Definitely an upper-class playboy.

Though his olive skin and amber-coloured eyes were just a touch too exotic for him to be English. 

‘I really shouldn’t b—’ Lily began as he opened the French doors, guided her onto the balcony and closed the doors behind them. 

‘Shh.’ He placed his forefinger against her lips, his touch gentle yet firm enough to tell her he meant it. No more protesting. 

And then he held her gaze and traced the tip of his forefinger across her lower lip. The lightest, sheerest contact—and yet Lily couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. There was something compelling about him, something that drew her to him. From the look in his eyes, she had a feeling it was exactly the same for him. 

Instant attraction.

Spark to a flame. 

A single touch would be enough to ignite it.

She should leave now.

But for the life of her she couldn’t walk away.

TO TAME A PLAYBOY

Hot, sexy, and double the pleasure!

Modern Heat™ introduces Kate Hardy’s

new playboy duet

Look out for

PLAYBOY BOSS, PREGNANCY OF PASSION

Coming in May 2009 from Mills & Boon ® Modern Heat ™

Praise for rising star author

Kate Hardy:

About BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S, winner of  the Romance Novelists’ Association Romance prize  2008

‘BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S is simply terrific! Sexy, funny, tender, passionate and romantic, this engrossing tale features a loveable heroine and a gorgeous Italian hero who will make you swoon! Kate Hardy is a writer readers can count on in order to deliver an entertaining page-turner which they will devour in a single sitting, and BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S is certainly no exception!’

—www.cataromance.com

About ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY

‘Hardy’s ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY is a terrificattraction-at-first-sight story. He’s hot, sexy and vulnerable, and she’s patient because in the end she knows he’ll be worth it.’

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

‘Romantic fiction does not get any better than this! Fresh, funny, heartwarming and absolutely unputdownable, ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY is vintage Kate Hardy! Featuring a lovely heroine, a gorgeous hero, sizzling sexual tension, an adorable cast of secondary characters and steamy romance, ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY is the perfect book to curl up with on a cold winter night!’

—www.cataromance.com

Kate Hardy lives on the outskirts of Norwich with her husband, two small children, a dog—and too many books to count! She wrote her first book at age six, when her parents gave her a typewriter for her birthday. She had the first of a series of sexy romances published at twenty-five, and swapped a job in marketing communications for freelance health journalism when her son was born, so she could spend more time with him. She’s wanted to write for Harlequin Mills & Boon since she was twelve—and when she was pregnant with her daughter, her husband pointed out that writing Medical™ Romances would be the perfect way to combine her interest in health issues with her love of good stories. Now Kate has also ventured into Modern Heat™ Romance too, and SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH is her ninth novel for this series. Kate is always delighted to hear from readers—do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com

Kate Hardy’s latest Medical™ Romance title, THE CHILDREN’S DOCTOR’S SPECIAL PROPOSAL, is also available this month from Mills & Boon ®

Also by this author:

HOTLY BEDDED, CONVENIENTLY WEDDED

SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER

ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY

BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S

Kate Hardy’s Medical™ Romance duet—The London Victoria : 

THE CHILDREN’S DOCTOR’S SPECIAL PROPOSAL

THE GREEK DOCTOR’S NEW-YEAR BABY

Dear Reader

There’s something about a playboy. It’s the charming smile, the sexy glint in their eyes, the fact that they know how to have fun… And I had enormous fun writing the To Tame a Playboy duo. 

Starting with my very first sheikh, in SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH. I’d had a yen to write a sheikh book for ages. So I pitched it to my ed. The deal was: no sand and no robes. So Karim’s a very modern sheikh. One who’s spent half his life in England. He’s tall, dark and handsome—and, being a Kate Hardy hero, he’s also clever and has a big heart. (Actually, that could also describe Luke, the hero in the second of the duo—Luke is Karim’s best friend, and has a completely different background, but he’s just as much of a playboy.) 

Both Karim and Luke are strong. They’re in command (of a country and a company respectively); they’re movers and shakers in their world, respected by everyone who works with them; they work just as hard as they play. Both of them enjoy a challenge, and both of them have a personal set of rules—rules which their heroines recognise are holding them back from their full potential, because they’re rules which stop Karim and Luke from giving their heart to anyone. 

And so we have Lily and Sara, who proceed to break those rules and show Karim and Luke that they can indeed have it all—with the love of their life right by their side. 

I hope you enjoy reading their stories as much as I enjoyed writing them! 

With love 

Kate Hardy

For Liz Fielding—

whose friendship I appreciate as much as her books

(and her gorgeous sheikhs!)—with love

SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH

by

KATE HARDY

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘THANK you so much for your time, Your Highness.’ The journalist was practically curtseying to him. Something Karim really, really hated.

But he managed to stay polite. ‘No problem. Nice to meet you.’ He was aware that he was wearing just as false a mask as the journalist was.

No doubt she thought she had some great quotes to use in a diary piece. This was the kind of party that always made the gossip columns—high-level people from the business world, politicians and hotshot brokers and a sprinkling of actors and pop stars.

And he knew exactly what the spin was going to be where he was concerned. That His Royal Highness Karim al-Hassan had been partying hard, with a champagne reception every day for the last week and languorous lunch engagements that started before midday and never finished before three.

Five years ago, they might’ve been right. He’d partied with the best of them. Burned the candle at both ends.

But now…it was old news. Though in some respects it suited him—people were nowhere near as guarded with him when they thought he was just out for fun, a charming and sophisticated dilettante.

What the newspapers all missed was that Karim’s glass usually held sparkling mineral water rather than gin and tonic. That he had a retentive memory and didn’t need to make notes—he could recall every detail of a meeting and follow it up with letters or reports as necessary. And none of them had any idea that when he left a lunch meeting or a party, he’d be working on complicated figures or reading reports from focus groups until the early hours.

Since his father had entrusted him with such an important task—developing tourism and foreign investment in Harrat Salma—Karim had been more businessman than playboy. He’d done the research, met the right people, made the right contacts, written his business plans. And now he needed to make the most of it. He’d set up a series of meetings with people he knew would bring in investment that would help create more jobs, better infrastructures and the chance to develop sustainable energy sources in his country. All of which would help put Harrat Salma at the forefront.

Even as he chatted pleasantly among a group of people, smiling and making appropriate comments in the right places to show he’d been listening, Karim’s mind was working on his business plan. Though something nagged at him to turn round. Like a whisper in his head that wouldn’t go away.

Eventually, he gave in.

Turned round.

The woman across the other side of the room caught his attention immediately, despite the fact that she was clearly dressed to be invisible rather than to shine. Her hair was an ordinary brown, caught back at the nape. Her black shift dress was simple, elegant and very plain. Her shoes were low-heeled, rather than strappy high heels. She wore no jewellery, not even a watch. No make-up, unless she’d gone for the ‘barely there’ look that he knew from experience was incredibly high maintenance—though, given the rest of her appearance, he didn’t think so.

Odd.

She was the complete opposite of the women he usually dated. Given that she’d dressed to be ignored, he shouldn’t even have noticed her. Yet she was beautiful in her simplicity. And something about her drew him. As if there were some connection between them.

He’d never seen her before. He would’ve remembered her, he was sure. He had no idea who she was—but right at that moment he really wanted to know. And even though he was supposed to be networking, he could allow himself five minutes off. Just long enough to find out who she was and ask her out to dinner.

She was talking to Felicity Browne, the hostess. Karim quietly slipped away from the group and sauntered casually across the room towards the two women. When their conversation ended and she turned away, he quickened his pace slightly and intercepted her path. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello,’ she said politely.

She had a faint South London accent, he noticed. And up close he could see that her eyes were a serious, quiet grey-blue.

Serious and quiet. Definitely not like the women he usually dated.

‘You don’t have a drink,’ he said, shepherding her over towards a waiter bearing a tray of glasses.

‘Because I’m not really here,’ she said.

Although she was obviously aiming to sound cool and collected, Karim had trained himself to notice the little things—and he noticed that she was very slightly flustered.

Given that she’d been talking to Felicity, it was a fair bet that she was a member of Felicity’s staff. So it followed that she was probably worried about getting into trouble for hanging around at a party she really wasn’t dressed to attend—or invited to.

Well, he could fix that.

‘Let’s go somewhere quieter,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you a drink first.’

‘Thank you, but I don’t drink.’

‘Then have a mineral water.’ He took two glasses from the waiter’s tray and handed one to her. A quick check told him that the reporter had indeed left the party: good. Now he could relax. He tucked her free arm through his before heading for the French doors he knew led to a balcony.

Oh, help, Lily thought.

She’d only slipped into the room for a few moments—very quietly and discreetly—to check that Felicity was happy with everything. Then she’d intended to go straight back to the kitchen and sort out the puddings. She certainly hadn’t intended to let herself be waylaid like this.

Even if he was the most stunning man Lily had ever seen.

He was dressed like the rest of the male guests, in a dinner suit teamed with a white, wing-collar pleated-front shirt. His black silk bow tie was hand-tied rather than ready-made. A swift glance at his highly polished black shoes told her that they were handmade, and the cut of the suit was definitely made-to-measure rather than off-the-peg. Expensive made-to-measure, judging by the feel of the cloth against her fingers. Everything about him screamed class.

Well, it would. Felicity Browne was posh with a capital P, and her guests were the same.

Lily had met a few of them before—cooked for them, even—but she’d never met him. She would’ve remembered. He had the same accent as most of the men in the room—one she recognised as public school followed by Oxbridge—and his almost black hair was cut slightly too long with a fringe that flopped over his eyes. Definitely an upper-class playboy.

Though his olive skin and amber-coloured eyes were just a touch too exotic for him to be English.

‘I really shouldn’t b—’ she began again as he opened the French doors, guided her onto the balcony and closed the doors behind them.

‘Don’t worry. If Felicity says anything, I’ll tell her I kidnapped you and it wasn’t your fault,’ he reassured her.

‘But—’

‘Shh.’ He placed his forefinger against her lips, his touch gentle yet firm enough to tell her he meant it. No more protesting.

And then he held her gaze and traced the tip of his forefinger across her lower lip. The lightest, sheerest contact—and yet Lily couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. There was something compelling about him, something that drew her to him. From the look in his eyes, she had a feeling it was exactly the same for him.

Instant attraction.

Spark to a flame.

A single touch would be enough to ignite it.

She should leave now. If she acted on her heart instead of her head, it would be a disaster. She couldn’t afford the kind of gossip that would undoubtedly follow—gossip that would insidiously eat away at the foundations of the business she’d worked so hard to build, and bring it crashing down.

But, for the life of her, she couldn’t walk away.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked softly.

‘Lily.’

‘Karim,’ he introduced himself.

Exotic—and yet he had that very English accent. Intriguing. And she wanted to know more.

‘One question,’ he said softly. ‘Are you married, involved with anyone?’

She knew instinctively that if she said yes, he’d let her go. Then she could escape back to the kitchen. She actually considered lying to him; although dishonesty was something she usually despised, in this case she knew a white lie would be the most sensible course of action.

But her body wasn’t listening to her head. She gave the tiniest, tiniest shake of her head, and saw relief bloom in his expression. Followed quickly by a hunger that made her body tighten in response.

