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Surrender to the Playboy Sheikh
Kate Hardy
Red-hot nights with a desert prince! Karim al-Hassan can have any woman he wants, and sexy little waitress Lily Finch is in his sights. One glance leads to a searing kiss – and a hunger that Karim plans to satisfy with a temporary fling.But Lily is more than just a waitress. Successful and career-focused, she is determined never to mix business with pleasure again – until playboy Karim’s slow seduction breaks her resistance! Soon Karim is breaking his own rules: he wants Lily in his bed – for ever!TO TAME A PLAYBOY Hot, sexy, and double the pleasure! Modern Heat™ introduces Kate Hardy’s new playboy duet


Definitely an upper-class playboy.

Though his olive skin and amber-coloured eyes were just a touch too exotic for him to be English.

‘I really shouldn’t b—’ Lily began as he opened the French doors, guided her onto the balcony and closed the doors behind them.

‘Shh.’ He placed his forefinger against her lips, his touch gentle yet firm enough to tell her he meant it. No more protesting.

And then he held her gaze and traced the tip of his forefinger across her lower lip. The lightest, sheerest contact—and yet Lily couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. There was something compelling about him, something that drew her to him. From the look in his eyes, she had a feeling it was exactly the same for him.

Instant attraction.

Spark to a flame.

A single touch would be enough to ignite it.

She should leave now.

But for the life of her she couldn’t walk away.

TO TAME A PLAYBOYHot, sexy, and double the pleasure!Modern Heat™ introduces Kate Hardy’snew playboy duetLook out forPLAYBOY BOSS, PREGNANCY OF PASSIONComing in May 2009 from Mills & Boon
Modern Heat™
Praise for rising star author Kate Hardy:

About BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S, winner of the Romance Novelists’ Association Romance prize 2008

‘BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S is simply terrific! Sexy, funny, tender, passionate and romantic, this engrossing tale features a loveable heroine and a gorgeous Italian hero who will make you swoon! Kate Hardy is a writer readers can count on in order to deliver an entertaining page-turner which they will devour in a single sitting, and BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S is certainly no exception!’
—www.cataromance.com

About ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY

‘Hardy’s ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY is a terrificattraction-at-first-sight story. He’s hot, sexy and vulnerable, and she’s patient because in the end she knows he’ll be worth it.’
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

‘Romantic fiction does not get any better than this! Fresh, funny, heartwarming and absolutely unputdownable, ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY is vintage Kate Hardy! Featuring a lovely heroine, a gorgeous hero, sizzling sexual tension, an adorable cast of secondary characters and steamy romance, ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY is the perfect book to curl up with on a cold winter night!’
—www.cataromance.com
Kate Hardy lives on the outskirts of Norwich with her husband, two small children, a dog—and too many books to count! She wrote her first book at age six, when her parents gave her a typewriter for her birthday. She had the first of a series of sexy romances published at twenty-five, and swapped a job in marketing communications for freelance health journalism when her son was born, so she could spend more time with him. She’s wanted to write for Harlequin Mills & Boon since she was twelve—and when she was pregnant with her daughter, her husband pointed out that writing Medical™ Romances would be the perfect way to combine her interest in health issues with her love of good stories. Now Kate has also ventured into Modern Heat™ Romance too, and SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH is her ninth novel for this series. Kate is always delighted to hear from readers—do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com

Kate Hardy’s latest Medical™ Romance title, THE CHILDREN’S DOCTOR’S SPECIAL PROPOSAL, is also available this month from Mills & Boon


Also by this author:

HOTLY BEDDED, CONVENIENTLY WEDDED
SOLD TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER
ONE NIGHT, ONE BABY
BREAKFAST AT GIOVANNI’S

Kate Hardy’s Medical™ Romance duet—The LondonVictoria:

THE CHILDREN’S DOCTOR’S SPECIAL PROPOSAL
THE GREEK DOCTOR’S NEW-YEAR BABY

Dear Reader

There’s something about a playboy. It’s the charming smile, the sexy glint in their eyes, the fact that they know how to have fun… And I had enormous fun writing the To Tame a Playboy duo.

Starting with my very first sheikh, in SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH. I’d had a yen to write a sheikh book for ages. So I pitched it to my ed. The deal was: no sand and no robes. So Karim’s a very modern sheikh. One who’s spent half his life in England. He’s tall, dark and handsome—and, being a Kate Hardy hero, he’s also clever and has a big heart. (Actually, that could also describe Luke, the hero in the second of the duo—Luke is Karim’s best friend, and has a completely different background, but he’s just as much of a playboy.)

Both Karim and Luke are strong. They’re in command (of a country and a company respectively); they’re movers and shakers in their world, respected by everyone who works with them; they work just as hard as they play. Both of them enjoy a challenge, and both of them have a personal set of rules—rules which their heroines recognise are holding them back from their full potential, because they’re rules which stop Karim and Luke from giving their heart to anyone.

And so we have Lily and Sara, who proceed to break those rules and show Karim and Luke that they can indeed have it all—with the love of their life right by their side.

I hope you enjoy reading their stories as much as I enjoyed writing them!

With love

Kate Hardy
For Liz Fielding— whose friendship I appreciate as much as her books (and her gorgeous sheikhs!)—with love

SURRENDER TO THE PLAYBOY SHEIKH
by
KATE HARDY


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
‘THANK you so much for your time, Your Highness.’ The journalist was practically curtseying to him. Something Karim really, really hated.
But he managed to stay polite. ‘No problem. Nice to meet you.’ He was aware that he was wearing just as false a mask as the journalist was.
No doubt she thought she had some great quotes to use in a diary piece. This was the kind of party that always made the gossip columns—high-level people from the business world, politicians and hotshot brokers and a sprinkling of actors and pop stars.
And he knew exactly what the spin was going to be where he was concerned. That His Royal Highness Karim al-Hassan had been partying hard, with a champagne reception every day for the last week and languorous lunch engagements that started before midday and never finished before three.
Five years ago, they might’ve been right. He’d partied with the best of them. Burned the candle at both ends.
But now…it was old news. Though in some respects it suited him—people were nowhere near as guarded with him when they thought he was just out for fun, a charming and sophisticated dilettante.
What the newspapers all missed was that Karim’s glass usually held sparkling mineral water rather than gin and tonic. That he had a retentive memory and didn’t need to make notes—he could recall every detail of a meeting and follow it up with letters or reports as necessary. And none of them had any idea that when he left a lunch meeting or a party, he’d be working on complicated figures or reading reports from focus groups until the early hours.
Since his father had entrusted him with such an important task—developing tourism and foreign investment in Harrat Salma—Karim had been more businessman than playboy. He’d done the research, met the right people, made the right contacts, written his business plans. And now he needed to make the most of it. He’d set up a series of meetings with people he knew would bring in investment that would help create more jobs, better infrastructures and the chance to develop sustainable energy sources in his country. All of which would help put Harrat Salma at the forefront.
Even as he chatted pleasantly among a group of people, smiling and making appropriate comments in the right places to show he’d been listening, Karim’s mind was working on his business plan. Though something nagged at him to turn round. Like a whisper in his head that wouldn’t go away.
Eventually, he gave in.
Turned round.
The woman across the other side of the room caught his attention immediately, despite the fact that she was clearly dressed to be invisible rather than to shine. Her hair was an ordinary brown, caught back at the nape. Her black shift dress was simple, elegant and very plain. Her shoes were low-heeled, rather than strappy high heels. She wore no jewellery, not even a watch. No make-up, unless she’d gone for the ‘barely there’ look that he knew from experience was incredibly high maintenance—though, given the rest of her appearance, he didn’t think so.
Odd.
She was the complete opposite of the women he usually dated. Given that she’d dressed to be ignored, he shouldn’t even have noticed her. Yet she was beautiful in her simplicity. And something about her drew him. As if there were some connection between them.
He’d never seen her before. He would’ve remembered her, he was sure. He had no idea who she was—but right at that moment he really wanted to know. And even though he was supposed to be networking, he could allow himself five minutes off. Just long enough to find out who she was and ask her out to dinner.
She was talking to Felicity Browne, the hostess. Karim quietly slipped away from the group and sauntered casually across the room towards the two women. When their conversation ended and she turned away, he quickened his pace slightly and intercepted her path. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello,’ she said politely.
She had a faint South London accent, he noticed. And up close he could see that her eyes were a serious, quiet grey-blue.
Serious and quiet. Definitely not like the women he usually dated.
‘You don’t have a drink,’ he said, shepherding her over towards a waiter bearing a tray of glasses.
‘Because I’m not really here,’ she said.
Although she was obviously aiming to sound cool and collected, Karim had trained himself to notice the little things—and he noticed that she was very slightly flustered.
Given that she’d been talking to Felicity, it was a fair bet that she was a member of Felicity’s staff. So it followed that she was probably worried about getting into trouble for hanging around at a party she really wasn’t dressed to attend—or invited to.
Well, he could fix that.
‘Let’s go somewhere quieter,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you a drink first.’
‘Thank you, but I don’t drink.’
‘Then have a mineral water.’ He took two glasses from the waiter’s tray and handed one to her. A quick check told him that the reporter had indeed left the party: good. Now he could relax. He tucked her free arm through his before heading for the French doors he knew led to a balcony.

