COOLLY yet smartly dressed, in a long-sleeved tunic and wide-legged pants in cream linen, Lucy knew she was as ready for the meeting as she would ever be. And she had no excuse to get flustered; she didn’t even have to carry her own design portfolio. She was being spoiled, she realised as the young man in Western dress who had come to escort her to the meeting lifted it out of her hands. Better not get used to this, she mused wryly, following him down an echoing corridor.
Lucy’s heart was thundering as her companion opened the door of the vaulted council chamber. Silence fell as she entered, then a wave of sound rolled over her as everyone rose from their seats at once. Head held high, she walked towards a lozenge-shaped table she judged to be about thirty feet in length, around which men in the flowing robes of Arabia were standing—waiting for her…
Lucy’s throat dried. Her earlier optimism appeared premature. Her confidence was evaporating now she was faced with the reality of the scale, opulence, and importance that was attached to the project. It was an awesome responsibility.
Fortunately, before doubt really set in, the young man accompanying her placed her portfolio on the table and pulled out a chair for her. Pinning what she hoped was a professional expression to her face, she sat down. At this signal everyone else sat too. Then an older man to her left leaned across.
‘His Majesty apologises,’ he murmured. ‘He will be a little late. But if you would care to give a brief outline to his council in the meantime, he will join the meeting as soon as he can.’
Lucy dipped her head in polite acknowledgement of this news.
She would have preferred to get the meet-and-greet part of things over with right away. But now she had to begin, knowing that at any moment the ruler of Abadan or his son might interrupt. It couldn’t be helped. She would just have to get on with it regardless.
She had just completed her formal introduction to the presentation when the double doors suddenly parted with some ceremony. Unaccountably, she started to shake with nerves. All the men seated at the table with her rose at once, and turned in the direction of the entrance. This was ridiculous, Lucy told herself, drawing a few deep, steadying breaths. She hadn’t felt anything quite like it since—
‘His Majesty.’
Lucy remained standing sideways on to the door as an unseen courtier announced the Sheikh’s arrival in English. Out of consideration for her, no doubt, she presumed. And then curiosity got the better of her, and she turned.
The striking individual who strode into the room supported by a phalanx of following attendants was too young to be the ruling Sheikh. This must be his son, Lucy guessed, and, remembering the figure in the courtyard, she felt her heart begin to race. He had such incredible presence. She felt as if she was looking at someone on a screen, from a distance. It was like looking at Hollywood’s best ever stab at an Arabian prince—except that the man coming towards her was the real thing, and she knew instinctively that there was absolutely nothing contrived about him.
The sun streaming in from glass panels above the entrance doors was preventing her from seeing him properly. But she didn’t need to see the man clearly to sense the aura of power he carried with him. And it was a forbidding power. He would have to be a hard man, Lucy reminded herself. Sheikh Kahlil of Abadan was a prince of the desert, a warrior through and through. He would have to be the type of individual to inspire confidence and fear in equal measure to win the respect of his people.
He covered the distance between them in a few strides, black robes billowing around him as he walked. The plain black gutrah on his head, captured by a gold agal, masked what little of his face the blinding sunlight allowed her to see.
‘Miss Benson,’ he murmured coolly, extending his hand Western-style in greeting.
He was much taller than she had imagined. Standing so close, he eclipsed the rest of the room. They might have been alone. Automatically Lucy grasped his hand.
As they touched, a tremor struck that jolted through every inch of her. She drew a fast breath as it pulsed through every fibre, every muscle, every nerve-ending—
‘Majesty,’ she managed to murmur, pulling her hand away as if he had burned her. She kept her head lowered, more to avoid the harsh, assessing stare than as a gesture of respect.
‘Gentlemen,’ she heard him say politely, ‘please be seated. Don’t let me throw you off stride—please continue,’ he added to Lucy with an elegant gesture.
But there was something extra in his voice now, undetectable to those around them, but menacingly apparent to Lucy. For a moment she couldn’t speak. A tornado had been let loose inside her. Her mind was in freefall, her heartbeat suspended. She gasped involuntarily, noisily, once, then became aware of the interest she was generating around the table, and swiftly gathered her wits.
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she said hastily.