He put his glass down on the table, then took hers from her hand and placed it next to his, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on hers. He captured her hand and raised it to his mouth; as he kissed each fingertip in turn she couldn’t help her lips parting and her head tipping back slightly in offering.

He saw the invitation and took it, dipping his head so that his mouth just brushed her own. The lightest, sweetest, erotic whisper of skin against skin.

It wasn’t enough.

She needed more.

Much more.

She slid her arms round his neck, drawing his head back down to hers. Even as she did it she knew it was crazy. They’d barely spoken a word to each other. Had only just exchanged first names. She didn’t do things like this.

Yet here she was, kissing a complete stranger. A man she knew nothing about, except for his first name and the fact that he had the sexiest mouth she’d ever seen.

And then she stopped thinking as he deepened the kiss and her fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer. His hair felt clean and springy under her fingers and she could smell the exotic scent of his aftershave, a sensual mixture of bergamot and citrus and amber. Simply gorgeous.

In turn, his arms were wrapped round her, one hand resting on the curve of her buttocks and the other flat against her back, drawing her closer against his body. So close that she could practically feel his heart beating, a deep and rapid throb that matched her own quickening pulse rate.

She’d heard people talking about seeing stars when they kissed and had always thought it an exaggeration. Now she knew exactly what they were talking about. This was like nothing else she’d ever experienced: as if fireworks were going off inside her head.

When he finally broke the kiss, she was shaking with need and desire. Every nerve ending in her body was sensitised—and the sensation ratcheted up another notch when he traced a path of kisses along her jawbone to her ear lobe, and then another along the sensitive cord at the site of her neck. She shivered and arched against him; in response, he pulled her closer, close enough for her to feel his erection pressing against her belly. His palm flattened against her hip and stroked upwards, moulding her curves; when he cupped one breast, his thumb rubbing the hard peak of her nipple through the material of her dress, her knees went weak.

All her senses were focused on him. The tang of his aftershave, the more personal scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth on hers, the warmth of his hands through her clothes—a thin barrier that was suddenly way, way too thick for her liking. Right at that moment she really needed to feel his skin against hers. Soft and warm and incredibly sexy.

Then he went absolutely still. Lily opened her eyes and pulled back slightly, about to ask what was wrong, when she heard it, too.

The sound of a door closing.

People talking.

The chink of glasses.

Oh, Lord.

They weren’t alone on the balcony any more. And she’d been so lost in the way he was kissing her…No doubt she looked as dishevelled as he did, with mussed hair and a mouth that was slightly reddened and swollen with kisses, making it obvious what they’d just been doing.

This was a disaster.

But hopefully it was fixable.

At least they weren’t immediately in full sight; somehow while he’d been kissing her he’d managed to manoeuvre them behind one of the large potted palms at the side of the balcony, screening them from view.

Frantically, she smoothed her dress, removed the band keeping her hair tied and yanked her hair back into tight order. It was just as well they’d been interrupted, or who knew what they might have done?

She’d just broken every single one of her personal rules. Even though she’d hand-picked her staff and she knew they were perfectly capable of holding the fort, she should still have been there to oversee things and sort out any last-minute hitches. She was supposed to be working. And instead she’d let a complete stranger whisk her off to the balcony to kiss her stupid. She’d followed her libido instead of her common sense.

Had she really learned nothing from the wreck of her marriage?

Karim, too, was restoring order to his clothes.

‘I really have to go,’ she whispered, keeping her voice low so she wouldn’t be overheard by the others on the balcony.

‘Not yet,’ he said, his voice equally soft. He traced the fullness of her lower lip with his thumb. ‘Or I think both of us will be embarrassed.’

‘But we didn’t…’ Lily’s voice faded as a picture slammed into her mind—a picture of what would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted. A picture of him drawing the hem of her dress up around her waist while she undid his bow tie and opened his shirt. A picture of him lifting her, balancing her against the wall, and then his body fitting against hers, easing in and then—

‘Don’t,’ he warned huskily, and she saw his pupils dilate. No doubt her thoughts had shown in her eyes, and he was thinking something along exactly the same lines.

All he had to do was dip his head slightly and he’d be kissing her again. Tasting her. Inciting her to taste him, touch him in return. And, Lord, she wanted to touch. Taste. Feel him filling her.

She swallowed hard.

Whatever was wrong with her? She never, but never, turned into a lust-crazed maniac. For the last four years she’d been single and perfectly happy with that situation. She had no intention of getting involved again. But this man had drawn an instant response from her. Made her feel the way nobody had before.

Which, as he was a total stranger, was insane.

This shouldn’t be happening.

She only hoped the people who’d come out onto the balcony would go back into the main room again. The longer they had to stay behind the potted palm, the more embarrassing it would be when they finally emerged.

Again, his thoughts must have been in tandem with hers, because he said softly, ‘The French doors are the only way out. Unless you’re a gymnast in disguise and can launch yourself off the balcony onto a distant drainpipe, then shin down it.’

‘Hardly. And I haven’t been on a double-oh-seven training course,’ she said ruefully, ‘or I could’ve magicked a steel line from somewhere and clipped it onto the ironwork and we could both have abseiled down to the balcony beneath this one and escaped through the downstairs flat.’

‘Great idea.’ His eyes glittered with amusement. ‘I wonder if my watch…?’ He tapped it gently with his forefinger. ‘Sadly, no. It’s just a watch, I’m afraid. I didn’t do the double-oh-seven training course, either.’

His teasing smile was the sexiest thing Lily had ever seen, and she almost—almost—found herself reaching up to pull his head back down to hers. But she managed to keep herself under control. Just.

‘Looks like we’ll have to wait it out, then,’ she said quietly.

A wait that grew more and more awkward with every second; she didn’t dare meet his eyes, not wanting him to guess how much she wanted him to kiss her again.

But then, at last, the hubbub of voices on the other side of the potted palms grew quiet and finally died away, followed by the distinct sound of the balcony doors closing.

Alone again.

And although the feeling of danger should’ve vanished with the people who’d left the balcony, Lily discovered that it had actually increased.

‘Just for the record,’ she said, ‘I don’t do this sort of thing.’

He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I had intended just to introduce myself and ask you to have dinner with me.’

The ‘but’ hung in the air between them.

Instant attraction, that neither of them had been able to fight.

Oh, Lord.

What if there had been problems? What if someone had come looking for her in the space of time she’d been out here with Karim, failed to find her, panicked?

She couldn’t afford to do this. For her business’s sake.

‘I really do have to go,’ Lily said.

He took a pen and a business card from his pocket, and scribbled a number on the back of the card. ‘Call me,’ he said, handing the card to her.

It was more of a command than a question. Karim was clearly a man who was used to people doing what he told them to. Normally, the attitude would have annoyed her. But that connection between them, and the way he’d kissed her… This sort of thing didn’t happen every day. She had a feeling it had shaken him just as much as it had shaken her. And even though her head told her that this was a seriously bad idea, that relationships just messed things up and were more hassle than they were worth, her mouth had other ideas. ‘I’ll call you,’ she agreed softly.

He cupped her face briefly with one hand, the gesture cherishing. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay here for a few minutes. And if Felicity isn’t happy, text me and I’ll go and talk to her.’

And charm her out of a bad mood, no doubt, Lily thought wryly. Not that she was going to let him make excuses for her. If there was a problem, it was her responsibility and she’d deal with it. But she knew he’d meant well, so she smiled politely. ‘Thanks.’

As if he couldn’t help himself, he brushed his mouth over hers. ‘Later.’

And the promise in his voice sent another kick of desire through her.

CHAPTER TWO

‘LILY! Oh, thank God you’re back.’ Beatrice, her chief waitress, sounded heartfelt.

‘What’s…? Oh.’ Lily cut off the question, seeing Hannah, her assistant, clearing up a soggy mess from the floor. The bite-sized pavlovas topped with a slice of strawberry and a kiss of cream that she’d assembled fifteen minutes or so ago had turned into Eton Mess, splattered across the floor. The whole lot would have to go straight in the bin.

And now they were one large platter short of puddings.

Just as well that, knowing how easily meringues could shatter, Lily had brought extra to cover any breakages.

‘Can you whip me some cream, Hannah?’ she asked. ‘And, Bea, if you can wash up that platter, please?’ Meanwhile, she checked what she had left in the way of fruit. There weren’t enough strawberries to do a full platter of mini strawberry pavlovas, but she could add some lemon curd to half the cream and add a slice of kiwi fruit for contrasting colour.

‘I’m so sorry, Lily,’ Hannah said, looking tearful. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going, I tripped, and I—’

‘Hey, no use crying over spilt meringues,’ Lily interrupted with a smile. ‘It happens. I have spares. It’s fixable.’

‘But…’

‘It’s OK,’ Lily said, firmly yet gently. She knew exactly why Hannah was distracted. Hannah’s marriage was coming to a very messy end and the strain of trying to minimise the effects on her four-year-old daughter while trying to keep her life together was spilling over into her work. Not that Lily intended to read the Riot Act. Hannah, despite having a newborn, had been there for her when things had gone so badly wrong with Jeff. This was Lily’s chance to do the same for her friend.

Jeff.

A harsh reminder of exactly why Lily shouldn’t ring the number scribbled on the back of Karim’s business card. Relationships spelled trouble. They distracted you from your goals and made life difficult. Particularly when your judgement in men was so lousy that you trusted them completely and they took advantage of your naivety. Took everything, the way Jeff had. Crushing her self-respect, her pride and her bank account. The sense of betrayal, hurt and loss had been crushing. And someone as gorgeous as Karim would have women dropping at his feet—just like Jeff. OK, she knew that not all men were unfaithful, lying louses…but Jeff had hurt Lily enough to make her extremely wary of relationships.

Pushing both her ex-husband and the gorgeous stranger out of her mind, Lily applied herself to assembling another plateful of pavlovas.

Working rapidly, she moved on to filling tiny choux buns with the coffee liqueur mousse she’d made earlier and sent Hannah out with a tray of miniature chocolate muffins and Bea out with melon-ball-sized scoops of rich vanilla ice cream covered in white chocolate and served on a cocktail stick.

The platters all came back with just a couple of canapés left on each. Good. She’d judged the quantities just right: enough to leave Felicity’s guests replete but not enough to be wasteful. Years of having to struggle to pay off the overdraft Jeff had run up in her name—an overdraft he’d spent on his mistress—meant that Lily absolutely loathed waste. Quietly pleased, she concentrated on clearing up.

She’d just finished when Felicity Browne came in. ‘Lily, darling, that was stupendous.’

‘Thank you.’ Lily had learned not to protest that no, no, she was just average. There was no room for false modesty, in business. She wanted her clients to feel reassured that they’d made the right choice in using Amazing Tastes for their catering needs, and accepting their compliments helped to do that.

‘Those little choux buns…’ Felicity began wistfully.

Lily smiled, guessing exactly what Felicity wanted. ‘I’ll send you the recipe. And you don’t have to make the choux pastry if that’s a hassle for you. You can serve the mousse on its own, in little coffee cups—just garnish them with a couple of chocolate-covered coffee beans and maybe a sprig of mint for colour.’

Felicity laughed. ‘That’s exactly why I always ask you to do my parties. You’re so good at those little extra touches.’

