‘Were you? Well, the day is a long way from over. Maybe we could do that later.’

We…

‘It won’t be long,’ Jeff said, rejoining them before she could say anything. Just as well. For the second time that day she was lost for words. That had to be a record…‘Do you want to clear up any final details on the contract while we’re waiting?’

‘I’m really quite happy with it,’ Zahir replied, ‘but, Metcalfe had a few queries.’ He held out his hand for the folder she’d put on the table in front of her. She handed them over without a word and Zahir extracted a single sheet of paper from the file and offered it to the other man. ‘If we can iron out these few details, keep her happy, you can have your office print up the final version and I’ll sign it before I leave.’

Jeff glanced at the figures, then, thoughtfully, at her. She gripped her lower lip between her teeth to keep it tightly closed.

‘There’s no kidding you, is there?’ he said with a wry grin in her direction. ‘If I conceded the first three without an argument, will you consider splitting the difference on the management fee?’

Zahir rescued her, holding up a hand as if to silence her. ‘Don’t be hard on the man, Diana. That’s fair.’ Then, offering the hand to Jeff, ‘We have a deal.’

If Diana had felt any concern about Zahir’s intentions, Jeff’s broad smile quickly reassured her.

‘I’ll fly out to Nadira next week to set things in motion, Zahir,’ he said. Then, turning to her, ‘Will I see you there, Diana?’

She’d just picked up her glass and taken a swallow of water, so Zahir answered for her.

‘I’m hoping Diana will accept my invitation to familiarize herself with the resort in the very near future. If you’re there at the same time we’ll be glad to repay your hospitality.’

She choked and the water took the only available exit and shot out of her nose.

Gasping, shaking her head, completely unable to speak, she leapt to her feet and rushed off in the direction of the washroom.

Now what was he playing at?

Since she had no possible way of knowing, she concentrated on the practicalities of mopping the water from the front of her shirt while she regained her breath and her composure. Took her time about refastening the unravelling mess of her hair. Groped in her pocket for lipstick and came up empty. Remembered, too late, that she’d left it in her jacket pocket. Just as well; her lips had got her into enough trouble already without drawing unnecessary attention to them.

Finally, unable to put it off any longer, she returned to the terrace, where the two men were deep in a conversation involving boats.

Zahir looked up. ‘Okay?’

‘Fine. Thank you,’ she said primly.

His only response was one of those quiet smiles that undid all the hard work of the last five minutes. At least with regard to breathing and composure.

It was all very well saying that he’d be in Paris tomorrow-and no, she couldn’t possibly go with him-but she had the rest of today to get through before then.

And no escape.

The rest of lunch, however, proved uneventful since Zahir was more interested in what Jeff had to say than in winding her up. And, like an idiot, she actually found herself missing their dangerous exchanges.

Just how stupid could one woman get?

Afterwards, the two men set off to tour the marina and it was Jeff, not Zahir, who glanced back and said, ‘Can we tempt you to join us, or are you more interested in the shops than boats?’

Freddy, Diana thought, would have been in his element amongst the boats. He loved going on river trips. And that was what they’d do this half-term. A jaunt up to Greenwich on the river to look at the Cutty Sark and the Maritime Museum. They could even take a ride on a narrow boat along the Regent’s Canal to the Zoo.

She realised that they were waiting for her answer.

Or had she been waiting for Zahir to add his voice to the invitation? Encourage her to join them?

‘The shops have it, every time,’ she replied quickly, taking the wiser course and putting as much distance between them as possible.

The way things were going, he was bound to say something, give her one of those ironic looks that would leave her with an uncontrollable desire to push him into the harbour-and how would she explain that to Sadie?

‘How long have I got?’

‘How long do you need?’ Zahir replied. Then, with a smile that suggested he knew exactly what was going on in her head, said, ‘An hour should do it.’

She collected her wallet from the glove box, stuffed it into her trouser pocket and set off for the town centre. Although the possibility that she’d be able to afford anything in the small, exotic boutiques they’d passed on their way down to the quay was totally nil, she’d enjoy the window-shopping. She might be short of spare cash, but she could dream.

But Sweethaven, she discovered, had more to offer than just designer boutiques and when she saw a real old-fashioned bookshop she pushed open the door and went inside.

She browsed for something for her father. Found a paperback thriller that she knew he’d love. Then she spotted a circular stand containing the small children’s books that she’d loved as a child and, as she spun it, looking for something that Freddy would enjoy, she found herself face to face with a familiar title in the fairy tale series.

She took it down, flipping through it, smiling at the remembered pictures, including the Prince, no longer a frog but respectably buttoned up to the neck in a fancy uniform as he stood beside the astonished princess.

On an impulse she picked it up, found another with every kind of nautical knot for Freddy, before realising that time was running out and hurrying back to the quayside car park. Zahir and Jeff were already there.

‘I’m sorry…’ she began as Jeff shook hands with Zahir, raised a hand to her and returned to his office.

‘No problem. We’ve only just got here. Did you find anything exciting?’ Then, seeing the name on the paper carrier she was holding, ‘Books?’

She’d been going to give The Princess and the Frog to him, just to make him laugh. Quite suddenly, it didn’t seem such a bright idea. ‘They’re children’s books,’ she said.

‘Oh? Whose children?’

Tell him…

Tell him and see that look? The speculative You’ve-got-a-kid? look. The one that says, Whoa! Easy…

While she stood there, frozen, he took the carrier from her, opened it and took out the thriller and held it up. ‘This is what you give children to read?’

