Desert Fantasies(33)

But Pollyanna was too confident. She’d worked the room tonight with the assurance of someone who knew she belonged.

It had been Pollyanna who’d orchestrated the staff so they were largely inconspicuous. Pollyanna who’d managed the minor fracas earlier. He couldn’t see her as someone passive. She appeared strong and capable.

So, given all that, was he prepared to accept Pollyanna Anderson’s sudden desire to come to Amrah was a mere coincidence? His strong mouth twisted. And if it were not a coincidence, what he wanted to know was what she hoped to gain. And by what means did she intend to gain it?

His eyes narrowed. Did she hope to coerce him into silence by distorting what she saw in his country? Or was she some kind of a honey trap? Set to embarrass him and discredit his evidence?

That didn’t feel right. She moved gracefully enough, but she didn’t walk in a way that suggested she expected to be looked at. Her dress was a stunning colour, which brought out the deep blue of her eyes, but he doubted it had been made by any of the designers the women he’d spent time with would have deemed worthy of notice.

She was attractive, he conceded, but in a very English way. Wide blue eyes, pale alabaster skin and hair the colour of desert sand. But no femme fatale. And, baring the fact he was certain she’d known exactly who he was and where he was to be found at any given time this evening, she’d not tried to approach him.

She’d been too busy working, controlling the events of the evening with a skill born of practice. He watched her as she paused, looking back towards the fireworks with a slight smile. Then she raised a hand to rub her neck and turned away. Her movements were rapid and she walked with obvious purpose across the highly polished floor towards a narrow door in the back wall.

It was the small furtive glance she made back across the now almost empty ballroom that had Rashid on his feet. Curiosity had always been his besetting sin and this was beyond temptation.

Rashid sidestepped the table and followed her across the ballroom. The door she’d walked through opened easily and he slid quietly into what appeared to be an intimate but ornately furnished sitting room. Gilt mirrors hung on the opposite wall and the furniture looked as if it belonged in a museum rather than a family home. All with a faded air of grandeur befitting one of England’s foremost stately homes.

It took less than a second to locate Ms Anderson. She was sitting at right angles to the fireplace on one of a pair of brocade sofas, as yet completely unaware he’d come in. Via her reflection he watched her slip off her shoes and reach down to rub at her toes.

The rhythmic movement of her fingers over stockinged feet was unexpectedly sensual and his eyes were riveted. Even more to the tantalising glimpse of her full breasts as the front of her dress gaped.

Rashid forced himself to look away and his eyes snagged on the back of her neck, with the two soft tendrils of honey-gold hair that had escaped the tight twist she’d favoured. It was the kind of neck made to be kissed. Long. Soft.

Maybe he’d underestimated her success as a potential honey trap? Pollyanna possessed a natural sensuality.

‘Ms Anderson, my name is Rashid Al Baha.’

Her head snapped round to look at him and her mouth formed an almost perfect ‘o’. ‘Wh—?’

‘I apologise,’ Rashid said, moving farther into the room, ‘for disturbing you.’

She hurriedly returned her feet to the torturous-looking heels she’d been wearing and stood up, letting the soft folds of her dress mass around her ankles. ‘No. That is, I…’ One agitated hand twisted the loose curls back into her chignon. ‘I’m sorry, did you need something?’

Rashid stopped a few feet away from her. ‘I’m no great lover of fireworks.’

‘Oh.’

Again that almost perfect oval. His eyes flicked across her flushed face and over a body that he knew Western convention would deem too curvaceous. She was not a conventional beauty, perhaps, but he felt a vague sense of disappointment that she was not a consolation prize.

Centuries ago he might have taken this woman in recompense for her stepbrother’s sins. Maybe there’d been wisdom in that. It was just possible that a few weeks in the arms of Miss Pollyanna Anderson might go some way to dissipating his anger.

He watched the tremulous quiver of her full lips and felt a renewed rush of sexual awareness. Rashid clenched his teeth and forced himself to look at the famed Rembrandt hanging over the ornate fireplace.

‘I thought this might be a good opportunity to talk,’ he said, looking back at her, determined to regain control.

