Sophie Weston - In The Arms Of The Sheikh

The bonfire was huge. It blazed cheerfully at the edge of a small lake. The air was full of the smell of mulled wine, barbecued sausages and potatoes baked in their jackets.

And at last she realised what was happening. ‘It’s a firework party!’

There was a shriek. ‘Natasha. Natasha. I thought you’d stood me up.’ Izzy burst out of the crowd round the bonfire and hugged her in a crushing embrace.

‘Sorry. I tried to get a message through.’ Natasha returned the hug enthusiastically until she ran out of air. Gasping, she fought her way back to oxygen. ‘What on earth are you wearing, Izzy?’

Izzy grinned. ‘Fur-lined waxed jacket,’ she said professionally. ‘What the well-dressed mountaineer is wearing.’

‘Why?’ said Prada’s best customer, honestly puzzled. ‘It’s lethal. I nearly choked in there. And it makes you look like a beach ball.’

‘It keeps me warm,’ said Izzy unanswerably. ‘I don’t care how I look. We’re going to have fireworks later. People won’t be looking at me.’

Natasha groaned. ‘You’re hopeless. No one would think you worked in fashion.’

‘And no one would think you didn’t,’ Izzy retorted. She looked over her friend’s shoulder and smiled. ‘Where did you find her, Kazim?’

‘On the doorstep,’ said Natasha’s adversary briefly.

‘Like a Christmas present,’ said Izzy, beaming.

‘Or a pizza you haven’t ordered,’ muttered Natasha.

Izzy was startled. ‘What?’

But Natasha was not looking at her. She glared at the man called Kazim. ‘I gather I’m so late you thought I was off your guest list.’

His eyes narrowed in the firelight. They glinted evilly. He said, ‘If you had called…’ He sounded like a hanging judge.

Even Izzy said apologetically, ‘Actually, that’s true, Tasha. When you didn’t turn up last night, I thought you weren’t coming.’

‘But I’ve left message after message.’

Izzy looked guilty. ‘In the excitement, I forgot to top up my phone.’

Natasha shook her head. ‘So you didn’t get even one of my messages? What on earth did you think I was doing?’

Izzy bit her lip. ‘I suppose I just thought something more important had come up.’

Natasha was genuinely shocked. ‘I’m not that rude. Am I?’

‘Not rude,’ said Izzy forgivingly. ‘Just busy being a tycoon.’

‘I’m not!’

Izzy smiled. ‘How many times have you blown me out this year?’

That was horribly true. Natasha could not deny it.

‘Never mind,’ said Izzy blithely. ‘You’re here now. That’s all that matters.’

Even in the fitful light of the bonfire, it was clear that Kazim Whoever-he-was did not agree. Natasha’s guilty conscience mutated rapidly into something a lot more combative.

‘Well, I am now I’ve made it through the front door security checks,’ she agreed, simmering. ‘Unlike my phone.’

Izzy looked bewildered. ‘What’s happened to your phone? Oh, Natasha, don’t say you were mugged.’

Natasha looked straight at Kazim Whoever-he-was. ‘Yup. A mugging. That’s what it was.’

His eyes flickered. But he did not say anything.

Kind Izzy hugged her again, distressed. ‘How horrible.’

Natasha did not take her eyes off Kazim. ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she told him.

She meant it. She could see from that look in his eyes that he knew it too. His nostrils flared.

Clearly no one had said that they could handle Kazim before. He was outraged. Outraged enough to do anything about it? Natasha was not sure.

Then she saw the rigid look to his mouth. Oh, yes, definitely outraged enough to do something.

For a moment she felt a little frisson of alarm. But then she caught herself. She never ran from a challenge. Ever.

Fine, do your worst, she taunted him silently.

His nostrils flared.

A trickle of something that could have been alarm ran down Natasha’s spine. Alarm or excitement. Suddenly all her senses were alert.

Nobody else seemed to notice. But she knew what was going on. And so did he. In the smoky darkness, unseen by anyone but themselves, light sabre clashed against light sabre.

It was like strong dark wine. Or a high wind.

Or coming alive.

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