Claimed For The Sheikh's Shock Son. Carol Marinelli

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      ‘Don’t let history repeat itself,’ Jobe had told her.

      The simple fact was, Aubrey was too terrified to, even if needs were starting to must—especially now that Jobe was dead and the money would stop.

      Still, despite her reluctance, there was an awful feeling of inevitability to it.

      That thought had Aubrey’s eyes suddenly screw tightly closed, which wasn’t ideal when eyeliner was being applied. ‘One moment,’ she said, and took a deep breath, doing what she could to pull herself together.

      ‘It’s okay,’ Vanda said. ‘We’re just about done here, just your lips left to do...’

      Aubrey opened her eyes to find that there was quite a crowd now gathered around the counter, all watching the transformation take place.

      And it really was a transformation.

      Vanda held up a mirror and Aubrey’s eyes widened when she saw herself. ‘I look...’ She swallowed.

      ‘You look amazing.’ Vanda smiled.

      ‘No.’ Aubrey was struggling to find the right word. The make-up was subtle and neutral and her eyes looked so big and blue. Her blush beige lips looked soft and pretty, and so unlike how they did with the deep crimson she was more used to. ‘Sophisticated.’

      ‘You’re going to blend right in,’ Vanda said, and then glanced down at Aubrey’s rather cheap dress, but decided there was nothing that she could do about that. ‘I’ll give you a sample size of the lipstick so you can top up before the service.’

      ‘You don’t have to do that.’

      ‘Have you seen how many customers I now have?’ Vanda said. ‘I really hope today goes as well as it can for you.’

      So did Aubrey.

      She might appear streetwise, but she was terrified.

      * * *

      Crowds were gathered and the security was tight, with the street cordoned off, but it did not deter Aubrey. She walked towards the barrier and spoke to a uniformed security guard. ‘My driver took me to the wrong drop-off,’ she attempted, but was immediately cut off with a question.

      ‘Name?’

      ‘Aubrey,’ she mumbled. ‘Aubrey Johnson.’

      ‘Wait there.’

      There was no chance of getting in, Aubrey knew that. She certainly wouldn’t be on the guest list. Still, she was used to slipping into concerts and things and had hoped to find a chink in security’s armour, a group to tag onto, or even a less-than-vigilant security guard.

      No such luck.

      He was talking into his mouthpiece and, knowing that she wouldn’t be on the private guest list, Aubrey’s eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a vantage point that might give her at least a view of the casket. She wanted to say goodbye, she really did, not just on behalf of her mother but for herself.

      ‘This way, Miss Johnson.’

      She turned around at the sound of her name and blinked in surprise as the black velvet rope was pulled back and she realised that she’d been allowed through.

      It was a mistake.

      Of that she was certain.

      Johnson was a common surname after all, but Aubrey took good news when it came.

      ‘Follow that group,’ the security guard told her.

      Aubrey did so, climbing the stone stairs and then standing in line to sign the book of condolences before heading in. She kept her head down, worried that security might realise their mistake, because she was rather certain that she shouldn’t have been allowed in.

      And that was how Khalid first saw her.

      Alerted that one of the mystery women was here and about to sign the book of condolences, Khalid scanned the line.

      His eyes drifted past her twice, but then a gentleman stepped back and he saw her.

      From the way she had been painted, from the photos he had seen, Khalid had rather expected a less demure figure.

      She was tiny.

      A mere wisp.

      Her blonde head was bowed down and around her slender shoulders there was a lace shawl that she clutched with one hand.

      Khalid made his way over to the line-up. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to the people who stood behind her, and promptly stepped in. They didn’t argue, and not just because it was a funeral. Despite the fact he was today clean-shaven and wearing a black suit, there was still a commanding air to Khalid that had people instinctively defer to him.

      In his country they would, of course, have knelt.

      Aubrey was far too worked up to notice the movement in the queue behind her.

      It was his scent that reached her first.

      Khalid always smelled divine—al-lubān, or frankincense as it was known here, had been subtly blended with oil of guaiac wood from a palo santo tree that had been gifted to the palace. To that there was added a note of bergamot, cardamom and saffron, all blended in the Al-Zahan desert by a mystic, exclusively for Khalid.

      It was subtle yet captivating.

      So much so that when it reached Aubrey her head rose like a meerkat’s and she turned to its source. A man towered over her, so she had to look up from the black tie she first glimpsed. Up to the thick white collar of his shirt and to his throat and strong jaw.

      And when Aubrey first met his burning gaze, everything she knew she forgot.

      She forgot not to make eye contact.

      And she forgot that she generally did not trust men.

      In the moment that their eyes met, she simply forgot.

      Khalid’s features remained impassive, yet despite his calm demeanour he instantly felt her allure. From the china blue of her unblinking eyes to lush, full lips, she was captivating. She wore far less make-up than she had in the tasteless photos. Well, a touch too much blusher perhaps, but Aubrey really was exceptionally beautiful; there was no doubting that. Khalid could see how a man could be beguiled.

      He refused to be.

      ‘I believe,’ Khalid said, ‘that it is your turn to sign.’

      His voice was rich, deep and accented, and to Aubrey, for a second, his words made no sense, but then she remembered. Oh, yes, the condolence book. She turned from the assault to her senses and picked up a heavy silver pen. Her hand was shaking as she wrote her name.

       Aubrey Johnson.

      For her address... Well, she left out the trailer park СКАЧАТЬ