again, then he’ll just up the ante—and I am not prepared to be bombarded with charm and expensive trinkets.’
And wouldn’t he just wear her down anyway?
‘He’s the kind of man who thrives on the chase,’ she said slowly. ‘The kind of man who isn’t used to being rejected—it’s probably a first for him!’
‘So what, then?’
Little shivers of excitement rippled down Rose’s spine as a decision formed in her mind. ‘I’ll go,’ she said, in a voice which wasn’t quite steady. ‘And I’ll convince him that I’m not the sort of woman he wants.’
‘What sort of woman is that?’ asked Lara, mystified.
‘A temporary concubine!’ said Rose, and then, seeing Lara’s expression of mystification grow even deeper, added, ‘Someone who will live with him as his wife, until he tires of her, and then on to the next!’
‘You don’t sound as though you like him very much,’ said Lara thoughtfully.
And that was just the trouble. She didn’t. And yet she did. Though how could she form any kind of opinion about the man, when she didn’t really know him at all? She was simply sexually captivated by a man who exuded an animal magnetism which was completely foreign to her.
‘I’m going to go and get ready,’ she said, looking down at her faded jeans.
‘What shall I do with the flowers?’
At the door, Rose turned and smiled. ‘I’ll forgo the obvious suggestion! You keep them, Lara,’ she added kindly, and went back into her bedroom to change.
At least her wardrobe was adequate enough to cope with most things—even something like this. Her job meant that she had to look smart or glamorous whenever the occasion beckoned. Though an outing with a prince was so far outside her experience!
Still, a midday assignation was unlikely to call for much in the way of glitter, and she deliberately chose her most expensive and understated outfit. A demure shirt-dress in chalky-blue linen. It looked very English, she decided, and not in the least bit exotic. As she slid the final button into its hole she wondered whether that was why she had chosen it. To emphasise the differences between her pale restraint and his dark, striking beauty.
She swept her hair back and deftly knotted it into a French plait, and had put on only the barest touch of make-up before she heard the pealing of the front door bell. Drawing in a deep breath for courage and hoping that it might calm the frantic beat of her heart, Rose went out into the hall to answer it.
She pulled open the front door and saw that it was not Khalim who stood there, but a very tall dark-haired man dressed in an immaculate suit, his green eyes glittering with something akin to amusement as he looked down at her belligerent expression.
‘Miss Thomas?’ he asked smoothly.
He had a cool and rather beautiful face and was the kind of man who might, under normal circumstances, have made her heart beat a little faster. But these were not normal circumstances, Rose reminded herself.
‘That’s me,’ she said inelegantly.
‘The Prince Khalim is downstairs waiting for you in the car,’ he said quietly. ‘Are you ready?’
Rose frowned. ‘And you are?’
‘My name is Philip Caprice. I am his emissary.’
‘Really?’ Rose drew her shoulders back. ‘And did Prince Khalim not think it polite to come and call for me himself?’
Philip Caprice hid a smile. ‘It is quite normal for him to send me to collect you.’
‘Well, it is not normal for me!’ said Rose heatedly. ‘If he can’t even be bothered to get out of the car, then perhaps you would be so kind as to tell him that I can’t be bothered going downstairs!’
Philip Caprice frowned. ‘Look—’
But Rose shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said firmly. ‘I know you’re only doing your job—but your boss’s…invitation—’ she bit the word out sarcastically ‘—leaves a great deal to be desired. It might have been more polite if he’d actually phoned me to arrange a time, instead of calmly announcing it the way he did! Either he comes up here, or I’m staying put.’
Philip Caprice nodded, his green eyes narrowing, as if recognising determination when he saw it. As if recognising that, on this, she would not be budged.
‘I’ll go and tell him,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you could leave the door open?’
‘Having to ring the doorbell would be too much of an indignity, I suppose?’ she hazarded, but she did as he asked.
She stood for a moment and watched him go, before stalking back into the sitting room where Lara, who had been listening to the entire conversation, was see-sawing between fascination and horror.
‘Oh, Rose,’ she whispered admiringly. ‘You’ve done it now! Bet you anything he just drives away!’
‘I sincerely hope he does,’ said Rose coolly.
‘Do you really?’ came a deep, velvety voice from behind her, and Rose whirled round to see Khalim standing there, with such a glint in his black eyes that she was unable to tell whether he was amused or outraged.
‘Y-yes! Yes, I d-do,’ she said breathlessly, her heart clenching tightly in her chest as she saw how different he looked today. The eyes glittered with the same predatory promise, but there was not a flowing robe in sight.
Instead he was wearing an exquisitely cut suit in deep charcoal-grey—a modern suit with a mandarin collar which set off the exotic perfection of his face. And where the flowing silk had only hinted at the hard, lean body which lay beneath—the suit left absolutely nothing to the imagination and Rose just couldn’t stop looking at him.
His shoulders were broader than she had realised, much broader, while the narrow hips were those of a natural athlete. And the legs…good heavens, those legs seemed to go on forever. Such powerful legs.
Rose opened her mouth to say something, but words just failed her.
‘You want me to go away?’ he prompted silkily.
Did she? ‘It would probably be for the best,’ she answered truthfully.
‘But you’ve dressed for lunch,’ he observed, his eyes sweeping over the elegance of the pale linen dress.
‘Yes, I have.’
‘So why waste all that effort?’
‘It wasn’t much effort.’ She shrugged. ‘It only took me a few minutes to change!’
‘I’m flattered,’ he said drily.
She fixed him with a reproving stare. ‘I’m used to men being courteous enough to collect their date, and not sending a servant to collect them!’
His eyes grew flinty. ‘Philip is no servant,’ he said coldly. ‘He is my emissary.’
‘Let’s not quibble about terminology!’ she returned. ‘Why didn’t you come yourself?’
Khalim sighed. What would her reaction be if he told her that he had never had to? That all his life he had only had to metaphorically click his fingers and whichever woman he’d wanted would come—if not running, then walking pretty quickly.
‘But I am here now,’ he said, in as humble an admission as he had ever made. Because he suspected that Rose Thomas was not playing games with him, and that if he pushed her too far then she would simply refuse to come. And he wanted her far too much to even countenance that.
He turned to where a tousled-headed brunette was gazing at him in wonder from the other side of the crimson-painted room, and gave her a slow smile.
‘Khalim,’