‘Water for Miss Benson,’ Sheikh Kahlil said, leaning back ever so slightly in his seat to direct the servants.
It couldn’t possibly be, Lucy told herself desperately. She gratefully took the glass of water someone handed to her. Could the Kahl she knew have an identical twin. A doppelgänger in Abadan he knew nothing about? She took a few sips, and then made herself look up and smile reassuringly round the table. She had heard it said that everyone had a double somewhere in the world, and had always thought it nonsense. But perhaps, just this once, it was true?
‘Yes, thank you. I’m ready to continue now.’ Lucy was amazed by the steadiness of her voice. Under the circumstances it was nothing short of a miracle! But her thoughts swung wildly back and forth like a pendulum. Was Sheikh Kahlil Kahl? In her heart, Lucy already knew the answer. The man sitting just inches away from her, calmly arranging the folds of his robe, was Edward’s father! And he didn’t even know he had a son.
Suddenly Lucy was overwhelmed by fear. What might a man as powerful as Sheikh Kahlil do when he discovered he had a son? She had brought Edward into danger—
‘Miss Benson? Would you care to continue?’
The Sheikh’s tone was neutral, but it unnerved her. He had recognised her too, she was certain of it. How much time would she have before someone told him she was not alone…that she had her baby son with her?
Feeling his scrutiny, Lucy refocused quickly. ‘Yes, of course. Forgive me, gentlemen…the heat…’
The heat! Air-conditioning in the palace didn’t allow for a moment’s discomfort. She would have to do better than that. But Lucy felt as if she was tumbling down a deep black hole. Her heart was thundering out of control, and her mind was paralysed with anxiety. Somehow she had to continue, and get through this—for Edward’s sake, if not for her own. Once the meeting was over and she was in the privacy of her own room she would have space to think—to work out how she could get away from Abadan with Edward.
Now she knew the true identity of the man she thought of as Kahl, she would seek legal advice. Of course Edward should know who his father was. And she would tell him when the time was right…Lucy glanced around as if seeing everything again for the first time. How could she ever compete with this? How could she deny her son such a heritage? The thought chilled her, but she was careful not to arouse suspicion, and focused all her attention on the meeting.
How she got through the rest of the morning, Lucy had no idea. On the few occasions that Kahlil addressed her directly he confined his questions to the project. But his keenness of mind alarmed her. She realised she hadn’t taken his intellect into account at their first meeting—she had been too distracted by his other qualities. But now she saw that no detail was too small to escape his attention, and as he probed the minutiae of her plans her fears began to grow.
Nothing ever slipped through his guard, Kahlil raged inwardly. But he had entrusted the competition and all it entailed to one of his advisors. This meeting had been arranged so that he could congratulate the winner, and meet them in person, and it signalled his first real involvement in a project intended to bring Abadan to the notice of the world. He was determined that his heirs would one day inherit a country at the forefront of exclusive holiday destinations, and the PR resulting from the design competition, together with the opening of the Golden Palace to the public, was crucial to that plan.
And then this had come about. How? Kahlil wondered grimly. He had asked for The Best, and they had brought him Lucy Benson! But she could hardly have been expected to make the connection on paper, he supposed, snapping a suspicious glance at Lucy. Twenty-one months ago he had told her his name was Kahl, nothing more.
They had enjoyed each other. That should have been an end of it. He wasn’t in the habit of inviting trouble into his life.
The competition had been set up to maximise publicity and to encourage entries from a broad range of entrants—not just the usual celebrity designers. His aim had been to discover new talent. Well, that had certainly worked, Kahlil reflected grimly. Lucy Benson had hit the ground running, winning this prestigious design contract less than a couple of years after setting up again in business, by his reckoning.
The competition had been supposed to find a new face for him to launch, with photographs of the winner flashed around the world, raising the profile of Abadan at the same time. But he had been thinking of attracting the best designers when he’d set it up, not women with questionable morals—though, as that went, Lucy Benson was still the best, Kahlil conceded, feeling his senses flare. Within minutes of their first meeting he had taken her on her kitchen table. There had been something so potent between them even he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation. She had made him lose control to the point where he’d mated with her like a ravening beast, with no thought for the consequences! But it would never happen again.
