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She took one last look around her, bidding farewell to the now familiar mountain range towering over the hangars and planes to the north of Milan’s Malpensa Airport. Already her life working with Gianfranco Bacelli seemed distant as she climbed the steps into the plane, a sense of excitement building in her veins at this new adventure that not even the too-close proximity of the sheikh at her back could dispel.
He liked what she was wearing, the soft rose-coloured fabric of her dress contrasting with the blue of her eyes and her dark-gold hair, and the style was feminine without being flowery. But what he liked best was the way it moulded to her shape, showing off the roundness of her behind invitingly as she climbed the stairs.
In her wake her clean scent, a hint of perfume, light and summery, was a refreshing relief from the fume-laden air. She smelled fresh and ripe, with not a trace of the fear she’d projected when he’d offered the commission. There was something though—a wariness? Certainly her comment on greeting him had been nothing short of a challenge.
So, she suspected there was more to him than met the eye, yet still she was here. The woman had courage. So much the better. He liked nothing better than a challenge himself.
His eyes followed her progress upwards. It was a long time since he’d had a woman. Too long. He could feel the ache building even now as he watched her ascend, the natural roll of her hips accentuating the curve to her slim waist. Much, much too long.
But he could wait four weeks for this one.
She would be worth it.
And she would be his.
The Gulfstream V took off smoothly and ate up the miles through the air with a five-star efficiency that mirrored its internal opulence. Sapphy nestled into the soft leather upholstery of the armchair, taking a brief break from the preliminary sketches she was working on, knowing that she’d never look at air travel in quite the same way again.
The cabin had been fitted out to ensure the comfort of its passengers. The few seats were all large and luxurious, the dining setting where she was now sitting large enough for a silver-service menu, and to the rear was a business office complete with computer and fax facilities made possible by satellite-communication links. There were other rooms too, she could tell, closed off to the rear. Space, speed and luxury. Sheikh Khaled obviously travelled in style.
And so far he’d been the perfect host. He’d handled the outgoing formalities with aplomb, seen her settled and comfortable for their take-off and then he’d excused himself, retiring to the cockpit to talk to the pilot. Meanwhile the attentive stewards ensured she was supplied with everything she needed and more.
If this was a taste of how things would be in Jebbai, she had nothing at all to fear from Sheikh Khaled. Just as she’d rationalised, he would have plenty enough to keep him occupied and she’d need hardly ever see him.
The cockpit door swung open and Sapphy’s eyes felt compelled to follow the movement. Khaled emerged and seemed to pause, mid-step, as his eyes met hers. Breath jagged in her chest as she saw something pass through them, something hot and hungry and real…
And then it was gone, and the corners of his mouth kicked up and he resumed his progress towards her. She turned her face back to her sketches, making random lines with her pencil, knowing the sudden burst of internal fire she was experiencing would be splashed vividly all over her face.
So much for feeling relaxed.
Then his hand was on her shoulder and her pencil jerked in her fingers as every muscle inside her clamped shut.
‘Lovely,’ he said, close enough to her ear as he bent down to look at her sketches that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek and there was no way he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart. She didn’t dare glance sideways—he was too close, way too close.
She licked her lips, trying to focus on the sketches. ‘They’re just some rough ideas at this stage, but I was wondering if you have any idea which kind of style you think your bride will prefer? I don’t even have a clue as to her measurements yet, so some of these may not be appropriate.’
He stayed silent for a few seconds, seconds where his hand remained on her shoulder and his breath curled against her skin. Seconds that dragged long and interminable.
‘I like this one,’ he said at last, pointing with his free hand to a graceful princess-line dress, scooped over the shoulders and neck and falling to a full skirt with cleverly designed pleats that revealed a complementary underskirt. ‘What do you think?’
From her peripheral vision she knew he’d turned and was looking at her, waiting for her response. She breathed in, licked her lips and nodded. That particular design was her own personal favourite from the half-dozen scattered over the table. It was elegant, stunning in its simplicity, and yet regal enough for a princess.
