Page 31 of Royally Promoted

‘Gone into hiding?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Then what? Would you rather I hadn’t returned?’

‘It’s your house, Malik. You can come and go as you please.’

‘That’s not what I asked. You’re disappointed to see me here. Scratch that,’ he ground out. ‘I cancelled the dinner. And it was with two of my father’s business associates—an informal meeting to discuss rejigging some of the board members to deal with my father’s early retirement. You can leave my plate, Lucy. You might be conditioned to tidy up after yourself, but you’re not paid to tidy up after me.’ He stood up, took his one plate and cutlery to the sink and, as an afterthought, washed it all and dumped it by the side of the sink, then he turned and perched against the counter to look at her.

‘Wasn’t in the mood for it after the visit to my parents,’ he confessed.

‘Should I ask how it went or will you remind me that it’s none of my business?’

Once upon a time, she thought with dismay, she wouldn’t have hesitated to ask him a question if it had been preying on her mind, but those days were gone, and in their place was this awkwardness...this awareness...that no amount of mental stain-remover had quite managed to remove.

She wanted to leave.

She didn’t want to leave.

And so she dithered.

Their eyes clashed and she felt her heart pick up pace. Under the tee-shirt, her nipples tightened into stiff, hard bullets jutting against the soft cotton. Between her legs, a dampness was spreading, making her giddy with heat and the burn of desire which she had tried so hard to ignore.

‘Have a nightcap with me,’ Malik invited huskily. ‘I’m in no mood for my own company.’

‘And I’m a last resort?’ Her voice was breathless, and the teasing jibe fell flat.

‘Far from it.’

Lucy hesitated, antenna on full alert, because retreating to the cosy room that overlooked the sprawling back lawns felt intimate—all her imagination, of course. She nodded and offered to make coffee, in a voice that was laced with doubt because the high-tech machine concealed behind one of the doors filled her with mild terror. The chef who prepared their meals was adept at handling it but she feared a mishap if she tried. With this prickly awareness zinging through her, she knew that the wise thing would be to politely decline and leave.

‘Maybe a nightcap...’

‘A liqueur? There are several available.’

‘You choose. I don’t know anything about liqueurs.’ She watched him as he poured them something amber-coloured in two small, heavy crystal glasses and then, as they made their way out, she decided to give in to her curiosity.

‘So...’

‘So?’ Preceding her, Malik half-turned to look at her with raised eyebrows.

‘When you say you weren’t in the mood...’

The airy sitting area was a wash of muted colours and silk hangings.

Malik sighed. He rested back against the mint-green sofa, waited until she had sat next to him, eyes alert, and pondered what to say. He reminded himself that this was his destiny and one to which he didn’t object. He knew what his goals were and he wasn’t a guy who had ever shied away from facing the inevitable. To be born in a certain place, within a certain family, came with expectations, but right now the expectations on his shoulders, the very ones he had volunteered to carry because the time had come, felt...too heavy to bear.

And with Lucy sitting there...with one leg tucked under her, leaning towards him, blue eyes round and unashamedly curious...

God, it felt as if she embodied a life without complication.

He closed his eyes briefly before opening them to gaze at her in silence. ‘My future is hurtling towards me at pace,’ he murmured, sipping the liqueur. ‘Women have been sourced...plans have been made...the time is coming for me to choose a suitable wife.’

‘“Women have been sourced”?’ Her heart picked up pace; she felt painful, hurt. ‘Malik, you make it sound as though you’ve suddenly been transported back to mediaeval times.’

‘Not quite.’ He closed his eyes and half-smiled. ‘But not a million miles away, at least for me.’

‘But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, surely? You mother strikes me as a very reasonable woman.’

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