‘Thank you.’ Lily acknowledged the compliment with a smile.

She stayed just long enough to make the polite social chat she knew was expected of her, made one last check that she’d left Felicity’s kitchen completely spotless, then dropped Hannah at her house on the way home. As she took her equipment out of the van and put it away Lily couldn’t help thinking about Karim. And even though she knew it was crazy and it was way too late to call him, she fished inside her handbag for his business card.

Though it wasn’t in the little pocket where she usually kept business cards. Odd. She’d developed a habit of filing things away neatly—they were easier to find, that way.

She checked the rest of her bag. It wasn’t there, either.

Impossible. She was sure she’d put it in her bag.

And then she thought back. When she’d returned to the mini-crisis in the kitchen, she’d probably put the card on the worktop instead of her handbag, knowing that before she did anything else she needed to reassure her staff and stop them panicking.

Which meant that the card had probably been swept up with the refuse and thrown away.

Damn, damn, damn.

She could hardly phone Felicity and ask if she could rummage through the bin. And she definitely couldn’t ask her for Karim’s number or the guest list, because that would be completely unprofessional and Elizabeth Finch was never, but never, unprofessional.

Well, OK, occasionally she acted unprofessionally. As she had on a certain balcony, a couple of hours earlier that evening, when she’d kissed a tall, dark, handsome stranger. Really kissed him. And if they hadn’t been interrupted, who knew what would have happened?

But it was over now.

Which she knew was for the best. Karim and his exotic amber eyes had tempted her to break all her personal rules. Losing his card had done her a favour—it had saved her from herself. 

Karim was working through a set of figures when his phone rang. He answered it absently. ‘Karim al-Hassan.’

‘Your Highness, it’s Felicity Browne. I wanted to thank you for these gorgeous roses.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said. He’d sent Rafiq, his assistant, to deliver a bouquet thanking her for her hospitality, along with a handwritten note of thanks. ‘And please call me Karim.’ He didn’t insist on using his title in England, preferring people to be more relaxed with him.

‘Karim,’ she repeated obediently. ‘Hardly anyone even writes a note nowadays, let alone sends such a lovely gift, especially on a Sunday,’ she continued. ‘Anyway, I won’t keep you—I’m sure you’re busy. But I couldn’t just take these flowers for granted.’

He smiled. ‘I’m glad you liked them. Actually, I had planned to call you later today.’ He’d discovered this morning that he had a problem, and he hoped that Felicity would be able to give him a quick solution. ‘The food last night was fabulous.’

‘Thank you. But I’m afraid I can’t take the credit for anything other than choosing the menu, and even in that I think I was guided,’ Felicity admitted with a little laugh.

‘Your staff?’ he asked.

‘Sadly not—it’s a catering firm, Amazing Tastes.’

A very accurate name, Karim thought.

‘I’ve asked Elizabeth Finch—the owner—several times if she’d come and work for me, offered her stupendous amounts of money, but she won’t let anyone tie her down. I was lucky she could fit me in, because she’s usually booked up for months in advance,’ Felicity confided.

So the cook was freelance. Good. That meant there wouldn’t be a problem asking her to cater for his presentations. Even though Felicity would probably have allowed him to poach her personal cook for a few days, this avoided any awkward obligations.

‘Actually, I’m looking for a good caterer for some business presentations.’ He’d had a caterer lined up. But as her sister had had a baby that morning, two months early, Claire had phoned him in a panic, saying that she needed to drop everything and look after her niece while her sister spent all her time at the special care baby unit. Except Claire’s sister lived in Cornwall, a good five hours away—and as Claire was her only family, there was nobody else to do it.

He knew what it was like when family needed you to drop everything. He’d done it himself. So, although it left him in a jam, he wasn’t going to give Claire a hard time about it. He still had enough time to fix things. ‘I wondered if I could trouble you for your caterer’s contact details?’ he asked.

‘Of course, but, as I said, she’s very in demand,’ Felicity warned. ‘Though if she can’t fit you in she might be able to suggest someone. She’s good like that.’

Better and better.

‘Let me get my contact book.’ There was a pause; then Felicity dictated Elizabeth Finch’s phone number and address.

Karim scribbled it down as she spoke. ‘Thank you, Felicity.’

‘My pleasure. And thank you again for the flowers.’

When he replaced the receiver, he flicked onto the Internet and looked up the address. Islington. A nice part of it. So she’d have a price tag to match.

Though money wasn’t an issue. He needed quality—and he’d tasted that for himself, the previous evening. He glanced at his watch. Right now, a busy freelance caterer would be smack in the middle of preparations for an evening event, so this wasn’t the best time to discuss a booking. He’d call in tomorrow at nine; from experience, he knew that face-to-face meetings were more effective than phone calls.

He glanced at his watch. Two hours, and he’d need to shower and shave and change for a garden party. A party that Renée, one of his prettiest recent dates, would also be attending. Given that the weather was fine and the garden in question had some nice secluded spots, it could be an interesting afternoon. A pleasant interlude.

Though, strangely, it wasn’t Renée’s face in his thoughts as he imagined kissing her stupid in the middle of the maze. It was Lily’s.

He shook himself. It was highly unlikely that Lily would be there. And besides, now he thought about it, dating her would be too complicated. There had been something serious about Lily, and he wasn’t in a position to offer anything serious. In less than a year’s time he’d be back in Harrat Salma and his parents would be expecting to arrange a marriage exactly like their own. These were his last few months of playing. Of dating women who knew the score and didn’t expect him to change his mind.

And he had no intention of changing that. 

The next morning, Lily was sitting in her kitchen, drinking coffee and planning menus for the following week’s events, when her doorbell buzzed. Too early for the postman, she thought, and she wasn’t expecting any deliveries that morning. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, either.

She opened the front door and stared.

Karim was the last person she’d expected to see. She’d only told him her first name—and it was her nickname rather than her full name. How come…?

‘Lily?’ he asked, looking as surprised as she felt. ‘Do you work for Elizabeth Finch?’

She shook her head. ‘I am Elizabeth Finch.’

He frowned. ‘You told me your name was Lily.’

‘It is.’

He looked sceptical, as if he wasn’t sure she was telling the truth.

She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say Elizabeth when I was tiny—I called myself “Lily-ba”. The name kind of stuck. Everyone calls me Lily. Though obviously I use my full name for work.’

‘I see.’ He inclined his head. ‘I was impressed by the food on Saturday night. I asked Felicity Browne for her caterer’s contact details.’

Then this was a business call, not a social visit. Good. Business made things easier. She could section off her emotions and deal with this. Even better: if he became her client, that would be yet another reason not to act on that attraction. She knew first-hand that relationships and business didn’t mix. Lord, did she know that first-hand. She’d been there already with Jeff and had her fingers well and truly burned. ‘Come through.’ She ushered him into the hall, closed the door behind him and led him through to the kitchen. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘Thank you. That would be nice.’

‘Milk? Sugar?’

‘Neither, thanks.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on. Do take a seat.’

At her gesture, Karim took a seat on one of the overstuffed sofas set in the open-plan conservatory area, while Lily busied herself making fresh coffee. Her kitchen was clearly a professional kitchen—very up to date appliances, sleek minimalist units in pale wood, a central island, and what looked like granite work surfaces and splashbacks. Everything was neat and tidy, including the shelf of cookery books and box files. He wasn’t surprised that she was the meticulous type.

And yet the room was far from sterile. The walls were painted a pale terracotta, adding warmth to the room, and there were photographs and postcards pinned to the fridge with magnets. A simple blue glass vase full of daffodils sat on the window sill behind the sink. And he could smell something gorgeous; a quick scan of the room showed him a couple of cakes cooling on a wire rack. For a client? he wondered.

Lily herself was dressed casually in jeans and a camisole top, and looked incredibly touchable. He could remember the softness of her skin against his and the sweetness of her scent when’d he kissed her on the balcony the other night, and his body reacted instantly.

Not good.

This was meant to be business. He knew that mixing business and pleasure wasn’t a good idea—he needed to get himself under control again. Right now. He really shouldn’t be thinking about hooking a finger under the strap of her top, drawing it down, and kissing her bare shoulder.

‘Nice kitchen,’ he commented when she returned with two mugs of coffee.

‘It suits me,’ she said simply.

And she suited it, he thought.

‘So what did you want to discuss?’ she asked.

She’d made quite sure she was sitting on the other sofa rather than next to him, he noted. Fair enough. This was business. And sitting next to each other would’ve risked them accidentally touching each other. Given how they’d both gone up in flames the other night at the first touch, distance was a very good idea.

‘As I said, I was impressed by the food at Felicity’s party. I’m holding a series of business meetings and I need a caterer.’

‘And you want m— You’re asking me?’ she corrected herself hastily.

A little slip that told him her mind was still running along the same track as his. ‘Yes.’ To both, he added silently.

‘That depends when you have in mind. I’m booked up for the next three months.’

‘They’re set up for the end of the month.’

She shook her head. ‘In that case, sorry, no can do.’

He backtracked to what she’d just said. ‘You’re working every single day for the next three months?’ And people called him a workaholic.

‘All my work days are booked.’

He picked up the subtext. ‘So you don’t work every single day.’

‘Actually, I do,’ she corrected. ‘But I don’t cook for other people every single day.’

‘What do you do on the days you’re not cooking for other people?’

‘I develop recipes. I have a column in a Sunday newspaper twice a month, and a monthly column in a magazine.’

He couldn’t resist. ‘Are they work in development?’ He gestured in the direction of the cakes.

‘Is that a hint?’

He smiled. ‘Yes.’

She rolled her eyes but, as he’d hoped, she smiled. ‘OK. I’ll cut you a slice. But be warned that it’s a test, so it might not taste quite right.’

When she handed him a slice of chocolate cake on a plain white plate, he took a mouthful. Savoured the taste. ‘Works for me.’ Though such a vague compliment would sound like flattery—something he knew instinctively she’d scoff at. ‘It smells good and it’s got the right amount of chocolate. Enough to give it flavour but not so much that it’s overpowering.’

She tried it, and shook her head. ‘The texture’s not quite right. It needs more flour. Excuse me a minute.’ She scribbled something on a pad.

‘Notes?’ he asked.

‘For the next trial,’ she explained.

He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘So, to return to our discussion. Basically you have how many free days a week?’

‘I have three days when I don’t cook but they are my development time. Not to mention testing the recipes three times and setting up my kitchen so the photographer can take shots of the different stages. And time to do my paperwork.’

‘But they’re days you could use—in theory,’ he persisted.

‘In theory. In practice, I don’t. If I do it for one person, I’ll have to do it for everyone, and I don’t want to end up working eighteen-hour days to fit everything in. I need time to refill the well. Time to let myself be creative.’

He tried another tack. ‘You have people working for you, don’t you?’

‘Part time, yes.’

‘But you’ve worked with them for a long time.’

She looked surprised. ‘How did you know?’

‘Because everything was so polished at Felicity’s party. That kind of teamwork only comes with experience, when you know each other and trust each other.’

She recognised the compliment and smiled.

‘And your staff help with the cooking?’

‘Some of it.’ She frowned. ‘Why?

‘I was thinking. Maybe you could delegate more to them. Then you could expand your business without encroaching on the days you don’t cook for people.’

She shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. My clients expect my personal attention, and that’s exactly what they get. The only way I can expand is if I get a time machine or a clone—neither of which are physically possible. I’m at capacity, Karim. Sorry. The best I can do is put you in touch with some of the people I trained with who also run their own businesses—they’re good, or I wouldn’t recommend them.’

This was where he knew he should be sensible, thank her for the recommendations, and call each one in turn until he found someone who could fit him in.

The problem was, he didn’t want just anyone. He wanted her.

And he was used to getting exactly what he wanted.

‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but no. I want Elizabeth Finch.’ He paused. ‘Would any of your clients consider rescheduling?’

‘No. And don’t suggest I throw a sickie on them, either,’ she warned. ‘I’d never cheat my clients.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘You have integrity. I respect that.’ He paused. ‘Whatever your usual rates are, I’m happy to double them.’

‘No.’

‘You want to negotiate?’ He shrugged. ‘Fine. Let’s save us both some time. Name your price, Lily.’

She folded her arms. ‘You honestly believe everything can be bought?’

‘Everything has a price.’

She scoffed. ‘You must have a seriously sad life.’

He laughed. ‘On the contrary. But it’s basic business sense. Someone sells, someone buys. The price is negotiable, depending on supply and demand.’

‘You can’t buy people, Karim.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I know that. I’m not asking to buy you.’ He paused just long enough for the colour to flood her face completely. ‘In business, I look for the best. That’s why I’m asking you to do the catering for some meetings that are going to be pretty crucial to my business.’

‘I’m flattered that you’ve sought me out,’ she said, ‘but, as I’ve told you plenty of times already, I’m afraid I’m already booked and there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘persistence is a business asset. And, secondly, there’s always a way round things if you look.’

‘Hasn’t anyone ever said no to you?’

He didn’t even need to think about it. ‘I always get what I want in the end.’

‘Not in this case, I’m afraid. Unless you’re prepared to take my next open slot, in three months’ time.’

‘I can’t wait that long. The meetings are already set up.’

‘Then, as I said, I’m sorry.’ She went over to her filing system, took a box down, and made notes on a pad. She tore off the sheet, then brought it over to him. ‘Here. They all come with my recommendation—and I’m picky.’

‘So,’ he said, ‘am I.’ He drained his mug. ‘Thank you for the coffee. And the cake.’

‘Pleasure.’

She was being polite, and he knew it. He also knew that if he gave in to the impulse to pull her to her feet and kiss her stupid, he’d push her even further away—she’d respond, but she’d be angry with herself for acting unprofessionally. And he wanted her willingly in his bed.

‘If you change your mind—’ and he had every intention of making sure that she did ‘—call me. You have my card.’

‘Actually, I mislaid it.’

Had she? Or had she ripped it up in a fit of temper? Because now he knew exactly what she’d been doing at Felicity Browne’s party, he could guess at her reaction that night after she’d left the balcony—anger at herself for letting him distract her when she’d been there in a business capacity. And underneath that cool, quiet exterior lurked a passionate woman. A woman who’d responded to him so deeply that they’d both forgotten where they were.

He took a business card from a small silver holder, scribbled his personal number on the back, and handed it to her. ‘To replace the one you…’ he paused, his eyes challenging hers ‘…mislaid.’

She didn’t flinch in the slightest; she merely inclined her head in acknowledgement, and went back over to her filing system. She glanced at the name on the card, then paper-clipped it into a book. Then she took a card from a box and handed it to him. ‘In case you change your mind about the dates. But please remember that I have a three-month waiting list.’

‘People plan parties that far in advance?’

‘Weddings, christenings, anniversary dinners…’ She spread her hands. ‘I don’t question my clients’ social lives. I just talk to them about what kind of thing they want, and deliver it.’

‘So you do dinner parties as well?’

‘On Thursdays to Sundays,’ she confirmed.

‘And what if one of your regular clients needed you on a Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday?’ he asked. ‘Or they just decide to throw a party on the spur of the moment?’

‘My clients know that I don’t cook for people on Mondays, Tuesdays or Wednesdays. Apart from the fact that I have other commitments, everybody needs time off.’

‘True.’ That, together with her comment about a time machine, had just given him another idea. ‘Well, it was good to see you again, Lily.’

‘And you.’

For a moment, he thought about kissing her on the cheek—but he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave it there. And he needed the business side of things sorted out before he addressed the issues between them. Before he took her to bed.

He knew that kissing her hand would be way too smarmy, so he settled for a firm handshake. ‘Thanks for your time.’

Even something as impersonal as a handshake made his skin tingle where she touched him. And, judging by the look in her eyes—a look she masked quickly—it was the same for her.

This wasn’t over.

Not by a long, long way.

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU, my friend, are just piqued. For the first time in your life, a woman has actually turned you down,’ Luke said with a grin.

‘I’m not piqued,’ Karim said.

‘You’re distracted. Otherwise you’d have given me a better game tonight.’

Karim couldn’t argue with that. Usually their Monday night squash matches were incredibly close, and tonight he’d lost badly. But he could argue with his best friend’s earlier statement. ‘Anyway, she didn’t turn me down.’

Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you just told me she was too busy to do the catering for your business meetings?’

‘Kick a man when he’s down, why don’t you? Anyway, she’ll change her mind.’ Karim had every intention of changing it for her.

‘Maybe I can help,’ Luke suggested. Karim had explained the situation to him before the match. ‘Cathy has some great ideas about revamping the café here—if you ask her nicely I’m sure she can come up with some menus for you and organise the catering. If it helps you out of a hole, she can use the kitchens here to sort out whatever you need done.’

‘You’d let me poach your staff?’ Karim asked. Luke had bought the health club three months ago and was in the process of making it reach its proper potential—a gym and spa bursting with vitality and an excellent café.

‘Borrow. Temporarily. To help you out,’ Luke corrected.

‘But you’d want advertising or something in return.’

‘I’m not that much of a shark. And I wouldn’t make an offer like that to just anyone.’ The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘But I’ve just thrashed you at squash. And you’re my best mate. So, as I’m feeling terribly sorry for you right now, you should take advantage of my good nature.’

Karim laughed. ‘Ha. You wait until next Monday. I’ll have my revenge.’

‘In your dreams,’ Luke teased back. ‘Come on. We’re both disgustingly sweaty and smelly—if we hang around here, bickering, we’ll put off all my customers.’

‘Whatever you say, boss.’

After a shower, they grabbed a cold beer in the bar.

‘You’re still brooding,’ Luke said.

Karim made light of it. ‘Just sulking about losing a match to you for the first time in a month. And by such a huge margin.’

‘Are you, hell. You don’t waste energy being competitive over something unimportant.’ Luke paused. ‘She must be really special.’

‘Who?’

‘The woman you’re brooding about. Let me guess. Five feet eight, blonde, curvy and just lurrrves parties?’

Karim laughed dryly. ‘That’s your type, not mine.’

Luke grinned back. ‘Don’t kid yourself. I go for brunettes. Preferably ones without wedding bells in their eyes.’

And just in case they developed wedding bell-itis, as Luke had dubbed it, nobody ever made it to a fourth date.

‘Actually, she’s nothing like the type I usually date,’ Karim said thoughtfully. ‘Try five feet four, mid-brown hair and very hard-working.’

Luke blinked. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘I wish I was. If she were a party girl, I’d know what made her tick. Lily…’ Karim blew out a breath. ‘She’s different.’ And maybe that was why he couldn’t get her out of his head.

‘And she’s the caterer you want to work for you?’ Luke queried.

‘She cooks for the rich and famous. Hand-picked client list.’ Karim leaned back against the leather club chair. ‘She’s the best. And I tasted her food at Felicity Browne’s do, the other night, so I know what I’m talking about.’

He’d tasted her, too…and he wanted to do it again. And again. A lot more intimately.

Luke wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t like the sound of this. Mixing business and pleasure—it never works, Karim. It’ll end in tears. I’ve seen it happen too many times before.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Definitely.’ Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘So what’s the plan?’

‘I’m going to persuade her to change her mind.’

‘You’re going to charm her into working for you?’

Karim shrugged. ‘I offered to pay her double. She just said that you couldn’t buy people.’

‘Too right. If you can buy them, they’re not worth having around. They’ll be unreliable.’ Luke frowned. ‘And if she drops clients in favour of you, what’s to stop her dropping you if she gets a better offer?’

‘I don’t expect her to ditch long-standing arrangements in favour of me—and she told me up front she had no intention of dropping any of her clients for me. But I also happen to know there are three days a week when she doesn’t have bookings. I want her on those three days.’ Karim turned his glass of mineral water round in his hands. ‘So it’s a matter of getting to know her better. Finding out what’s important to her. And then…negotiating terms.’

‘It still sounds to me as if you’re planning to mix business and pleasure. If you’re going to be her boss, it’s practically harassment,’ Luke pointed out.

‘She’s her own boss. Technically, I’d be her client.’

‘Same difference. Let it go,’ Luke said. ‘Sure, you’re attracted to her. But there’s a lot riding on these meetings. Screw it up for the sake of—what, half a dozen dates, before you get bored or she gets too serious and you back off?—and you’ll never forgive yourself.’

‘I’m not going to screw it up.’

‘You will do, if you’re thinking with another part of your anatomy instead of with your head,’ Luke advised. He finished his drink. ‘Think about what I said. If you want me to have a word with Cathy, let me know. It’s not a problem.’

‘Thanks. I appreciate the offer.’

There was a tinge of sympathy in Luke’s eyes. ‘It’s tough, living up to a parent’s expectations.’

Not as tough as having no family at all—though Karim didn’t say so, knowing just how sensitive his best friend was about the issue. Particularly as Luke had been the one to walk away. ‘I always knew I’d have to grow up and pull my weight in the family firm some time.’ He just hadn’t expected it to be this way. He’d seen himself in a supporting role, not the limelight.

But all that had changed five years ago when his brother had died. The whole world had turned upside down. So he’d done the only thing possible: given up his PhD studies and gone home to do his duty as the new heir to the throne.

A duty he still wasn’t quite reconciled to. Not that he’d ever hurt his parents by telling them how he felt; and he would never, ever let them or his country down. But no matter how hard he worked or played, he still missed the studies he’d loved so much. Filling his time didn’t fill the empty space inside him.

Karim finished his own drink. ‘I’ve done quite enough loafing around for today. I’ll see you later.’

‘You’re going home to work?’

Karim laughed as he stood up. ‘Says the man who’s going to do exactly the same thing.’ Their backgrounds were miles apart, but Karim thought that he and Luke had a very similar outlook on life. They’d met on the first day of their MBA course, liked each other immediately, and the liking had merged into deep friendship over the years. Karim thought of Luke as the brother he no longer had, and Luke was the only person Karim would ever have talked to about Lily. And even though part of him knew that Luke was right, that mixing business and pleasure would lead to an unholy mess, he couldn’t stop himself thinking about her.

By the time he’d walked home, he’d worked out what to do. There was something more important than money: time. And maybe that was the key to Lily. For the next couple of weeks, his work was flexible. He could fit in the hours whenever it suited him.

So maybe, just maybe, he had a way to convince her.

The following morning, he leaned on Lily’s doorbell at nine o’clock sharp.

She opened the door and just stared at him for a moment.

