Never Seduce a Sheikh (International Bad Boys Book 2) (5 page)

For a start, she hated the dress she wore. Responding to her concerned queries as to appropriateness, her personal shopper had assured her that Dahar’s court was very western these days and the outfit would be perfect for a cocktail function there. But although it was elegant, it was also far too revealing for Lily’s liking and left far too much skin on show. But she wore it anyway, because she refused to allow the feelings of exposure and vulnerability to have power over her.

Except, for some reason, she hadn’t felt either of those things out by the fountain when the Sheikh of Dahar had looked at her. Strange. Because Dan had looked at her the way Isma’il had. Oh, not when he’d first been her coach. But later, soon after she’d turned sixteen. His eyes had lingered on her whenever she’d pulled herself out of the pool, following the line of her body. She’d hated it.

She should have hated Isma’il’s gaze too. Especially considering the edge of darkness that had bled into those turquoise eyes of his, a glimpse of something dangerous underneath that charming exterior. Was that darkness an echo of his violent father? The whisper of Sheikh Khalid’s brutality in his son?

A shiver went through her. Because, though that darkness was frightening, she also found it utterly compelling. Like confronting a beautiful tiger, knowing it could rip you to shreds at any second, yet wanting to touch the softness of its fur anyway.

Electricity whispered over her skin, a strange burst of fizzing excitement igniting in her blood. She didn’t understand her response.

Lily shook her head. She didn’t want to think about that. Or Dan either. Not now. Not here. She wasn’t that naïve sixteen year old girl, who thought all men were as trustworthy and as wonderful as her father. Not any longer. She was armored now. Invulnerable.

The crowd shifted around her as Isma’il introduced her to yet another group of hostile looking men. He didn’t stand too close to her, yet the physical awareness of him that had begun in the limo that morning only seemed to heighten.

Since this was a western function, he wore western dress. A tuxedo. The black suited him. He was a compelling presence, dominating the room with an intoxicating mixture of authority and outright charm, and it was clear his people viewed him with a respect bordering on awe.

Lily tried to keep her mind on what she was doing and not let herself get distracted by him.

She’d reviewed the information on Dahar’s business customs that afternoon before the function, and her father had given her a couple of pointers in his phone call, plus a healthy dose of encouragement. But, flirting and charming men didn’t come naturally to her. For the past six months she’d been the CEO, taking charge, giving orders, dealing with issues or problems in an authoritative manner, because she couldn’t afford to look indecisive or weak.

Standing around making polite conversation made her impatient to get to the business at hand and she had to fight her natural tendency to hurry things along.

“So what does your husband think of all this?” One elderly robed minister asked her in excellent, cultured English.

“I’m not married.” She could feel Isma’il’s sharp blue gaze on her. It made her want to grasp at the edges of the suit jacket she wasn’t wearing.

“Not married?” The man looked shocked. “But you are a beautiful girl. Why not?”

Lily quashed her instinctive irritation at the term ‘girl.’ She wanted to tell him that in fact she never intended to marry, that the company was all she needed. But the Daharans revered marriage and such a response wouldn’t be what the sheikh would be looking for she guessed.

She smiled at the minister. Tried to make it genuine. Tried to be ‘charming.’ “Thank you. Perhaps, it’s just because I haven’t found the right man yet.”

This prompted a round of smiles from the little circle of men.

“You would need a strong man, I think,” said one, nodding meaningfully. “In Dahar we have many such men.”

Flirt with them. Charm them.

Such behaviour went against ten years of being one of the boys. Making herself an equal. Making herself into a man to overcome the disadvantage of her femininity in a male dominated industry. And it was a disadvantage. A very big disadvantage.

Keeping her smile firmly in place, Lily made an effort. “Yes I can see that. Perhaps there are a few potential candidates in this very room.”

They laughed at this and she became conscious of a small feeling of triumph. Maybe this wasn’t so hard after all.

“If I was not already married I might put myself forward,” the minister said with a wink. “You are a prize indeed, Miss Harkness.”

Her fingers tightened on her purse as she fought the urge to correct the Miss. “If you were not already married, I might let you.”

More laughter.

One of the other ministers nodded his head at Isma’il. “Have you thought about this one for a sheikha, your Highness? A strong woman like this would be an asset.” He smiled. “And her company wouldn’t be a disadvantage either.”

Lily stiffened, as a weird shock went down her spine. Isma’il’s sheikha?

“I’m sure Ms. Harkness has far better things to do than be my sheikha, Jalil,” Isma’il said, nothing but cool amusement in his tone.

The man frowned. “Oil is not the only way to make Dahar strong, sire. We need—”

Isma’il said something in Arabic, something low and soft that cut the man off sharply. “Forgive me, my friends,” he went on in English. “But Ms. Harkness has many others she needs to meet this evening.”

Strong fingers curled around her upper arm. The touch so unexpected that all the air seemed to vanish from her lungs. For long seconds, she was conscious of nothing but his hand on her, so hot. Like a brand.

Beside her, Isma’il shifted and suddenly she felt overwhelmed by a dizzying rush of sensation. The warmth of his body. The seductive scent of him. The heated touch of his fingers . . .

Dan’s voice whispering in her ear. “C’mon, let’s celebrate, Lil. I got you that medal, remember. Don’t I deserve a little something?” Then the sour taste of champagne as his mouth crushed hers, knocking her teeth against her lip. The champagne taste turning metallic as blood filled her mouth. His hand reaching for her breast.

Lily jerked her arm out of Isma’il’s hold, taking a couple of stumbling steps away from him before she could stop herself. Her skin crawled, the taste of blood lingering in her mouth.

