In The Sheikh's Service. Susan Stephens

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      ‘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 leeway...?’

      He turned to stare at her with real interest in his eyes—interest that sent shock waves rolling through her, but then he curved the suspicion of a smile as if his affront at her rebellion had turned to grudging admiration. ‘You do have tiny feet,’ he allowed, ‘and a lot of very long hair to fit comfortably beneath the hat.’ He paused a moment, while she got used to the idea that he had given her a pretty thorough once-over, and was remembering her long hair from the club last night, as it was currently screwed up in a work-appropriate do on top of her head. ‘Though the high-vis’ jacket will keep you warm if it’s raining when you come out here again.’

      And he cared.

      She shuddered in a breath as he took the sides of the jacket in both hands and settled it properly on her shoulders. It was as if he were touching her naked skin, rather than the heavy waterproof jacket. He was so careful with her, and yet his touch was firm and sure.

      ‘You are tiny,’ he said.

      She frowned a little at that. No one in their right mind would call her tiny. Though, compared to him...

      Her cheeks flushed red as he stood back. His gaze lingered on her face, and for a moment she didn’t know what to say or do. She sucked in a swift breath as he reached out to brush some damp straggles of hair from her face. She had not expected that and, for once in her life, found herself wishing she were beautiful. Usually she didn’t care one way or the other about her looks, or lack of them, but for once it would have been nice to have a man brush wet hair from her face because he wanted to take a better look at her, rather than simply keeping her hair out of her eyes. If she had been beautiful, maybe she could have progressed a fantasy into a moment of pure romance: the chance meeting, love at first sight, and with a man who wouldn’t be rough with her—

      ‘That’s it,’ he said with finality.

      His sharp tone brought her back to reality. Checking the fastening on the jacket, she raised the hood, ready to step out into the rain.

      ‘Excellent,’ he approved in a tone that suggested he had also sprung back into work mode.

      She had definitely overstayed her welcome. But as she hurried to the door she managed to trip over a table—or would have done if he hadn’t reached out whip-fast to catch her. She rested for a moment, startled in his arms, and only realised when he settled her back on her feet that she hadn’t felt threatened by him at all.

       CHAPTER THREE

      A GREY DAY in London had taken on a rosy hue, thanks to the unexpected reappearance of a woman who had intrigued him from the first moment he saw her. From pole-dancer to barista was quite a journey. Whether the rush of blood to Isla’s cheeks was awareness of him and how close they were standing, or pique that she had only been doing as his office had requested, delivering coffee, when he had ordered her off site for a breach of Health and Safety regs—

      Health and Safety regs?

      Was that why his hands had expertly skimmed her body? He already knew what lay beneath the bulky safety jacket. Her fuller figure was his ideal. The temptation to back her against the door and strip her down to last night’s curves was overwhelming—fortunately, there wasn’t time and he had more sense. The one thing that did amuse him was the thought that if Isla had known who he was, he doubted it would have made a jot of difference. This was not a woman to be wooed with status and wealth. She liked you or she didn’t. And right now, she didn’t.

      ‘Do you mind?’ she said, pushing him away.

      That in itself was an intriguing first for him. For such a self-possessed woman—and he had to remind himself that this was the same woman who had conducted herself with such dignity in the undignified surroundings of the club—she was surprisingly jumpy, acting almost like an innocent now that they were one to one.

      Yes. He’d stopped her falling; Isla allowed with an appropriate amount of gratitude as she brushed herself down. But, let’s not get carried away. He couldn’t hold onto her until her bones turned to jelly, and she had no more sense in her head than a moth flying into a flame. She flashed a warning stare—and had to acknowledge that he was a gentleman, as he’d let her go. And fate had dealt him a more than generous hand. Douse any other man in a rainstorm, and they would look СКАЧАТЬ