And he was very, very aware that her gaze had gone straight to his mouth.

With difficulty, he forced his thoughts off her mouth and what he wanted to do with it. ‘Good morning, Lily.’

‘Good m—’ she began, then frowned. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m your new apprentice.’

She shook her head. ‘Apart from the fact I already have all the staff I need, you can’t be my apprentice—you don’t have catering experience and you don’t have a food hygiene certificate.’

‘And how do you know that?’ he challenged.

‘I looked you up on the Internet.’ She paused before adding, ‘Your Highness.’

She’d looked him up. Just as he’d looked her up, the previous day. On her own website as well as the gossip pages. Nobody had been linked with Lily’s name for the last four years—probably, he thought, because she’d been too busy setting up and then running her business to socialise. Which suited him fine.

He met her gaze. ‘And that’s a problem?’

‘If you think I’m going to let my clients down in favour of you just because you’ve got a title, then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, Your Highness.’

He smiled, pleased that she had principles and stuck to them. ‘My title has nothing to do with it. To you, I’m Karim.’

‘Sheikh Karim al-Hassan of Harrat Salma,’ she pointed out. ‘You’re a prince. Your dad rules a country.’

‘The title bothers you, doesn’t it?’

‘Not particularly.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve met people with titles before.’

And worked for them. He already knew that. And he liked the fact that she was discreet enough not to mention any names. ‘Then what bothers you, Lily?’ 

You do, she thought. You do. It wasn’t his title; she was used to dealing with wealthy, famous people. It was the man. The way her body reacted to him. The way he sent her into a flat spin when he so much as smiled at her. ‘Nothing,’ she fibbed.

‘So. As I said. I’m your new apprentice.’

‘You’re nothing of the sort. Without a food hygiene certificate, you can’t work with food.’

‘I can still run errands. Make you coffee. Wash up.’ He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. Sexy teeth. Sexy mouth.

Oh, Lord. She was near to hyperventilating, remembering what that mouth had done to her. Thinking about what she wanted it to do to her.

‘I could make you lunch,’ he suggested.

She aimed for cool. Since when would a sheikh do his own cooking? ‘You’re telling me you can actually cook?’ she drawled.

He laughed. ‘Making a sandwich isn’t exactly cooking. But if you want to know just how well I can cook, have dinner with me—and I’ll cook for you.’

Lord, he was confident. Most people just wouldn’t attempt to cook for a professional chef, worrying that their food wouldn’t come up to standard.

But she had a feeling that Karim al-Hassan would be good at everything he chose to do.

He was definitely good at kissing.

Flustered, she tried to push the memories out of her head, the insidious thoughts about what Karim might do next after he kissed her again—because he wasn’t going to kiss her again. She was absolutely resolved about that. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m afraid I don’t have time.’

‘It’s Tuesday. You’re not cooking tonight,’ he pointed out.

‘I still have preparation work to do. And my column to write. And admin—catering is the same as any other business, with bills that need paying and books that need balancing and planning that needs to be done for future events.’

‘All right. Next Monday night, then. I’ll cook for you.’

This was sounding suspiciously like a date. Something she didn’t do.

‘Or we can make it lunch, if it’d make you feel safer,’ he added.

‘I’m not afraid of you.’ Which was true. She was afraid of herself. Of her reaction to him. She’d never felt like this before. This overwhelming blend of desire and need and urgency. Not even with Jeff—and she’d lost her head over him.

She’d lost a hell of a lot more, too. Her business, her home, her self-respect, and her heart. She’d worked hard to get them all back, and she knew better than to repeat her mistakes.

‘So you’ll have lunch with me on Monday.’ It was a statement, not a question.

The sensible side of her wanted to say no.

But the woman who’d been kissed wanted to know…This man would be a perfectionist. Would he cook as well as he kissed? Would he make love as well as he cooked?

But just as she was preparing a polite but firm refusal, her mouth seemed to work of its own accord. ‘Lunch would be fine. Thank you.’

‘Good. And in the meantime I’ll be your apprentice. Starting now.’

‘Thank you, but I really don’t need an apprentice.’

‘You don’t have to pay me, if that’s what you’re worrying about. I’m giving my time freely.’

She felt her eyes narrow. ‘If you’re trying to get me to change my mind about catering for your business meetings…’

He spread his hands. ‘I’m not trying to buy you, Lily. And time is more precious than money. If I give up my time to help you, then maybe you might reconsider giving up some of your time to help me.’

So he wanted a quid pro quo.

At least he’d been honest about it.

And he wasn’t expecting to push his way into a queue. He wanted some of her non-catering days. He recognised that her time was important and he was offering her something that he valued more than money, too.

Even though she knew her head needed examining—the man was a definite danger to her peace of mind—she took a step back from the door. ‘Come in.’

Karim smiled, and let her lead him to her kitchen. ‘So, boss. First off, how do you take your coffee?’

‘Milk, no sugar, please. And I’m not your boss.’

‘I can take orders.’

He was teasing her. No way would this man take orders. Give them, yes.

She must have spoken aloud because he laughed. ‘Habibti, I can definitely take orders. Just tell me what you want me to do.’

She knew he wasn’t talking about coffee or anything of the kind. There was a sensual gleam in those amber, wolfish eyes that suggested something completely different. That doing her bidding would be his pleasure—and most definitely hers.

‘Coffee,’ she said, before she did or said something to disgrace herself. Like telling him to carry her upstairs and rip all her clothes off and make love to her until she didn’t know what day it was any more.

Coward, his eyes said. She knew he knew damn well what had just gone through her mind.

‘Lots of milk or just a dash?’ he asked.

‘Somewhere in the middle.’

‘OK. Carry on with whatever you were doing, and I’ll make coffee.’

She sat at the little island in the centre of her kitchen, where she’d set up her laptop earlier that morning. So much for editing her article on summer food. How could she possibly concentrate with this man in the room? She was aware of every movement he made, even when she wasn’t looking at him.

She typed and erased the same three words a dozen times.

This wasn’t going to work. It was going to drive her crazy, him being in here. Invading her space. Looking in her cupboards for china—she bit back the words before she told him that she kept the mugs in the cupboard above the kettle, because she didn’t want him knowing that she was watching him instead of working.

She forced herself to concentrate on the screen of her laptop.

A few moments later he brought a mug of coffee over to her—along with a plate, with a little gold box sitting on it.

Her heart missed a beat.

Then she shook herself mentally. Stupid. Even if he was a sheikh and impossibly wealthy, of course he wasn’t going to lavish jewellery on her. They barely knew each other.

Besides, she recognised the embossing on the box: the name of a very exclusive and extremely expensive chocolatier.

‘Is this what I think it is?’ she asked.

‘That rather depends on what you think it is.’

‘Unless you’ve recycled the box, this is definitely chocolate.’

Again, his eyes glittered with amusement, as if he’d guessed the crazy idea she’d had a few seconds before. ‘It’s a new box,’ he confirmed. ‘I wasn’t sure if you preferred white, milk or dark.’

She opened the box. He’d bought two of each sort. Enough to be a thoughtful gesture, but not so much that she felt too uncomfortable to accept his gift. From what she’d read about him online, he could’ve afforded to buy the contents of the shop with his spare change, and still had enough left over to buy the entire stock of the florist’s next door—but he’d been restrained rather than over the top. He’d remembered what she’d said to him about not being bought.

And she liked that.

‘As long as it’s chocolate, I like it,’ she said. ‘But, as there are two of each, I think you should share them with me.’

‘Thank you. I accept.’ His tongue moistened his lower lip briefly. ‘I have to confess to a weakness for chocolate. But I like mine dark. Rich. Spicy.’

How could the man make her think of sex when he was talking about chocolate? Breathe, Lily reminded herself.

He sat on the pale wooden bar stool next to hers—not close enough to crowd her, but near enough for her to be incredibly aware of his body. The first time she’d seen him, he’d worn a dinner jacket. The last time, he’d worn an expensively cut business suit. Today, he was in jeans, very soft denim that just screamed out to be touched, and a collarless white cotton shirt. It made him look younger. Approachable. And incredibly sexy.

No. Sexy was bad.

He was just…

She gave up trying to describe him, because her mind filled the gap with all sorts of descriptions that made her heart skip a beat. Hot. Touchable. Kissable.

This couldn’t be happening. Shouldn’t be happening. They moved in different worlds. No way could anything happen between them.

Except maybe a fling, her libido reminded her. A hot and very satisfying fling. Something temporary. No strings, no promises to be broken.

And the idea sent her temperature up another notch.

Lily reached out to take a chocolate from the box, to distract herself, and her fingers brushed against his. She found her lips parting automatically, inviting a kiss, and felt her cheeks flame when she realised that she was staring at his mouth. When she lifted her gaze she saw that he was staring at her mouth, too.

Remembering.

Wanting.

All she had to do was move towards him and she knew he’d touch her, his fingertips skating across her face and then sliding behind her neck to urge her closer. And then his mouth would touch hers. So lightly. Asking. Promising.

And this time they were on their own. There was no risk of being disturbed. No reason why he couldn’t scoop her off the chair and carry her up the stairs to her bed.

She really, really had to get a grip.

She edged her chair slightly away from his. His expression told her that he’d noticed. And that he’d guessed why.

‘So what are you doing?’ he asked.

Trying to resist temptation, she thought. ‘Editing my article about seasonal foods. Gooseberries, courgettes and broad beans.’

‘It’s spring now. You’re talking about summer foods.’

‘Magazines work three or four months in advance,’ she explained. ‘So although for my catering work I prefer to buy seasonal ingredients, produced as locally as possible, for this kind of work I can’t.’

‘So you do the pictures as well?’

‘No, the magazine sends a photographer over. I’ve emailed them some rough shots so the designer has some idea of what the finished product looks like and can brief the photographer with the kind of angles she wants taken, and we’ll be setting up the final shoot tomorrow.’

‘So what are you cooking?’

‘Broad beans with pancetta, gooseberry and elderflower fool, and courgette and chocolate cake.’

He looked surprised. ‘Courgette and chocolate cake? Are you sure?’

She smiled. ‘Did you taste the courgettes in it yesterday?’

‘That was courgette and chocolate cake?’

‘Yup.’

He spread his hands. ‘What can I say, other than that you’re a culinary genius, Lily Finch?’

She gave him a tiny bow, acknowledging the compliment. ‘We didn’t tell the kids, either. Until they’d scoffed it.’

‘Kids?’ he queried.

Ah. She hadn’t intended to tell him that. ‘Never mind.’

‘Talk to me, Lily,’ he said softly. ‘Kids?’

She flushed. ‘My friend Hannah, who works with me—she takes my trials to her daughter’s nursery school. Depending on what it is, they either use it for the children’s break-time snacks or offer it to parents in return for a donation to nursery funds.’

‘That’s good of you.’

She shook her head. ‘This might be a nice middle-class area now, but there are still quite a few kids around here who have nothing. Nursery’s the only place where they get to play with toys and books. So this is my way of giving something back.’ That, and offering a romantic dinner for two cooked by Elizabeth Finch at the nursery’s annual fund-raising raffle. Because she owed Hannah for supporting her through the mess of her divorce—and she never forgot her debts.

‘It’s still a nice thing to do.’

