In The Sheikh's Service. Susan Stephens

      She stopped dead and almost dropped the tray. She had reached a steel mesh gate manned by an unsmiling security guard, but, as the gate was open, she had walked straight through.

      ‘You’re not allowed on the site,’ the guard informed her brusquely.

      ‘But I have instructions to be here,’ she tried to explain.

      ‘No one is allowed on the site without protective clothing. And I have to check your identity—’

      As the guard reached towards her she flinched. An instinctive reaction. Just one of the many leftover side effects from the attempted assault... It made her creep to have any man touch her, with the exception of Charlie, who was like a grumpy old uncle, and the man in the club last night—

      ‘I’ll take over here.’

      She jerked alert as a second man spoke. Oh, no! Shoot me and bury me now. ‘It’s you,’ she said lamely, recognising the man from the club.

      ‘Quite a surprise,’ he agreed drily, and with maximum understatement. ‘I’ll see to this,’ he said, dismissing the guard.

      The guard’s reaction was impressive. He practically stood to attention and saluted. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, taking a giant step back.

      Before she had chance to say anything, two strong arms had snapped around her waist.

      ‘What are you doing?’ was about all she could manage as the air shot from her lungs. She had to concentrate on balancing the coffee as the giant of a man led her away. And, for the second time, strangely, there was no fear, no creeps, just quite a lot of affront that the people on the site were making it so hard for her to deliver coffee.

      ‘I’ll drop the tray if you don’t slow down.’

      Not that it would do him any harm in his steel-capped boots. Gone were the black silk socks and highly polished shoes and in their place was a hard hat and a high-vis’ jacket. If he’d seemed big last night, he was positively enormous now. And he didn’t look the type to yowl if hot coffee should happen to land on his naked skin.

      His naked skin...

      Stop that now!

      She had never known anything like it. Her mind was permanently closed to all thoughts of men’s physical attributes—or so she’d thought up to last night. And now she had enough to do, balancing a tray of red-hot coffee while keeping up with the man’s ground-eating stride. By the time they reached one of several mobile homes on the site, she was well and truly rattled, and when he angled his chin towards the door she stopped dead and refused to go a step further.

      Reaching in front of her, he opened the door. Jerking his chin, he indicated that she should go first.

      ‘Everyone on the site has to wear proper clothing and carry a security pass,’ he explained. ‘Health and safety,’ he added brusquely.

      She stalled, playing for time. She didn’t feel uncomfortable with him, as she had with other men, but going into a building where she would be alone with him was a step too far. ‘I’ve never encountered a problem before,’ she protested with some justification. ‘Like most of the people at the university, I use the building site as a cut-through when I’m walking between the campus and the café.’

      ‘That doesn’t make it right,’ he said flatly with a stare that ripped through her like a shot of adrenaline. Since he’d arrived, things had obviously been tightened up. She’d spread the word.

      The sooner she left the coffee, the sooner she was out of here, but she couldn’t deny that the all-embracing warmth inside the mobile building was welcome. The man called Shaz had started rifling through a rail of high-vis’ jackets. Blowing on her hands, she wondered if he felt the cold. As part of the Sheikh’s team, she guessed he didn’t have to suffer it for too much of the year.

      ‘Here—try this one,’ he said, holding out a jacket.

      Seeing her difficulty, he took the tray of coffee, brushing his hand against her frozen skin as he did so. ‘It should be better,’ he murmured, holding her gaze a disturbing beat too long. ‘This one is smaller.’

      He put the tray down and then came back to help her out of her wet coat. This time his hand brushed her neck. She had just moved her wet hair out of the way, leaving her skin exposed. It was an accident, she told herself firmly. It had to be an accident.

      Leaving her to fasten the jacket, he started work on her security pass.

      ‘Is there anything else you need?’ she asked politely.

      He raised his head and stared at her. ‘Should there be anything else?’

      The expression in his eyes pinned her. He was definitely interested—no doubt about it—and he was curious about her, which made her skin prickle. He had the most incredible eyes, and it wasn’t just the fact that they were dark, and heavily fringed with jet-black lashes—they were quite simply the most expressive eyes she’d ever seen...and right now, they were warming as he stared at her.

      ‘A pastry, perhaps?’ she suggested with a gulp.

      With a faintly amused look, he turned back to his work. ‘I’ll need a photograph,’ he said, coming to stand between her and the door.

      He fixed her printed image inside the pass. ‘You’ll need this next time you visit the site,’ he explained, pressing it into her hand. The brief moment of connection between them sent a sizzle up her arm.

      Closing her hand around the pass, she stepped back. ‘It might not be me bringing out the coffee for you next time,’ she felt it only fair to point out.

      ‘It will be you,’ he stated. His face grew grim. ‘I have no intention of equipping every member of staff at the café with a pass and protective clothing.’

      ‘So I drew the lucky straw,’ she commented ruefully.

      ‘Seems so,’ he agreed. His expression softened minutely.

      ‘Thank you, anyway.’ She slung the lanyard holding the pass around her neck.

      ‘Wear it every time you visit the site,’ he said, standing up to tower over her.

      ‘I will.’ If she ever visited the site again. By now her curiosity was well and truly piqued. Who was he? He was obviously important enough to be in overall command of the site—an architect, perhaps, though his hands were a little rough for that. He was no stranger to manual work. She liked that idea. She had this irrational belief that a down-to-earth man would be safer and, though he certainly looked tough enough to handle a team of men, he didn’t strike her as a man who would ever resort to bullying tactics.

      ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ he said as she turned to go.

      She flinched back, then realised that he was only stepping forward so he could reach out and turn her badge around, so her details were facing outwards.

      He raised a brow at her overreaction. ‘Protective clothing,’ he reminded her. ‘Wear it every time you come to the site.’

      Her heart thundered a tattoo at the instruction. She guessed he was the type of man who would be accustomed to provoking a reaction in susceptible females. It was just that she had never thought herself a susceptible female before. She was more the plain, forthright variety...

      ‘Boots might be a problem,’ he said, bringing her back down to earth with a bump.

      ‘I’m only walking through the mud, not laying bricks,’ she said, frowning as she followed his stare to her feet.

      His expression instantly hardened, as if no one argued with him.

      ‘Honestly,’ she added, softening her comment with a smile, ‘I think you can safely forget about boots. And hats,’ she added as his stare switched to the row of yellow hard hats lined up on a shelf. ‘I’m sure there must be something in your rule book that allows visitors a certain