Liz Fielding - The Sheik's Unsuitable Bride

But for a freak wave she would have.

And what did that make him?

Maybe he should be giving his own conscience a wake-up call, it occurred to him, because last night, when she’d returned his kiss, had sung to him as she’d melted into his arms, he hadn’t been giving his own future as much as a first thought. He’d been too busy making a fool of himself over a girl he’d only just met to spare a second or even a third thought for the young women being lined up for him to pick out a suitable wife.

Whatever Diana had been doing, his actions had been far worse…

‘Whatever it was, she’s over it now,’ Alan said, watching her walk swiftly down the jetty until she rounded the building and was out of sight.

‘So it would seem.’ Uncapping his pen, he began to sign a stack of documents. He would do well to follow her example.

Enough. Diana slumped behind the wheel, staring at the car phone. At eighteen years old, mired in a world of guilt as her mother had threatened, her father had looked at her as if he didn’t know her, she’d sworn never again .

She’d got lazy. Complacent.

It was easy to hold off the attentions of boys, men, when there was no attraction, no temptation, desire. Pete O’Hanlon had seen her looking at him as if he were something in a sweetshop window and he’d used that. But she wasn’t blaming him. She’d wanted him, had seized the moment without a thought for the morrow and she had to live with that.

Her solace, her joy, was Freddy and she’d been content. But it had taken just one look from Zahir’s slate-grey eyes, one smile, to let her know what she was missing. Melt the ice-wall she’d built around her heart.

She caught her breath, shaking her head as if to clear away all that romantic nonsense.

Not her heart. Nothing that noble.

What Sheikh Zahir al-Khatib had done with a single look was jump-start a hunger, a need that was so far beyond her experience that she hadn’t recognised the danger until it was too late.

Until she was experiencing feelings that were so strong that for a moment she had been in danger of repeating history…

No. This had to stop now. Now, before she wavered and did something really stupid and told him that Freddy was five years old. That her date was a classroom visit. Because, if she told him that, he’d know…

She reached out to hit the fast dial on the car phone to call Sadie, ask her to take her off this job-what excuse she’d make she didn’t know, but she’d think of something. The phone rang before her finger made contact, making her jump nearly out of her skin, the caller ID warning her that Sadie had got in first. She was no doubt calling to update her on who would be driving Sheikh Zahir this evening so that she could pass on the good news.

She jabbed ‘receive’, but, before she could speak, Sadie said, ‘Diana! At last! I’ve been calling you for the best part of an hour on this phone and your cellphone.’

‘Have you?’ She frowned, rubbing her hands over her pockets. No cellphone. ‘I must have left it in my jacket…’

‘I don’t care where you left it! Where, in heaven’s name, have you been ?’

‘Well…’

‘No, don’t bother to answer that. I can guess,’ she said cuttingly.

What?

Diana straightened. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but Sheikh Zahir…’

‘Please! I don’t want to know. I just want you to listen to me. You are not to come back to the yard. You will be met at the car park outside The King’s Head in Little Markham by Michael Jenkins. He’ll drive the Mercedes back from there. Sheikh Zahir’s personal assistant has arranged for another car to be on hand to take him back to the hotel. You…’

‘Whoa! Back up, Sadie. What on earth has happened?’

‘You have to ask?’

Confused, miserable, she wasn’t in the mood for games. ‘Apparently I do,’ she snapped back with uncharacteristic sharpness.

‘You’d like me to read you the diary column from the midday edition of The Courier ?’

‘What?’

‘Maybe it will jog your memory if I tell you that the headline is “The Sheikh and the Chauffeur”? Or do you want all the gory details of how Sheikh Zahir al-Khatib was seen gazing into the eyes of his pretty chauffeur as he waltzed her around Berkeley Square at midnight?’

‘How on earth-?’

‘For heaven’s sake, everyone with a camera phone is an amateur paparazzo these days, Di! Even if the snapper didn’t recognise Sheikh Zahir, a man dancing with his chauffeur made it a story. The fact that he looks lost to the world makes it the kind of story that The Courier was always going to run in its diary column. I don’t imagine it took them more than two minutes to identify Sheikh Zahir. He’s not exactly a stranger to the gossip pages.’

‘He isn’t?’

‘He’s a billionaire bachelor, Diana, what do you think?’

Think?

Who was thinking?

‘Oh-’

‘Don’t say it!’

‘I wasn’t going to.’ She swallowed. ‘I was going to say that it’s not the way it must look.’

Not exactly .

‘I’m afraid the way it looks is all people are interested in.’

‘No-o-o-o…’

Sadie just sighed.

‘No. For what it’s worth, I believe you, but it makes no difference. It’s a good story and that’s all the tabloids care about. What does matter is that we’re under siege here.’

‘Siege?’

‘The hunters are out and you are the prey. Your name wasn’t in the paper but it didn’t take the sleaze-merchants long to find out which company is chauffeuring the Sheikh around London this week. I think we can safely assume that by now they have got not only your name but probably know the colour of the polish on your toenails.’

‘I’m not wearing polish on…’ She stopped. Sadie was speaking metaphorically. ‘Sadie, I am so sorry. I promise you it was all perfectly…’

Innocent. She’d been going to say innocent. It wasn’t true.

Innocent didn’t feel the way she’d felt last night when he’d kissed her. When he’d held her. Had raised her hand to his lips. She remembered the way her skin had warmed to his touch. How her lips had wanted more of him. The sweet liquid meltdown in the pit of her belly as he’d waltzed her around the Square. Made her feel like a princess.

As for today…

She had compared her foolishness to her moment of madness with Pete O’Hanlon. He had never looked at her the way Zahir had looked at her. Had never made her feel the way that Zahir…

‘Diana!’

She jumped as Sadie shouted her name. Realised that she had been talking to her, expected some kind of response.

‘I’m sorry. I’m in shock.’

‘Get a grip. You’ve got to keep your head. No doubt it’ll just be a nine-minute wonder-’

‘Less,’ she said, determined to reassure Sadie.

It was already over.

‘Let’s hope so. I want you to take the rest of the week off. You’ve already got next week booked as leave for Freddy’s half term holiday and Sheikh Zahir will have left the country by then. And yes, before you ask, you’ll get paid. Your time will go on Sheikh Zahir’s account as a disruption expense. I hope he thinks one dance was worth it.’

‘No…’ That wasn’t fair. ‘Sadie…’

But she was listening to the dialling tone. For a moment she sat there, numb with shock, then picked up her jacket and found her cellphone. She kept it switched off while she was driving, but the minute she thumbed it on she saw that she had more than a dozen voicemail messages.

Several from Sadie. A terse ‘Call me’ from her mother. A couple from her father, who’d been getting calls from neighbours, newspapers. Three from tabloid journalists offering her money for her story-how on earth had they got this number?