In The Arms Of The Sheikh. Sophie Weston
was genuinely shocked. ‘I’m not that rude. Am I?’
‘Not rude,’ said Izzy forgivingly. ‘Just busy being a tycoon.’
‘I’m not!’
Izzy smiled. ‘How many times have you blown me out this year?’
That was horribly true. Natasha could not deny it.
‘Never mind,’ said Izzy blithely. ‘You’re here now. That’s all that matters.’
Even in the fitful light of the bonfire, it was clear that Kazim Whoever-he-was did not agree. Natasha’s guilty conscience mutated rapidly into something a lot more combative.
‘Well, I am now I’ve made it through the front door security checks,’ she agreed, simmering. ‘Unlike my phone.’
Izzy looked bewildered. ‘What’s happened to your phone? Oh, Natasha, don’t say you were mugged.’
Natasha looked straight at Kazim Whoever-he-was. ‘Yup. A mugging. That’s what it was.’
His eyes flickered. But he did not say anything.
Kind Izzy hugged her again, distressed. ‘How horrible.’
Natasha did not take her eyes off Kazim. ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ she told him.
She meant it. She could see from that look in his eyes that he knew it too. His nostrils flared.
Clearly no one had said that they could handle Kazim before. He was outraged. Outraged enough to do anything about it? Natasha was not sure.
Then she saw the rigid look to his mouth. Oh, yes, definitely outraged enough to do something.
For a moment she felt a little frisson of alarm. But then she caught herself. She never ran from a challenge. Ever.
Fine, do your worst, she taunted him silently.
His nostrils flared.
A trickle of something that could have been alarm ran down Natasha’s spine. Alarm or excitement. Suddenly all her senses were alert.
Nobody else seemed to notice. But she knew what was going on. And so did he. In the smoky darkness, unseen by anyone but themselves, light sabre clashed against light sabre.
It was like strong dark wine. Or a high wind.
Or coming alive.
CHAPTER THREE
ONLY not yet. Natasha had to get some warm clothes on before Kazim thought her trembling was down to him. He was arrogant enough for that.
Natasha turned her shoulder on him.
‘Actually, Izzy, I could do with getting out of these clothes. Can you point me in the direction of my room?’
Izzy was instantly remorseful. ‘Sure. You must be freezing.’
‘I’ve been warmer,’ agreed Natasha. ‘In fact, I’d be glad to borrow a sweater too. I didn’t know I’d need one.’
‘And, of course, you kept your packing down to the minimum.’ Izzy chuckled. She looked eloquently at Natasha’s overnight case. ‘How long have you been living out of that tiny little bag?’
Natasha grinned. It was a long-standing joke between them.
‘A week.’
‘Then a sweater isn’t all you’ll need to borrow,’ said Izzy with feeling.
‘The hotel had a laundry service,’ retorted Natasha. ‘A sweater will do it, really.’
‘I’ll come and find you some nice warm layers. And gum boots.’
Kazim interposed. ‘Stay with your guests. I can show Ms Lambert to her room. There are plenty of spare sweaters in the Egyptian room.’
Izzy’s brows flicked up, as if something in his tone surprised her.
Maybe it was the frosty disapproval, thought Natasha with irony. Presumably butlers weren’t supposed to take an instant dislike to their employers’ guests, even if the current employer was only borrowing their services for the weekend.
‘The fireworks will start any moment,’ Kazim said, as if that clinched it.
Natasha would much rather have had the girls’ tête-à-tête with Izzy that she had promised herself. But she knew her social duty.
‘Go and fix the fireworks,’ she urged Izzy. ‘If—Kazim, is it?—will just show me where to go…’ she sent a bland smile in his general direction, carefully not meeting his eyes ‘…I’ll get myself sorted in no time.’
‘Okay,’ said Izzy slowly. She looked thoughtful. ‘Mulled wine out here afterwards, then. I’ll bet you can do with it.’
Without waiting further, Kazim set off.
‘Whoops. See you in a bit,’ said Natasha and scampered after him, as fast as her stockinged feet permitted.
He led the way up the hill to a large paved terrace. Natasha followed. The damp grass struck cold underfoot. She regretted the impulse that had made her kick off her shoes. Temper always backfires, she thought ruefully. But it was too late now—and at least this time she was managing to keep up without slipping and sliding all over the place!
You’re still a quick study, Natasha, she congratulated herself.
He was still striding ahead without speaking, though. She decided to open hostilities.
‘So that was an adequate identification?’ she said to his back.
He glanced over his shoulder at that. ‘It was.’
‘What a relief!’
He ignored the mockery. ‘It must be.’
She realised suddenly that there was just a hint of a foreign accent to the deep voice, elusive as perfume. Maybe it was not even an accent. Just a slight over precision in pronunciation.
Natasha said abruptly, ‘When did you decide to dislike me?’
He kept walking. ‘If I am Lurch the butler, it is not my place to dislike you.’
It was neutral. Indifferent, even. So why was she suddenly positive that he was laughing at her? And why did a man with an arrogance quotient in the top one per cent decide to take a job as a butler?
Before she could ask, he held the door into the house open for her to precede him. She glanced at him as she passed and was surprised at the sheer force of his physical presence. Yes, he was tall. Taller even than she had realised outside on the front steps. But it was not his height that had all her instincts on red alert.
Nor was it his looks. Though the light of the house revealed him to be one of the most extraordinarily good-looking men Natasha had ever met. Not the pretty, smooth-faced good looks of a fashionable heart-throb either. It was something harder, fiercer. The dark eyes might be cool. But there was a fire burning under that imperturbable façade, she thought.
I wouldn’t like to cross him.
In spite of herself, Natasha shivered at the thought.
Instantly she was angry. It did not matter whom she crossed, said her internal mentor. She could handle herself. More important, she could handle the enemy! No matter what the world threw at her, she could handle it. Always had. Always would.
Relax, she told her instincts.
The door led to an old-fashioned orangery, all pale wood and glass. It was warm and full of sweet-leaved citrus trees. Overwhelmed for a moment, she paused in the doorway, all her senses alive to the scented air.
And Kazim walked into her.
It was like an assault, an electric shock straight to the naked nerves.