Ruling Sheikh, Unruly Mistress. Susan Stephens

that week’s guest list.

      She was still standing speechless when the kind man called Tom came to her assistance. ‘And this is Lucy,’ he announced smoothly.

      Having introduced her, Tom stepped back.

      Chapter Two

      RAZI took in the trail of collapsed canapés on the floor, and yet more crushed in the girl’s hands. Being ever the gentleman, Tom was being careful to hide his thoughts, but it was clear to him that the blushing, flustered girl currently hopping from foot to foot in front of him wasn’t up to the job. She had gone to pieces like her canapés, spilling expensive champagne all over the floor as well as over William Montefiori’s jeans.

      ‘It’s nothing,’ William murmured, with relaxed charm, easing away from the promise of more disaster. ‘I’ll go and change.’

      Razi was not so forgiving. His thumb was already caressing the speed dial to his personal chef.

      ‘Allow me,’ his friend Theo cut in with a predictably wolfish smile. Removing the cloth from the girl’s hands, Theo proceeded to hold her troubled stare as he dabbed ineffectually at the puddle of champagne.

      ‘For goodness’ sake—’ Razi’s whiplash tone prompted Tom to snatch the cloth from Theo and repair the damage as quickly as he could. Razi doubted either of them had ever held a cleaning cloth in their life and wouldn’t be doing so now if they hadn’t some intention of getting into the girl’s knickers. As for the girl, she was too badly shaken up to do anything—shaken up by what, exactly, he’d find out later.

      ‘Lucy,’ Tom repeated discreetly in his ear. ‘Lucy Tennant, our chef and chalet girl.’

      ‘Lucy…’ His friends faded into the background. The girl was visibly trembling. He saw how young she was then and flashed a reprimanding glance at Theo. The girl was not only unused to such an imbalance of female hormones and testosterone she was terrified of losing her job.

      ‘Pleased to meet you, sir.’

      In her favour, her voice was musical, her stare direct, but that was no excuse for ineptitude. He employed the best across his organisation; only the best.

      ‘Lucy won the chalet girl of the year award,’ Tom broke in helpfully.

      ‘Thank you, Tom,’ he murmured in a voice that clearly said, Not now. Tom’s soft heart was one thing, but he was conscious of how slender a thread his leisure time hung on and how soon this last ski-break indulgence would end. When he looked at the girl he was working out how much incompetence he was prepared to put up with before he ordered in his own staff and they took over.

      ‘And you are?’ she asked tentatively, her cheeks pinking up as she made a last stab at maintaining the formalities.

      He looked at Tom for inspiration.

      ‘Mac?’ Tom suggested with a shrug.

      ‘Mac,’ the girl repeated shyly.

      Their gazes remained locked and her grip was warm and firm as they shook hands, though she removed her hand from his faster than he would have liked. The report he’d received about her said she was self-possessed, calm, intelligent, organised, multilingual and a cordon bleu chef. The last two he had no proof of yet—strike the rest.

      Then she surprised him.

      ‘Once again, I apologise,’ she said, almost literally shaking herself round. ‘I hope the accident won’t spoil your enjoyment of the meal I have prepared.’

      ‘Not at all,’ Tom chipped in, falling silent when Razi shot him a warning stare.

      But something did smell good. ‘What’s on the menu?’ he demanded.

      She brightened and immediately proved to be one of those people who could deliver a menu and make the palate sing with greedy anticipation.

      ‘Freshly made French onion soup topped with a slice of Parmesan baguette, followed by crispy duck breast in a fruit reduction, with a chocolate torte and cinder-toffee ice cream to follow.’

      ‘I say,’ Tom exclaimed, while his other friends sighed happily, prepared to forgive her anything now. Even Razi was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt. If Lucy could deliver what she’d promised she could stay with his blessing too.

      ‘Tom,’ he said, still staring deep into Lucy’s complex turquoise gaze, ‘would you kindly ring the chalet company?’ In spite of Lucy’s calm, sweet voice, tumultuous thoughts were still boiling behind her eyes. With his last words that tumult had turned to panic. She was certain he would not give her another chance, and she looked utterly devastated. It was then he came to a decision that surprised even him. ‘Would you tell them we don’t need any more staff hanging round? But we’d like Lucy to stay—Abu and Omar can handle anything else we require.’

      She slumped with relief, but then another thought must have occurred to her because the panic was back.

      ‘You’ll be quite safe with us,’ he promised dryly as she took a jerky step away from him. ‘We’re here to ski.’ His lips tugged. ‘You’ll hardly see us.’

      She swallowed deep. ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said awkwardly, her cheeks blooming a deeper shade of scarlet.

      You may go, he might have said at this point, had they been in the old palace on the Isla de Sinnebar, but this was both a different and more complex situation. Lucy worked for him and yet this situation demanded more of them both. The intimacy of a chalet was very different from life in a palace. She’d put her own stamp on the chalet, he noticed—personal touches. There were fresh flowers on the table, and fruit that looked as if it had been picked that morning. Cakes and biscuits, still warm from the oven, tempted with their delicious aroma, and there were books and a couple of decks of cards. He liked being spoiled—what man didn’t? She had done everything she could think of to make them welcome. Certainly, she could stay.

      Seeing she was still uncomfortable after her bad start, he asked her discreetly, ‘Would you like me to call Omar and Abu to help you?’

      ‘Oh, no,’ she exclaimed, her eyes widening with a genuine desire to please that turned up the heat from hot to scorching. While he was admiring pearl-white teeth he could so easily imagine nipping him in passion she was glancing across the large, open-plan sitting room to her much smaller kitchen area. ‘I don’t mean to be difficult,’ she explained, ‘but my cooking space is very small—’

      ‘And you prefer to do things your way?’ he suggested, inhaling her wildflower scent. It was a surprise to be so attracted to such subtle charm, but then novelty was the most valuable currency of all to men who had everything.

      ‘I love my work, and I’m not very good at having people interfere.’

      ‘Really?’ A smile creased his face. ‘Than I shall be sure to keep everyone away from you.’

      ‘You’re teasing me,’ she said uncertainly.

      ‘Am I?’

      She blushed deeply. ‘I’m sorry for what happened just now—’

      ‘Forget it—start again,’ he encouraged, enjoying the sight of her blue eyes blazing as she assured him she would. ‘You’ve got five hungry men to feed.’

      Her eyes flickered as she glanced at his friends. Her expression said she had forgotten them.

      He could hardly blame her for that, when so had he.

      She started by preparing a fresh tray of canapés—something fast and delicious—and was stunned when Mac joined her at the stove. The space was small and he took up most of it. He was cool and she was hot. She picked up the tray and gripped it tightly so he couldn’t see her hands were shaking.

      ‘Don’t bother warming them up.’

      ‘It will only take a minute and I promise you they’ll taste better.’ Confident where her food