Oh, help, Lily thought.
She’d only slipped into the room for a few moments—very quietly and discreetly—to check that Felicity was happy with everything. Then she’d intended to go straight back to the kitchen and sort out the puddings. She certainly hadn’t intended to let herself be waylaid like this.
Even if he was the most stunning man Lily had ever seen.
He was dressed like the rest of the male guests, in a dinner suit teamed with a white, wing-collar pleated-front shirt. His black silk bow tie was hand-tied rather than ready-made. A swift glance at his highly polished black shoes told her that they were handmade, and the cut of the suit was definitely made-to-measure rather than off-the-peg. Expensive made-to-measure, judging by the feel of the cloth against her fingers. Everything about him screamed class.
Well, it would. Felicity Browne was posh with a capital P, and her guests were the same.
Lily had met a few of them before—cooked for them, even—but she’d never met him. She would’ve remembered. He had the same accent as most of the men in the room—one she recognised as public school followed by Oxbridge—and his almost black hair was cut slightly too long with a fringe that flopped over his eyes. Definitely an upper-class playboy.
Though his olive skin and amber-coloured eyes were just a touch too exotic for him to be English.
‘I really shouldn’t b—’ she began again as he opened the French doors, guided her onto the balcony and closed the doors behind them.
‘Don’t worry. If Felicity says anything, I’ll tell her I kidnapped you and it wasn’t your fault,’ he reassured her.
‘But—’
‘Shh.’ He placed his forefinger against her lips, his touch gentle yet firm enough to tell her he meant it. No more protesting.
And then he held her gaze and traced the tip of his forefinger across her lower lip. The lightest, sheerest contact—and yet Lily couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. There was something compelling about him, something that drew her to him. From the look in his eyes, she had a feeling it was exactly the same for him.
Instant attraction.
Spark to a flame.
A single touch would be enough to ignite it.
She should leave now. If she acted on her heart instead of her head, it would be a disaster. She couldn’t afford the kind of gossip that would undoubtedly follow—gossip that would insidiously eat away at the foundations of the business she’d worked so hard to build, and bring it crashing down.
But, for the life of her, she couldn’t walk away.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked softly.
‘Lily.’
‘Karim,’ he introduced himself.
Exotic—and yet he had that very English accent. Intriguing. And she wanted to know more.
‘One question,’ he said softly. ‘Are you married, involved with anyone?’
She knew instinctively that if she said yes, he’d let her go. Then she could escape back to the kitchen. She actually considered lying to him; although dishonesty was something she usually despised, in this case she knew a white lie would be the most sensible course of action.
But her body wasn’t listening to her head. She gave the tiniest, tiniest shake of her head, and saw relief bloom in his expression. Followed quickly by a hunger that made her body tighten in response.
He put his glass down on the table, then took hers from her hand and placed it next to his, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on hers. He captured her hand and raised it to his mouth; as he kissed each fingertip in turn she couldn’t help her lips parting and her head tipping back slightly in offering.
He saw the invitation and took it, dipping his head so that his mouth just brushed her own. The lightest, sweetest, erotic whisper of skin against skin.
It wasn’t enough.
She needed more.
Much more.
She slid her arms round his neck, drawing his head back down to hers. Even as she did it she knew it was crazy. They’d barely spoken a word to each other. Had only just exchanged first names. She didn’t do things like this.
Yet here she was, kissing a complete stranger. A man she knew nothing about, except for his first name and the fact that he had the sexiest mouth she’d ever seen.
And then she stopped thinking as he deepened the kiss and her fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer. His hair felt clean and springy under her fingers and she could smell the exotic scent of his aftershave, a sensual mixture of bergamot and citrus and amber. Simply gorgeous.
In turn, his arms were wrapped round her, one hand resting on the curve of her buttocks and the other flat against her back, drawing her closer against his body. So close that she could practically feel his heart beating, a deep and rapid throb that matched her own quickening pulse rate.
She’d heard people talking about seeing stars when they kissed and had always thought it an exaggeration. Now she knew exactly what they were talking about. This was like nothing else she’d ever experienced: as if fireworks were going off inside her head.
When he finally broke the kiss, she was shaking with need and desire. Every nerve ending in her body was sensitised—and the sensation ratcheted up another notch when he traced a path of kisses along her jawbone to her ear lobe, and then another along the sensitive cord at the site of her neck. She shivered and arched against him; in response, he pulled her closer, close enough for her to feel his erection pressing against her belly. His palm flattened against her hip and stroked upwards, moulding her curves; when he cupped one breast, his thumb rubbing the hard peak of her nipple through the material of her dress, her knees went weak.
All her senses were focused on him. The tang of his aftershave, the more personal scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth on hers, the warmth of his hands through her clothes—a thin barrier that was suddenly way, way too thick for her liking. Right at that moment she really needed to feel his skin against hers. Soft and warm and incredibly sexy.
Then he went absolutely still. Lily opened her eyes and pulled back slightly, about to ask what was wrong, when she heard it, too.
The sound of a door closing.
People talking.
The chink of glasses.
Oh, Lord.
They weren’t alone on the balcony any more. And she’d been so lost in the way he was kissing her…No doubt she looked as dishevelled as he did, with mussed hair and a mouth that was slightly reddened and swollen with kisses, making it obvious what they’d just been doing.
This was a disaster.
But hopefully it was fixable.
At least they weren’t immediately in full sight; somehow while he’d been kissing her he’d managed to manoeuvre them behind one of the large potted palms at the side of the balcony, screening them from view.
Frantically, she smoothed her dress, removed the band keeping her hair tied and yanked her hair back into tight order. It was just as well they’d been interrupted, or who knew what they might have done?
She’d just broken every single one of her personal rules. Even though she’d hand-picked her staff and she knew they were perfectly capable of holding the fort, she should still have been there to oversee things and sort out any last-minute hitches. She was supposed to be working. And instead she’d let a complete stranger whisk her off to the balcony to kiss her stupid. She’d followed her libido instead of her common sense.
Had she really learned nothing from the wreck of her marriage?
Karim, too, was restoring order to his clothes.
‘I really have to go,’ she whispered, keeping her voice low so she wouldn’t be overheard by the others on the balcony.
‘Not yet,’ he said, his voice equally soft. He traced the fullness of her lower lip with his thumb. ‘Or I think both of us will be embarrassed.’
‘But we didn’t…’ Lily’s voice faded as a picture slammed into her mind—a picture of what would have happened if they hadn’t been interrupted. A picture of him drawing the hem of her dress up around her waist while she undid his bow tie and opened his shirt. A picture of him lifting her, balancing her against the wall, and then his body fitting against hers, easing in and then—
‘Don’t,’ he warned huskily, and she saw his pupils dilate. No doubt her thoughts had shown in her eyes, and he was thinking something along exactly the same lines.
All he had to do was dip his head slightly and he’d be kissing her again. Tasting her. Inciting her to taste him, touch him in return. And, Lord, she wanted to touch. Taste. Feel him filling her.
She swallowed hard.
Whatever was wrong with her? She never, but never, turned into a lust-crazed maniac. For the last four years she’d been single and perfectly happy with that situation. She had no intention of getting involved again. But this man had drawn an instant response from her. Made her feel the way nobody had before.
Which, as he was a total stranger, was insane.
This shouldn’t be happening.
She only hoped the people who’d come out onto the balcony would go back into the main room again. The longer they had to stay behind the potted palm, the more embarrassing it would be when they finally emerged.
Again, his thoughts must have been in tandem with hers, because he said softly, ‘The French doors are the only way out. Unless you’re a gymnast in disguise and can launch yourself off the balcony onto a distant drainpipe, then shin down it.’
