Christmas Bride For The Sheikh. Carol Marinelli

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      Even from that distance she could see the queue and wondered if there was even a hope of them getting in. She knew just how exclusive it was.

      ‘Flo!’

      Marcus, the doorman, called her name and Flo flashed her winning smile as she walked over, thrilled to be remembered. ‘I’m just waiting for my friend to arrive.’

      ‘Well, you could both be waiting for a very long time if you don’t come in now,’ Marcus told her. ‘I’m being moved to security inside in a moment so there will be someone else on the door.’

      Flo wavered and looked down the street, but there was no sign of Maggie.

      ‘You can leave your friend’s name at the front desk,’ he suggested.

      To the moans of the queue, the velvet rope was lifted and Flo was allowed in.

      ‘You have to hand in your phone,’ Marcus warned. ‘So maybe text her now.’

      ‘Why do I have to hand in my phone?’

      ‘Orders from the top.’

      Ah, so Hazin must be here.

      His bad-boy ways had been captured on camera one too many times, Flo guessed, and the management would not want to upset him. She fired Maggie a quick text to meet inside, left her name at the desk and then made her way in.

      Dion’s was very beautiful. There were intimate velvet booths for diners, a gleaming walnut bar, and occasional tables where patrons could sip their cocktails and beverages of choice.

      The place was packed with endless, rich beauty, and though it had once excited her, now it left Flo rather cold.

      She had been caught up a little in this world once and, having been a lot more innocent back then, she’d believed that men had actually wanted to get to know her!

      Instead, they had wanted her to hang quietly on their arm and not ask too many questions.

      Yes, she’d been hurt.

      Badly so.

      But she pushed it to the back of her mind and squeezed her way over to the bar.

      A couple looked as if they were about to vacate a table and Flo debated whether to grab it or to go and order first.

      But then she saw him.

      Sheikh Prince Hazin al-Razim.

      He wore a suit that was as black and superbly cut as his hair. His tie was loosened and he was so stunning that he actually stopped Flo in her tracks.

      How the hell did a person even begin to approach that? she pondered, thinking of her suggestion to Maggie to approach casually. And then she thought of Maggie alone in a cabin with him for two hours!

      Had she been the one alone with him on a yacht, they would not have been talking!

      Hazin was as utterly gorgeous as that.

      He wasn’t banned from bringing in his phone, of course.

      In fact, he was checking it and Flo could tell he was getting ready to leave.

      * * *

      Indeed, Hazin was about to go.

      He was supposed to have met his older brother an hour ago and hadn’t been looking forward to it in the least. He did not need another lecture on taming his ways, but Ilyas had been insistent that they meet.

      And then hadn’t bothered to show.

      They were not close. In fact, thanks to their upbringings, Hazin and Ilyas were practically strangers. They had been segregated as children and when Hazin had proven rather a handful he had been sent to be schooled in London.

      Ilyas wore the robe in the relationship and Hazin the suit.

      Ilyas would be King.

      Hazin simply did not care for any of that and did all he could not to return home, for there was no welcome waiting, just lectures on his behaviour that had been on repeat from as far back as Hazin could remember. As well as that, he loathed how his father ran the country, for it was in the same way in which King Ahmed parented—no empathy and with disdain for those he was charged to care for.

      To Hazin’s eyes, Ilyas was as staid and cold as his father.

      There was no message on his phone to explain his brother’s lateness, and looking up Hazin glanced around the place.

      He was sick of Dion’s and the empty, painted people.

      But then he saw her.

      Or rather he heard the barman laugh at something and looked to its source.

      She was ordering a glass of wine and a sparkling water and as she waited for her drinks she turned to look around. Her china-blue eyes met his.

      ‘Hi,’ she said.

      He gave a very slight nod, but he didn’t find her forwardness particularly fetching. She was gorgeous, that was a given, but Hazin was more than used to women making a move on him and the gloss had long since worn off.

      Flo could sense his disinterest and that he was about to leave; she wondered what she should say and how best to introduce herself. She glanced towards the main door and wished Maggie would arrive, but there was no sign of her. ‘I’m waiting for a friend.’

      Hazin said nothing, for it had nothing to do with him.

      ‘She’s late,’ Flo pushed.

      Hazin accompanied his tight smile with a put-down. ‘And I’m leaving.’

      He had no interest in offering to keep her company. He was tired of being chatted up just for his Royal title and the empty sex that followed.

      These days, he practically had to pat them down first to check for cameras anyway.

      Then he watched as she stifled a yawn.

      It was not the response Hazin was used to. Usually they hung on his every word.

      Yes, he was jaded.

      ‘Excuse me,’ Flo said. ‘I just came from work...’

      She was tired and yet also energised in the magnetic presence of Hazin, and unsure whether to tell him who her friend was and that Maggie would soon be arriving, but then he asked a question.

      ‘What do you do for work?’

      ‘I’m a midwife.’

      He pulled such a horrified face that it made her laugh.

      And then Hazin became curious.

      ‘I haven’t seen you here before...’ Hazin said, because he would have remembered if he had.

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