Desert Mistress. HELEN BIANCHIN

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СКАЧАТЬ she rationalised as the Bentley slid between the heavy wrought-iron gates and progressed up the curved drive. Insane to feel afraid when the house was staffed with a complement of servants. Yet she was consumed with a measure of both when the door opened and Rochelle ushered her inside.

      ‘May I take your coat?’ With it folded across one arm, she indicated a door to her right. ‘Come through to the lounge.’

      The room was measurably smaller than the large, formal lounge used for last night’s party, Kristi observed as she followed Rochelle’s gesture and sank down into one of the several deep-seated sofas.

      ‘Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Orange juice? Tea or coffee?’

      Hot, fragrant tea sounded wonderful, and she said as much, accepting the steaming cup minutes later.

      ‘If you’ll excuse me?’ Rochelle queried. ‘Sheikh bin Al-Sayed will join you shortly.’

      Was it a deliberate tactic on his part to keep her waiting? In all probability, Kristi conceded as she sipped the excellent brew.

      He had a reputation as a powerful strategist, a man who hired and fired without hesitation in his quest for dedication and commitment from his employees. The pursuit of excellence in all things, at any cost. Wasn’t that the consensus of everything she’d managed to learn about him? Admires enterprise, respects equals and dismisses fools.

      But what of the man behind the image? Had the contrast between two vastly different cultures caused a conflict of interest and generated a recentment that he didn’t totally belong to either? Little was known of his personal life as a child, whether his mother favoured a strict British upbringing or willingly allowed him knowledge of his father’s religion and customs.

      If there had been any problems, it would appear that he’d dealt with and conquered them, Kristi reflected as she replaced the cup down on its saucer.

      ‘Miss Dalton.’

      She gave a start of surprise at the sound of his voice. His entry into the room had been as silent as that of a cat.

      ‘Sheikh bin Al-Sayed,’ she acknowledged with a calmness that she was far from feeling. If she’d still been holding the cup it would have rattled as it touched the saucer.

      ‘My apologies for keeping you waiting.’

      He didn’t offer a reason, and she didn’t feel impelled to ask for one. Her eyes were cool and distant as they met his, her features assembled into a mask of deliberate politeness.

      ‘You’ve finished your tea. Would you care for some more?’

      The tailored black trousers and white chambray shirt highlighted his powerful frame—attire that verged on the informal, and a direct contrast to the evening suit of last night.

      It made her feel overdressed, her suit too blatant a statement with its dramatic red figure-hugging skirt and fitted jacket. Sheer black hose and black stilettos merely added emphasis.

      ‘No. Thank you,’ she added as she sank back against the cushions in a determined bid to match his detachment.

      ‘I trust the burn no longer causes you discomfort?’

      The skin was still inflamed and slightly tender, but there was no sign of blistering. ‘It’s fine.’

      He accepted her assurance without comment. ‘Dinner will be served in half an hour.’

      ‘You do intend to feed me.’ The words emerged with a tinge of mockery, and she saw one of his eyebrows slant in a gesture of cynicism.

      ‘I clearly specified dinner.’

      Kristi forced herself to conduct a silent study of his features, observing the broad, powerfully defined cheekbones and the sensual shaping of his mouth. Dark slate-grey eyes possessed an almost predatory alertness, and she couldn’t help wondering if they could display any real tenderness.

      A woman would have to be very special to penetrate his self-imposed armour. Did he ever let down his guard, or derive enjoyment from the simple pleasures in life? In the boardroom he was regarded as an icon. And in the bedroom? There could be little doubt that he would possess the technique to drive a woman wild, but did he ever care enough to become emotionally involved? Was he, in turn, driven mad with passion? Or did he choose to distance himself?

      It was something she would never know, Kristi decided with innate honesty. Something she never wanted to know.

      ‘Shall we define what arrangements need to be made?’ It was a bold beginning, especially when she felt anything but bold.

      One eyebrow rose in a dark curve. ‘We have the evening, Miss Dalton. An initial exchange of pleasantries would not be untoward, surely?’ It was a statement, politely voiced, but there was steel beneath the silk. A fact she chose to heed—in part.

      ‘Do you usually advocate wasting time during a business meeting?’ Kristi proffered civilly.

      ‘I conduct business in my office.’

      ‘And entertain in your home?’

      ‘Our discussion contains a politically delicate element which would be best not overheard by fellow diners, don’t you agree?’ he drawled, noting the tight clasp of her fingers as she laced her hands together.

      She drew a deep breath and deliberately tempered its release. ‘We are alone now.’

      His smile held no pretension to humour. ‘I suggest you contain your impatience until after dinner.’

      It took a tremendous effort to contain her anger. ‘If you insist.’

      He registered the set of her shoulders as she unconsciously squared them, the almost prim placing of one silk-encased ankle over the other. ‘Why not enjoy a light wine? Diluted, if you choose, with soda water.’

      It might help her relax. She needed to, desperately. ‘Thank you. Three-quarters soda.’

      Why couldn’t he be older, and less masculine? Less forceful, with little evidence of a raw virility that played havoc with her nervous system? Last night he had dominated a room filled with guests and succeeded in diminishing her defences. A fact she’d put down to circumstance and acute anxiety. Yet tonight she was aware that nothing had changed.

      His very presence was unnerving, and she consciously fought against his physical magnetism as she accepted the glass from his hand.

      ‘You are a photographer,’ Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed stated as he took a comfortable chair opposite. His movements were fluid, lithe, akin to those of a large cat. ‘Did you chose to follow in your brother’s footsteps?’

      Conversation. That’s all it is, she reminded herself as she took an appreciative sip of the spritzer. It was cool and crisp to the palate, pleasant.

      ‘Not deliberately. Shane was the older brother I adored as a child,’ Kristi explained, prey to a host of images, all of them fond. ‘Consequently I was intensely interested in everything he did. Photography became his obsession. Soon it was mine,’ she concluded simply.

      ‘Initially within Australia, then to various capitals СКАЧАТЬ