‘Hardly. And I haven’t been on a double-oh-seven training course,’ she said ruefully, ‘or I could’ve magicked a steel line from somewhere and clipped it onto the ironwork and we could both have abseiled down to the balcony beneath this one and escaped through the downstairs flat.’
‘Great idea.’ His eyes glittered with amusement. ‘I wonder if my watch…?’ He tapped it gently with his forefinger. ‘Sadly, no. It’s just a watch, I’m afraid. I didn’t do the double-oh-seven training course, either.’
His teasing smile was the sexiest thing Lily had ever seen, and she almost—almost—found herself reaching up to pull his head back down to hers. But she managed to keep herself under control. Just.
‘Looks like we’ll have to wait it out, then,’ she said quietly.
A wait that grew more and more awkward with every second; she didn’t dare meet his eyes, not wanting him to guess how much she wanted him to kiss her again.
But then, at last, the hubbub of voices on the other side of the potted palms grew quiet and finally died away, followed by the distinct sound of the balcony doors closing.
Alone again.
And although the feeling of danger should’ve vanished with the people who’d left the balcony, Lily discovered that it had actually increased.
‘Just for the record,’ she said, ‘I don’t do this sort of thing.’
He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I had intended just to introduce myself and ask you to have dinner with me.’
The ‘but’ hung in the air between them.
Instant attraction, that neither of them had been able to fight.
Oh, Lord.
What if there had been problems? What if someone had come looking for her in the space of time she’d been out here with Karim, failed to find her, panicked?
She couldn’t afford to do this. For her business’s sake.
‘I really do have to go,’ Lily said.
He took a pen and a business card from his pocket, and scribbled a number on the back of the card. ‘Call me,’ he said, handing the card to her.
It was more of a command than a question. Karim was clearly a man who was used to people doing what he told them to. Normally, the attitude would have annoyed her. But that connection between them, and the way he’d kissed her… This sort of thing didn’t happen every day. She had a feeling it had shaken him just as much as it had shaken her. And even though her head told her that this was a seriously bad idea, that relationships just messed things up and were more hassle than they were worth, her mouth had other ideas. ‘I’ll call you,’ she agreed softly.
He cupped her face briefly with one hand, the gesture cherishing. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay here for a few minutes. And if Felicity isn’t happy, text me and I’ll go and talk to her.’
And charm her out of a bad mood, no doubt, Lily thought wryly. Not that she was going to let him make excuses for her. If there was a problem, it was her responsibility and she’d deal with it. But she knew he’d meant well, so she smiled politely. ‘Thanks.’
As if he couldn’t help himself, he brushed his mouth over hers. ‘Later.’
And the promise in his voice sent another kick of desire through her.
CHAPTER TWO
‘LILY! Oh, thank God you’re back.’ Beatrice, her chief waitress, sounded heartfelt.
‘What’s…? Oh.’ Lily cut off the question, seeing Hannah, her assistant, clearing up a soggy mess from the floor. The bite-sized pavlovas topped with a slice of strawberry and a kiss of cream that she’d assembled fifteen minutes or so ago had turned into Eton Mess, splattered across the floor. The whole lot would have to go straight in the bin.
And now they were one large platter short of puddings.
Just as well that, knowing how easily meringues could shatter, Lily had brought extra to cover any breakages.
‘Can you whip me some cream, Hannah?’ she asked. ‘And, Bea, if you can wash up that platter, please?’ Meanwhile, she checked what she had left in the way of fruit. There weren’t enough strawberries to do a full platter of mini strawberry pavlovas, but she could add some lemon curd to half the cream and add a slice of kiwi fruit for contrasting colour.
‘I’m so sorry, Lily,’ Hannah said, looking tearful. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going, I tripped, and I—’
‘Hey, no use crying over spilt meringues,’ Lily interrupted with a smile. ‘It happens. I have spares. It’s fixable.’
‘But…’
‘It’s OK,’ Lily said, firmly yet gently. She knew exactly why Hannah was distracted. Hannah’s marriage was coming to a very messy end and the strain of trying to minimise the effects on her four-year-old daughter while trying to keep her life together was spilling over into her work. Not that Lily intended to read the Riot Act. Hannah, despite having a newborn, had been there for her when things had gone so badly wrong with Jeff. This was Lily’s chance to do the same for her friend.
Jeff.
A harsh reminder of exactly why Lily shouldn’t ring the number scribbled on the back of Karim’s business card. Relationships spelled trouble. They distracted you from your goals and made life difficult. Particularly when your judgement in men was so lousy that you trusted them completely and they took advantage of your naivety. Took everything, the way Jeff had. Crushing her self-respect, her pride and her bank account. The sense of betrayal, hurt and loss had been crushing. And someone as gorgeous as Karim would have women dropping at his feet—just like Jeff. OK, she knew that not all men were unfaithful, lying louses…but Jeff had hurt Lily enough to make her extremely wary of relationships.
Pushing both her ex-husband and the gorgeous stranger out of her mind, Lily applied herself to assembling another plateful of pavlovas.
Working rapidly, she moved on to filling tiny choux buns with the coffee liqueur mousse she’d made earlier and sent Hannah out with a tray of miniature chocolate muffins and Bea out with melon-ball-sized scoops of rich vanilla ice cream covered in white chocolate and served on a cocktail stick.
The platters all came back with just a couple of canapés left on each. Good. She’d judged the quantities just right: enough to leave Felicity’s guests replete but not enough to be wasteful. Years of having to struggle to pay off the overdraft Jeff had run up in her name—an overdraft he’d spent on his mistress—meant that Lily absolutely loathed waste. Quietly pleased, she concentrated on clearing up.
She’d just finished when Felicity Browne came in. ‘Lily, darling, that was stupendous.’
‘Thank you.’ Lily had learned not to protest that no, no, she was just average. There was no room for false modesty, in business. She wanted her clients to feel reassured that they’d made the right choice in using Amazing Tastes for their catering needs, and accepting their compliments helped to do that.
‘Those little choux buns…’ Felicity began wistfully.
Lily smiled, guessing exactly what Felicity wanted. ‘I’ll send you the recipe. And you don’t have to make the choux pastry if that’s a hassle for you. You can serve the mousse on its own, in little coffee cups—just garnish them with a couple of chocolate-covered coffee beans and maybe a sprig of mint for colour.’
Felicity laughed. ‘That’s exactly why I always ask you to do my parties. You’re so good at those little extra touches.’
‘Thank you.’ Lily acknowledged the compliment with a smile.
She stayed just long enough to make the polite social chat she knew was expected of her, made one last check that she’d left Felicity’s kitchen completely spotless, then dropped Hannah at her house on the way home. As she took her equipment out of the van and put it away Lily couldn’t help thinking about Karim. And even though she knew it was crazy and it was way too late to call him, she fished inside her handbag for his business card.
Though it wasn’t in the little pocket where she usually kept business cards. Odd. She’d developed a habit of filing things away neatly—they were easier to find, that way.
She checked the rest of her bag. It wasn’t there, either.
Impossible. She was sure she’d put it in her bag.
And then she thought back. When she’d returned to the mini-crisis in the kitchen, she’d probably put the card on the worktop instead of her handbag, knowing that before she did anything else she needed to reassure her staff and stop them panicking.
Which meant that the card had probably been swept up with the refuse and thrown away.
Damn, damn, damn.
She could hardly phone Felicity and ask if she could rummage through the bin. And she definitely couldn’t ask her for Karim’s number or the guest list, because that would be completely unprofessional and Elizabeth Finch was never, but never, unprofessional.
Well, OK, occasionally she acted unprofessionally. As she had on a certain balcony, a couple of hours earlier that evening, when she’d kissed a tall, dark, handsome stranger. Really kissed him. And if they hadn’t been interrupted, who knew what would have happened?
But it was over now.
Which she knew was for the best. Karim and his exotic amber eyes had tempted her to break all her personal rules. Losing his card had done her a favour—it had saved her from herself.