A little pool of silence surrounded her and she realized that the circle of men were staring at her in some surprise. Then, they all looked at their sheikh.

The tension drew almost unbearably tight.

Isma’il’s expression was opaque, but she knew her lapse had angered him. She didn’t know why, but could sense it burning in the depths of his turquoise eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said into the tense silence, her voice hoarse. “I’m a little tired. Must be jetlag.”

“Why don’t you go and sit down, Ms. Harkness.” Isma’il’s voice was smooth. “Recover yourself. I’ll join you in a moment.” An order delivered with a dangerous edge.

Too shaken to argue, she turned towards one of the couches covered in richly colored silk that stood in the ballroom’s many alcoves. Her legs felt shaky, her heart beating fast. As she walked, she cursed. Cursed herself. Cursed her memory. And most especially, her weakness. Her female weakness.

*     *     *

Isma’il did not
look in Lily’s direction, but he could feel the weight of history pressing down on him. Could see it in the gazes of his ministers, in the fear and wariness in their eyes. The weight of his father’s reign, the legacy of the violence that had always lingered in his court.

Lily had pulled away so sharply they would think her afraid of him. The way everyone had been afraid of Khalid. It showed just how deep the legacy of his father’s cruelty went that their first reaction was one of fear.

But anything he said about now it would sound defensive, which would be a mistake. He still didn’t even know what he’d done to prompt such a reaction. A hand on her arm, that was it.

The warmth of her skin lingered on his fingertips. It made a nice change from the slick feeling of blood that had seemed to seep into them of late.

He spoke with his ministers a few minutes longer, presenting the charm, allaying their unvoiced fears with his calm manner.

Then, he turned to where Ms. Lily Harkness sat on the couch in one of the alcoves.

She could not react to him like that again. He didn’t want people to look at him the way they’d looked at Khalid. With fear in their eyes. He wanted to be different. He
was
different.

Her head lifted as he approached and their eyes met, tension pulling tight between them.

“What happened?” he asked bluntly.

“It’s nothing.” She glanced down to the little gold purse that sat in her lap, fussing with the contents. “Like I said. Jetlag.”

Isma’il had to quell the urge to reach down, take her chin in his hand and force her head back so he could see the look on her face. See what was going on in her eyes.

“Ms. Harkness—”

“Shall we continue?”

A dull anger began to throb inside him. He wanted to know why she’d pulled away. Why her face had gone so pale. Was it his touch? Or had it been something else? And why did she insist it was jetlag? Because whatever it was, it had nothing whatsoever to do with jetlag.

But forcing the issue here would not be appropriate. He had other people he wanted her to meet. Factions more hostile to the idea of oil drilling than the previous ministers had been. Arguing about something as minor as a brief stumble would be wasting time.

“By all means,” he said coolly. “Are you quite recovered?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She was all self-possession now. As if she hadn’t torn herself away from him like he’d burnt her. For some reason, this didn’t do anything for his temper.

However, meeting the rest of the ministers went off without a hitch. Lily’s impatience when the usual questions about her family and her husband began was far less obvious. Her smile became freer, the attempts at charm less awkward. But when the talk eventually turned to business, she was like a shark to blood in the water. Sharp, astute, authoritative, confident.

She may not have had her father’s gift for small talk and charm, but when it came to business she was just as impressive. Not at all the princess he’d been expecting. And his ministers were impressed too, he could see that.

The desert people were, of course, a different story, but tonight had proved she could handle herself with his government. Perhaps she could handle the desert too.

As she talked to one of his father’s ex-advisors, leader of one of the more vocal factions against the issue of oil rights and not shy about voicing his opinions, Isma’il found himself studying her. The old man was rude, but Lily handled him without raising her voice or being rude in return. Poised and confident. Nothing seemed to faze her.

Yet, when he’d touched her earlier she’d been fazed. Her poise had shattered completely.

The dull anger that burned inside him became a little sharper. Perhaps she thought he was like Khalid. That he would be the kind of man who dealt out random violence the way his father had.

If so, this could be a problem. Khalid’s brutality had left all of Dahar’s people scarred, including the desert tribes, and to take a woman potentially frightened of him into the desert, could put at risk all the work he’d put into proving that he was a different kind of ruler. A risk he couldn’t afford to take. He wanted to heal his country, not entrench old fears.

Perhaps it was time he conducted a small experiment.

Isma’il moved closer to Lily. As she finished talking to the minister, Isma’il allowed his hand to rest for a moment at the small of her back, guiding her on towards the next group. Instantly, her spine stiffened, her whole posture rigid with tension. She said nothing and her guard did not break this time. But he could feel her trying to surreptitiously arch away from his hand.

He let his palm drop and watched her shoulders relax.

So, for some reason his touch made her tense. Affected her in some way. Made her want to get away from him.

His anger knotted inside him. She
was
afraid. And he would bet all Dahar’s oil on the fact that it had something to do with Khalid’s reputation.

“You find my touch disagreeable, Ms. Harkness?” he murmured in her ear as they moved through the crowd of people.

She didn’t turn her head or falter she side-stepped a passing waiter. “Your touch? I’m not sure I follow you, your Highness.”

“I put my hand on your back and you stiffened.”

Lily smiled and nodded as someone raised a hand in greeting. “I’m sure you were mistaken.”

Did she think this was a game? If so, he was more than happy to play it. As they stopped to speak to another couple of people, Isma’il deliberately let his hand rest on her shoulder as he introduced her. Her bare shoulder.

Lily’s voice hitched. With a subtle shift of her body, she shrugged his hand off her. Their audience didn’t appear to notice the movement but he did. Oh yes, he did.