Page 193 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

She was petite, with soft small hands that busied themselves quietly and unobtrusively with knife and fork. Her feet were tucked neatly beneath her chair. Her dark hair was combed back into a sleek ponytail and thick lashes framed her downcast eyes. A beauty spot sat just below a generous lower lip. He found himself lingering on that small black mark despite himself. It called attention to the lush fullness of her mouth—

She cleared her throat and he blinked, then wanted to laugh out loud. That annoying teenager had wound him up so much that he’d been ogling hernannyas a way to escape the situation.

He wanted to return to the question of how she could help him win Hind’s father as a client. That was the only reason he was anxious to hear her speak again.

Because of the deal, of course.

Before he could open his mouth, though, she said, “I can’t help you, Mr. Tesfay.”

Is she psychic?

“I’m not sure you—”

“You’ve been assessing me since Hind left.” She picked up a napkin and began to dab at her mouth.

“I’m sure I don’t–”

“Don’t you?” she looked up at him then, and he found himself taking a breath despite himself. The horn-rims she was wearing had slipped down her nose and she regarded him over the top of them.

It was giving a “sexy librarian” vibe and he was very much into it. He would have laughed at himself again, but she was explaining why she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—help him. Her voice was soft and modulated, with a drawl that was reminiscent of the magnolia trees and fragrant honeysuckle he’d seen on trips to the American South. That voice took the sting out of what might have been a very sarcastic line of conversation.

When she smiled, when the soft brown glow of her cheek dented into a single, perfect dimple, he’d decided that this Miss Montgomery was very, very attractive indeed.

“And that’s why I can’t help you,” she finished, and he realized he’d checked out for a moment. She picked up her napkin and shook it out with a flourish. Desmond half rose from his chair, but she shook her head. “No, please don’t trouble yourself. I’m going to check on Hind,” she said, and was gone, with Desmond determinedlynotwatching her walk away. Oh, who was he kidding? He watched, and he enjoyed every single second. Her small waist sloped dramatically into hips that topped a full, heart-shaped bottom that swayed seductively as she walked—

He shook his head and forced himself to look away.

It was probably the most clichéd thing about the poor-little-rich-boy that he was, but he did appreciate a beautiful woman. There had been many since his father’s death. He didn’t use them as a means to forget—nothing could ever do that—but things like good food, good wine, pleasure found between soft willing thighs—

It was the only time he could shut off, just a little. And God knew he was tired.

Desmond had slowed down a little since turning thirty approached—not with the business, but in his playboy affairs—yet this was neither the time, the place, nor the woman.

He had a deal to close. The Sheikh seemed no closer to committing than when Desmond had started courting him as a client, and he had a feeling that this attempt to ingratiate himself had been a waste of time. He pressed his lips together in irritation and glanced down again at the vintage gold watch on his wrist; he’d put it on the day he’d learned of his father’s death, and it had barely left his arm since then.

If he could get out of here in the next hour, perhaps he could salvage the evening at least…

But he was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Miss Montgomery, whose poise was very different from the controlled haughtiness she’d wielded like a blade on her way out. Now she was breathing hard, and she looked panicked. He stood, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were wild.

“Hind’s gone!” she cried.

* * *

“Hind’sgone?”

Val ignored Desmond, dialing Hind’s mobile for the fifth time in seven minutes. By her calculations it was nearly twenty-five minutes since her charge had disappeared. Twenty-five minutes in which anything could have happened. Her mind, as it was prone to do, leaped to the worst-case scenarios, and then some. Hind, kidnapped by her father’s enemies. Hind, robbed and left for dead behind the restaurant—

“She probably just went home.”

The phone was ringing. Val pursed her lips and pressed it closer to her ear. Three rings. Four. Five—

“She wasn’t exactly overcome with joy at our company,” he added, dryly.

“Hind wouldn’t do that,” Val said through clenched teeth, although she wasn’t sure why she was so confident. “And anyway, I’ll find her in a jiffy,” she said, more to herself than to Desmond. “Her watch has a tracker in it.”

“You meanthiswatch?” Desmond said, and held up the slim Cartier timepiece, which lay beneath the rim of Hind’s plate. A sound of distress escaped Val’s lips before she could suppress it, and she closed her eyes tightly.

“I’m pretty sure tracking her is illegal—unethical at least.” Desmond’s voice broke through the smudge of darkness behind her closed lids. Did he sound…amused? “When I was her age, I’d have probably done the same. I remember slipping out of an Eid celebration when I was a kid, and I met up with friends at Glastonbury—”

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