Karim was working through a set of figures when his phone rang. He answered it absently. ‘Karim al-Hassan.’
‘Your Highness, it’s Felicity Browne. I wanted to thank you for these gorgeous roses.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said. He’d sent Rafiq, his assistant, to deliver a bouquet thanking her for her hospitality, along with a handwritten note of thanks. ‘And please call me Karim.’ He didn’t insist on using his title in England, preferring people to be more relaxed with him.
‘Karim,’ she repeated obediently. ‘Hardly anyone even writes a note nowadays, let alone sends such a lovely gift, especially on a Sunday,’ she continued. ‘Anyway, I won’t keep you—I’m sure you’re busy. But I couldn’t just take these flowers for granted.’
He smiled. ‘I’m glad you liked them. Actually, I had planned to call you later today.’ He’d discovered this morning that he had a problem, and he hoped that Felicity would be able to give him a quick solution. ‘The food last night was fabulous.’
‘Thank you. But I’m afraid I can’t take the credit for anything other than choosing the menu, and even in that I think I was guided,’ Felicity admitted with a little laugh.
‘Your staff?’ he asked.
‘Sadly not—it’s a catering firm, Amazing Tastes.’
A very accurate name, Karim thought.
‘I’ve asked Elizabeth Finch—the owner—several times if she’d come and work for me, offered her stupendous amounts of money, but she won’t let anyone tie her down. I was lucky she could fit me in, because she’s usually booked up for months in advance,’ Felicity confided.
So the cook was freelance. Good. That meant there wouldn’t be a problem asking her to cater for his presentations. Even though Felicity would probably have allowed him to poach her personal cook for a few days, this avoided any awkward obligations.
‘Actually, I’m looking for a good caterer for some business presentations.’ He’d had a caterer lined up. But as her sister had had a baby that morning, two months early, Claire had phoned him in a panic, saying that she needed to drop everything and look after her niece while her sister spent all her time at the special care baby unit. Except Claire’s sister lived in Cornwall, a good five hours away—and as Claire was her only family, there was nobody else to do it.
He knew what it was like when family needed you to drop everything. He’d done it himself. So, although it left him in a jam, he wasn’t going to give Claire a hard time about it. He still had enough time to fix things. ‘I wondered if I could trouble you for your caterer’s contact details?’ he asked.
‘Of course, but, as I said, she’s very in demand,’ Felicity warned. ‘Though if she can’t fit you in she might be able to suggest someone. She’s good like that.’
Better and better.
‘Let me get my contact book.’ There was a pause; then Felicity dictated Elizabeth Finch’s phone number and address.
Karim scribbled it down as she spoke. ‘Thank you, Felicity.’
‘My pleasure. And thank you again for the flowers.’
When he replaced the receiver, he flicked onto the Internet and looked up the address. Islington. A nice part of it. So she’d have a price tag to match.
Though money wasn’t an issue. He needed quality—and he’d tasted that for himself, the previous evening. He glanced at his watch. Right now, a busy freelance caterer would be smack in the middle of preparations for an evening event, so this wasn’t the best time to discuss a booking. He’d call in tomorrow at nine; from experience, he knew that face-to-face meetings were more effective than phone calls.
He glanced at his watch. Two hours, and he’d need to shower and shave and change for a garden party. A party that Renée, one of his prettiest recent dates, would also be attending. Given that the weather was fine and the garden in question had some nice secluded spots, it could be an interesting afternoon. A pleasant interlude.
Though, strangely, it wasn’t Renée’s face in his thoughts as he imagined kissing her stupid in the middle of the maze. It was Lily’s.
He shook himself. It was highly unlikely that Lily would be there. And besides, now he thought about it, dating her would be too complicated. There had been something serious about Lily, and he wasn’t in a position to offer anything serious. In less than a year’s time he’d be back in Harrat Salma and his parents would be expecting to arrange a marriage exactly like their own. These were his last few months of playing. Of dating women who knew the score and didn’t expect him to change his mind.
And he had no intention of changing that.

