Sheikh's Baby Bombshell. Melanie Milburne

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СКАЧАТЬ stomach dropped like an elevator with snapped cables.

      ‘I didn’t put anything in her drink!’ Mousey Man said.

      ‘Prove it,’ Tall Dark-Eyed Guy said. ‘Drink it yourself.’

      Mousey Man glared at him before finally tipping back the glass and draining it. He put the glass back on the bar with a thwack. ‘Who are you? Her bodyguard or something?’ He threw Abby a dismissive glance as he brushed past them. ‘I’m outta here. This place is too darned expensive anyway.’

      Abby swallowed as she looked up at Tall Dark-Eyed Guy. ‘Did you see him put something in my drink?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘No? Then what was all the fuss about?’

      His eyes were a rich dark brown, so rich they were almost black, fringed with thick sooty lashes and prominent eyebrows that met in the middle when he frowned. ‘You asked for champagne. If he lies to you about the quality of the drink he buys you, then what else will he lie about?’

      Abby chewed at her lower lip. ‘I guess you can see I’m pretty hopeless at this hooking-up thing....’

      He slanted one brow in a questioning arc. ‘Hooking up?’

      She gave him a self-deprecating grimace. ‘I came out tonight specifically to hook up with someone. You know...to have a one-night stand. Today is my wedding day...well, it would’ve been if my fiancé hadn’t married my best friend instead. Ever since we were sixteen we said we’d get married on the first of May when we were both twenty-five.’ She let out a despondent sigh. ‘Some promise that turned out to be....’

      Something flickered behind his eyes. A touch of empathy perhaps? ‘It’s a long time to keep a promise. Circumstances change. People change. Feelings change.’

      Abby looked at him. Really looked at him. He had a sensual mouth that looked as if it was comfortable with smiling even though it was set rather grimly now. He was olive skinned and deeply tanned, with at least twelve hours of stubble on his lean, somewhat uncompromising take-no-prisoners jaw. He was dressed casually but stylishly. The fabric of his shirt lovingly framed his broad shoulders, the open collar giving a tantalising glimpse of a muscled chest with a sprinkling of dark hair. He was spectacularly good-looking in an intensely male way. And so tall!

      She suddenly realised she was staring at his mouth. ‘Um...can I buy you a drink?’ Did I just say that?

      His mouth tilted upwards at the corners. ‘Do you know no one has ever asked me that before?’

      ‘No?’

      ‘No.’ His gaze slipped to her mouth. ‘Which kind of makes me wonder if I should say yes, just for the novelty of it.’

      Abby’s breath moved against her throat like butterfly’s wings as that dark gaze reengaged with hers. ‘I have to tell you I can’t afford champagne. It’s not quite in my budget range. I’ve never even tasted it. Not the real stuff, I mean.’

      His eyes glinted with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. ‘Are you usually this honest with people you’ve only just met?’

      Abby bit her lip again. ‘I know... It’s totally pathetic. It’s because deep down I’m really rather shy. I overcompensate when I’m feeling nervous and out of my depth. I talk too much. It just comes tumbling out, and once I start I can’t stop because I hate those really awkward silences when no one says anything and you don’t know if people like you or—’ she gave a little gulp as his index finger came towards her lips like someone reaching for the mute button ‘—nofftt.’

      His slow smile was dangerously attractive. ‘I like you, Miss Naive, so you can stop fretting and relax.’

      ‘It’s Wright.’ She offered him her hand with a bashful smile. ‘Abigail—Abby for short—Wright.’

      His fingers closed like a warm firm cage around hers. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Wright.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      TALIB FELT A tingling sensation shoot from his fingers all the way to his groin as soon as his hand came into contact with hers. Something about her touch spoke to him, alerted him. Warned him. Her eyes were a nutmeg-brown, wide and innocent looking and darkly and very thickly lashed. Her glossy chestnut hair was slightly curvy and loose about her shoulders. He could smell her fragrance, an unusual mix of spring lilacs and winter violets. Her skin was clear and creamy, with just a tiny dusting of freckles over the bridge of her uptilted nose that her light makeup hadn’t quite concealed.

      ‘Talib Muhtadi,’ he said, giving the soft little hand in his a gentle squeeze.

      Her tongue darted out over her lips in a sweeping motion. ‘How do you do?’

      Talib waited for the gasp or flicker of recognition, but surprisingly none came. His name was rarely out of the press, along with his best friend from university days, Remy Caffarelli. It was quite refreshing...liberating to meet someone who hadn’t heard of him. He was so used to women fawning over him because he was a crown prince and ridiculously wealthy that he had totally forgotten what it felt like to be treated like a normal person. It was so hard to know if his lovers wanted him for him or for the prestige it gave them to have been seen with him, even if it was just for a few weeks. None of his relationships lasted more than a month or two. Any longer than that and people starting mentioning marriage and he felt that all-too-familiar clawed fist of claustrophobia clutch at his throat.

      He would have to do his duty soon. His father, Sheik Sayid Yasin Muhtadi, had already had The Talk with him. At thirty-two it was time for him to settle down, to marry the bride that had been chosen for him since childhood according to the ancient tradition of his homeland, Dharbiri. He would have to produce heirs, two at least, and take over from his father when the time came. Duty would always come first. It had been drummed into him from a young age. Duty. Duty. Duty.

      Talib had come to London for business, but now that it was complete he had put aside this one last night for himself. He had shaken off his bodyguards and booked into a modest hotel just so he could have one night of freedom without the restraints that being a desert province royal entailed.

      But even with or without his entourage he felt restless. Bored. Lonely.

      He hated that word. It annoyed him. It irked him. How could he feel lonely when he had everything money could buy?

      ‘So...what would you like to drink?’ Abby asked. ‘Apart from champagne, of course.’

      ‘I’ll have soda water.’ Talib smiled a half smile. ‘I want to keep a clear head.’

      She blushed like a schoolgirl and went off to fetch their drinks.

      Talib followed her with his gaze, taking in her slim curves beneath the simple but elegant black dress she was wearing. She had long legs with thoroughbred-thin ankles, dainty wrists and a swanlike neck. Her mouth was full, the top lip only marginally thinner than the lower one and curved upwards in a perpetual Cupid’s bow.

      A kissable mouth.

      A very kissable mouth.

      She came back with a glass of soda water for him СКАЧАТЬ