She wriggled on her seat, not comfortable talking about it; he clearly noticed, because he moved over to the window and changed the subject. ‘Nice garden.’

‘I like it,’ Lily said. ‘Though it’s not just flowers. There’s a raised bed at the bottom which I use for vegetables, and there are pots of herbs on the patio.’ She joined him at the window. ‘And there at the bottom is my Californian lilac. My favourite shrub—it’s a mass of bright blue flowers in May, and it attracts all the butterflies.’ She shook herself. ‘But this isn’t getting any work done.’

‘Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.’

‘I can’t think of anything.’ Well, she could—but none of those things were on the agenda. At all. She raked a hand through her hair. ‘I just need to finish editing my article, and make sure I have all the ingredients in so I can make at least four sets of everything tomorrow—one finished article, two showing the cooking process at different stages, and a spare in case there’s a last-minute hitch.’

‘Give me your recipes, and I’ll check the ingredients for you,’ he said.

‘Thanks, but I’d rather do it myself.’

‘You don’t trust me?’

‘I’d rather do it myself,’ she repeated. ‘I can see at a glance if I need anything. It’s quicker than explaining.’

‘You’re not a team player, then.’

Not since Jeff’s betrayal. She’d vowed that she’d never, ever have another business partner again. It had been devastating to lose the restaurant she’d worked so hard to build. Even though it meant that Amazing Tastes couldn’t expand, it also meant that she couldn’t lose the business she loved because of someone else’s failings. Been there, done that, worn the T-shirt to shreds. ‘I don’t have a problem with my colleagues in the kitchen.’

‘But you have a problem with me?’

She nodded. ‘You’re…distracting.’

‘Which wasn’t my intention.’ He smiled. ‘OK. Hint taken. I’ll leave you in peace. Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out.’

‘Thank you. And for the chocolates,’ she added belatedly.

‘Pleasure.’ He gave her a warm, sweet smile that instantly made her feel all gooey inside, then left her kitchen—which suddenly felt cooler and more shadowy. Which was ridiculous and self-indulgent, she told herself crossly.

‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he called—and then closed the front door behind him before she could protest that, no, he couldn’t possibly turn up tomorrow, because she was busy and…

‘Argh!’ Lily suddenly realised she’d pressed the wrong button and accidentally deleted her entire article. She said something very pithy, then stalked over to the kettle to make herself another cup of coffee and calm down before tackling her laptop’s ‘recycle bin’ and making it give her article back.

Karim al-Hassan had a lot to answer for. He was distracting, irritating…and impossibly sexy. And even if she sent him away when he turned up on her doorstep tomorrow morning, she wouldn’t be able to get him out of her head.

Where was her professionalism when she needed it?

‘Just be sensible. You know what happened last time,’ she told herself.

But Karim wasn’t Jeff, an insidious voice said in her head. Karim was a man who believed in honour. The attraction was very much mutual. There was no reason why they couldn’t act on that attraction. Keep it between themselves. Provided he wasn’t actually seen out with her, the chances were that the paparazzi would leave them alone. And adding him to her client list would be the perfect cover…

Ha. There was an old saying that if something appeared too good to be true, it usually was.

And, as she had no intention of picking herself up, dusting herself down, starting all over again and struggling to get back to where she was right now, she’d have to think of a way to get Karim out of her head and out of her life.

CHAPTER FOUR

LILY was pretty sure that she was ready to face Karim, the next morning. That all her arguments were marshalled neatly and they were completely persuasive.

Then she discovered that she wasn’t ready at all.

Far from it.

Because when she opened the door to him, he disarmed her with the sweetest of smiles and a large terracotta pot full of violets.

‘They’re dog violets. Although they don’t have a scent like sweet violets, apparently they attract butterflies.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘I would’ve liked to give you a proper bouquet—roses, lilies and what have you—but I don’t want you thinking I’m trying to buy you.’

So instead he’d given her something much less showy, the kind of floral gift that appealed to her much more. Clearly he’d been listening to what she’d said, the previous day, about liking flowers that attracted butterflies. The dog violets would be perfect for her patio. ‘Thank you. They’re lovely.’ So pretty: a soft lavender blue with a white throat. And he’d taken time out of his day to find these for her—she knew without having to ask that he hadn’t just sent an assistant to pick up the first thing she saw in a florist’s. ‘Where did you find them?’

‘In a little shop down the road from my place. They’ll go well with your thyme, even though these are both cultivated.’

‘Violets and thyme?’ Thyme was pretty, but it was a savoury herb, and these weren’t the sort of violets she’d crystallise and use to decorate a cake. What was he talking about?

Obviously her confusion showed, because he said softly, ‘I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows.’

‘Poetry.’ Though not something she recognised.

‘Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’

Clearly he’d expected her to know the quote. ‘Sorry.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve never really been into the theatre.’

‘You like films?’

‘Yes, but I don’t get the time to go to the cinema. I don’t really watch TV, either,’ she admitted.

‘So what do you do for relaxation?’

She damped down the pictures in her head, of tangled white sheets and Karim’s skin sliding against her own. ‘I cook,’ she said simply.

‘It’s more than just a job to you, isn’t it? It’s your passion.’

‘It’s my life,’ she said. And she hoped he understood that she meant it.

He closed the door behind him; she thought at first he’d followed her to the kitchen, but then she realised he’d stopped before the watercolour in the hallway, her favourite, one of lavender fields in Provence.

‘That’s a beautiful painting.’ He looked at the signature, then at her. ‘Amy Finch. Is she any relation?’

‘She’s my mother.’

He joined her in the kitchen. ‘Were you ever tempted to follow in her footsteps?’

‘No. It was always cooking, for me. Though I suppose some of it’s rubbed off, because presentation’s an important part of cooking—you need to make it look nice when you plate it up.’ Memories brought a lump to her throat and a wave of homesickness—which was crazy, because she was still in England. Amy was the one who’d moved abroad. ‘On rainy days in school holidays or at weekends, Mum would get her huge old cookery book off the shelf, open it at random and then close her eyes and circle her finger over the pages—wherever her finger landed, we’d cook that recipe. Or we’d improvise if we didn’t have all the ingredients in the cupboard.’

‘You’re close to your mum?’

‘I don’t see her as often as I’d like, but we speak a lot. She lives in France now—in Provence. That picture’s the view from her house, the lavender fields.’ She unlocked the conservatory doors and placed the pot on the patio, near to the terracotta pots full of lavender from the fields her mother had painted, then closed the doors again and washed her hands.

Karim glanced over at her oven. ‘You’re already cooking something?’

‘That’s the finished article,’ she said. ‘I’m cooking it now because it needs time to cool before Hayley does her stuff.’

‘Hayley being the photographer?’ he queried.

She nodded.

‘So what time is she going to be here?’

‘Midday.’ Lily took a deep breath. Time to tackle him about this apprentice thing, make him see how crazy and unworkable it was. ‘Look, Karim, I know you mean well, but—’

‘I won’t get in your way,’ he interrupted softly. ‘Humour me. I’ll fetch and carry whatever you want. I’ll even wash up for you without complaining.’

‘Wash up?’ She couldn’t help smiling at the thought. ‘You’re telling me I’m going to have a prince washing up in my kitchen?’

‘If you’re being picky, it’s sheikh rather than prince.’

‘Same difference.’

He leaned against the worktop and looked at her. ‘I’m a perfectly ordinary person, you know.’

There’s nothing ordinary about you, Lily thought—and then really, really hoped she hadn’t said that aloud.

‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘if you’re afraid of getting your hands dirty, you’ll be no good as a leader. You need to see what has to be done and make sure it gets done. If you can’t delegate a task because there simply isn’t time, then you have to do it yourself.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘What, do you think I have an enormous staff or something?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘No. I admit, I use a laundry service because life’s much too short to iron shirts.’

‘Agreed.’ She used a laundry service for her chef’s whites, but everything else went through her washing machine and then was hung to dry on hangers to minimise creasing and avoid ironing. ‘And I bet you have a cleaner.’

He spread his hands. ‘I admit, someone comes in a couple of hours a day.’

‘And cooks for you, too?’

‘No. I do that myself. And, before you start accusing me of being princely for having a cleaner, just about any other businessman living on his own would do the same thing. Time spent cleaning the house is time you can spend more profitably at work.’

‘Bottom line,’ Lily stated, ‘you have staff.’

‘They’re not live-in.’ He paused. ‘Except my assistant—whose duties include security.’

She felt her eyes widen. ‘You have a bodyguard?’

‘Just one and, as I said, he’s also my assistant. He’s not scary. Provided you’re not threatening me, that is,’ Karim added meditatively. ‘Then, I guess, he might be.’

‘But…you’re here on your own. You were on your own at Felicity’s party.’

‘Rafiq is discreet.’

Colour scorched into her cheeks. ‘You mean, he was on the balcony that night?’

‘No.’

‘But he knew.’

‘He knew that I was talking to you on the balcony, yes.’

She’d just bet that Karim’s bodyguard had guessed exactly what his boss had really been doing. Some of the newspaper articles she’d seen had talked about the playboy desert prince. ‘And he knows you’re here now.’

Karim walked over to her and pressed his fingertip lightly against her mouth. Just as he had, that evening, before he’d kissed her. For one insane moment, Lily actually considered opening her mouth and taking his finger lightly between her teeth.

Bad, bad idea, she remonstrated with herself. Hayley would be here in a couple of hours—and a couple of hours wasn’t nearly long enough to do what she wanted to do with Karim al-Hassan.

Which was completely crazy. She took a step backwards.

‘You don’t have to be afraid,’ Karim said softly.

Oh, but she did. Not of him. Of herself.

‘It’s standard procedure.’

‘In your world. Not mine.’

For a moment, his eyes were shadowed. And then he nodded. ‘Rafiq’s been with me for a long, long time. I trust him with my life—literally.’

‘So where is he now?’

‘Outside. Doing his job.’

‘So, what, he’s going to frisk Hayley at the door when she arrives?’

‘That’s a bit over-dramatic.’ Karim frowned. ‘I thought you said you didn’t watch much television?’

‘I don’t, or I would’ve thought about this before. You’re royalty, so of course you’re going to have a bodyguard. And if he’s stuck waiting outside while you’re slumming it in here, the poor man’s going to be bored out of his skull. Tell him to come in.’ And apart from basic hospitality, it would mean that she and Karim weren’t on their own. An added safety net.

‘Firstly, I’m not slumming it, as you so delightfully put it. Secondly, he won’t be frisking Hayley. And, thirdly, I could tell him to come in, but he’d refuse.’

Lily blinked. ‘Is he allowed to refuse your requests?’

Karim laughed. ‘You mean, I snap my fingers and everyone jumps to my orders?’

‘Yes.’

He spread his hands. ‘You haven’t.’

‘That’s different. I’m not from your country and I’m not one of your staff.’

‘Actually, I prefer people who work with me to think for themselves. They have a job and they know what needs to be done. I trust them to do it without having to give them step-by-step instructions. Rafiq does the job his way.’

‘But—’ The timer on the oven pinged, interrupting what she was going to say. She switched it off, checked that the cake was done, then put the tin to cool for a few minutes on a rack. 

