Jennifer Lewis - The Sheikh Who Desired Her

He was already tugging her along in his wake, and Jamilah whispered at him, mindful of the people around them. ‘I’m going out for lunch. Alone.’

He cast a quick glance back, and Jamilah saw the dark intent in his eyes. ‘We’re going for lunch.’

‘But you have to eat with the other delegates.’ Desperation mounted.

Salman faced forward again, pulling her along remorselessly. ‘You should know by now that I generally do not take well to orders.’

Knowing that he would not budge, nor release her, Jamilah followed with a mutinous look on her face which turned to burning embarrassment as they passed people she knew. One of them was the aide to the Sultan of Al-Omar she had abandoned at that party a year ago. She smiled weakly at him as she passed.

She could see that they were approaching the gardens at the back of the hotel. A staff member bowed deferentially to Salman as he opened a door, and then they were out in the unusually mild November air. It was a beautiful clear day that held a last lingering hint of the summer just gone.

Salman led her down a path through immaculately manicured lawns until she saw a beautifully ornate gazebo, with a table set for two, with full silver service place settings. Her stomach rumbled and she blushed.

Inside the gazebo a waiter bowed and seated them both. Totally bemused, Jamilah let him spread a snowy-white napkin across her lap, and listened while he explained about the specials on offer.

In shock, Jamilah made her choice for lunch, barely aware of what she was doing. She heard Salman say, ‘I’ll have the same.’

The waiter poured vintage champagne for her and sparkling water for Salman before taking his leave. A bird called nearby. The faint sound of the rumble of traffic came through the dense foliage of the bushes that climbed huge walls nearby. The gazebo was covered in trailing sweet-smelling flowers, and it was utterly secluded and idyllic.

Finally sanity returned, and Jamilah put down her napkin and stood up. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to, Salman, but as I told you on the way here yesterday, you really should be consulting your Rolodex of contacts for this kind of thing. It’s wasted on me, and I’d hate to think of you running up your tab needlessly.’

Salman affected a look of mild boredom though he felt anything but. Panic had clutched his gut when Jamilah had stood up. He knew he had to get this right or she would keep running. ‘This is just lunch. I thought it might be nice to take it outside …’ He waved a hand. ‘I had no idea that they would put on this spectacle.’

Jamilah hesitated. There was indeed an outdoor area for dining—perhaps Salman had expected it to be there? Insecurity pierced her. Perhaps she was crediting Salman with too much ingenuity. He’d never shown any inclination for grand showy gestures when she’d been with him before …

She looked at him suspiciously. ‘You really expected this to be in the other place?’

He nodded, an artful look of innocence on his face. Still thoroughly suspicious, Jamilah nevertheless found herself sitting back down, clutching her napkin. It was lunch. Just lunch. Albeit in the most seductive surroundings she’d ever encountered. Perhaps she was overreacting a little. And if she overreacted then Salman would have her in the palm of his hand.

Now she affected a look of mild uninterest. ‘Fine. We don’t have long for lunch anyway.’ She flicked a glance at her watch. ‘We have to be back in forty-five minutes.’ And she sat with legs crossed, facing away from the table, as if ready to bolt.

The waiter came back at that moment with their starters. She waited to eat, suddenly very self-conscious. It was only when Salman said, with a smile playing around his mouth, ‘Well? Aren’t you going to eat? You must be starving …’ that Jamilah gave in. She’d barely picked at breakfast that morning and nerves had curtailed her usually healthy appetite for days now.

So now, in spite of Salman’s presence, she found herself all but licking her plate clean of its white asparagus starter.

Salman was sitting back, watching her, and she felt heat climb into her cheeks which she tried to disguise by wiping her mouth with her napkin. The little champagne she’d drunk was fizzing gently along her nerve-endings, making her feel all too susceptible to this … idyll. And to Salman’s devastatingly dark and gorgeous presence.

‘So … you are now running the stables for Nadim? Not bad for the girl who used to muck out the stalls.’

Jamilah smiled minutely. ‘I still muck out the stalls, Salman. We don’t stand on ceremony at the stables.’

He inclined his head and said thoughtfully, ‘I can see that you would be a good boss—tough, but fair. And clearly Nadim values your opinion enough to negotiate on his behalf.’

An infusing warmth spread through Jamilah. Ever since she’d completed her studies in veterinary science in Paris, her ambition had been to manage the world-famous Merkazad stables, and to be doing it at her relatively young age was no small feat.

She shrugged lightly and avoided Salman’s intense gaze. ‘You know I always loved animals, I dreamed of running the stables ever since I was tiny.’

Something hollow sounded in Salman’s voice. ‘I know. Which is why it was good that you went home and followed your path.’

She looked at him, but his face showed no discernible emotion. And then the waiter came with their main courses and their conversation was interrupted. She’d often told him of her dreams when they’d been younger, when he’d listen in silence as she prattled on. Now she had to recall that he’d never really shared anything personal of himself—just as he hadn’t in Paris. There had just been this intangible quality between them. And it still hurt to think that he’d seen her as an encumbrance.

But was he saying now that on some level he’d been concerned that she’d sacrifice her dreams for what had essentially been a fling in Paris? Coupled with what he’d revealed in the car the day before, she had to acknowledge that his rejection of her had perhaps not been as arbitrarily cruel as she’d believed it to be.

That thought made her quiet as she ate. But finally curiosity overcame her, and she asked Salman about his own work. He wiped at his mouth with a napkin before telling her that he’d graduated to the much more risky world of hedge fund management.

He grimaced slightly. ‘I’m now a part of that most reviled breed of bankers, the scourge of the recent banking crisis, and yet …’ something cynical crossed his face ‘… reviled as we may be, business has never been so good.’ He smiled, but it was without warmth.

‘You have your own company?’

He nodded and took a sip of water. ‘Yes, it’s called Al-Saqr Holdings.’

Jamilah’s fingers plucked at her napkin. ‘And you don’t mind being thought of … badly?’

He shrugged, eyes glinting. ‘I’ve developed a thick skin. If people still want me to invest their money for them, to take risks on their behalf, who am I to deny them?’

‘It sounds so soulless.’

‘Much like living out of a hotel and leading a disconnected existence? You should know by now, Jamilah, that my soul is lost. I told you a long time ago that I’m dark and twisted inside.’

Jamilah had the shocking realisation in that moment that he really meant what he said. Why would he think that? On some level he truly did believe he was lost, and her heart squeezed. She could still see the boy who had come to comfort her at her parents’ grave, who had instilled within her a sense of strength she sometimes still drew on. Which was ironic, when he was largely the reason she needed strength.