‘Talk? I…’ Her hand smoothed out the front of her dress, drawing attention to her curves.

‘Or are you not aware your request to film in my country has been passed to me?’

‘W-we did think it might have been.’ And then she smiled.

She had an amazing smile. Rashid felt the full impact, particularly when it was combined with the feel of her hand in his. ‘It’s really kind of you, Your Highness.’

‘Rashid, please.’

The beating pulse at the base of her neck was the only indication he had that she wasn’t entirely comfortable. She had such pale skin. So white.

‘Rashid,’ she repeated obediently. ‘And I’m Polly.’

It took him a moment to catch up. A moment he spent remembering that he needed to let go of her hand.

‘Minty suggested I try to speak to you about it tonight, but I doubt I’d have had the courage.’

‘Minty?’

‘Araminta Woodville-Brown. She’s the producer.’ Polly hesitated. ‘Hasn’t she been in contact with you? I thought…’

Had she? Faced with a pair of clear blue eyes looking up at him he wasn’t sure that he remembered.

‘I thought that must be why you wanted to talk to me.’

‘I’ve merely seen the paperwork,’ he said in a voice that sounded overly formal. He couldn’t seem to help it.

‘Oh. Well…’ she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue ‘…Minty thinks…that is, she believes it would make a good programme and I…’

She broke off again and took a deep breath. Then she smiled. Her blue eyes glinting with sudden laughter. ‘I’m making a real hash of this, aren’t I? I’m so sorry.’

If she’d been hoping to deliver a polished presentation in support of the application sitting on his desk she certainly was, but at this precise moment he was more inclined to approve it than he would have believed possible.

She took another deep breath and Rashid found himself watching the rise and fall of her breasts. The fact they were now demurely covered made it more erotic than anything the Hon Emily Coolidge had managed in a dress practically slashed to her navel.

‘Perhaps I could get you something to drink and we could start again?’

‘I need nothing.’

‘D-do you mind if I pour myself some water?’

‘Not at all.’

Polly walked over to the mahogany bow sideboard and lifted a glass from the top of the water jug, chinking the two together. The noise was loud in the quiet of the room. Behind her, Rashid stood perfectly still. He was like some great big black spider. Motionless, and poised to strike.

Did spiders strike? Not that it really mattered. Rashid Al Baha looked as if he might strike. And, honestly, the reality of him was unnerving enough without adding the curse of her imagination. Tomorrow morning, the minute she opened her eyes, she was going to ring Minty and tell her the next time she had a good idea for smoothing out a bureaucratic hiccup she was to do it herself.

‘I—I always keep some water in here in case I need it,’ she said, trying to regulate her voice. Her hand shook slightly as she poured and a splodge landed partly on the tray and partly on the wood.

Everything slowed to half speed as the water spread out on the highly polished surface. ‘Oh, God, please no!’ she said, swiping at it with her hand. ‘Oh, help!’

This was like a waking nightmare and it couldn’t be happening to her. It couldn’t. What was it about her karma that sent everything around her into free fall? Her fingers made no impact on the puddle of water and she turned round, looking for something that would be more effective.

‘Here.’ Rashid stepped forward, holding out a clean, starched white handkerchief.

She grabbed it and started to mop up the water, then carefully wiped the underside of the glass. ‘Thanks. I’m not usually that clumsy.’ And then, ‘Actually, I am. I’m jinxed,’ she said, handing back his handkerchief. ‘But, look, no permanent damage. I live to destroy another day.’

She looked up and caught the waft of something tangy on his skin. A clean masculine smell. And she could see the dark shadow on his chin.

Powerful. That was the only word to describe Rashid Al Baha. It was apt for everything about him. Hard, masculine features, a honed physique that confirmed everything she’d read about his predilection for dangerous sports and a steady blue gaze that was startling against the black of his hair.

‘Th-that sideboard came to Shelton in seventeen ninety-two.’ Polly could feel the heat burning in her cheeks. ‘It would be dreadful if I was the first person in all that time to put a mark on it.’

Rashid smiled. He’d smiled before, politely, but this was something different. For the first time it reached his eyes. Maybe he was human, after all? Wouldn’t that be a surprise?