Karim watched her deal efficiently with the cake. Despite the fact that she was wearing a very unfeminine and traditional chef’s outfit—a thick white cotton jacket teamed with baggy black-and-white chequered pants—she still managed to look all curves. Desirable. He wanted to mould his palm over the curve of her buttocks. And he wanted to do a lot more than that. He wanted to unbutton the jacket and slide it off her shoulders. What would she be wearing underneath? A camisole top? Or a lace-trimmed bra? Or—

He’d better stop thinking about that before he embarrassed them both. ‘As you’re in chef’s clothing, I’d expect you to wear a hat.’

‘You mean a traditional toque, with a pleat in it for every single way I can cook an egg?’

It was his turn to blink in surprise. ‘A pleat for every single way you can cook an egg?’

‘Uh-huh. Which in practical terms means up to a hundred. The more pleats, the better the chef.’

‘There are a hundred ways of cooking eggs?’

She laughed. ‘Trust me, there are. But, no, I don’t wear a toque. They’re not that comfortable, especially because it means I have to pin my hair up. My Buff deals with it much better because it encloses my hair.’

‘Buff.’ He knew the word in a different context. A much more pleasurable one.

‘It’s tubular so I can tuck my hair in it—and when I fasten it my hair stays fastened too,’ she explained. ‘It’s microfibre cloth, so it’s cool when the kitchen’s boiling. Much more practical than the old-fashioned chef’s hat. Which, by the way, very few people wear nowadays.’ She shrugged. ‘If I had short hair, I’d probably use a skull cap.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Right. I need to start getting things ready.’

‘I’ll start with the washing up,’ Karim said.

She shook her head. ‘You’ll start by making that poor man a drink. I assume you know how he takes his coffee? Or would he prefer tea?’

Karim smiled. ‘We’ve been here for long enough for him to like English coffee.’

‘Then you know what to do.’

So she was taking the same approach that he did—telling him what needed to be done and just letting him get on with it? Karim hid his amusement and made the coffee. He took a mug out to Rafiq—who, predictably, said that he was staying put—and then returned to find Lily working her way through a list, ticking things off. Although she wouldn’t let him touch the food, citing his lack of a hygiene certificate, she let him get dishes out for her. And the more he watched her work, the more impressed he was. She seemed to do six things at once, but when he looked closely he realised that she was managing her time brilliantly, performing every task in the right order and switching from one to another at the most effective point. A critical path analyst could learn a lot from just watching her for a morning.

And, even more impressively, he discovered that she could do all that and hold a conversation at the same time.

‘So are you permanently based in England?’ she asked.

‘I have been for the last five years, but I’ll be going back to Harrat Salma in a few months’ time,’ he said. ‘I might take on some of my father’s duties, or I might take an ambassadorial role and travel a bit. That’s still under discussion.’

‘But on the whole your future’s pretty much mapped out?’

‘Pretty much,’ he admitted. ‘Eventually I’ll take over from my father, and obviously then, although there will be some travelling involved, I’ll be based in Harrat Salma.’ And there was another duty he’d have to perform. Producing an heir to the throne. ‘And I imagine my parents will start marriage negotiations once I’m back home permanently.’

‘Marriage negotiations?’ She blinked. ‘You mean, you’re not even going to be able to choose your own wife? That’s outrageous!’

‘Far from it. Look how many so-called marriages for love end in divorce.’

She flushed. ‘It’s not always like that.’

‘The statistics aren’t on the side of love. What is it, practically two in three marriages ending in divorce? People talk about love, but it’s nothing of the kind. It’s a relationship based on lust and infatuation. And when that dies, the marriage dies with it because there’s nothing left to support it.’

‘That’s incredibly cynical.’

‘It’s incredibly accurate,’ he corrected. ‘The statistics bear it out.’

She shook her head.

He shrugged. ‘It worked for my parents. They respect each other and there’s a deep affection between them.’

‘Isn’t that the same thing as love—respect and affection?’ Lily asked.

‘Maybe. Maybe not. Affection is something that grows with time.’ He spread his hands. ‘My parents didn’t lose their heads and rush into an unbreakable contract with someone unsuitable. That’s not what marriage is all about.’

‘So what is it about?’

‘It’s about having similar expectations, working together towards the same end. It’s about trust and respect and honour.’

‘I can’t believe you’re actually going to marry someone you don’t know.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not as if I’ll only meet her on the morning of the wedding.’

‘And what about physical attraction? Or are you going to have a harem to deal with—?’ She stopped abruptly, looking embarrassed.

‘Having sex?’ he finished, guessing exactly what had been on her mind. The same as his. Going to bed with each other. ‘Now you’re talking fairy tales. We practise monogamy. And I would always be faithful to my wife. I’d never insult her by taking a mistress.’

‘I’m not maligning your honour.’ She blew out a breath. ‘I just can’t believe that you’re talking so dispassionately about this—as if marriage is a business arrangement. Especially when the papers say you date a different woman every week.’

‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘marriage is a business arrangement. And secondly, I date a lot, but it doesn’t necessarily mean I sleep with all my girlfriends. And besides, they know the score—that I’m out for mutual enjoyment but I’m not able to promise them anything permanent. It’s my duty to marry and produce an heir to my country, and I trust my parents to choose someone who will suit me and suit Harrat Salma. Yes, I will have some say in it, but I have to put my country first.’

‘That’s so cold-blooded.’

‘It’s sensible,’ he corrected. ‘Divorce is out of the question. I have a duty to my country. So I need to marry the right person—someone who will support me, someone I can trust and respect. The affection will grow between us afterwards.’

‘But what if you fall in love with someone?’

‘That’s not going to happen.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I’m twenty-eight, habibti. If I were going to fall in love with someone unsuitable, I would’ve done it already.’

She still couldn’t quite get her head round this. How he could be so cool and calm and discuss his future marriage as if it were a business arrangement.

Then again, she’d married for love. She’d been head over heels when she’d walked down the aisle to Jeff. And look what a disaster that had been.

She busied herself with ingredients, chopping and mixing and making sure he couldn’t see her face. Couldn’t see her struggling with the temptation to break all her rules—a temptation that was growing second by second.

Knowing that he would have to go through an arranged marriage, Karim wasn’t free to have a permanent relationship with someone. And he was going back to his country in a few months’ time. Which meant that having a fling with him would be safe—she could act on that incredible attraction between them. By definition, their relationship would have limits; it would have to end as soon as he left England. And because she knew that right from the start, her heart wouldn’t get involved.

And maybe, just maybe, after the last four years of working hard and the months of utter misery before that, she deserved some fun.

A fling.

Mutual pleasure.

At half past eleven, Lily stopped. ‘Is Rafiq a vegetarian?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Karim said.

‘Is there anything he can’t eat on religious or health grounds?’

‘No.’

‘Good.’ She busied herself chopping salad; then she slit a couple of pitta breads open and deftly filled them with sliced chicken and salad. ‘Take him some lunch—and when the shoot’s over he’s very welcome to pudding.’

He was impressed that she’d thought of it. ‘Thanks.’

‘And it’s up to you if you want to have lunch now, or eat what I make, after the shoot. The broad beans and pancetta work just as well cold as a salad as they do hot as an accompaniment.’

‘Whatever’s easiest,’ Karim said. ‘You’re not going to eat until afterwards, are you?’

‘No.’

‘I’ll join you, then.’

Just after he’d returned from sending lunch to Rafiq, the photographer arrived. Lily seemed completely at ease with the older woman, so he guessed they’d worked together quite a few times before.

‘Hayley, Karim—Karim, Hayley.’ Lily introduced them with the minimum of fuss.

For a moment, he wondered if Hayley would recognise his face. Though if she worked for the lifestyle magazines rather than the glossy gossip pages, she probably wouldn’t.

‘So how do you know our Lily?’ Hayley asked.

‘Through a mutual friend.’

‘Ah.’ There was a wealth of supposition in that tiny syllable. Clearly Lily didn’t normally have ‘friends’ in her kitchen during the monthly photo-shoots—which set him apart from other people.

She looked at him with a professional eye, then walked over to the window. ‘Hmm. You’d look good in one of these shots. On Lily’s patio, eating that gooseberry fool.’ She grinned. ‘You’d have all the women sighing over you.’

Karim shook his head. ‘Thanks, but no.’

Hayley nodded knowingly. ‘I see. Pity.’

‘What’s a pity?’ Lily asked.

‘That all the best-looking men are gay,’ Hayley said ruefully.

She definitely didn’t recognise him, then. And Karim was highly amused that Hayley had misread him so badly. He was unable to resist asking, ‘And what makes you think I’m not Lily’s lover?’

Hayley burst out laughing. ‘No offence, love, but our Lily isn’t known for dating. She’s married to her kitchen.’

Interesting. Very interesting.

‘So if you’re here,’ she continued, ‘you really are just a friend. And, looking the way you do, with nice manners and being dressed so beautifully…’

‘I see,’ Karim said, mirroring her earlier tone.

His eyes said something different to Lily—that he wasn’t her lover…yet.

‘All right. I’ll do the shoot.’

‘You don’t have to,’ Lily said, sounding almost panicky.

‘Relax, habibti. It’s fine.’ He winked at her. ‘Just let me know where and how you want me to sit, Hayley,’ he said.

‘Excellent. We’ll do the inside shots first,’ she said.

Hayley might be blunt—and completely wrong about the situation between him and Lily—but she was a good photographer, Karim thought. Her directions were clear and concise. She brought out the best in Lily as well as in the food. And watching Lily as she cooked…it was beautiful. Almost as if her movements were choreographed.

When Hayley was satisfied with the indoor shots and Lily had poured the gooseberry fool into a dozen pretty glass bowls, Hayley set up her tripod outside. She directed Karim where to sit and adjusted his pose several times.

It was Lily’s turn to watch the photography session. And Hayley was absolutely right, Lily thought. Dressed in another of those collarless white shirts and stone-coloured chinos, Karim looked the epitome of summer. He was perfect for the shot.

And the way he licked the gooseberry fool off the spoon, under Hayley’s direction, would make any woman seeing the magazine feel hot and bothered. He was making Lily feel distinctly hot and bothered.

He gave her a sultry look, and she felt her nipples tighten in response.

Oh, Lord.

She was just glad that her chef’s jacket was so thick that it hid her body’s reaction from him. And she really, really hoped that her thoughts didn’t show in her face.

When Hayley had gone—taking a large chunk of the chocolate cake wrapped in greaseproof paper with her—Lily sent Karim out to Rafiq with the gooseberry fool, hoping that she’d be able to get her libido under control before he came back.

Fat chance.

She needed half an hour under a cold shower for that to happen.

When he walked back into the kitchen, even though her back was turned she knew the second he set foot in the room. Her libido sat up and started begging.

‘Hey. This is my job. You’ve done all the hard work.’ He took the dishcloth from her, and nudged her aside from the sink with his hip.

Even though the contact between their bodies was casual, and there were several layers of clothes separating them, it was all too easy to imagine his skin sliding against hers. His body pushing into hers. Her body closing round his.

‘Lily? Are you all right?’

‘Uh.’ She swallowed hard, trying to drag her mind back out of the gutter. ‘Thanks for your help today.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘And, look—Hayley pretty much pushed you into those shots. If you’d rather not have a photo of you in the magazine I’ll have a word with my editor, explain the situation and ask her not to include it.’

‘It’s not a problem, Lily.’

