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Tariq closed his eyes. Wasn’t it frustrating that a split-second decision could impact so dramatically on your life? If he hadn’t been beguiled by a pair of blue eyes and a dynamite body then he wouldn’t be facing the rather grim prospect of being stuck in some remote cottage with his assistant for a week.
‘I went for dinner with a woman,’ he said.
‘No—’ Isobel started to say something and then changed her mind, but Tariq seized on her swallowed words like a cat capturing a mouse.
His thick lashes parted by a fraction. ‘No what, Izzy?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh, but it does,’ he answered stubbornly.
‘I was about to say no change there. You having dinner with a woman is hardly remarkable, Tariq. Blonde, was she?’
‘Actually, she was.’ Reluctantly, his lips curved into a smile. Sometimes Izzy was so damned sharp he was surprised she didn’t cut herself. Maybe that was what less attractive women did—they made up for their shortcomings by developing a more sophisticated sense of humour. ‘But she wasn’t all she seemed to be.’
‘Not a transvestite, I hope?’
‘Very funny.’ But despite the smile which her flippant comment produced Tariq was irritated with himself. He had been stressed out, and had intended to relax by playing poker until the small hours. He hadn’t really been in the mood for any kind of liaison, or the effort of chatting someone up. But the woman had been very beautiful, and he’d found himself inviting her for a late dinner. And then she had started to question him. Wanting to know the kind of things which suggested that she might have done more than a little background research on him.
Tariq had some rules which were entirely his own.
He didn’t like being interrogated.
He didn’t trust people who knew too much about him.
And he never slept with a woman on a first date.
At heart, he was a deeply old-fashioned man, with plenty of contradictory values. For him sex had always been laughably easy—yet he didn’t respect a woman who let him too close, too soon. Especially as he had a very short attention span when it came to the opposite sex. He liked the slow burn of anticipation—to prolong the ache of desire until it became unbearable. So when the blonde had made it very clear that she was his for the taking—some primitive sense of prudery had reared its head. Who wanted something which was so easily obtained? With a jaded yawn, he had declined her offer and reached for his jacket.
And that was when the woman’s story had come blurting out. It seemed that it hadn’t been fate which had brought her into his life, but cunning and subterfuge.
‘She was a journalist,’ he bit out. He’d been so angry with himself because he hadn’t seen through her flimsy cover. Furious that he had fallen for one of the oldest tricks of all. He’d stormed out, wondering if he was losing his touch, and for those few seconds when his attention had wandered so had his powerful sports car. ‘She wanted the inside story on the takeover bid,’ he finished.
Isobel shrugged as her little car took a bend in the road. ‘Well, if you will try and buy into the Premier League, what do you expect? You know the English are crazy about football—and it’s a really big deal if some power-hungry Sheikh adds a major team to his portfolio.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being hungry for power, Izzy.’
‘Only if it becomes addictive,’ she countered.
‘You think I’m a power junkie?’
‘That’s not for me to say.’
His black eyes narrowed. ‘I notice you didn’t deny it, though.’
‘I’m glad you’re paying attention to what I say, Tariq.’
With a small click of irritation, he attempted, without much success, to stretch his legs. Some lurid looking air-freshener in the shape of a blue daisy hung from the driving mirror and danced infuriatingly in front of the windscreen. Other than the occasional childhood ride on a camel in his homeland, he could never remember enduring such an uncomfortable form of transport as this. Rather longingly, he thought about the dented bonnet of his smooth and gleaming sports car and wondered how long before it would be roadworthy again.
‘Is your cottage as cramped as your car?’ he demanded.
‘You don’t like my car?’
‘Not really. I don’t like second-hand cars which don’t go above fifty.’
‘Then why don’t you give me a pay raise?’ she suggested sweetly. ‘And I’ll buy myself a newer one.’
For a moment Tariq acknowledged the brief flicker of discord which made his pulse quicken. Wasn’t it strange how a little tension between a man and a woman could instantly begin to heat a man’s blood and make him start thinking of...
