So now, in spite of Salman’s presence, she found herself all but licking her plate clean of its white asparagus starter.
Salman was sitting back, watching her, and she felt heat climb into her cheeks which she tried to disguise by wiping her mouth with her napkin. The little champagne she’d drunk was fizzing gently along her nerve-endings, making her feel all too susceptible to this…idyll. And to Salman’s devastatingly dark and gorgeous presence.
‘So…you are now running the stables for Nadim? Not bad for the girl who used to muck out the stalls.’
Jamilah smiled minutely. ‘I still muck out the stalls, Salman. We don’t stand on ceremony at the stables.’
He inclined his head and said thoughtfully, ‘I can see that you would be a good boss—tough, but fair. And clearly Nadim values your opinion enough to negotiate on his behalf.’
An infusing warmth spread through Jamilah. Ever since she’d completed her studies in veterinary science in Paris, her ambition had been to manage the world-famous Merkazad stables, and to be doing it at her relatively young age was no small feat.
She shrugged lightly and avoided Salman’s intense gaze. ‘You know I always loved animals, I dreamed of running the stables ever since I was tiny.’
Something hollow sounded in Salman’s voice. ‘I know. Which is why it was good that you went home and followed your path.’
She looked at him, but his face showed no discernible emotion. And then the waiter came with their main courses and their conversation was interrupted. She’d often told him of her dreams when they’d been younger, when he’d listen in silence as she prattled on. Now she had to recall that he’d never really shared anything personal of himself—just as he hadn’t in Paris. There had just been this intangible quality between them. And it still hurt to think that he’d seen her as an encumbrance.
But was he saying now that on some level he’d been concerned that she’d sacrifice her dreams for what had essentially been a fling in Paris? Coupled with what he’d revealed in the car the day before, she had to acknowledge that his rejection of her had perhaps not been as arbitrarily cruel as she’d believed it to be.
That thought made her quiet as she ate. But finally curiosity overcame her, and she asked Salman abo
ut his own work. He wiped at his mouth with a napkin before telling her that he’d graduated to the much more risky world of hedge fund management.
He grimaced slightly. ‘I’m now a part of that most reviled breed of bankers, the scourge of the recent banking crisis, and yet…’ something cynical crossed his face ‘…reviled as we may be, business has never been so good.’ He smiled, but it was without warmth.
‘You have your own company?’
He nodded and took a sip of water. ‘Yes, it’s called Al-Saqr Holdings.’
Jamilah’s fingers plucked at her napkin. ‘And you don’t mind being thought of…badly?’
He shrugged, eyes glinting. ‘I’ve developed a thick skin. If people still want me to invest their money for them, to take risks on their behalf, who am I to deny them?’
‘It sounds so soulless.’
‘Much like living out of a hotel and leading a disconnected existence? You should know by now, Jamilah, that my soul is lost. I told you a long time ago that I’m dark and twisted inside.’
Jamilah had the shocking realisation in that moment that he really meant what he said. Why would he think that? On some level he truly did believe he was lost, and her heart squeezed. She could still see the boy who had come to comfort her at her parents’ grave, who had instilled within her a sense of strength she sometimes still drew on. Which was ironic, when he was largely the reason she needed strength.
But for those three weeks he’d been gentle and infinitely generous. He’d been as she had remembered him—affectionately indulgent to her, and tolerant of her constant chatter and exuberance. But when she’d trespassed too far she’d been subjected to his icy-cold front and dismissed like all the others—cast out to the periphery.
She couldn’t and would never forget his cruelty to her, but it was already becoming a more ambiguous, multi-faceted thing. Why would he feel like that about himself? What had happened to him to make him believe that? She knew if she kept on this path it would be a very dangerous one. She shouldn’t be curious. She shouldn’t care.
Abruptly she put down her napkin and stood up, making a hasty excuse, hating herself for it. ‘I need to get some papers from the suite for my own meeting this afternoon.’
With smooth grace Jamilah saw Salman make a discreet gesture to someone behind them, and he stood up, too, indicating for her to precede him out of the gazebo. She was surprised he wasn’t pushing for them to stay for coffee and dessert. She walked out a little unsteadily. And then he took her arm to lead her back into the hotel through the gorgeous private gardens.
As they neared the doors, where staff waited, she cursed her gullibility. She stopped and turned to him, looked up. ‘You knew very well what you were asking for when you requested a table outside, didn’t you?’
Eyes as black as sin turned her insides molten. He smiled wickedly. ‘It was a mere manipulation of the truth to get you to stay.’
Jamilah fought the lazy tendrils of desire unfurling inside her. ‘I don’t want you to seduce me, Salman. I won’t be seduced.’
‘It’s too late, Jamilah. We’re here now…for a reason.’ His mouth firmed, ‘I don’t believe in fate, but I believe in this.’
He pulled her into him and his mouth was on hers before she could even squeak in protest. One hand went to his chest, to push him away, but his steely strength called to her, making her legs weak. She emitted a groan of pure self-disgust mixed with the inevitable rise of wanton desire. Their mouths clung, tongues touching and tasting. It grew more heated, and Jamilah found that her arms and hands had climbed up to Salman’s neck and she was straining on tiptoe to get even closer.
She pulled back, her heart racing, disgusted to find herself in this position—again.