Nicola Marsh - An Ordinary Girl and a Sheikh - The Sheikh's Unsuitable Bride / Rescued by the Sheikh / The Desert Prince's Proposal

No doubt it was an everyday occurrence for him since he had not, apparently, been tempted by the offer—a warning, not that she’d needed one, that it would be a mistake to take him, or his dangerous charm, seriously.

After they’d left the store he’d only spoken to her to confirm that he would be leaving the embassy at a quarter to seven. Exactly what she’d expect, in fact.

Stupid to take it personally.

This was a job, nothing more, and, left alone with a pot of tea, a sandwich and a choice of cake, she concentrated on her own life and used her cellphone to call home.

‘Mummy!’ Freddy’s voice was full of excitement. ‘I got a “good work” sticker for reading today!’

‘Wow! I am so impressed.’

‘I wanted to show you. Will you be home soon?’

Diana swallowed. It was so hard not to be there when he came out of school, to have him sharing these special moments with her parents instead of her. Not always being there to read him a story at bedtime.

But that was reality for all working mothers, not just the single ones. Sadie might have a nanny, but in every other way their situation was much the same—not enough hours in the day.

Even so, she knew she was luckier than most … Her parents might have been tight-lipped and angry when she’d got pregnant but they had supported her. And they loved Freddy.

‘Will you?’ he demanded.

‘I’ve got to work this evening,’ she said.

‘O-o-h …’ Then, ‘Will you be home before I go to bed, Mummy?’

‘I’ll be there when you wake up,’ she promised. ‘Be good for Grandma and Grandpa, won’t you?’

‘Okay.’

‘Big hug.’ ‘Oh, Mum!’

Make that dumb Mum, she thought as she drank the tea, bit into one of the sandwiches that had been brought for her—who knew when she’d get another chance?—going through every idiot thing she’d said and done since she’d collected Sheikh Zahir from the airport.

So much for ‘politely invisible’.

What had she been thinking?

Huh! No prizes for getting that one right.

She hadn’t been thinking at all. The only thing that had been working from the moment Sheikh Zahir had stepped through the arrivals hall door had been her mouth.

Okay, so he’d made it easy for her, had encouraged her even, but that didn’t mean she had to dive in and make a total fool of herself.

Would she ever learn to think first? Speak … sparingly?

Not in this life, apparently …

At this rate she’d be bumping along on the bottom of the food-chain for ever instead of doing the job she was born for. Not driving a limousine, lovely though it was, but following in her dad’s footsteps, driving a London Black Cab, where chat was all part of the job. Except that hers, as she’d so confidingly told Sheikh Zahir al Khatib, would not be boringly black, but pink.

She groaned.

That would be the same colour as her cheeks.

The discreet burble of her cellphone might have been a welcome distraction, except that the caller ID warned her that it was Sadie.

So much for talking herself out of trouble.

His Sheikhness had, presumably, called the office—or, more likely, got someone else to do it for him—to demand a driver with a proper peaked cap and a set of male chromosomes the minute she’d dropped him at the front door of the embassy. Someone who knew his place, understood the shopping requirements of the VIP and, more importantly, didn’t talk the hind leg off a donkey given the slightest encouragement.

And he had encouraged her.

‘Di?’

‘Mmm … Yes. Sorry. I’m grabbing a sandwich …’ She began to choke as she tried to swallow and talk at the same time. She’d let the boss down, had let herself down …

She’d promised to be good. Had promised that Sadie would hear about any problems from her. Who was she to criticize a princess who had run out on a frog?

‘Okay, just listen. Apparently there’s a broken water main in Grosvenor Place,’ Sadie said, not waiting for her to gather herself, confess all. ‘You’ll need to cut down to Sloane Street to avoid it.’

What?

Sadie was calling to give her a traffic update? Not to demand an explanation for a priceless gift smashed beyond repair. Non-stop backchat. The shopping fiasco.

‘Right,’ she said, forcing down the egg and cress along with the lump in her throat. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’

‘I was expecting you to call me. I did ask you to keep in touch.’

‘Every time I stop?’ she asked, surprised. ‘Does Jack have to check in every time he parks up?’

‘You’re not Jack.’

That was true. ‘There’s an up side to everything.’

‘What’s the down side?’ Sadie said, instantly on to any suggestion of a problem.

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. Then, ‘Absolutely nothing.’ And she allowed herself a small smile. The Sheikh hadn’t split on her … ‘We’re running a bit late, that’s all. Sheikh Zahir needed to shop.’

‘Really?’ Sadie instantly morphed from boss to woman at the “S” word. ‘Where did you go? Aspreys? Garrard?’

‘The Toy Warehouse.’

She didn’t add that it had been her choice—probably just as well because there was a long pause before Sadie said, ‘O-kaaay,’ the last syllable stretched to breaking point. ‘Well, I suppose that even a sheikh has ankle-biters to keep happy.’

‘Not his,’ she said quickly. Although, actually he hadn’t confirmed or denied whether he had any children of his own. ‘He wanted something for the Ambassador’s daughter. It’s her birthday.’

‘As long as you kept him happy.’ ‘You’ll have to ask him that.’

‘I’m sure I’ll hear soon enough if he’s not.’ Then, ‘I called your father, by the way. He said he had it covered.’

On the point of reassuring Sadie that she’d already called home, she realised that she might not appreciate her priorities and left it at, ‘Thank you.’

‘You seem distracted, Zahir.’ Hanif had drawn him to one side, away from the excitement of Ameerah as she showed her five-year-old brother and her little sister her new toy. Metcalfe had been right about the glass. It would not have done at all. ‘Are there problems with the Nadira Creek project? Or the airline you’re so keen to get off the ground?’

Zahir smiled. ‘Business is never a problem, Han. Lucy’s charities will not suffer.’

‘Then it must be family. How is your father?’

‘Pushing his pacemaker to the limits. He’s in the Sudan this week, doing his best to broker peace …’ He lifted his hand in a helpless gesture. ‘I cannot help but feel guilty. It should be me.’

‘No, Zahir. Your talents lie elsewhere.’

‘Maybe.’

‘There’s something else?’

Zahir looked across the room to where the five-year-old Jamal was watching Ameerah, entranced by the snowstorm. Then, turning back to Hanif, he said, ‘He’s impatient for a grandson to bear his name. Impatient with me for denying him that joy. I’m afraid I’ve been a disappointment to him in every aspect of my life.’ He managed a smile. ‘But not for much longer, it would seem. My mother has taken it upon herself to find me a bride.’

He’d anticipated wry amusement, but Hanif was not smiling. ‘Marriage is a lifelong commitment, Zahir. Not something to be entered into lightly, even to gratify your father. And the timing could be better.’

‘A point I made quite forcibly. My mother’s response was that if I waited until I had time, it would never happen.’ He shrugged. ‘Along with a lot of other stuff about being wilful, selfish …’

‘She’s anxious to see you settled, Zahir. You may be wilful, but you’re not selfish and she knows it. You surrendered more than two precious years to watch over me. You did that for the family.’