She snatched it from him. ‘That’s for my dad.’

He took another look in the bag and this time came up with the book of knots that she’d bought for Freddy. ‘He’s a sailor?’

‘He was a taxi-driver. He had a stroke.’

That set him back. ‘I’m sorry, Diana.’

‘He’s not an invalid.’

‘But he can’t drive?’

‘No.’

He gave her a long measuring look, then took out the last book. And that made him smile. ‘Oh, I get it. You wanted to check your version against the original.’

She shook her head. ‘I was close enough, but when I saw it I thought of Ameerah,’ she said, fingers crossed. ‘Maybe she’d like it to go with her snow globe?’

‘I’m sure she’d love it.’

‘Good.’ She reclaimed the bag, put the books away. ‘I’ll wrap it for her,’ she said, tucking it beneath her seat. ‘You can give it to her on Saturday.’

‘Why don’t you give it to her yourself?’

‘She doesn’t know me,’ she said abruptly.

‘You can remedy that while we chug down the Regent’s Canal.’

She wondered if he’d be as eager for her company if she suggested she bring her five-year-old son along for the ride. The one whose father had been a villain.

‘I don’t think so. Are you ready to go?’

He nodded but, as she backed out of the car to open the rear door for him, she discovered that he’d walked around and opened the front passenger door.

‘If I sit in the back, Jeff, who’s watching us from his office window right now, might just get the impression that you’re no more than my chauffeur,’ he said in response to her obvious confusion. ‘You wouldn’t want that, would you?’

‘I don’t actually give a damn what he thinks,’ she replied. Definitely not a response out of the perfect chauffeur’s handbook, but then he wasn’t the perfect client. ‘But you’re the boss. If you want to sit in front, then sit in front.’

‘Thank you for that. I was beginning to wonder for a moment. About being the boss.’

‘Making me responsible for contract negotiation must have gone to my head,’ she replied, before replacing her sunglasses and sliding in beside him. Bumping shoulders as he leaned towards her as he pulled down the seat belt, so that she jumped. Smiling at her as he slid it home with a click.

He was much too close. It was more than the physical effect of his wide shoulders, overflowing the seat beside her. His presence was invading her space, along with some subtle male scent that made him impossible to ignore and, despite her determinedly spirited, in-your-face response, her hand was shaking as she attempted to programme the SatNav with their next destination.

Five years and she hadn’t once been tempted. Had never taken a second look at a man, no matter how gorgeous. Particularly if they were gorgeous.

Pete O’Hanlon had head-turning good looks. His only ‘good’ characteristic, but when you were eighteen and deep in lust you didn’t see that.

Since then, she’d never felt even a twinge of that lose-your-head, forget lose-your-heart-desire that she’d read about. Had heard her girlfriends talk about. Hadn’t understood it.

Not that she was taking any credit for that. Her life was complicated enough without making things even more difficult for herself. Motherhood, guilt had drained every scrap of emotion she’d had to spare. Add a full-time job and who had time?

And then…wham. Out of the blue there it was. The pumping heart, the racing pulse, something darker, more urgent, that was totally different, indescribably new, that she didn’t even want to think about.

Making a pretence of double checking the address, she said, ‘Do I get an explanation for what happened back there? The real reason you took me into your meeting with Jeff?’

He shook his head. ‘It was-nothing.’

‘Pretending that I was what? Your tame number-cruncher querying his figures? That was nothing?’

‘Jeff was always going to agree to those changes-they were fair, believe me-but, since you were there I realised I could cut short the haggling.’

‘Really?’ The question was rhetorical. Ironic.

‘Really. What man could resist flattering a pretty woman?’

‘Remind me never to do business with you.’

‘You wouldn’t have any reason to regret it, Diana.’

Was that a proposition?

She glanced at him and then just as quickly turned away as the tremor affecting her hand raced through the rest of her body so that she had to grip the steering wheel.

It sounded horribly like one.

‘I’ve got nothing to offer you,’ she managed, ‘other than entertainment value and, just once, a short cut to a signature on the dotted line.’

‘Diana-’

‘I hope you both had a jolly good laugh when I snorted a mouthful of water down my nose.’

‘It was an interesting reaction to my invitation to visit Nadira.’

Without meaning to, she looked at him. He was not laughing. Far from it.

‘That was an invitation?’ she asked disparagingly, as she tore her gaze away from him.

‘You want a gold-edged card? Sheikh Zahir al-Khatib requests the pleasure…’

‘I want absolutely nothing,’ she said, furious with him. Furious with herself for letting him see that she cared. ‘I just want to do the job I’m paid for.’

‘It’s no big deal, Diana,’ he said carelessly. ‘There’ll be spare room on the media junket.’

‘Oh, right. Now I’m tempted.’

How dared he! How damn well dared he invite her to his fancy resort for a week of sex in the sand-including her as a tax write-off along with the freebie-demanding journalists-and say it was ‘no big deal’! That she would have no reason to regret it.

Too bad that the first man she had looked at since Freddy’s father was not only out of her reach, but a twenty-four carat…sheikh. Her judgement where men were concerned was still, it seemed, just as rotten…

Zahir had actually been congratulating himself on his self-control as he’d climbed out of the car on their arrival at Sweethaven.

There had been a difficult moment right at the beginning of the journey when he could have easily lost it. He only had to look at Diana Metcalfe for his mind to take off without him. But he’d got a grip, had jerked it back into line, forcing himself to concentrate on what had to be done. Ignore the possibilities of what he deeply, seriously, wanted to do…