been so totally absorbed in it this morning that he’d been piqued at how little attention she’d paid him—as anything more than a necessary part of the scene. It was as if nothing else had existed for her.
She laughed, a short, hard sound that held no humour, dragging at something deep inside him.
‘I didn’t have much choice in the matter.’
Another look at her face and he decided against pursuing the issue, for now.
‘And you like working with children?’
Her face softened. She was so easy to read, and yet she was still an enigma. ‘I love it. Working with little ones puts your life in perspective.’
‘I can see you’re looking forward to becoming a mother yourself one day.’
She turned and snared him with those smoky-green eyes. Her mouth widened into a smile that lit her face. ‘I’m already a mother. My little girl, Amy, is two and a half.’
Arik felt his stare harden as her words sank in, something, some strong emotion, balled in his gut, drawing each muscle taut to the point of pain.
He turned away to refill his cup, desperately gathering his control about him.
Fury, that was what it was.
His frown turned to a scowl as he recognised the emotion, hard as a knot, inside him. Anger. And jealousy.
The idea that she’d carried another man’s child, had belonged so intimately to another, burned deep, eating like acid.
The intensity of sensation shocked him. Shook him out of his complacent belief in himself as an easygoing man. There was nothing easygoing about the churning turmoil in the pit of his stomach. It was a surge of pure old-fashioned covetousness. Envy that some other man had enjoyed what he so wanted.
Arik couldn’t believe it. He’d never been jealous in his life!
‘My congratulations,’ he murmured, trying to concentrate on pouring the coffee. ‘Does she look like you or like her father?’
So absorbed was he in mastering the roiling mass of his jealousy that he almost missed her hesitation.
‘Everyone says she looks like me.’
He turned back and offered her the flask of coffee, but she shook her head.
‘She must be a very pretty little girl, then.’ Even that was enough to heighten the glow in Rosalie’s cheeks. As if she wasn’t used to receiving such compliments.
Were Australian men so clumsy, then? Or, the thought suddenly emerged, had she been avoiding them? Had she been burned by the relationship with her daughter’s father so that she shied away from men?
That was a definite possibility, given her skittishness. Arik filed away the thought for later consideration. ‘Your daughter isn’t with you?’
Rosalie shook her head. ‘My mother’s looking after her this week. I’m by myself for now.’
Arik worked hard to keep the satisfaction from his face. Alone for the week. And perhaps a little lonely? Perfect.
Rosalie watched as he unpacked their lunch from the cool-box. It was a relief when he’d ceased his questions and begun to explain the dishes his cook had prepared. Not that he’d probed. Yet with him she felt defensive, as if she didn’t trust him not to use the information against her.
Ridiculous! How could he? She hadn’t said anything particularly personal. Just the bare bones of her life. And yet…she’d sensed a purpose behind his questions, as if he weren’t just making small talk.
Arik Ben Hassan was too unsettling for her peace of mind.
Was that why she hadn’t come clean about exactly who she was? The sister-in-law of the sovereign prince of Q’aroum. She’d automatically shied away from the fact, eager to preserve her anonymity. Everywhere she and her mother went in Q’aroum, they’d been treated with such formal courtesy once people discovered their connection to the ruling family. It was nice to be just plain Rosalie Winters again.
Even now it seemed bizarre, her sister marrying into royalty. But it had taken just an hour spent with Rafiq, on his first visit to Australia, for her to understand why Belle had fallen for him.
Strong, protective, handsome and, above all, completely besotted with his new wife. The sort of man Rosalie could have fallen in love with herself.
The sort of man who was as rare as gold at the end of the rainbow.
She shot a sideways glance at her host, cataloguing the noble profile, the lean strength and easy grace of his actions.
Another stunningly attractive man. Yet, she sensed, a completely different personality to her brother-in-law. She couldn’t imagine Arik settling down with just one woman. Those heavy-lidded eyes with their knowing, teasing gleam indicated he enjoyed the good life too much. No doubt he had the money and free time to indulge any whim. Why should he take life seriously?
She watched him unpack the platters and bowls of tempting local dishes—salads, dips, sesame bread and cold meats. All perfect. All exquisitely presented. Even for a man with his own private chef, surely this was no ordinary picnic?
‘Arik?’ His name sounded too good on her lips. She wished she hadn’t used it. Especially when he turned round to her, that tempting half-smile tugging at his lips and changing his face from imposing to sexy.
‘What is all this?’ Her gesture encompassed the luxurious setting as well as the feast spread before her.
‘A picnic lunch?’ There was a twinkle in those dark eyes that almost made her smile, despite her wariness.
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s more than that.’ She hesitated, wondering how big a fool she was about to make of herself. But she had to know. ‘Please. I’m not into games. Exactly what is it you want from me?’
The humour faded from his eyes in an instant, replaced by a brooding severity she hadn’t seen before. It caught her by surprise.
So did his hand, reaching out and enfolding hers. His touch was light but firm, his flesh warm and enticing. She sucked in a breath.
‘Exactly?’ His thumb stroked over hers, sending a shiver of excitement straight to her secret feminine core. ‘I would like to know you better, Rosalie. Much better.’ Another stroke of his thumb made her tremble.
‘I want to become your lover.’
Chapter Four
ROSALIE wrenched her hand away. Dismay lit her face.
And something else. A dazzling instant of connection that told Arik he was right. She too felt the surge of desire between them. She wanted him and it scared her. He read vulnerability in her eyes, in the twist of her lips.
‘No!’ Her eyes boggled. ‘I mean—’
‘You’re not interested in a short romance?’
She shook her head and long strands of rose gilt swirled around her neck. ‘No. No, I’m not.’
His eyes narrowed as he took in her clenched fists, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, her stormy eyes.
If he were a sensitive soul his ego might have been bruised by her vehemence. Instead he saw beyond her rejection to the inner pain she couldn’t conceal. There was something there. Some deep-seated fear that made her deny him, and herself, the pleasure they would find together.
For an instant, impatience, pique at the unprecedented rejection, threatened to swamp him. Then sense reasserted itself. Much as she denied it, Rosalie was ripe for him. She couldn’t conceal her body’s eagerness. Or the way her eyes devoured him when she thought he wasn’t aware.
He’d need time to thaw her shell of ice. But then, didn’t he have time on his hands? She