The next morning, Lily was sitting in her kitchen, drinking coffee and planning menus for the following week’s events, when her doorbell buzzed. Too early for the postman, she thought, and she wasn’t expecting any deliveries that morning. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, either.
She opened the front door and stared.
Karim was the last person she’d expected to see. She’d only told him her first name—and it was her nickname rather than her full name. How come…?
‘Lily?’ he asked, looking as surprised as she felt. ‘Do you work for Elizabeth Finch?’
She shook her head. ‘I am Elizabeth Finch.’
He frowned. ‘You told me your name was Lily.’
‘It is.’
He looked sceptical, as if he wasn’t sure she was telling the truth.
She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say Elizabeth when I was tiny—I called myself “Lily-ba”. The name kind of stuck. Everyone calls me Lily. Though obviously I use my full name for work.’
‘I see.’ He inclined his head. ‘I was impressed by the food on Saturday night. I asked Felicity Browne for her caterer’s contact details.’
Then this was a business call, not a social visit. Good. Business made things easier. She could section off her emotions and deal with this. Even better: if he became her client, that would be yet another reason not to act on that attraction. She knew first-hand that relationships and business didn’t mix. Lord, did she know that first-hand. She’d been there already with Jeff and had her fingers well and truly burned. ‘Come through.’ She ushered him into the hall, closed the door behind him and led him through to the kitchen. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Thank you. That would be nice.’
‘Milk? Sugar?’
‘Neither, thanks.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on. Do take a seat.’
At her gesture, Karim took a seat on one of the overstuffed sofas set in the open-plan conservatory area, while Lily busied herself making fresh coffee. Her kitchen was clearly a professional kitchen—very up to date appliances, sleek minimalist units in pale wood, a central island, and what looked like granite work surfaces and splashbacks. Everything was neat and tidy, including the shelf of cookery books and box files. He wasn’t surprised that she was the meticulous type.
And yet the room was far from sterile. The walls were painted a pale terracotta, adding warmth to the room, and there were photographs and postcards pinned to the fridge with magnets. A simple blue glass vase full of daffodils sat on the window sill behind the sink. And he could smell something gorgeous; a quick scan of the room showed him a couple of cakes cooling on a wire rack. For a client? he wondered.
Lily herself was dressed casually in jeans and a camisole top, and looked incredibly touchable. He could remember the softness of her skin against his and the sweetness of her scent when’d he kissed her on the balcony the other night, and his body reacted instantly.
Not good.
This was meant to be business. He knew that mixing business and pleasure wasn’t a good idea—he needed to get himself under control again. Right now. He really shouldn’t be thinking about hooking a finger under the strap of her top, drawing it down, and kissing her bare shoulder.
‘Nice kitchen,’ he commented when she returned with two mugs of coffee.
‘It suits me,’ she said simply.
And she suited it, he thought.
‘So what did you want to discuss?’ she asked.
She’d made quite sure she was sitting on the other sofa rather than next to him, he noted. Fair enough. This was business. And sitting next to each other would’ve risked them accidentally touching each other. Given how they’d both gone up in flames the other night at the first touch, distance was a very good idea.
‘As I said, I was impressed by the food at Felicity’s party. I’m holding a series of business meetings and I need a caterer.’
‘And you want m— You’re asking me?’ she corrected herself hastily.
A little slip that told him her mind was still running along the same track as his. ‘Yes.’ To both, he added silently.
‘That depends when you have in mind. I’m booked up for the next three months.’
‘They’re set up for the end of the month.’
She shook her head. ‘In that case, sorry, no can do.’
He backtracked to what she’d just said. ‘You’re working every single day for the next three months?’ And people called him a workaholic.
‘All my work days are booked.’
He picked up the subtext. ‘So you don’t work every single day.’
‘Actually, I do,’ she corrected. ‘But I don’t cook for other people every single day.’
‘What do you do on the days you’re not cooking for other people?’
‘I develop recipes. I have a column in a Sunday newspaper twice a month, and a monthly column in a magazine.’
He couldn’t resist. ‘Are they work in development?’ He gestured in the direction of the cakes.
‘Is that a hint?’
He smiled. ‘Yes.’
She rolled her eyes but, as he’d hoped, she smiled. ‘OK. I’ll cut you a slice. But be warned that it’s a test, so it might not taste quite right.’
When she handed him a slice of chocolate cake on a plain white plate, he took a mouthful. Savoured the taste. ‘Works for me.’ Though such a vague compliment would sound like flattery—something he knew instinctively she’d scoff at. ‘It smells good and it’s got the right amount of chocolate. Enough to give it flavour but not so much that it’s overpowering.’
She tried it, and shook her head. ‘The texture’s not quite right. It needs more flour. Excuse me a minute.’ She scribbled something on a pad.
‘Notes?’ he asked.
‘For the next trial,’ she explained.
He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘So, to return to our discussion. Basically you have how many free days a week?’
‘I have three days when I don’t cook but they are my development time. Not to mention testing the recipes three times and setting up my kitchen so the photographer can take shots of the different stages. And time to do my paperwork.’
‘But they’re days you could use—in theory,’ he persisted.
‘In theory. In practice, I don’t. If I do it for one person, I’ll have to do it for everyone, and I don’t want to end up working eighteen-hour days to fit everything in. I need time to refill the well. Time to let myself be creative.’
He tried another tack. ‘You have people working for you, don’t you?’
‘Part time, yes.’
‘But you’ve worked with them for a long time.’
She looked surprised. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because everything was so polished at Felicity’s party. That kind of teamwork only comes with experience, when you know each other and trust each other.’
She recognised the compliment and smiled.
‘And your staff help with the cooking?’
‘Some of it.’ She frowned. ‘Why?
‘I was thinking. Maybe you could delegate more to them. Then you could expand your business without encroaching on the days you don’t cook for people.’
She shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. My clients expect my personal attention, and that’s exactly what they get. The only way I can expand is if I get a time machine or a clone—neither of which are physically possible. I’m at capacity, Karim. Sorry. The best I can do is put you in touch with some of the people I trained with who also run their own businesses—they’re good, or I wouldn’t recommend them.’
This was where he knew he should be sensible, thank her for the recommendations, and call each one in turn until he found someone who could fit him in.
The problem was, he didn’t want just anyone. He wanted her.
And he was used to getting exactly what he wanted.
‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but no. I want Elizabeth Finch.’ He paused. ‘Would any of your clients consider rescheduling?’
‘No. And don’t suggest I throw a sickie on them, either,’ she warned. ‘I’d never cheat my clients.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘You have integrity. I respect that.’ He paused. ‘Whatever your usual rates are, I’m happy to double them.’
‘No.’
‘You want to negotiate?’ He shrugged. ‘Fine. Let’s save us both some time. Name your price, Lily.’
She folded her arms. ‘You honestly believe everything can be bought?’
‘Everything has a price.’
She scoffed. ‘You must have a seriously sad life.’
He laughed. ‘On the contrary. But it’s basic business sense. Someone sells, someone buys. The price is negotiable, depending on supply and demand.’
‘You can’t buy people, Karim.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I know that. I’m not asking to buy you.’ He paused just long enough for the colour to flood her face completely. ‘In business, I look for the best. That’s why I’m asking you to do the catering for some meetings that are going to be pretty crucial to my business.’
‘I’m flattered that you’ve sought me out,’ she said, ‘but, as I’ve told you plenty of times already, I’m afraid I’m already booked and there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘persistence is a business asset. And, secondly, there’s always a way round things if you look.’
‘Hasn’t anyone ever said no to you?’
He didn’t even need to think about it. ‘I always get what I want in the end.’
‘Not in this case, I’m afraid. Unless you’re prepared to take my next open slot, in three months’ time.’
‘I can’t wait that long. The meetings are already set up.’
‘Then, as I said, I’m sorry.’ She went over to her filing system, took a box down, and made notes on a pad. She tore off the sheet, then brought it over to him. ‘Here. They all come with my recommendation—and I’m picky.’
‘So,’ he said, ‘am I.’ He drained his mug. ‘Thank you for the coffee. And the cake.’
‘Pleasure.’
She was being polite, and he knew it. He also knew that if he gave in to the impulse to pull her to her feet and kiss her stupid, he’d push her even further away—she’d respond, but she’d be angry with herself for acting unprofessionally. And he wanted her willingly in his bed.
‘If you change your mind—’ and he had every intention of making sure that she did ‘—call me. You have my card.’
‘Actually, I mislaid it.’
Had she? Or had she ripped it up in a fit of temper? Because now he knew exactly what she’d been doing at Felicity Browne’s party, he could guess at her reaction that night after she’d left the balcony—anger at herself for letting him distract her when she’d been there in a business capacity. And underneath that cool, quiet exterior lurked a passionate woman. A woman who’d responded to him so deeply that they’d both forgotten where they were.
He took a business card from a small silver holder, scribbled his personal number on the back, and handed it to her. ‘To replace the one you…’ he paused, his eyes challenging hers ‘…mislaid.’
She didn’t flinch in the slightest; she merely inclined her head in acknowledgement, and went back over to her filing system. She glanced at the name on the card, then paper-clipped it into a book. Then she took a card from a box and handed it to him. ‘In case you change your mind about the dates. But please remember that I have a three-month waiting list.’
