Surrender to the Sheikh

She tried to imagine being watched all the time. ‘And don’t you ever feel trapped?’

‘Trapped?’ He considered the question as he turned right onto a wide, dusty road surrounded by sand which was the pale silvery colour of salt. ‘I have never known any different,’ he explained slowly. ‘Even at school, I had someone there, a figure always in the background.’

‘But don’t you ever want to break free?’ she asked wistfully.

Her voice held a trace of disquiet, and something in the way her face had softened made Khalim feel a sudden overwhelming sense of regret for what could never be. ‘This is freedom of a kind,’ he said simply. ‘To be alone in a car with a beautiful woman, here in Maraban.’

She thought about this as the car effortlessly negotiated the pock-marked road. ‘Why have you never brought a woman here before? There must have been…’ She tried to be sophisticated but, stupidly, her voice threatened to crack. ‘Lovers.’

There had been women, yes—many lovers in his thirty-five years. So why was it that he could not picture a single one of their faces? Nor recall one conversation which had enthralled him enough to stay locked in his memory?

‘My family and my people would disapprove if I flaunted Western permissiveness in their faces.’

Rose flinched at his choice of phrase, but his attention was on the dusty horizon ahead of them, and he did not notice. Did he classify her as a permissive Westerner, then?

He tried to give her a brief picture of his existence. ‘I live two types of life, Rose. The man who jets around the world and wears suits and stays in all the major cities—he is not the same man who dwells here in Maraban.’

‘A man of contrasts,’ she said slowly. ‘From a land of contrasts.’

He was unable to resist a slow smile of delight. ‘A few hours in my country and already you are an expert!’

That smile tore at her heart. Wasn’t he aware of its devastating impact? Didn’t he know he could ask for the moon with a smile like that—and very probably be given it on a shining golden platter? It just wasn’t fair, thought Rose as she stared sightlessly out at the unforgiving desert. ‘That’s another part of my job,’ she said. ‘I learn very quickly.’

He wondered what had made her renew that flippant tone, or to sit so rigidly in her seat, but at that moment he saw the gleam of reflected light which heralded the first view of the refinery.

‘Look, Rose,’ he urged softly.

She forced herself to look interested, forcing herself to put thoughts of Khalim out of her mind. He wasn’t hers. He never could be hers. What would Kerry say if she knew that her finest head hunter was sitting staring dismally ahead like a lovesick schoolgirl?

But the smile she had pinned onto her face became genuine as she stared at the maze of silver towers and pipes which appeared on the stark horizon.

‘It’s so modern!’ she exclaimed. ‘Like a space-age city!’

‘You imagined camels, did you?’ he questioned drily. ‘Robed figures rolling barrels of crude oil around?’

‘Maybe a bit,’ she admitted.

‘Maraban’s refinery is one of the world’s finest,’ he told her, with a quiet pride. ‘It takes billions to build a refinery and millions to maintain. Cost-cutting inevitably leads to breakdowns in the system, and we must be one hundred per cent reliable if we are to stay ahead of our competitors.’

There was a tough, uncompromising note to his voice, and in that moment she realised that he was far more than just a figurehead. He was involved. Caring. Passionate. About his country and its industry, if nothing else.

The guards at the heavily barred security gates, who had obviously been alerted to their arrival, bowed and ushered them through and Khalim drew up outside the simple but beautifully designed main entrance. Huge tubs of fleshy-leaved shrubs gave a welcoming flash of green.

He turned to look at her, thinking how wonderfully cool she looked with her hair caught back in that sophisticate pleat. Almost aloof—like some exquisite ice maiden. An ice maiden he would one day make take fire, he vowed silently, and then cursed the answering kick of excitement in his loins.

‘I have arranged for you to interview both men in the director’s office.’

She nodded as she picked up her briefcase from the floor of the car. ‘Good. I’ll meet you afterwards.’

His smile was bland. ‘I don’t think you understand, Rose. I will, of course, be present during the interviews—’

‘You will not.’

His eyes narrowed with displeasure. ‘Quite apart from the fact that I am not used to having my wishes so flagrantly flouted—my family own this refinery. Any decisions will ultimately come back to haunt me. I should like to observe each man’s interaction with you.’

‘Fine.’ Rose flashed him a fake-pleasant smile and put her briefcase back down on the floor just as Khalim jumped out of the vehicle and pulled her door open.

‘Come on,’ he said, seeing that she sat there, so still that she could have been carved from marble.