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‘The office of the King never sleeps.’
‘What about the King himself? Does he sleep? Or is he superhuman?’ she asked, before she thought better of it. To be fair, she told herself, he looked superhuman enough to attest to the fact that sleep was a very minor impediment that could be overlooked at will.
A knock came on the door a moment later but, unlike before, no one entered. It became clear that whoever he’d summoned was waiting for his permission to enter. Permission he withheld as he stared at her for a long, charged moment.
‘You wish to discuss my sleep patterns, Miss Scott?’ The question was softly voiced, but the low rumble of his tone pulsed with a new, sensual danger that heated the blood in her veins.
Despite the shifting sands beneath her feet, Esme didn’t heed the warning. Esmeralda, she wanted to say. Call me Esmeralda. She bit off the urge at the last moment, blindly stabbing at another, more grounding question. ‘I wanted to discuss what you would do if I refused you come morning. If I say no, what then?’
Everything hardened. His eyes. His face. His body. In that moment, she became fully intimate with the reason he’d earned his moniker.
‘I would advise you against it because if you refuse, we will be having a very different conversation,’ he rasped.
She was gritting her teeth against the chill his words brought when the door opened and Fawzi entered. Despite the late hour, he was sharp-eyed and alert, his posture ramrod straight after bowing to his master. Without taking his eyes off her, Zaid spoke in low, firm tones to his private secretary, who nodded.
&
nbsp; ‘If you would come with me, Madam, your staff is waiting to escort you to your suite.’
Surprise helped her break the power of Zaid’s stare. ‘My staff?’
Fawzi tensed, once again perturbed at her direct address to him in his Sultan’s presence.
‘Each guest in the Royal Palace is assigned their own staff for the duration of their stay,’ Zaid supplied silkily. The timbre of his tone dared her to take umbrage with that.
Esme chose retreat instead, even though something inside her pinched in disappointment that their conversation was over. ‘Goodnight, Your Highness.’
As she turned to leave, she caught the mocking tilt of Zaid’s brow. She silently cursed the wave of heat that rose again, studiously keeping her face averted as she followed his private secretary to the door. The ripple of awareness down her spine told her Zaid’s sharp gaze stayed with her until she was out of view.
At which point, she once again experienced a plummeting of her mood. All that disappeared the moment she was faced with two women wearing varying expressions of curiosity. The older woman, dressed in a deep purple abaya and headscarf, was more successful at keeping her expression neutral than the younger woman, who stared at Esme with open interest.
‘This is Nashwa and her assistant, Aisha.’ Fawzi introduced them. ‘Nashwa is in charge of the guest suites in the south wing. I will leave you in their care.’
He hurried away, leaving an awkward little silence in his wake before Esme recalled that these two women most likely spoke English.
She attempted a small smile. ‘I apologise if you were woken up because of me.’
‘We are here to serve at His Highness’s pleasure,’ Nashwa replied, gesturing gracefully to one of the many well-lit corridors that led away from Zaid’s office. ‘No command will ever be too great.’
Aisha nodded enthusiastically, smiling as she cast a furtive glance at Esme.
‘Well, thank you, all the same,’ Esme said.
Nashwa nodded, the soft fall of her gown brushing the floor as she led the way at a brisk pace.
Esme couldn’t help her gasp at first sight of the elegant salmon-pink and rose-gold room she’d been allocated.
The highly polished marble floor flowed from the doorway and into the large living room. Just before the gorgeously upholstered set of sofas arranged on a Persian rug, the largest bouquet of flowers she’d ever seen had been arranged in a giant vase atop a round console table made of black lacquered wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
‘The bedroom is this way, Madam,’ Nashwa urged in a soft voice.
Esme dragged her gaze from the white baby grand piano that adorned the room and followed through a smaller set of doors.
She barely managed to suppress another gasp as she was confronted with a king-sized bed whose carved posts were painted in swirling designs of pure rose gold. Muslin curtains fluttered in cascading drapes around the pristinely covered bed, while on either side, large Moroccan lamps glowed on twin bedside tables. Smaller bouquets holding long-stemmed exotic orchids sat on the tables and when she took a breath, Esme inhaled their delicate scent.
‘We took the liberty of unpacking for you, Madam. Aisha will help you with your night things or, if you prefer, we have provided you with alternative clothing.’
Following Nashwa’s direction, Esme spotted a set of lingerie folded neatly on the bed. She wasn’t aware she’d moved over the plush carpet until her fingers caressed the silk and lace concoction. The slip was short and similarly styled to the one she owned but with a matching robe and made of far more expensive material than her own.