‘People plan parties that far in advance?’
‘Weddings, christenings, anniversary dinners…’ She spread her hands. ‘I don’t question my clients’ social lives. I just talk to them about what kind of thing they want, and deliver it.’
‘So you do dinner parties as well?’
‘On Thursdays to Sundays,’ she confirmed.
‘And what if one of your regular clients needed you on a Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday?’ he asked. ‘Or they just decide to throw a party on the spur of the moment?’
‘My clients know that I don’t cook for people on Mondays, Tuesdays or Wednesdays. Apart from the fact that I have other commitments, everybody needs time off.’
‘True.’ That, together with her comment about a time machine, had just given him another idea. ‘Well, it was good to see you again, Lily.’
‘And you.’
For a moment, he thought about kissing her on the cheek—but he knew he wouldn’t be able to leave it there. And he needed the business side of things sorted out before he addressed the issues between them. Before he took her to bed.
He knew that kissing her hand would be way too smarmy, so he settled for a firm handshake. ‘Thanks for your time.’
Even something as impersonal as a handshake made his skin tingle where she touched him. And, judging by the look in her eyes—a look she masked quickly—it was the same for her.
This wasn’t over.
Not by a long, long way.
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU, my friend, are just piqued. For the first time in your life, a woman has actually turned you down,’ Luke said with a grin.
‘I’m not piqued,’ Karim said.
‘You’re distracted. Otherwise you’d have given me a better game tonight.’
Karim couldn’t argue with that. Usually their Monday night squash matches were incredibly close, and tonight he’d lost badly. But he could argue with his best friend’s earlier statement. ‘Anyway, she didn’t turn me down.’
Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought you just told me she was too busy to do the catering for your business meetings?’
‘Kick a man when he’s down, why don’t you? Anyway, she’ll change her mind.’ Karim had every intention of changing it for her.
‘Maybe I can help,’ Luke suggested. Karim had explained the situation to him before the match. ‘Cathy has some great ideas about revamping the café here—if you ask her nicely I’m sure she can come up with some menus for you and organise the catering. If it helps you out of a hole, she can use the kitchens here to sort out whatever you need done.’
‘You’d let me poach your staff?’ Karim asked. Luke had bought the health club three months ago and was in the process of making it reach its proper potential—a gym and spa bursting with vitality and an excellent café.
‘Borrow. Temporarily. To help you out,’ Luke corrected.
‘But you’d want advertising or something in return.’
‘I’m not that much of a shark. And I wouldn’t make an offer like that to just anyone.’ The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘But I’ve just thrashed you at squash. And you’re my best mate. So, as I’m feeling terribly sorry for you right now, you should take advantage of my good nature.’
Karim laughed. ‘Ha. You wait until next Monday. I’ll have my revenge.’
‘In your dreams,’ Luke teased back. ‘Come on. We’re both disgustingly sweaty and smelly—if we hang around here, bickering, we’ll put off all my customers.’
‘Whatever you say, boss.’
After a shower, they grabbed a cold beer in the bar.
‘You’re still brooding,’ Luke said.
Karim made light of it. ‘Just sulking about losing a match to you for the first time in a month. And by such a huge margin.’
‘Are you, hell. You don’t waste energy being competitive over something unimportant.’ Luke paused. ‘She must be really special.’
‘Who?’
‘The woman you’re brooding about. Let me guess. Five feet eight, blonde, curvy and just lurrrves parties?’
Karim laughed dryly. ‘That’s your type, not mine.’
Luke grinned back. ‘Don’t kid yourself. I go for brunettes. Preferably ones without wedding bells in their eyes.’
And just in case they developed wedding bell-itis, as Luke had dubbed it, nobody ever made it to a fourth date.
‘Actually, she’s nothing like the type I usually date,’ Karim said thoughtfully. ‘Try five feet four, mid-brown hair and very hard-working.’
Luke blinked. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘I wish I was. If she were a party girl, I’d know what made her tick. Lily…’ Karim blew out a breath. ‘She’s different.’ And maybe that was why he couldn’t get her out of his head.
‘And she’s the caterer you want to work for you?’ Luke queried.
‘She cooks for the rich and famous. Hand-picked client list.’ Karim leaned back against the leather club chair. ‘She’s the best. And I tasted her food at Felicity Browne’s do, the other night, so I know what I’m talking about.’
He’d tasted her, too…and he wanted to do it again. And again. A lot more intimately.
Luke wrinkled his nose. ‘I don’t like the sound of this. Mixing business and pleasure—it never works, Karim. It’ll end in tears. I’ve seen it happen too many times before.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Definitely.’ Luke raised an eyebrow. ‘So what’s the plan?’
‘I’m going to persuade her to change her mind.’
‘You’re going to charm her into working for you?’
Karim shrugged. ‘I offered to pay her double. She just said that you couldn’t buy people.’
‘Too right. If you can buy them, they’re not worth having around. They’ll be unreliable.’ Luke frowned. ‘And if she drops clients in favour of you, what’s to stop her dropping you if she gets a better offer?’
‘I don’t expect her to ditch long-standing arrangements in favour of me—and she told me up front she had no intention of dropping any of her clients for me. But I also happen to know there are three days a week when she doesn’t have bookings. I want her on those three days.’ Karim turned his glass of mineral water round in his hands. ‘So it’s a matter of getting to know her better. Finding out what’s important to her. And then…negotiating terms.’
‘It still sounds to me as if you’re planning to mix business and pleasure. If you’re going to be her boss, it’s practically harassment,’ Luke pointed out.
‘She’s her own boss. Technically, I’d be her client.’
‘Same difference. Let it go,’ Luke said. ‘Sure, you’re attracted to her. But there’s a lot riding on these meetings. Screw it up for the sake of—what, half a dozen dates, before you get bored or she gets too serious and you back off?—and you’ll never forgive yourself.’
‘I’m not going to screw it up.’
‘You will do, if you’re thinking with another part of your anatomy instead of with your head,’ Luke advised. He finished his drink. ‘Think about what I said. If you want me to have a word with Cathy, let me know. It’s not a problem.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate the offer.’
There was a tinge of sympathy in Luke’s eyes. ‘It’s tough, living up to a parent’s expectations.’
Not as tough as having no family at all—though Karim didn’t say so, knowing just how sensitive his best friend was about the issue. Particularly as Luke had been the one to walk away. ‘I always knew I’d have to grow up and pull my weight in the family firm some time.’ He just hadn’t expected it to be this way. He’d seen himself in a supporting role, not the limelight.
But all that had changed five years ago when his brother had died. The whole world had turned upside down. So he’d done the only thing possible: given up his PhD studies and gone home to do his duty as the new heir to the throne.
A duty he still wasn’t quite reconciled to. Not that he’d ever hurt his parents by telling them how he felt; and he would never, ever let them or his country down. But no matter how hard he worked or played, he still missed the studies he’d loved so much. Filling his time didn’t fill the empty space inside him.
Karim finished his own drink. ‘I’ve done quite enough loafing around for today. I’ll see you later.’
‘You’re going home to work?’
Karim laughed as he stood up. ‘Says the man who’s going to do exactly the same thing.’ Their backgrounds were miles apart, but Karim thought that he and Luke had a very similar outlook on life. They’d met on the first day of their MBA course, liked each other immediately, and the liking had merged into deep friendship over the years. Karim thought of Luke as the brother he no longer had, and Luke was the only person Karim would ever have talked to about Lily. And even though part of him knew that Luke was right, that mixing business and pleasure would lead to an unholy mess, he couldn’t stop himself thinking about her.
By the time he’d walked home, he’d worked out what to do. There was something more important than money: time. And maybe that was the key to Lily. For the next couple of weeks, his work was flexible. He could fit in the hours whenever it suited him.
So maybe, just maybe, he had a way to convince her.
The following morning, he leaned on Lily’s doorbell at nine o’clock sharp.
She opened the door and just stared at him for a moment.
And he was very, very aware that her gaze had gone straight to his mouth.
With difficulty, he forced his thoughts off her mouth and what he wanted to do with it. ‘Good morning, Lily.’
‘Good m—’ she began, then frowned. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m your new apprentice.’
She shook her head. ‘Apart from the fact I already have all the staff I need, you can’t be my apprentice—you don’t have catering experience and you don’t have a food hygiene certificate.’
‘And how do you know that?’ he challenged.
‘I looked you up on the Internet.’ She paused before adding, ‘Your Highness.’
She’d looked him up. Just as he’d looked her up, the previous day. On her own website as well as the gossip pages. Nobody had been linked with Lily’s name for the last four years—probably, he thought, because she’d been too busy setting up and then running her business to socialise. Which suited him fine.
He met her gaze. ‘And that’s a problem?’
‘If you think I’m going to let my clients down in favour of you just because you’ve got a title, then I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, Your Highness.’
He smiled, pleased that she had principles and stuck to them. ‘My title has nothing to do with it. To you, I’m Karim.’
‘Sheikh Karim al-Hassan of Harrat Salma,’ she pointed out. ‘You’re a prince. Your dad rules a country.’
‘The title bothers you, doesn’t it?’
‘Not particularly.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve met people with titles before.’
And worked for them. He already knew that. And he liked the fact that she was discreet enough not to mention any names. ‘Then what bothers you, Lily?’

