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This is a professional establishment. They are not our friends. They are guests at the most exclusive hotel in the world.
But that wasn’t the only reason she was resisting his invitation.
He was too much. Too charming, too handsome, too completely masculine, and if her first, epic failure of a marriage had taught her anything, it was that men who were too handsome for their own good were not to be trusted.
‘I insist.’ His words cut through her hesitations, because, ultimately, he was asking her to join him for tea and surely that was within her job description? What the guests wanted, the guests got—within reason.
‘I don’t see how that will help you sleep,’ she reminded him, gently.
His expression was like a whip cracking. ‘Are you refusing?’
Panic had her shaking her head.
Keep the guest happy, at all costs.
‘Of course not, sir.’ She was already walking through the room, towards the sofas. Only one cup had been on the tray—besides, she didn’t feel like persimmon tea. But she took a seat near the tray, her hands clasped neatly in her lap. And she waited for him to speak, her nerves stretching tighter and tighter with every silent beat that passed.
‘Good.’ His nod showed approval but it was hardly relaxing. The differences in their situations were apparent in every way. He was a king, his country renowned for its natural source of both oil and diamonds, making it hugely prosperous, with a chequered history of power-play as foreign forces sought to control both these natural resources for their own financial gain. Perhaps that explained the natural sense of power that exuded from every pore of his; he was a man born to rule a country that required a strong leader.
‘Would you like a tea?’
‘I think it would be rude to refuse,’ she said quietly, but he heard, if the quirk of his brow was anything to go by.
‘I have no interest in force-feeding you drinks native to my country. Would you prefer something else? Room service?’
The idea of anyone else seeing her sitting on the sofa talking to the Sheikh was impossible to contemplate.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re sitting there as though you’re half afraid I’m going to bite you.’
A small smile lifted Daisy’s mouth. ‘How should I be sitting, sir?’
He took the seat opposite, his own body language relaxed. His legs, long and muscled, were spread wide, and he lifted one arm along the back of the sofa. He looked so completely at home here, in this world of extreme luxury. That was hardly surprising, given he’d undoubtedly been raised in this kind of environment.
‘However you would usually sit,’ he prompted.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, the words quizzical rather than apologetic. ‘It’s just this has never happened before.’
‘No?’
‘My job is to provide for your every need without actually being noticed.’
At that, his eyes flared wider, speculation colouring his irises for a heart-racing moment. ‘I’m reasonably certain it would be impossible for you to escape anyone’s notice.’
Heat rose in her cheeks, colouring them a pale pink that perfectly offset the golden tan of her complexion. She wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she stayed quiet.
‘Have you worked here long?’
She compressed her lips then stopped when his eyes followed the gesture, tracing the outline of her mouth in a way that made her tummy flip and flop.
‘A few years.’ She didn’t add how hard that had been for her—to finally accept that her long-held dream of attending the Juilliard was beyond reach, once and for all.
‘And always in this capacity?’
‘I started in general concierge.’ She crossed her legs, relaxing back into the seat a little. ‘But about six months later, I was promoted to this position.’
‘And you enjoy it?’
