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“You think I can’t handle myself around a woman the size of a Lmeni?” He joked, referring to a mythical desert fairy rumoured to be no taller than three feet.
“She is no Lmeni,” Marook said. “She is an English woman. A single mother who works in a lowly administrative job.”
Ra’if’s eyebrows lifted; his gaze was ice-cold as it locked to Marook’s face. “And you know this how?”
Marook’s expression offered no apology. “Following the mugging, I looked into her connection
s. To be sure…”
“Yes, well,” Ra’if said with a shake of his. “She wouldn’t like that.”
“Her preferences are of no interest to me.”
Ra’if stood, and he was pure ruler. Confident, arrogant, authoritative. “My preferences, however, are. Leave it be, Marook. She is harmless. Someone I want to get to know. Allow me to do so without the restraints of royalty. She does not know I am a Sheikh, and I would like to leave it that way, for now.”
CHAPTER THREE
She straightened her fitted sweater over the waistband of her jeans. It was the third outfit she’d tried on and none of them did a thing to improve her gnawing sense of anxiety. Nothing would ease that, she knew, except for getting it over with.
Why had she agreed to this?
What had possessed her?
She didn’t date for a reason. And that Reason was snoring softly in the room next door. She tiptoed to his door and spied in. One arm was thrown up above his head, the other spread wide across the bed. His favourite teddy, Mr Brown, was curled in the crook of his arm.
A smile shifted across her features. He was so like Brent. With the exception of those cheek dimples – that were squarely from her – he was the spitting image of his father.
Brent.
Another day of trying to find him had led nowhere. He’d disappeared off the face of the earth. All she could hope was that he was okay. When she let her mind wander to what might be happening, she was filled with a bone-deep grief. Jordan deserved a chance to know his father, but not as he was now. As the man he had been once. Smart, driven, funny.
The knock at the door startled Melinda out of her reverie. She swept through the apartment, checking it for child-debris one last time before wrenching the door inwards.
And immediately taking a step backwards, into her apartment.
She’d thought of him all day but she hadn’t really thought of him. Of what he looked like, to be precise. So that, faced with his masculine magnetism now, she was totally knocked off balance. Her eyes clashed with his and her heart raced so loudly she was sure he’d be able to hear it.
“You’re wearing a suit.” A frown line formed between her eyes.
He grinned, nodding. “Yes. I came from work.”
“Right.” Her mouth was dry. She swallowed in a failed attempt to moisten it. The suit was dark. Jet black, and his shirt was a crisp white. He wore no neck tie; and the buttons that might have been done up to his throat had been loosened, the top two were undone altogether to reveal a thick column of neck and a sprinkling of coarse dark hair.
She stared at the tanned expanse of skin, her mind turning to mush.
“I’m happy to eat out here, but we might be more comfortable inside,” he teased after another wordless moment had sparked between them.
Her cheeks flushed as she nodded and moved further into her flat.
He followed, pushing the door shut behind him. It was then that she realised, belatedly, his hands were full.
“Oh. Let me help with something.”
He pulled a hand from behind his back and extended a bunch of flowers. Melinda gasped when she saw that he held holly and ivy in a large bunch, with a golden ribbon tied around the stems to keep the arrangement together.
“It’s very festive,” she murmured, her heart turned over at the gesture.
“Something told me you’d like that,” he responded with a wink.
