The Sheikh Who Desired Her. Jennifer Lewis

as well have been made of air; he’d still managed to infiltrate her every sleepless thought.

      Now she felt more weary and exhausted than anything else as she emerged into the opulent salon. She was dressed in a dark grey pencil skirt and matching jacket, white shirt, buttoned all the way up, and black high heels. Hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail.

      But nothing could have prepared her for seeing Salman standing at the main window, decked from head to toe in traditional Merkazadi robes of cream and gold, complete with turbaned headdress. He was all at once devastating and intimidating. Her heart flip-flopped ominously.

      He turned and quirked a brow, reading her look instantly. ‘What? I can play the part when I want to, Jamilah.’

      Jamilah struggled to find her composure. She couldn’t believe that seeing Salman dressed like this for the first time in years was having such an effect on her, but it was. It was transporting her right back in time to when they’d been so much younger, and he and Nadim had looked like two men old before their time at their parents’ funerals. A deep melancholy assailed her and she valiantly fought down the emotion, terrified he’d see something of it.

      She hitched up her chin and said, ‘It’s amazing how regal a robe can make one look.’

      ‘When one is not regal at all?’ He put a hand to his chest, and a mocking smile curled his lip on one side. ‘You wound me, Jamilah, with your condemnation. I’m not likely ever to redeem myself in your eyes, am I?’

      ‘I’m not here to redeem you, Salman.’

      Her words struck him somewhere vulnerable and deep. Salman had to school his expression and walk over to her. ‘I’m not looking for redemption or absolution from anyone.’ He was unaware of the bleakness that flashed through his eyes. ‘I’m looking for something else much more … earthy and immediate.’

      Jamilah took a step back, unable to stand so close to him, and said briskly, ‘I’m going to have breakfast downstairs. I’ll see you at the first of the meetings.’

      She turned and all but fled, and heard from behind her, ‘Run all you want, Jamilah. It’ll make the final capitulation so much sweeter.’

      The main door slammed behind her on the way out, and it was a hollow and empty sound.

      After a morning of intense meetings, where Jamilah stayed largely in the background as she was really only there to discuss the stables, she was reeling slightly at seeing how Salman had been so authoritative and informed. And it would appear he’d taken others by surprise, too—people who had perhaps expected him to live up to his feckless playboy reputation.

      She couldn’t in all honesty say that Nadim would have contributed anything more, and in fact Salman had put forward some audacious suggestions that she knew for a fact the more inherently cautious Nadim would never have sanctioned.

      Now everyone was breaking for lunch, and she was trying to make a discreet escape, fully intending to find a coffee shop nearby despite the fact that lunch was being provided.

      Jamilah stifled a gasp when she felt her hand being taken in a much larger one which had familiar tingles racing her up arm and into her belly. Salman.

      He was already tugging her along in his wake, and Jamilah whispered at him, mindful of the people around them. ‘I’m going out for lunch. Alone.’

      He cast a quick glance back, and Jamilah saw the dark intent in his eyes. ‘We’re going for lunch.’

      ‘But you have to eat with the other delegates.’ Desperation mounted.

      Salman faced forward again, pulling her along remorselessly. ‘You should know by now that I generally do not take well to orders.’

      Knowing that he would not budge, nor release her, Jamilah followed with a mutinous look on her face which turned to burning embarrassment as they passed people she knew. One of them was the aide to the Sultan of Al-Omar she had abandoned at that party a year ago. She smiled weakly at him as she passed.

      She could see that they were approaching the gardens at the back of the hotel. A staff member bowed deferentially to Salman as he opened a door, and then they were out in the unusually mild November air. It was a beautiful clear day that held a last lingering hint of the summer just gone.

      Salman led her down a path through immaculately manicured lawns until she saw a beautifully ornate gazebo, with a table set for two, with full silver service place settings. Her stomach rumbled and she blushed.

      Inside the gazebo a waiter bowed and seated them both. Totally bemused, Jamilah let him spread a snowy-white napkin across her lap, and listened while he explained about the specials on offer.

      In shock, Jamilah made her choice for lunch, barely aware of what she was doing. She heard Salman say, ‘I’ll have the same.’

      The waiter poured vintage champagne for her and sparkling water for Salman before taking his leave. A bird called nearby. The faint sound of the rumble of traffic came through the dense foliage of the bushes that climbed huge walls nearby. The gazebo was covered in trailing sweet-smelling flowers, and it was utterly secluded and idyllic.

      Finally sanity returned, and Jamilah put down her napkin and stood up. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, Salman, but as I told you on the way here yesterday, you really should be consulting your Rolodex of contacts for this kind of thing. It’s wasted on me, and I’d hate to think of you running up your tab needlessly.’

      Salman affected a look of mild boredom though he felt anything but. Panic had clutched his gut when Jamilah had stood up. He knew he had to get this right or she would keep running. ‘This is just lunch. I thought it might be nice to take it outside …’ He waved a hand. ‘I had no idea that they would put on this spectacle.’

      Jamilah hesitated. There was indeed an outdoor area for dining—perhaps Salman had expected it to be there? Insecurity pierced her. Perhaps she was crediting Salman with too much ingenuity. He’d never shown any inclination for grand showy gestures when she’d been with him before …

      She looked at him suspiciously. ‘You really expected this to be in the other place?’

      He nodded, an artful look of innocence on his face. Still thoroughly suspicious, Jamilah nevertheless found herself sitting back down, clutching her napkin. It was lunch. Just lunch. Albeit in the most seductive surroundings she’d ever encountered. Perhaps she was overreacting a little. And if she overreacted then Salman would have her in the palm of his hand.

      Now she affected a look of mild uninterest. ‘Fine. We don’t have long for lunch anyway.’ She flicked a glance at her watch. ‘We have to be back in forty-five minutes.’ And she sat with legs crossed, facing away from the table, as if ready to bolt.

      The waiter came back at that moment with their starters. She waited to eat, suddenly very self-conscious. It was only when Salman said, with a smile playing around his mouth, ‘Well? Aren’t you going to eat? You must be starving …’ that Jamilah gave in. She’d barely picked at breakfast that morning and nerves had curtailed her usually healthy appetite for days now.

      So now, in spite of Salman’s presence, she found herself all but licking her plate clean of its white asparagus starter.

      Salman was sitting back, watching her, and she felt heat climb into her cheeks which she tried to disguise by wiping her mouth with her napkin. The little champagne she’d drunk was fizzing gently along her nerve-endings, making her feel all too susceptible to this … idyll. And to Salman’s devastatingly dark and gorgeous presence.

      ‘So … you are now running the stables for Nadim? Not bad for the girl who used to muck out the stalls.’

      Jamilah smiled minutely. ‘I still muck out the stalls, Salman. We don’t stand on ceremony at the stables.’

      He inclined his head and said thoughtfully, ‘I can see that you would be a good boss—tough, but fair. And clearly Nadim values your opinion enough to negotiate on his behalf.’

      An