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Tucked away at the far end of the last shelf, and quite different from the rest, sat a small group of slim leather bound volumes. She peered closer, trying to make out their titles, but became aware of a sudden stillness from the figure on the other side of the desk.
Khaled was listening to his caller, but she knew from his frown that the look of censure was meant for her. What? Was she supposed to stare meekly at her feet until he deigned to speak to her?
He swivelled his chair away, laying his free hand flat along the desktop as he continued his conversation. The sleeves of his close-fitting white shirt were rolled up, revealing muscled forearms covered in fine dark hair. The solid links of the gold watch clasped about his wrist enhanced the lean strength of his hands. Strong hands that she knew could be so gentle.
Lily absently twirled a lock of her hair, remembering how he’d tended to the cuts on her leg. Remembering the warmth of his palm wrapped about her calf, the glide of his fingers as they secured the bandages to her shin. What if he’d gone higher? Over her knee...along her thigh—?
‘Good morning.’
She jumped. The phone call had ended while she’d been busy fantasising about him. Furious with herself—she didn’t evenlikehim—she lifted her chin and offered a frosty, ‘Hello.’
His expression was equally cool. ‘I’m returning some of the possessions you lost the other night,’ he said, beckoning to Sabir.
On the desk, the secretary placed the beaded evening clutch that she’d last seen hurtling into the rose bed beneath Khaled’s balcony. Remarkably, it looked none the worse for its adventure. No scuffs, no dirt. She opened it. No phone or anything else of real use either.
‘If you were wondering, you’ve had no messages or calls from your stepbrother,’ Khaled told her. ‘Neither has he responded to any we’ve tried to send or make to him.’
‘I was supposed to message him when I left the party. He’ll have worked out I’m with you. He won’t get in touch. He’ll know you’ll try to trace him. But I should call my flatmates. They’ll be worried.’
‘They’ve already been reassured that you’re safe. They were most impressed that you’re a guest of the Nabhani royal family.’
‘They wouldn’t be if they knew the truth,’ she muttered, rummaging through the remaining contents of the bag.
Her wallet was still there, though her bankcards were missing. All that was left was the folded tote she’d planned to use for Nate’s laptop, an expired train ticket, and the money she’d kept for her taxi home the evening of the charity event.
No phone. No cards and a pitiful amount of cash.
Khaled wasn’t taking any chances.
‘I was wondering what you will do when you return to England?’
She glanced up. The question had thrown her.
‘Look for work,’ she said. ‘I need to support myself as soon as possible.’
‘I see. Perhaps it’s a little indelicate to ask, but how much money do you have?’
‘Enough savings to cover two months’ rent and living expenses. Three if I’m careful.’ Where was he going with this?
‘Three months? That’s all?’
He sounded appalled. It wasn’t her fault she hadn’t been able to save much. Edward Marchant’s fortunes had been ailing for years—so, too, had the allowance he’d begrudgingly paid her.
‘And after that?’
‘I guess I’m on the street if I don’t find a job,’ she replied tartly. How was this any of his business?
‘What about the provision your parents made for you in their wills? They both had personal wealth.’
‘Whatever money there was, my mother signed over to Edward Marchant.’
‘All of it?’
‘My dad left everything to my mum. I guess he thought she’d take care of me.’
His snort told her what he thought of that decision. ‘So your mother’s poor judgement means your inheritance is lost?’
He seemed so angry. A secret, silly part of her was thrilled that he might be genuinely concerned for her. Who’d ever cared enough to get angry on her behalf before?
