminated tonight with small spotlights aimed at the elegant fountain so that shadows of dancing water played across the back wall. But even the small spotlights hinted at intimacy.

      Makin walked around the edge of the pool, ran a troubled hand across his jaw, unable to remember a time when he’d been this uncomfortable. The night was warm but it wasn’t the temperature making him miserable. It was the knowledge that this was his last night with Hannah, that tomorrow he’d be sending her away.

      He knew it was for the best but still.

      Makin rolled his shoulders, trying to release the tension balled in the muscles between his shoulder blades. Even his white shirt felt too snug against his shoulders and his trousers hot against his skin.

      “You’re making me nervous,” she said quietly, her voice soft in the warm night.

      He glanced at her, still unable to make sense of this Hannah, or of his ambivalent feelings for her.

      For four and a half years they’d worked closely together and as much as he’d valued her and appreciated her skill, he’d never felt the least bit attracted to her. There had never been chemistry. Nor did he want there to be. She was an employee. Intelligent, productive and useful. Three words he used to describe his laptop, too. But you didn’t take a computer to bed.

      “Why?” he asked equally quietly, seeing the faint tremble of her soft lower lip, and then the pinch of her teeth as they bit down.

      The bite of her teeth into that tender pink lip made him hot, blisteringly hot. It was a physical heat, a heat that made him harden and his temper stir.

      This was absurd. Ridiculous. Why was he feeling things now? Why was he responding to her now? For God’s sake, he was her boss. She was dependent on him. One didn’t take advantage of one’s position or power in life. Not ever. That lesson had been drummed into him from a very early age.

      And yet his hard, heavy erection was very real, as was his drumming pulse.

      He was feeling very angry, very annoyed and very impatient. With her, with him, with all of this.

      “Something is obviously wrong,” she said, sitting tall and still, her slender hands folded in her lap.

      His body ached. His erection throbbed. His blood felt like hot, spiced wine, and he was on edge, the night suddenly erotic, electric.

      He told himself it was the candlelight and the moon—pale gold and three-quarters full. It was the warm breeze in the palms teasing his senses, making him more restless than usual.

      But it wasn’t the soft glow of light, or the breeze or the rich, musky scent of roses, but her.

      Hannah.

      He was absolutely sure he was doing the right thing in sending her to London in the morning. He wouldn’t allow doubts to creep in or cloud his thinking. She’d like the London division. She’d be an asset there. By tomorrow afternoon she’d be installed in her new office, meeting her new team, and knowing Hannah, she’d settle in quickly.

      But somehow it seemed wrong to break the news to her like this, now, when she looked so beautiful that she took his breath away.

      “That’s a new dress,” he said curtly, his tone almost accusatory.

      Bewildered by the sharpness in his voice, her brows pulled together. “No. It’s not new. I’ve had it for a while.”

      “I’ve never seen it.”

      She ran a light hand across her lap, as if smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the silky chiffon. “I haven’t ever worn it around you before.”

      “Why now?”

      Her lips pursed and she looked at him strangely. “I can go change if you’d like.” She started to rise. “I didn’t realize the dress would upset you—”

      “It hasn’t.”

      “You’re angry.”

      “I’m not.”

      “I’ll put on something else—”

      “Sit.” His deep voice rumbled through the garden, sounding too loud as it bounced and echoed off the high garden walls. It’s not her fault, he told himself. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He was the one who’d decided to send