Desert Jewels. Annie West

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘But she wasn’t all she seemed to be.’

      ‘Not a transvestite, I hope?’

      ‘Very funny.’ But despite the smile which her flippant comment produced Tariq was irritated with himself. He had been stressed out, and had intended to relax by playing poker until the small hours. He hadn’t really been in the mood for any kind of liaison, or the effort of chatting someone up. But the woman had been very beautiful, and he’d found himself inviting her for a late dinner. And then she had started to question him. Wanting to know the kind of things which suggested that she might have done more than a little background research on him.

      Tariq had some rules which were entirely his own.

      He didn’t like being interrogated.

      He didn’t trust people who knew too much about him.

      And he never slept with a woman on a first date.

      At heart, he was a deeply old-fashioned man, with plenty of contradictory values. For him sex had always been laughably easy—yet he didn’t respect a woman who let him too close, too soon. Especially as he had a very short attention span when it came to the opposite sex. He liked the slow burn of anticipation—to prolong the ache of desire until it became unbearable. So when the blonde had made it very clear that she was his for the taking—some primitive sense of prudery had reared its head. Who wanted something which was so easily obtained? With a jaded yawn, he had declined her offer and reached for his jacket.

      And that was when the woman’s story had come blurting out. It seemed that it hadn’t been fate which had brought her into his life, but cunning and subterfuge.

      ‘She was a journalist,’ he bit out. He’d been so angry with himself because he hadn’t seen through her flimsy cover. Furious that he had fallen for one of the oldest tricks of all. He’d stormed out, wondering if he was losing his touch, and for those few seconds when his attention had wandered so had had his powerful sports car. ‘She wanted the inside story on the takeover bid,’ he finished.

      Isobel shrugged as her little car took a bend in the road. ‘Well, if you will try and buy into the Premier League, what do you expect? You know the English are crazy about football—and it’s a really big deal if some power-hungry Sheikh adds a major team to his portfolio.’

      ‘There’s nothing wrong with being hungry for power, Izzy.’

      ‘Only if it becomes addictive,’ she countered.

      ‘You think I’m a power junkie?’

      ‘That’s not for me to say.’

      His black eyes narrowed. ‘I notice you didn’t deny it, though.’

      ‘I’m glad you’re paying attention to what I say, Tariq.’

      With a small click of irritation, he attempted, without much success, to stretch his legs. Some lurid looking air-freshener in the shape of a blue daisy hung from the driving mirror and danced infuriatingly in front of the windscreen. Other than the occasional childhood ride on a camel in his homeland, he could never remember enduring such an uncomfortable form of transport as this. Rather longingly, he thought about the dented bonnet of his smooth and gleaming sports car and wondered how long before it would be roadworthy again.

      ‘Is your cottage as cramped as your car?’ he demanded.

      ‘You don’t like my car?’

      ‘Not really. I don’t like second-hand cars which don’t go above fifty.’

      ‘Then why don’t you give me a pay rise?’ she suggested sweetly. ‘And I’ll buy myself a newer one.’

      For a moment Tariq acknowledged the brief flicker of discord which made his pulse quicken. Wasn’t it strange how a little tension between a man and a woman could instantly begin to heat a man’s blood and make him start thinking of…

      But the smile left his face as he realised that this was Izzy he was about to start fantasising about. Safe and sensible Izzy. The plain stalwart of his office—and the very last candidate for any erotic thoughts. So how was it that he suddenly found his attention riveted on a pair of slender thighs which were outlined with delectable precision beneath the blue of her denim skirt?

      With an effort, he dragged his gaze away and settled back in the seat. ‘I pay you enough already—as well you know,’ he said. ‘How far is it?’

      ‘Far enough,’ said Isobel softly, ‘for you to close your eyes and sleep.’ And stop annoying me with your infuriating comments.

      ‘I’m not sleepy.’

      ‘Sure?’

      ‘Quite sure,’ he mumbled, but something in her voice was oddly soothing, so he found himself yawning—and seconds later he was fast asleep.

      Isobel drove in a silence punctuated only by the low, steady sound of Tariq’s breathing. She tried to concentrate on her driving and on the new green buds which were pushing through the hedgerows—but it wasn’t easy. Her attention kept wandering and she felt oddly light-headed. She kept telling herself it was because her usual routine had been thrown out of kilter—and not because of the disturbing proximity of her boss.

      But that wouldn’t have been true. Something had happened to her and she couldn’t work out what it was. Why should she suddenly start feeling self-conscious and peculiar in Tariq’s company? Why couldn’t she seem to stop her eyes from straying to the powerful shafts of his thighs and then drifting upwards to the narrow jut of his hips?

      She shook her head. She’d been alone with Tariq many, many times before. She had shared train, plane and car journeys with him on various business trips. But never like this. Not in such cramped and humble confines, with him fast asleep beside her, his legs spread out in front of him. Almost as if they were any normal couple, just driving along.

      Impatiently, she shook her head.

      Normal? That was the last adjective which could ever be applied to Tariq. He was a royal sheikh from the ancient House of Khayarzah and one of the wealthiest men on the planet.

      Sometimes it still seemed incredible to Isobel that someone like her should have ended up working so closely for such a powerful man. She could tell that people were often surprised when she told them what she did for a living. That he who could have anyone should have chosen her. What did she have that a thousand more well-connected women didn’t have? That was what everyone always wanted to know.

      Deep down, she suspected it was because he trusted her in a way that he trusted few people. And why did he trust her? Hard to say. Probably because she had met him when he was young—at school—before the true extent of his power and position had really sunk in. Before he’d realised the influence he wielded.

      She’d been just ten at the time—a solitary and rather serious child. Her mother, Anna, had been the school nurse at one of England’s most prestigious boarding schools—a job she’d been lucky to get since it provided a place to live as well as a steady income. Anna was a single mother and her daughter Isobel illegitimate. Times had changed, and not having a father no longer carried any stigma, but it certainly had back then—back in the day.

      Isobel had borne the brunt of it, of course. She remembered the way she’d СКАЧАТЬ