was the one touch she had been waiting for all her life, and her head swam with the impact of its effect on her.
‘Amir…’ she tried again, struggling to conceal from him the way she was feeling. ‘Unusual—and very definitely not English.’
‘It’s Arabic.’ There was a surprising edge to his voice. ‘It means Prince.’
It suited him too. Suited the proud carriage, the beautifully carved features, the way that dark head was held so arrogantly high. She could just imagine him in the wild, flowing robes of the Bedouin warriors. He would look stunning, exotic and magnificent.
‘At least it means something. I once looked up Lydia in a dictionary of names. All it means, apparently, is “a woman from Lydia” which is somewhere in Greece.’
He was still holding her hand, she realised, not having released it after that first greeting. For the life of her she couldn’t think of a way of freeing herself without communicating the wrong message with her actions.
So she simply let it lie where it was. Which was, after all, what she really wanted to do.
‘Arabic.’ Backtracking hastily, she tried to keep the conversation going. ‘Is that where you’re going?’
‘To the Gulf?’ The dark head inclined in agreement. ‘That’s where I was supposed to be flying to today.’
‘You have friends there?’
‘Family.’
Something had changed. Without knowing how, she had blundered in on a subject he didn’t want to talk about, innocently crashing through barriers that she hadn’t realised were there. There was a new hardness in the brilliant eyes, tightness around his mouth and jaw that made her shiver faintly in unease.
Perhaps it was the fact of being in a VIP lounge for the first—and probably the only—time in her life. Or perhaps it had something to do with being in transit, so to speak, not actually belonging anywhere at all at the moment, but being partway between her old life and the new. That and the whirling snow outside, obliterating the safe, familiar world she knew, had given her a strange sense of unreality. It was as if this room, this space where she and Amir Zaman sat, had become a separate little enclosed universe, a bubble suspended out of time, where none of the rules by which she normally ran her life actually worked, or even mattered.
Suddenly his hold on her hand no longer seemed so comfortable or so welcome. With a slight tug she managed to loosen his grasp, ease herself free.
‘I think I’d like something to drink,’ she managed unevenly.
‘Of course.’
In an instant the disturbingly distant mood had vanished and he was all attention, all concern, the jet eyes turning immediately in search of an attendant.
One look was all it took. He didn’t even raise his hand, made no gesture at all that she could detect, and yet the girl in the airport uniform immediately headed in their direction, summoned by the silent command.
‘Yes, sir? What can I get for you?’
‘Lydia? What would you like? Coffee? Or perhaps some wine?’
‘Just coffee, please,’ Lydia responded hastily. She didn’t dare risk anything alcoholic. She was intoxicated enough as it was.
‘Coffee for two, then.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Lydia would not have been surprised to see her actually bob a respectful curtsey. The tone of his voice was pitched just right. It was perfectly polite, even courteous, but there was a note in it that demanded instant and total obedience, and warned of the risk of possible repercussions if that compliance was not forthcoming.
Obviously this Amir Zaman was someone who was used to giving orders—and having those orders carried out, she thought, studying the handsome face even more closely. And Amir meant Prince…
‘Lydia…?’
‘I—I’m sorry… What was it you said?’
Did he suspect that her thoughts had been of him? Of course he did! He did more than suspect. He knew. And it pleased him. Because it was what he wanted.
‘I asked where you were travelling to. Where did you plan on flying to today if the weather had not intervened?’
‘Oh—I was going to America. To California.’
And America was in the opposite direction to the way he was going. Fate had brought them together like this, but only for the briefest moment. And before very long fate would take them even further apart than ever.
She was going to America. Amir was stunned to find how much that fact affected him. It seemed to have the kick of a mule right in his stomach.
And why? Because this woman was heading in the opposite direction to him? Because she was going to California while he had to be in Kuimar?
‘What’s in California? A man?’
He tried to keep the question light, to reveal nothing of the knot that formed in his stomach and pulled tight at just the thought of her with someone else.
‘No, not a man—a job! The job. The sort of position I’ve been looking for for years. A dream job. Have you heard of the Halgrave Group of hotels.’
‘I know of them.’
Of course he knew of them, Lydia reflected. Anyone with the sort of money he obviously had would know of the worldwide chain of exclusive, sinfully expensive hotels that had its base in California and a branch in almost every capital of the world.
‘Well, they actually head-hunted me. I was working as Hospitality Manager in a Leicester hotel and they—they heard of me! They rang me up and asked me to come to a specially arranged interview. They offered me a position right there and then.’
‘In California?’
‘In California to start with. I have to do a six-week course to learn more about the company—the way they do things. After that I could be sent anywhere—anywhere at all. The world’s my oyster.’
And the offer of a job couldn’t have come at a better time. With her relationship with Jonathon floundering on the rocks, her dreams of becoming Mrs Lydia Carey totally shattered, she had been in desperate need of something to put in their place. When Halgrave had asked if she was prepared to travel, she had practically bitten their hand off in her eagerness.
And she wouldn’t be human if she hadn’t found herself wishing that Jon had known about her new venture. He had always accused her of being too conservative, too cautious.
‘You’re so careful about everything it’s downright boring, Lydia,’ he had scorned. ‘No one would believe you’re not even twenty-five yet, you’re such an old stick-in-the-mud!’
And clearly Jon hadn’t wanted to be married to a stick-in-the-mud, she reflected bitterly.
The return of the waitress with their drinks provided a much-needed diversion, a chance for her to recollect her thoughts and bring them back into the present, pushing away the discomfort of her memories of the past.
‘How do you like your coffee?’ Amir asked, taking control of even this small matter.
‘Lots of milk, no sugar.’
He took his exactly the opposite way, she noticed, totally black and sweet. But it was the swift, efficient movements of his hands that fascinated her, the stunning effect of dark, luxuriant eyelashes lying in sooty arcs above the slashing cheekbones as he looked down to focus on the simple task.
He couldn’t be more opposite to Jonathon either, she couldn’t help reflecting. The other man had such a very English complexion, combined with smooth blond hair and blue eyes. The sort of colouring that she would have said was much more her type. Which was why it was so surprising that Amir had had this shockingly powerful effect on her.