Page 15 of Unknown Royal Baby

The disjointed pattern in his mind’s eye transformed into a woman. Thick brown hair swept up behind her head in a businesslike bun. Businesslike, too, her court shoes and skirt suit.

But there’d been nothing businesslike in the way he noticed her. The tight fit of her rust-coloured jacket over her breasts. The purity of skin that he imagined to be as soft as the petal of a creamy rose. The restrained yet unmissably feminine sway of her body as she crossed the room.

Even the smudges of tiredness under her eyes made her controlled professionalism seemed gallant, as if weariness would never interfere with her ability to do her job or stand up for herself.

He swallowed hard, knowing she was different.Feelingit in every pore of his body. Despite a natural masculine tendency to notice an attractive woman, he didn’t usually react so viscerally.

The radiance of her brown eyes, warmed by glints of gold, made him think of welcoming firelight on a chill desert night. The way her lips pouted when she was annoyed and the flash of hauteur, when she thought her competence questioned, intrigued and invited.

He couldn’t prevent a snort of laughter. She’d looked daggers at him. There was no invitation there.

But that hadn’t stopped his reaction.

His pulse accelerated as broken images teased him.

The curve where her neck met her shoulder. His nostrils flared on the scent of aroused woman and wild honey and his lips tingled at the brush of velvet-soft skin.

The flare of shock in warm brown eyes, accompanied by a whispered gasp, before she relaxed against him, her eyelids dropping to half-mast in a sultry look of invitation as her body welcomed him.

A ruched, dark pink nipple cresting a breast so perfect the sight of it dried his mouth. The feel of her breast, just the right size for his hand that trembled as he cupped such beauty.

Isam’s eyes snapped open as blood surged into his groin. How long since any woman had made him so weak with desire, so quickly?

He’d come to London knowing he had issues to resolve. Things he had to deal with before he could continue to give his full focus to his country. It had been a challenging year. All Zahdar mourned his father and looked to Isam for reassurance, while he still struggled with his loss. This had been one of the most difficult times of his life.

Yet beyond all the urgent demands on his time there had been a niggling urge to set aside his duties and the worries of a nation, and come to London. Of course he’d put his people first and remained at home. He understood they’d feared he might die from his injuries too.

But now you’re here, what next?

One look at Avril Rodgers had told him this wouldn’t be easy. She’d been left to her own devices for over a year, a situation that needed to be rectified immediately.

But he couldn’t concentrate on office arrangements and communication protocols. Not when she bombarded his brain with sensual impressions that sent it into overload.

In the early days after the accident there’d been times when concentration was difficult. When he’d felt his mind fight for focus. When brain fog had been a constant barrier to progress. He’d been told not to worry, that hewouldimprove. But to a man used to decisiveness, proud of his mental agility and focus, that had been far worse than the various breaks, bruises and lacerations.

Avril threatened that focus more than he’d imagined possible. Alarmingly so.

There was no way Rashid and his staff could fix that. Isam had to do that for himself. Alone.

The doorbell rang after dusk and Avril rolled her eyes. Would this day ever end?

She’d gone to Isam’s hotel sure that at least she’d have the satisfaction of telling him what she thought of him. But the coward had walked away, leaving her to defend her work and her character to his minions.

Then, as soon as she’d walked in the door hours ago she’d been run off her feet. She hadn’t even had time to change out of her office clothes, simply stepping out of her shoes and promising herself a long soak in the bath later, if she could keep her eyes open.

Though, given her indignation at how today’s meeting had played out, she suspected sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight.

She stifled a yawn as she walked to the front door, then, realising who it must be, she smiled as she opened it. ‘Gus, it’s lovely—’

Her words died as she registered, not the comfortable round outline of her neighbour, Augusta, but a towering form, all hard, masculine angles. She’d know those shoulders anywhere and the proud angle of that head.

Without even thinking about it she swung the heavy door forward. Instinct was a skittering creature racing up her spine, whispering in her ear that having that man in her home would be disastrous.

The door juddered to a stop. She pushed but it wouldn’t budge. Looking down, she saw a large, glossy shoe wedged in the doorway. She hoped his foot was bruised.

‘I don’t want you in my home.’

From beyond the door a deep voice said, ‘You’d rather we had this conversation on the doorstep? For the entertainment of your neighbours?’

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