Injecting his tone with a deliberate silkiness, Zayed gave a rare smile, aware of its powerful impact on members of the opposite sex. ‘It might be easier to explain over dinner.’
‘Dinner?’
‘You know?’ His patience was wearing thin. ‘The meal you eat between lunch and breakfast.’
‘You want to have dinner?’ She frowned. ‘With me?’
Now was not the time to tell her that no, he didn’t, not really. That the shared meal would be nothing more than something to be endured while he told her what he had planned for her. But why ruin what was undoubtedly going to be the night of a lifetime for her? Why not dazzle her as women so loved to be dazzled?
‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘I do.’
She screwed up her face. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘But you will, Jane. You will. All will be explained in due course. So.’ Lifting his arm so that the fine material of his robe revealed one hair-roughened wrist, he glanced down at the heavy gold timepiece which his father had once worn. ‘You had better leave now.’
She stared at him blankly. ‘You mean, leave work?’
‘Of course.’
‘But I’ve only just got here. And I’m deep into research about a sixteenth century Kafalahian love poem which has just come to light.’ She brightened up at this point. ‘It was actually written by one of your ancestors to the most favoured member of his harem.’
He was beginning to get irritated now. Didn’t she realise the great honour which was being afforded to her? Did she think he asked out women like her every night of the week—and that he would tolerate being turned down so that she could read a poem? ‘You are having dinner with the leader of the country for whom you work—not grabbing a sandwich in a nearby café!’ he bit out. ‘And doubtless you will wish to prepare yourself. For not only is this an honour for a member of my staff, it is also supposed to be a treat.’
‘A treat?’ she echoed doubtfully.
‘Indeed. I don’t imagine you frequent the capital’s high spots every night of the week.’
‘I’m not really a “high spot” sort of person,’ she said stubbornly.
‘No. I can tell.’ Fleetingly, Zayed thought her reaction might be almost amusing if it weren’t so insulting. But she would soon learn to be grateful. ‘I will send a car for you shortly before eight. Make sure you’re ready.’
She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something else but maybe something in his eyes stopped her for she nodded, even though her expression made her look as if she’d been asked to do some sort of penance. In fact, he was almost certain that she’d just stifled a resigned kind of sigh.
‘Very well, Your Royal Highness,’ she said stiffly. ‘I will be ready just before eight.’
CHAPTER TWO
HER MOBILE PHONE clamped tightly to her ear, Jane paced up and down in her small sitting room as she willed her sister to answer. She had been trying in vain to get hold of her all day—ever since she’d been forced to leave work early in order to prepare herself for a dinner date she didn’t want with the arrogant Sheikh. An arrangement which was still puzzling her as she couldn’t work out why he should want to spend time with her, since she was confident that the work she did for him and his country was of the highest possible standard. And especially since he made no attempt to hide the fact that he found her company about as appealing as she found his.
But an evening with Zayed was far less worrying than the two calls she hadn’t dared pick up, from the same number as the man with the threatening voice who’d called this morning. Suddenly Jane’s safe and contained world felt as if it were spinning out of control.
‘Hello?’ The connection clicked and a cautious female voice came onto the line. ‘Is that you, Jane?’
Cleo! At last. ‘Who else did you think it would be?’ Jane questioned, drawing in a grateful breath as she heard her sister’s sexy voice. ‘What’s going on? Why have I been getting threatening phone calls on your behalf from some man who says you owe money?’
There was a pause. A disturbingly long pause from her normally garrulous sister. For a moment she thought the connection had been lost before a single word split the silence.
‘Hell.’
Something in the delivery of that word sent a shiver of apprehension quivering down Jane’s spine. ‘Cleo? Are you going to start telling me what’s going on?’
Cleo began to speak, a little hesitantly at first—and then it all came out in a babble which seemed perilously close to tears. And Jane felt she could have written the script herself, because it was all so predictable. Her dizzy, impractical twin sister, whose big dreams had always been way too big, had decided to start living those dreams. Inspired by too much time spent monitoring the lives of minor celebrities on social media, her out-of-control spending had ended in a pile of debts which looked now like mountains.
‘Can’t you go and speak to your bank manager?’ said Jane, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘And pay the money back in instalments?’
There was a hollow kind of laugh in response. ‘It’s gone beyond that. If I’d borrowed from the bank in the first place, maybe. But I didn’t. I borrowed from a man down the pub. Turned out he’s a loan shark.’
‘Oh, Cleo? Why?’