You do, she thought. You do. It wasn’t his title; she was used to dealing with wealthy, famous people. It was the man. The way her body reacted to him. The way he sent her into a flat spin when he so much as smiled at her. ‘Nothing,’ she fibbed.
‘So. As I said. I’m your new apprentice.’
‘You’re nothing of the sort. Without a food hygiene certificate, you can’t work with food.’
‘I can still run errands. Make you coffee. Wash up.’ He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. Sexy teeth. Sexy mouth.
Oh, Lord. She was near to hyperventilating, remembering what that mouth had done to her. Thinking about what she wanted it to do to her.
‘I could make you lunch,’ he suggested.
She aimed for cool. Since when would a sheikh do his own cooking? ‘You’re telling me you can actually cook?’ she drawled.
He laughed. ‘Making a sandwich isn’t exactly cooking. But if you want to know just how well I can cook, have dinner with me—and I’ll cook for you.’
Lord, he was confident. Most people just wouldn’t attempt to cook for a professional chef, worrying that their food wouldn’t come up to standard.
But she had a feeling that Karim al-Hassan would be good at everything he chose to do.
He was definitely good at kissing.
Flustered, she tried to push the memories out of her head, the insidious thoughts about what Karim might do next after he kissed her again—because he wasn’t going to kiss her again. She was absolutely resolved about that. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer, but I’m afraid I don’t have time.’
‘It’s Tuesday. You’re not cooking tonight,’ he pointed out.
‘I still have preparation work to do. And my column to write. And admin—catering is the same as any other business, with bills that need paying and books that need balancing and planning that needs to be done for future events.’
‘All right. Next Monday night, then. I’ll cook for you.’
This was sounding suspiciously like a date. Something she didn’t do.
‘Or we can make it lunch, if it’d make you feel safer,’ he added.
‘I’m not afraid of you.’ Which was true. She was afraid of herself. Of her reaction to him. She’d never felt like this before. This overwhelming blend of desire and need and urgency. Not even with Jeff—and she’d lost her head over him.
She’d lost a hell of a lot more, too. Her business, her home, her self-respect, and her heart. She’d worked hard to get them all back, and she knew better than to repeat her mistakes.
‘So you’ll have lunch with me on Monday.’ It was a statement, not a question.
The sensible side of her wanted to say no.
But the woman who’d been kissed wanted to know…This man would be a perfectionist. Would he cook as well as he kissed? Would he make love as well as he cooked?
But just as she was preparing a polite but firm refusal, her mouth seemed to work of its own accord. ‘Lunch would be fine. Thank you.’
‘Good. And in the meantime I’ll be your apprentice. Starting now.’
‘Thank you, but I really don’t need an apprentice.’
‘You don’t have to pay me, if that’s what you’re worrying about. I’m giving my time freely.’
She felt her eyes narrow. ‘If you’re trying to get me to change my mind about catering for your business meetings…’
He spread his hands. ‘I’m not trying to buy you, Lily. And time is more precious than money. If I give up my time to help you, then maybe you might reconsider giving up some of your time to help me.’
So he wanted a quid pro quo.
At least he’d been honest about it.
And he wasn’t expecting to push his way into a queue. He wanted some of her non-catering days. He recognised that her time was important and he was offering her something that he valued more than money, too.
Even though she knew her head needed examining—the man was a definite danger to her peace of mind—she took a step back from the door. ‘Come in.’
Karim smiled, and let her lead him to her kitchen. ‘So, boss. First off, how do you take your coffee?’
‘Milk, no sugar, please. And I’m not your boss.’
‘I can take orders.’
He was teasing her. No way would this man take orders. Give them, yes.
She must have spoken aloud because he laughed. ‘Habibti, I can definitely take orders. Just tell me what you want me to do.’
She knew he wasn’t talking about coffee or anything of the kind. There was a sensual gleam in those amber, wolfish eyes that suggested something completely different. That doing her bidding would be his pleasure—and most definitely hers.
‘Coffee,’ she said, before she did or said something to disgrace herself. Like telling him to carry her upstairs and rip all her clothes off and make love to her until she didn’t know what day it was any more.
Coward, his eyes said. She knew he knew damn well what had just gone through her mind.
‘Lots of milk or just a dash?’ he asked.
‘Somewhere in the middle.’
‘OK. Carry on with whatever you were doing, and I’ll make coffee.’
She sat at the little island in the centre of her kitchen, where she’d set up her laptop earlier that morning. So much for editing her article on summer food. How could she possibly concentrate with this man in the room? She was aware of every movement he made, even when she wasn’t looking at him.
She typed and erased the same three words a dozen times.
This wasn’t going to work. It was going to drive her crazy, him being in here. Invading her space. Looking in her cupboards for china—she bit back the words before she told him that she kept the mugs in the cupboard above the kettle, because she didn’t want him knowing that she was watching him instead of working.
She forced herself to concentrate on the screen of her laptop.
A few moments later he brought a mug of coffee over to her—along with a plate, with a little gold box sitting on it.
Her heart missed a beat.
Then she shook herself mentally. Stupid. Even if he was a sheikh and impossibly wealthy, of course he wasn’t going to lavish jewellery on her. They barely knew each other.
Besides, she recognised the embossing on the box: the name of a very exclusive and extremely expensive chocolatier.
‘Is this what I think it is?’ she asked.
‘That rather depends on what you think it is.’
‘Unless you’ve recycled the box, this is definitely chocolate.’
Again, his eyes glittered with amusement, as if he’d guessed the crazy idea she’d had a few seconds before. ‘It’s a new box,’ he confirmed. ‘I wasn’t sure if you preferred white, milk or dark.’
