The Sheikh's Shock Child. Susan Stephens

he said at last, straightening up to fix her with his hawk-like stare. ‘Millie,’ he added softly.

      His husky tone could have been a caress to her senses if she hadn’t ruthlessly banished such nonsense in her thinking. ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘We meet again.’

      One ebony brow quirked, challenging her resistance to his blistering appeal. Their stares only had to connect for her body to respond with enthusiasm. Determinedly, she took an objective view. This study, this impersonal workspace, was deceiving. Designed to keep visitors at bay. She wasn’t fooled. This was no cold, remote man who chose not to reveal his inner self, but a smouldering volcano, who surrounded himself with a sea of ice.

      ‘You’ve been patient,’ he commented with monumental understatement.

      ‘For eight years,’ she agreed.

      They both knew that wasn’t what he’d meant, and as they stared at each other across the desk she thought they were like two combatants facing each other across a ring.