Surrender to the Playboy Sheikh. Kate Hardy

herself.

      Karim was working through a set of figures when his phone rang. He answered it absently. ‘Karim al-Hassan.’

      ‘Your Highness, it’s Felicity Browne. I wanted to thank you for these gorgeous roses.’

      ‘My pleasure,’ he said. He’d sent Rafiq, his assistant, to deliver a bouquet thanking her for her hospitality, along with a handwritten note of thanks. ‘And please call me Karim.’ He didn’t insist on using his title in England, preferring people to be more relaxed with him.

      ‘Karim,’ she repeated obediently. ‘Hardly anyone even writes a note nowadays, let alone sends such a lovely gift, especially on a Sunday,’ she continued. ‘Anyway, I won’t keep you—I’m sure you’re busy. But I couldn’t just take these flowers for granted.’

      He smiled. ‘I’m glad you liked them. Actually, I had planned to call you later today.’ He’d discovered this morning that he had a problem, and he hoped that Felicity would be able to give him a quick solution. ‘The food last night was fabulous.’

      ‘Thank you. But I’m afraid I can’t take the credit for anything other than choosing the menu, and even in that I think I was guided,’ Felicity admitted with a little laugh.

      ‘Your staff?’ he asked.

      ‘Sadly not—it’s a catering firm, Amazing Tastes.’

      A very accurate name, Karim thought.

      ‘I’ve asked Elizabeth Finch—the owner—several times if she’d come and work for me, offered her stupendous amounts of money, but she won’t let anyone tie her down. I was lucky she could fit me in, because she’s usually booked up for months in advance,’ Felicity confided.

      So the cook was freelance. Good. That meant there wouldn’t be a problem asking her to cater for his presentations. Even though Felicity would probably have allowed him to poach her personal cook for a few days, this avoided any awkward obligations.

      ‘Actually, I’m looking for a good caterer for some business presentations.’ He’d had a caterer lined up. But as her sister had had a baby that morning, two months early, Claire had phoned him in a panic, saying that she needed to drop everything and look after her niece while her sister spent all her time at the special care baby unit. Except Claire’s sister lived in Cornwall, a good five hours away—and as Claire was her only family, there was nobody else to do it.

      He knew what it was like when family needed you to drop everything. He’d done it himself. So, although it left him in a jam, he wasn’t going to give Claire a hard time about it. He still had enough time to fix things. ‘I wondered if I could trouble you for your caterer’s contact details?’ he asked.

      ‘Of course, but, as I said, she’s very in demand,’ Felicity warned. ‘Though if she can’t fit you in she might be able to suggest someone. She’s good like that.’

      Better and better.

      ‘Let me get my contact book.’ There was a pause; then Felicity dictated Elizabeth Finch’s phone number and address.

      Karim scribbled it down as she spoke. ‘Thank you, Felicity.’

      ‘My pleasure. And thank you again for the flowers.’

      When he replaced the receiver, he flicked onto the Internet and looked up the address. Islington. A nice part of it. So she’d have a price tag to match.

      Though money wasn’t an issue. He needed quality—and he’d tasted that for himself, the previous evening. He glanced at his watch. Right now, a busy freelance caterer would be smack in the middle of preparations for an evening event, so this wasn’t the best time to discuss a booking. He’d call in tomorrow at nine; from experience, he knew that face-to-face meetings were more effective than phone calls.

      He glanced at his watch. Two hours, and he’d need to shower and shave and change for a garden party. A party that Renée, one of his prettiest recent dates, would also be attending. Given that the weather was fine and the garden in question had some nice secluded spots, it could be an interesting afternoon. A pleasant interlude.

      Though, strangely, it wasn’t Renée’s face in his thoughts as he imagined kissing her stupid in the middle of the maze. It was Lily’s.

      He shook himself. It was highly unlikely that Lily would be there. And besides, now he thought about it, dating her would be too complicated. There had been something serious about Lily, and he wasn’t in a position to offer anything serious. In less than a year’s time he’d be back in Harrat Salma and his parents would be expecting to arrange a marriage exactly like their own. These were his last few months of playing. Of dating women who knew the score and didn’t expect him to change his mind.

      And he had no intention of changing that.

      The next morning, Lily was sitting in her kitchen, drinking coffee and planning menus for the following week’s events, when her doorbell buzzed. Too early for the postman, she thought, and she wasn’t expecting any deliveries that morning. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, either.

      She opened the front door and stared.

      Karim was the last person she’d expected to see. She’d only told him her first name—and it was her nickname rather than her full name. How come…?

      ‘Lily?’ he asked, looking as surprised as she felt. ‘Do you work for Elizabeth Finch?’

      She shook her head. ‘I am Elizabeth Finch.’

      He frowned. ‘You told me your name was Lily.’

      ‘It is.’

      He looked sceptical, as if he wasn’t sure she was telling the truth.

      She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say Elizabeth when I was tiny—I called myself “Lily-ba”. The name kind of stuck. Everyone calls me Lily. Though obviously I use my full name for work.’

      ‘I see.’ He inclined his head. ‘I was impressed by the food on Saturday night. I asked Felicity Browne for her caterer’s contact details.’

      Then this was a business call, not a social visit. Good. Business made things easier. She could section off her emotions and deal with this. Even better: if he became her client, that would be yet another reason not to act on that attraction. She knew first-hand that relationships and business didn’t mix. Lord, did she know that first-hand. She’d been there already with Jeff and had her fingers well and truly burned. ‘Come through.’ She ushered him into the hall, closed the door behind him and led him through to the kitchen. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

      ‘Thank you. That would be nice.’

      ‘Milk? Sugar?’

      ‘Neither, thanks.’

      ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Do take a seat.’

      At her gesture, Karim took a seat on one of the overstuffed sofas set in the open-plan conservatory area, while Lily busied herself making fresh coffee. Her kitchen was clearly a professional kitchen—very up to date appliances, sleek minimalist units in pale wood, a central island, and what looked like granite work surfaces and splashbacks. Everything was neat and tidy, including the shelf of cookery books and box files. He wasn’t surprised that she was the meticulous type.

      And yet the room was far from sterile. The walls were painted a pale terracotta, adding warmth to the room, and there were photographs and postcards pinned to the fridge with magnets. A simple blue glass vase full of daffodils sat on the window sill behind the sink. And he could smell something gorgeous; a quick scan of the room showed him a couple of cakes cooling on a wire rack. For a client? he wondered.

      Lily herself was dressed casually in jeans and a camisole top, and looked incredibly touchable. He could remember the softness of her skin against his and the sweetness of her scent when’d he kissed her on the balcony the other night, and his body reacted instantly.

      Not good.

      This