She opened the box. He’d bought two of each sort. Enough to be a thoughtful gesture, but not so much that she felt too uncomfortable to accept his gift. From what she’d read about him online, he could’ve afforded to buy the contents of the shop with his spare change, and still had enough left over to buy the entire stock of the florist’s next door—but he’d been restrained rather than over the top. He’d remembered what she’d said to him about not being bought.
And she liked that.
‘As long as it’s chocolate, I like it,’ she said. ‘But, as there are two of each, I think you should share them with me.’
‘Thank you. I accept.’ His tongue moistened his lower lip briefly. ‘I have to confess to a weakness for chocolate. But I like mine dark. Rich. Spicy.’
How could the man make her think of sex when he was talking about chocolate? Breathe, Lily reminded herself.
He sat on the pale wooden bar stool next to hers—not close enough to crowd her, but near enough for her to be incredibly aware of his body. The first time she’d seen him, he’d worn a dinner jacket. The last time, he’d worn an expensively cut business suit. Today, he was in jeans, very soft denim that just screamed out to be touched, and a collarless white cotton shirt. It made him look younger. Approachable. And incredibly sexy.
No. Sexy was bad.
He was just…
She gave up trying to describe him, because her mind filled the gap with all sorts of descriptions that made her heart skip a beat. Hot. Touchable. Kissable.
This couldn’t be happening. Shouldn’t be happening. They moved in different worlds. No way could anything happen between them.
Except maybe a fling, her libido reminded her. A hot and very satisfying fling. Something temporary. No strings, no promises to be broken.
And the idea sent her temperature up another notch.
Lily reached out to take a chocolate from the box, to distract herself, and her fingers brushed against his. She found her lips parting automatically, inviting a kiss, and felt her cheeks flame when she realised that she was staring at his mouth. When she lifted her gaze she saw that he was staring at her mouth, too.
Remembering.
Wanting.
All she had to do was move towards him and she knew he’d touch her, his fingertips skating across her face and then sliding behind her neck to urge her closer. And then his mouth would touch hers. So lightly. Asking. Promising.
And this time they were on their own. There was no risk of being disturbed. No reason why he couldn’t scoop her off the chair and carry her up the stairs to her bed.
She really, really had to get a grip.
She edged her chair slightly away from his. His expression told her that he’d noticed. And that he’d guessed why.
‘So what are you doing?’ he asked.
Trying to resist temptation, she thought. ‘Editing my article about seasonal foods. Gooseberries, courgettes and broad beans.’
‘It’s spring now. You’re talking about summer foods.’
‘Magazines work three or four months in advance,’ she explained. ‘So although for my catering work I prefer to buy seasonal ingredients, produced as locally as possible, for this kind of work I can’t.’
‘So you do the pictures as well?’
‘No, the magazine sends a photographer over. I’ve emailed them some rough shots so the designer has some idea of what the finished product looks like and can brief the photographer with the kind of angles she wants taken, and we’ll be setting up the final shoot tomorrow.’
‘So what are you cooking?’
‘Broad beans with pancetta, gooseberry and elderflower fool, and courgette and chocolate cake.’
He looked surprised. ‘Courgette and chocolate cake? Are you sure?’
She smiled. ‘Did you taste the courgettes in it yesterday?’
‘That was courgette and chocolate cake?’
‘Yup.’
He spread his hands. ‘What can I say, other than that you’re a culinary genius, Lily Finch?’
She gave him a tiny bow, acknowledging the compliment. ‘We didn’t tell the kids, either. Until they’d scoffed it.’
‘Kids?’ he queried.
Ah. She hadn’t intended to tell him that. ‘Never mind.’
‘Talk to me, Lily,’ he said softly. ‘Kids?’
She flushed. ‘My friend Hannah, who works with me—she takes my trials to her daughter’s nursery school. Depending on what it is, they either use it for the children’s break-time snacks or offer it to parents in return for a donation to nursery funds.’
‘That’s good of you.’
She shook her head. ‘This might be a nice middle-class area now, but there are still quite a few kids around here who have nothing. Nursery’s the only place where they get to play with toys and books. So this is my way of giving something back.’ That, and offering a romantic dinner for two cooked by Elizabeth Finch at the nursery’s annual fund-raising raffle. Because she owed Hannah for supporting her through the mess of her divorce—and she never forgot her debts.
‘It’s still a nice thing to do.’
She wriggled on her seat, not comfortable talking about it; he clearly noticed, because he moved over to the window and changed the subject. ‘Nice garden.’
‘I like it,’ Lily said. ‘Though it’s not just flowers. There’s a raised bed at the bottom which I use for vegetables, and there are pots of herbs on the patio.’ She joined him at the window. ‘And there at the bottom is my Californian lilac. My favourite shrub—it’s a mass of bright blue flowers in May, and it attracts all the butterflies.’ She shook herself. ‘But this isn’t getting any work done.’
‘Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.’
‘I can’t think of anything.’ Well, she could—but none of those things were on the agenda. At all. She raked a hand through her hair. ‘I just need to finish editing my article, and make sure I have all the ingredients in so I can make at least four sets of everything tomorrow—one finished article, two showing the cooking process at different stages, and a spare in case there’s a last-minute hitch.’
‘Give me your recipes, and I’ll check the ingredients for you,’ he said.
‘Thanks, but I’d rather do it myself.’
‘You don’t trust me?’
‘I’d rather do it myself,’ she repeated. ‘I can see at a glance if I need anything. It’s quicker than explaining.’
‘You’re not a team player, then.’
Not since Jeff’s betrayal. She’d vowed that she’d never, ever have another business partner again. It had been devastating to lose the restaurant she’d worked so hard to build. Even though it meant that Amazing Tastes couldn’t expand, it also meant that she couldn’t lose the business she loved because of someone else’s failings. Been there, done that, worn the T-shirt to shreds. ‘I don’t have a problem with my colleagues in the kitchen.’
‘But you have a problem with me?’
She nodded. ‘You’re…distracting.’

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