Susan Stephens - In The Sheikh's Service

‘Can I get you something, sir?’

He eyed the girl. Beautiful. Slender. But with a wary gaze beneath her glossy shell. ‘No. Nothing. Thank you.’ Removing the ambassador’s son from the club with the minimum of fuss was his only goal.

‘A seat, sir?’

He glanced at the second girl. Her eyes were as dead as those of the girl currently working the pole. ‘No, thank you.’ He continued to hone in on his target.

His work in London was crucial, and he would not allow some brash, overindulged diplomat’s son to get in the way of it by attracting adverse publicity. Creating a nature reserve where endangered species could breed safely in their natural habitat required specialist knowledge, and he had found all he could need at the nearby university where he was investing millions in research and new buildings in order to bring his late brother’s dream to reality.

Waving his security team away, he took the ambassador’s son by the arm. The man resisted him with a violent shake and a lot of cursing, but then, realising who he was swearing at, he went limp and began to stutter some excuse that Shazim had no interest in hearing. Ushering him away with a not so subtle warning, he sent him back to daddy with a flea in his ear.

He had intended to follow the ambassador’s son out of the club when something made him stop and look around at the stage where another girl was about to start dancing. She was different from the rest, if only because she was smiling. He felt irritated on her behalf when the man next to him commented, ‘She’s sensational. What a rack—’

There was no denying that the girl was attractive. She was full figured and proud of it. Her skin was honey pale and as smooth as silk, but it was her happy face that held him. She seemed lost in thought, but her uplifting aura was enough to hold every man in the club transfixed as she worked her body enthusiastically on the pole.

Leaning back against a pillar, he stayed to watch. She was skilful and sexy, with both flair and talent, but there was nothing vulgar about her. The men around him had stopped leering, and were staring at her more in wonder than in lust. In another setting, she could have put on the same performance for the Mothers’ Union, and would have held them in the palm of her hand.

With the spotlight firmly fixed on her, Isla was determined to put on the best show possible for Chrissie. There had been one brief disturbance. She had been in the middle of a complicated move—one of several she was trying out for the gym’s Christmas display—when someone was thrown out of the club. Chrissie had warned her this could happen, but had also reassured her that security was tight for the girls, so Isla had nothing to worry about.

At the gym Isla was always lost in her routine, but tonight her attention kept wandering, mainly because of the man who had come to lean against a pillar to stare at her. All the men were staring at her, but he was watching with particular intent.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about him. He was exotic-looking and powerfully built, but unthreatening, possibly because he possessed an unusual air of dignity and presence. Tall and dark, he was beautifully dressed. His crisp white shirt provided a striking contrast to his exquisitely tailored dark suit, and links that might have been black diamonds glittered at his cuffs. As he obviously wasn’t going anywhere she continued on with her routine.

She was safely back in her tiny dressing room when the knock came on the door. ‘Yes? Come in...’

She was halfway changed, with her jeans and boots on, and grabbed a robe to throw over her bra. She was expecting a visitor. One of the girls had promised to drop off Chrissie’s schedule for the next week.

‘Oh!’

Shooting out of her seat when she saw the man, she backed instinctively against the wall with fear lapping over her. It was an old fear, but no less severe for being a haunting memory from the past. One, thankfully failed, sexual assault had left Isla with an instinctive fear of men. That it had happened after her mother’s funeral when her emotions were strung out had made the fall-out all the keener. Dragging in a shaking breath, she reminded herself that security was only a shout away.

‘Forgive me if I startled you,’ the man who had been leaning against the pillar murmured in a deep, intriguingly accented voice. ‘They said I’d find you here.’

She calmed herself, telling herself rationally that every man wasn’t out to hurt her. She also had to think about Chrissie, who depended on this job. She wasn’t going to make a fuss unless she had to.

And, if she had to, she could shout louder than most.

‘Can I help you?’ she demanded in a tone that sounded scratchy and tense. The man seemed to take up most of the available space in the small room, so there was nowhere else for him to be but close. He was a stunning-looking individual, not that that made it any easier to be alone with him.

‘I wanted to apologise for the disturbance to your act.’ His dark stare remained steady on her face. ‘A man was ejected from the club while you were dancing. You’re very good at your work, and I wanted to say how sorry I am for the interruption.’

‘Thank you.’ Smiling thinly, she reached for the door handle to show him out.

‘May I give you a lift home?’

Her eyes widened in shock. ‘Oh, no, thank you. I catch the bus. But, thank you for the offer.’

‘You catch the bus alone at night?’ he demanded, frowning.

His reaction brought a faint smile to her lips. ‘Public transport in London is quite safe. The bus drops me at my door.’

‘I see.’

He was still frowning, giving her the sense that this was a man who was used to being obeyed.

He might be a devastatingly good-looking individual with an air of command and a custom-made suit, but she was an independent woman who could look after herself.

‘So. No lift?’ he queried, raising a brow as if he thought he could change her mind.

‘No lift,’ she confirmed. She had a keen sense of self-preservation. She always had her bus fare home, and she would be using it tonight.

‘Perhaps I’ll see you again,’ he suggested.

‘Perhaps,’ she agreed lightly. Taking a firmer hold of the door handle, she swung the door wide and stood aside.

‘Goodnight, Isla.’

Alarm bells rang. ‘You know my name?’

His firm mouth slanted. ‘The manager told me when I asked to speak to you.’

Isla’s brain cogs whirred. The manager would not allow a customer near a girl without a very good reason. So what was this man’s excuse? Making an apology for a disturbance at the club? She didn’t think so.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded, feeling unsettled, as well as slightly annoyed by this blatant breach of club protocol.

Her question seemed to amuse him. ‘My friends call me Shaz.’

‘Goodnight, Shaz,’ she said pointedly.

She remained outside the door, pressed against the wall, wanting to keep some distance between them. The fact that he had made enquiries about her had only added to her unease—that and his sheer, brutal machismo.

‘Goodnight, Isla.’

His eyes had turned warm and humorous, prompting her to soften enough to say, ‘I’m glad you enjoyed the show.’

Her body tingled when he gave her one last appraising look. She was relieved he was leaving, and yet almost regretful knowing they would never meet again. When he rested his hands lightly on her upper arm, she gasped out loud, but he wasn’t done with her yet. Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against her cheek—first her right cheek and then the left.

Kissing on both cheeks was the usual greeting and leave-taking gesture in many countries across the world, she reminded herself as her heart went crazy, both with alarm, and something else.