Sharon Kendrick Collection. Sharon Kendrick

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      ‘That’s right,’ she said staunchly, and attempted to echo his casual tone. ‘I’m just passing through.’

      ‘Indeed?’ murmured Khalim again. Black eyes glinted as he raised her hand and lightly brushed his lips against the fingertips. ‘Khalim,’ he purred. ‘And I am charmed.’

      It was difficult not to be charmed herself by such quaintly old-fashioned manners. And the sight of Guy glowering from the other side of the car had her smiling back at the Prince.

      ‘I’ve booked the restaurant for tonight,’ she babbled. ‘I do hope I’ve made the right choice.’

      The curved smile edged upwards. ‘Water and bread can be sustenance enough,’ said Khalim softly, ‘when the company is this spectacular.’

      Guy turned his head to look out of the window, thinking that he just might be sick. He’d heard Khalim’s chat-up lines over the years—and as far as he knew—they had a one hundred per cent success rate. But this…this…outrageous flirting was really too much.

      Sabrina had given the restaurant address to the driver when she’d made the phone booking for the car, but as it negotiated its way through Notting Hill and drew up outside a small, colourful café, her heart sank.

      The signs, it had to be admitted, didn’t look very promising. There was a garish awning outside, beneath which the sign read, THE PIE SHOP.

      Guy’s eyes narrowed incredulously. ‘Just what is this place, Sabrina?’

      ‘It got a very good review in the papers,’ she defended, determined not to flinch beneath the quiet look of fury in his eyes. ‘And I thought it would be…different.’

      ‘It is certainly different,’ said Khalim, his voice tilting with amusement. ‘Come, let us go and see what delights The Pie Shop has to offer.

      It was the kind of place which employed out-of-work actresses as waitresses—so at least the glamour quotient was high. But Khalim didn’t seem at all interested in the nubile specimens who ushered them inside. In fact, his attention seemed to be all on Sabrina.

      Almost worryingly so, she told herself as they were given a table in the corner.

      There were no menus, just a huge blackboard with the dishes of the day printed on it in chalk.

      ‘I’m surprised there isn’t sawdust on the floor,’ said Guy acidly, but Khalim was gazing around him with the air of a man who had stepped into a different world.

      ‘No, but it is charming,’ he murmured. ‘Quite charming. And the smell of the food delicious. Every summer my mother used to take me and my sisters into the mountains, and we would eat a meal with an old man who had spent his life caring for the goats and living in a simple dwelling. This place reminds me of that.’

      Oh, great, thought Guy. He frosted a look at Sabrina across the table. ‘Khalim hasn’t eaten red meat for years.’ He gave a pointed stare at the dish of the day—shepherd’s pie. ‘Any suggestions, Sabrina?’

      She thought that she’d never seen him quite this grumpy before, but it occurred to her that if he hadn’t wanted her to come along, then he shouldn’t have asked her. ‘How about fish pie?’ she suggested brightly.

      ‘Fish pie,’ echoed Khalim, as if she’d just proposed a lavish banquet. ‘Do you know—I haven’t eaten fish pie since we were at school. Do you remember, Guy? Always on Fridays.’ And he gave a wistful smile, which briefly softened his hard, proud face.

      How did she do it, wondered Guy distractedly. How had she unerringly hit on the one dish which would produce a rare state of nostalgia in a man who’d very probably been offered every delicacy under the sun?

      ‘Three fish pies,’ he said to the waitress, and Sabrina, who’d been about to order the shepherd’s pie, hastily shut her mouth. It might be considered bad manners to eat meat in front of the Prince.

      It wasn’t the easiest meal she had ever sat through, mainly because Guy would hardly meet her eye, just chatted to Khalim about the paintings he’d seen recently in Paris.

      Khalim listened and ate his meal slowly and with evident pleasure. Occasionally he would turn to Sabrina and fix her with that hard, black stare as he asked her about her work in the bookshop as if it were the single most fascinating subject in the world.

      And Sabrina smiled and tried to look attentive, while miserably ploughing her way through the fish pie.

      After she’d pushed her plate away, Khalim leaned forward, his fingertips brushing against the bright glitter of her necklace.

      ‘Who bought you these diamonds, my beauty?’ he murmured.

      Sabrina smiled. ‘Oh, they’re not real!’

      ‘Really?’ Khalim brushed one of the gems thoughtfully. ‘Then it must be your skin which enhances them—for they look absolutely priceless.’

      What Khalim didn’t know about diamonds could be written on the back of a postage stamp, and Guy watched with increasing fury as the Prince’s dark, elegant fingers contrasted against her milk-white skin.

      ‘Shall we skip pudding?’ he demanded.

      They ordered coffee instead, and Guy was just paying the bill when Khalim lightly placed his hand on Sabrina’s wrist.

      ‘I’m in England for another couple of weeks,’ he mused. ‘Perhaps you would have dinner with me some night?’

      Sabrina looked over at Guy, unsure of how you went about saying to a prince that it was a terribly sweet offer but that she was fast falling in love with someone else, thank you.

      In love? Her cheeks grew hot, and the pounding in her heart increased. What in heaven’s name was she thinking of? She couldn’t be falling in love. She couldn’t. It was too soon after Michael—much too soon.

      She glanced over at the object of her affections, who was chatting to the waitress and giving her the benefit of the sunniest smile she’d seen all evening.

      ‘Sabrina?’ prompted Khalim softly.

      Well, all right, she thought furiously, and smiled back at him. ‘That would be wonderful,’ she agreed shyly.

       CHAPTER TWELVE

      GUY maintained a simmering silence all the way home, even after they’d left Khalim back at his hotel and the chauffeur had dropped them back at the flat.

      In fact, he waited until he’d slammed the front door behind them. He didn’t have many neighbours, it was true, but the ones he did have had known him for years. And would probably have gone into extreme shock if they’d heard Guy Masters yelling at a woman, which was exactly what he felt like doing.

      ‘Are you mad?’ he demanded.

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