‘But you’re…’ She grimaced. ‘Isn’t it kind of like giving royal approval to my recipes?’

‘Fine by me.’ He shrugged. ‘I approve of that gooseberry fool. Very much.’

That wasn’t what she’d meant, and she knew he was deliberately avoiding the issue. ‘Won’t it cause a problem for you back in Harrat Salma?’

‘No. Hayley merely took a shot of your friend sitting on your patio, enjoying a summery pudding.’ He continued washing up. ‘Who I am has nothing to do with it.’

‘But people are going to recognise you.’

‘So what if they do?’

‘I…’ Defeated, she gave up. If it didn’t bother him, why should it bother her?

He smiled at her. ‘I enjoyed it, actually. It was a lot of fun.’

‘Hayley said she thought you were used to having your photograph taken.’

He shrugged. ‘I am.’

‘But she thought it was because you were a model or something.’ She felt her skin heat. ‘And she was convinced you were gay.’

His grin broadened. ‘If only she knew that the whole time I was licking that spoon, I was imagining tasting you.’

Oh, damn. The picture that put in her head. ‘Karim.’ She breathed his name.

The teasing light disappeared from his eyes, replaced with something much more intense. ‘It’s going to happen, Lily,’ he said softly. ‘Sooner or later, it’s going to happen. Between you and me.’

Even though she’d been thinking about it earlier, that had been the fantasy. This was the reality. And suddenly she panicked. ‘I don’t…’

‘Date? So Hayley said.’ He moistened his lower lip. ‘Sometimes rules are made to be broken.’

The last time she’d broken a rule, she’d ended up with a broken heart. Not to mention a broken business. And enormous debts. Even though she knew the situation with Karim was different, the old fears swamped her into silence. She wanted him. Really wanted him. And despite her earlier thoughts about not letting herself get involved, she was scared that she might end up being in too deep.

As if he guessed how much she was panicking, he dried his hands, then took her right hand. Drew it to his lips. ‘It’ll be OK,’ he said softly. ‘More than OK. You just need to trust me.’

Trust.

Now, there was a sticking point.

She wasn’t sure she was capable of trust any more. ‘I…’ Frustrated that she couldn’t find the right words to explain it—not without telling him just how naïve and foolishly trusting she’d once been—she shook her head.

‘Lily, I’m not going to hurt you.’ He was still holding her hand; he turned it over, dropped a kiss into the centre of her palm and folded her fingers over it. ‘I think right now you need a breathing space, so I’m going to leave now. But you know where I am if you want me.’

If she wanted him?

Of course she wanted him.

But this was all way too complicated.

‘Later, habibti,’ he said softly. ‘Later.’

CHAPTER FIVE

LILY slept badly that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see that intense look in Karim’s eyes. Could hear him saying, ‘The whole time I was licking that spoon, I was imagining tasting you.’ Could feel the warmth of his mouth against her skin…and it drove her crazy, making her ache with wanting.

When the alarm finally dragged her out of a fitful sleep, her head felt like lead and there was a dull ache across her brow. A cup of coffee, two paracetamol and washing her hair in a cool shower made the headache go away, but they did nothing to stop the unnatural heat in her veins. Nothing to stop the anticipatory kick in her stomach at the thought of seeing Karim.

For a moment, she considered going out to buy her supplies before Karim arrived, so she wouldn’t be there to answer the door to him—but that would be the coward’s way out. And Elizabeth Finch wasn’t a coward.

‘Good morning,’ Karim said when she opened the door to him dead on nine o’clock.

‘Good morning. You know where the kettle is, so feel free to make yourself a coffee.’

He glanced at her feet. ‘You’re wearing shoes.’

‘I need to go to the market this morning. The earlier, the better.’

‘Which market?’

‘The street market round the corner,’ she explained. ‘There are a couple of organic veg stalls. If I go now I’ll get the best choice for my client.’

‘Of course. You’re catering tonight.’

She nodded. ‘I need to go to the butcher’s, too.’

‘Fine. But, first…’ He handed her a bag. ‘Better to leave this here than take up space in your basket. Plus it’s a bit fragile, even with the bubble-wrap around it.’

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘You’ll see when we get back. Do you have your bag? Your list? Your keys?’

She blinked. ‘We’re going to the market right now?’

‘That’s what you said you wanted to do,’ he reminded her. ‘So let’s go.’

‘You’re going with me?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘As your assistant…yes. I’ll carry your shopping for you. Though I’m flattered that you trust me enough to leave me alone in your house.’

So he was still playing that game. She sighed. ‘Karim, it’d be easier if you didn’t go with me. For goodness’ sake, you’re His Royal Highness Prince Karim al-Hassan of Harrat Salma.’

‘A title doesn’t stop me carrying your shopping.’

‘What if the paparazzi find out and follow us?’

‘Actually, they don’t tend to bother with me much, except at parties,’ he said with a smile, ‘because I’m incredibly boring.’

Boring? Karim? Ha. As if she were going to fall for that one.

‘Don’t worry. You’re not going to find your picture splashed all over the tabloids, along with a few paragraphs of speculation about how long you’ve been sleeping with me.’

She felt her face heat. ‘You haven’t slept with me.’

‘So I haven’t.’ And even though he didn’t say it, she could see the word in those amazing amber eyes again: yet.

She knew it was a promise.

Desire rippled down her spine, and she looked away, not wanting him to see just how tempted she was. It would be, oh, so easy to reach out, pull his head down to hers, and kiss him the same way he’d kissed her on Felicity Browne’s balcony. She could still remember how it had felt when he’d kissed her palm yesterday, the warm, erotic pressure of his mouth against her skin, how much she’d wanted him to follow that through—touching his lips to the pulse-point in her wrist and then tracing a path up to the inner curve of her elbow, her shoulder, the sensitive spot at the side of her throat, her collarbones.

To her relief, he misconstrued the reason why she’d turned away and put the bag on her hallway table. ‘You won’t have photographers camped outside your door or anything like that,’ he reassured her. ‘You’re safe with me. And it’ll be nice not to have to carry everything home yourself, will it not?’

Carry. She wished he hadn’t said that word. Because she could imagine him carrying her. Upstairs. To her bed.

She made a non-committal noise, not daring to speak in case the wrong words burst out. She was going to get these crazy feelings back under control. She was.

‘Lily?’

Against her better judgement, she said, ‘OK. If you really want to, you can come to the market with me. But you can’t play at being my apprentice today. I’m cooking, and there are such things as health and safety regulations. I don’t breach them. Ever,’ she added, just so he was clear that she always played by the rules in business.

‘I would expect nothing less of you,’ he said softly. ‘How about tasting?’

Finally, she nodded. ‘Provided you use clean cutlery, and you use it only once, tasting’s fine.’

‘Tasting’s fine? Good. I’m glad you said that. Because I really need to…’ To her shock, he dipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers in a kiss that was completely chaste and yet incredibly sensual at the same time. It was over almost as soon as it had begun—and left Lily wanting so much more, her hands were actually shaking as she grabbed her handbag and shopping basket, then locked the front door behind them.

Karim didn’t say a word as they walked together down the street. But every so often, the back of his hand brushed against hers. Casually. Accidentally.

On purpose?

But his expression was inscrutable. She had no idea if he was doing it deliberately or not. But every touch sensitised her skin; her nipples tightened and excitement coiled low in her belly.

No wonder he had a reputation as a playboy.

She’d never met anyone as sensual as Karim al-Hassan. And she’d certainly never thought that a simple visit to the market would bring her to fever pitch. She managed to force herself to concentrate, make sure she didn’t miss anything off her list, but by the time they got back to her house she was a wreck. And even though she tried pretending she was cool, calm and sophisticated, she wasn’t in the slightest. He knew it, too, because she fumbled her keys and dropped them.

‘Allow me, habibti.’ He retrieved them and unlocked the door, holding it open for her before scooping up the basket and following her indoors.

Lord, she needed a cold shower. Ice cold, so the temperature shocked her brain back to where it should be instead of being lost in erotic fantasies about Karim al-Hassan.

But a shower wouldn’t be practical right now.

Particularly as she didn’t trust herself not to invite him to join her.

She needed caffeine. ‘Coffee,’ she mumbled.

‘I’ll make it.’

Funny how he was already at home in her kitchen. Knew where everything was, moved around without having to search for things or ask her. And he looked right there, too.

Don’t start getting any crazy ideas, she warned herself. There couldn’t be any future between them. Apart from the fact that she had no intention of letting a relationship derail her life again, he’d already told her that he would return to his desert kingdom, marry someone chosen by his family, and raise the next generation of heirs. If—when—something happened between them, it would only be a fling. It couldn’t be more than that.

Get a grip, she told herself mentally, and busied herself putting things away. By the time she’d finished, Karim had made coffee for them and taken a mug out to Rafiq. And when he returned, he brought the paper bag she’d left on her hallway table.

‘For you, habibti,’ he said.

She took out the bubble-wrapped parcel, carefully unwrapped it, and stared in surprise. It looked like an intricate carving in the shape of a rose. ‘Thank you. It’s beautiful. Is it a carving from Harrat Salma?’

‘It’s not a carving—it’s a desert rose,’ he explained. ‘Gypsum, with sand inclusions; in arid, sandy conditions the mineral crystallises in a rosette formation. Hence “desert rose”.’

‘It’s lovely, but I can’t accept something this valuable.’

He smiled. ‘It’s a mineral, habibti, not a diamond. You simply dig these up in the desert.’

‘You dug it up yourself?’ Then, before he could answer, she held up a hand to stop him. ‘Of course you did. You said yesterday, a good leader’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.’

‘Precisely.’

There was a wistful look in his eyes, but it was there for such a short space of time that she wondered if she’d imagined it; within moments he was back to being his usual urbane, charming self, asking her about the finer points of planning a menu for a balance of texture, colour and taste. And she knew he wasn’t questioning her judgement: he was trying to understand what she did, how she worked.

He spent the rest of the morning with her, and then he reached out to take her hand. ‘I’m distracting you, habibti. This apprentice thing isn’t going to work, is it?’

‘No,’ she admitted.

‘Pity.’ He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand. ‘You’re distracting me, too, you know. You should see the pile of paperwork in my office.’

She bit her lip. ‘So what are you suggesting? That we call it a day?’

‘Not quite. Because, habibti, the last few days have shown me how good you are at time management. I think you have capacity to expand a little.’

‘In other words, you still think I can manage to fit in the catering for your presentations.’

‘Exactly. So I’m going to give you some space to think about it. Decide what you want to do.’

Lord, he was persistent, but at least he was giving her a choice. Perhaps she could give up some time on her freer days, fit in the flexible elements of her work where she could, and do what he wanted. It meant she’d be crazily busy for those weeks. She’d lose all her thinking time.

But with Karim around, she’d lost her thinking time anyway. She’d found herself being distracted by his presence all week, by fantasies of what she wanted him to do with her.

‘Tell me your answer on Monday,’ he said.

‘Monday?’

‘When you’re having lunch with me,’ he reminded her. ‘I’ll send a car.’

‘I’m perfectly capable of get—’ she began.

‘I know you’re perfectly capable of organising your own transport,’ he cut in. ‘Just humour me, this once. Rafiq will collect you at half past eleven on Monday.’