He had nothing to reproach himself for, Kahlil reflected, turning the events of almost two years ago over in his mind. They had both been consenting adults. And he had made the break nice and clean, leaving before she woke—no regrets, no recriminations—better for both of them that way.
Kahlil’s anger at finding himself in such an embarrassing position simmered dangerously close to the surface as he chaired the meeting. In spite of his best endeavours, his underlying thoughts remained stubbornly fixed on Lucy Benson. Was it coincidence or contrivance that had brought her to Abadan? He had been present when her dreams were shattered. Every detail of that day had to be etched on her mind. Had she somehow managed to discover his true identity after their brief and passionate encounter? It hardly seemed likely, but history proved how cunning women could be when a kingdom and a fortune were at stake. He would have to be on his guard, and wait to see what new surprises she might spring on him. Maybe she was innocent, maybe not; only time would tell.
Lucy had never been more relieved to wind up a meeting. It had gone well. No one, not even Kahlil, could fault the meticulous way in which she had prepared her submission for approval. As the room emptied, she kept her head down and concentrated on collecting up all her drawings and samples. Finally only Kahlil and the young man who had escorted her to the meeting remained.
‘You may go,’ Kahlil said, turning to his young aide. ‘I will assist Miss Benson.’
Lucy’s swift intake of breath sounded loud in the vaulted chamber, but by the time she lifted her head to protest the young aide was a distant figure, moving swiftly towards the door.
‘That’s all right, I can manage,’ she said calmly, straightening up to confront Kahlil. Standing in silence just a few feet away from her, he was a menacing sight.
‘I wish to speak to you,’ he said.
He kept his voice low, but it was authoritarian and chilling. There was no ‘wish’ about it, Lucy thought immediately. Here in Abadan Kahlil’s wish was a command. And she dared not challenge him just yet. ‘Of course,’ she said quietly.
‘We will take lunch together—’
He made it sound about as appealing as sitting down to eat with a wounded tiger.
‘—in the city,’ he informed her.
Lucy felt some relief. Anywhere away from the palace, away from Edward, would do. ‘OK,’ she agreed, meeting Kahlil’s gaze. But her heart was banging in her chest, and her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, all clashing together so that she couldn’t make sense of anything other than the need to keep Kahlil away from Edward until she could get them both safely out of Abadan.
Kahlil’s dark gaze never left her face for an instant, almost as if he could probe her guilty thoughts. But Lucy reckoned if she could confine their discussion to work over lunch she might just get away with it and buy some time. The Golden Palace was so vast it was unlikely their paths would ever cross again.
No wonder he’d left before she woke on that occasion, Lucy reflected angrily. As far as Sheikh Kahlil was concerned she’d provided a few hours’ distraction. He was the heir to a kingdom. Pleasurable time spent in bed with a woman was hardly a world-shattering event for him. It was certainly not a good enough reason for him to stay and play happy families with her the next day, Lucy reflected cynically, angry that her body insisted on behaving as if Kahlil was the answer to her dreams—nightmare, more like, she warned herself, pinning a cool, professional smile back on her face.
‘I’ll just take my things back to my room and then I’ll meet you—’
‘Leave everything here. It will all be collected and delivered to your rooms—I trust everything is to your satisfaction?’ he said.
‘Extremely pleasant,’ Lucy said. The last thing she wanted was for him to decide to check up on her accommodation for himself. ‘Shouldn’t I get changed for lunch?’ she asked, looking for an excuse to return to Edward. She longed for the sanctuary of the nursery. Dining with the devil was not her recreation of choice.
‘You are perfect as you are.’
Lucy’s heart sank. She couldn’t risk raising Kahlil’s suspicions. She had no option but to go with him.
The words had rushed out before he could stop himself, Kahlil thought impatiently. But it was true, unfortunately; as a women and a bedmate Lucy Benson was perfect.
Maybe this surprise reunion wasn’t so annoying after all. His lips began to curve in sardonic appreciation of the situation. The photographs that had been taken during the meeting, of him presenting a prestigious design prize to exciting new talent Miss Lucy Benson, would be flashed around the world—but no one would guess at their earlier involvement. Life moved in mysterious circles—but she was here; he might as well make use of her.