Page 11 of Out of Office Nights (Royals of Cartana #2)

Unlocking it, she pushed it open, stepping into the cool, welcoming interior. Goose bumps covered her skin, and her heart continued to rap urgently against her ribs at the thought of inviting him into her grandmother’s precious home. Sacred ground.

This was professional, she reassured herself. Nothing was going to happen. Well, nothing except the possible demise of her career.

Dropping her beach-bag onto the cushioned bench slotted into the hallway alcove, she turned, just as Teo stepped into her home.

The sight of him there felt all wrong…but also incredibly profound.

In no way did she want to think that this was a momentous occasion, but watching him turn, slowly nudging the door closed, she couldn’t stop the way her lungs panted.

He faced her and froze, his eyes narrowing again. But this time they weren’t filled with mockery or censure, they were filled with…concern.

Lunging forward, he grabbed her arm as she swayed, a frown pleating his forehead. ‘Do you really need me to state that I’ve never forced myself on a woman?’ His voice was thick with shock.

She shook her head, a pulse of anxiety pushing her to reassure him. ‘Of course not.’

A layer of tension left him. ‘Then, what is this?’

‘There’s never been a man inside these walls.’ Dear heaven. Did she really say that aloud? His frown reversing into surprise told her she had.

She clenched her jaw tight as if it could reclaim the words. He released her, stepping back to take a good look around.

Surprisingly, his expression grew neutral and then slid into shades of appreciation as he took in the terracotta walls, the pops of colour she loved so, the white timber table where she’d spent many meals with her mother and grandmother.

The rugs painstakingly sourced from merchants across Morocco, a pastime her grandmother had dearly loved to indulge in when she could afford it.

And then the Afghan knitted blanket tossed over the well-used armchair before the fireplace. Sadness and fondness moved through her as she remembered sitting at her grandmother’s knee, listening to her stories as that blanket was knitted over many nights.

She wasn’t going to think about her what her grandmother would’ve thought of Teo right now. Having him here, within the walls of the place her jida had poured blood, sweat and tears into making a home for her daughter and granddaughter after her own life had been fractured, felt like a betrayal.

But as long as she didn’t put any of these traitorous thoughts and feelings concerning Teo into action, surely it was fine? The quicker she got this unscheduled meeting out of the way, the quicker he would leave. ‘How did you find me?’ she asked again.

He faced her after several more seconds taking in her home. ‘Valenti can work miracles when he’s incentivised.’

If Azar Domene, King of Cartana and Teo’s older brother, was intimidatingly formidable, his twin was icily terrifying.

They’d barely exchanged a handful of words, but Sabeen had felt during each interaction that the other man could read her every secret.

Perhaps, she mused a little anxiously, it was a trademark Domene trait.

And as a highly sought-after security expert, she wasn’t surprised Valenti Domene had been the one to find her.

She cleared her throat and took the bull by the horns. ‘You’re right, I don’t recall the finer terms of our agreement. I wasn’t expecting to see you for another four weeks.’

His eyes openly mocked her. ‘You mean you weren’t paying attention because you were preoccupied? With what, exactly?’

She fought the heat that rose, turning away so he wouldn’t read her expression. He trailed after her as she went into the kitchen, filled the kettle and lit the stove. Then with nothing else to do, she faced him. ‘Yes. And it doesn’t matter.’

His eyes glinted for a moment then he leaned against the kitchen wall, a picture of masculinity that rudely captured her attention, refusing to let go.

‘You agreed to keep me updated with your work, checking in at least once every two weeks. You missed the first check-in four days ago. Cristobal didn’t.’

He’d dropped her rival’s name just to rile her, and predictably, her belly clenched. But she wasn’t going to waste time asking about her competitor. Not when she had pathetically little to show for herself.

Her gaze slid to the dining table where she’d left the remnants of her attempts about a week ago. He tracked her glance, straightening.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ he fired back.

‘It’s…not ready yet.’

‘Evidently not, or you would be in a much better mood. But we are where we are. We have no choice.’ The delivery was soft but just as deadly as it’d been at her door. The Playboy Prince had receded again, and the consummate creative genius was firmly in place. ‘You will show them to me.’

She opened her mouth to refuse just as the kettle whistled, making her jump. ‘Tea?’

He watched her for a few beats then shrugged. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Go ahead and make your tea.’

Her hands shook through the process, but she made it, carried it over to the living room coffee table and set it down. ‘Help yourself. I need to go and shower—’

He was shaking his head. ‘You’re stalling. We’re going to get to the bottom of this. Now.’

‘Because you’ve got other places to be?’ she bit back, stung because he’d accurately guessed she was desperate for a breather.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘What if I don’t? Are you inviting me to stay?’

‘No.’ That came out much harsher than she’d intended.

His face tightened. ‘Then, let’s get on with it, by all means.’

To buy herself more time, she poured tea into two glass cups and pointedly held one out to him. ‘As much as I don’t want you here, my grandmother taught me to be courteous. Tea?’

The corner of his mouth twitching, he accepted it, his fingers grazing hers before he raised it to his lips and took a healthy sip. Then, his gaze still on her, he took another drink and emptied the glass.

‘Now your obligations as a good granddaughter have been fulfilled.’

She sipped hers much more slowly but inevitably the small glass was soon finished and she had no choice but to face the music.

Breath held, she walked over to the dining table, supremely conscious of his intense presence. She’d thrown a light tablecloth over her drawings a week ago, more in despair than to protect anything she’d done. Grabbing one corner of it, she drew it away.

She watched him saunter to the other side of the table, his gaze searching hers for a handful of seconds before they dropped.

Sabeen couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even look as he reached for the first one. Then the second. Coolly examined each sketch. When he was done, he flattened his hands on the table.

‘Do you need me to say it?’ he murmured.

She swallowed the boulder in her throat and still couldn’t speak.

‘Sabeen,’ he pressed firmly.

‘Say it,’ she implored hoarsely. ‘If you’re going to fire me, just do it.’

A ripple went through his jaw. ‘I wish I could say Cristobal was faring any better than you,’ he said.

Absurdly that didn’t make her feel better. ‘So that’s it? We’re both out?’

For the longest time he didn’t speak. He examined the sketches even more thoroughly the second time, flinging several onto the floor. Leaving only a dismal handful. Only then did he look up. ‘These ones are salvageable. Barely.’

‘And?’

His masculine hands returned to the table, now resting on her sketches. The sight of them so close to her work flipped her belly.

‘And this collection is too important to leave to your whims and feelings,’ he said with a gravity she’d heard in his voice in New York, exposing the startling truth that this wasn’t just a new season’s fervency.

For whatever reason, this collection held some kind of reverent importance to Teo.

She was busy searching his face for a clue when he continued.

‘I can fire you right now, as you seem to be craving, or I can stay and help. But you’re going to have to ask for it. ’

‘Don’t do me any special favours,’ she bit out, unable to help herself.

He exhaled roughly. ‘Sabeen, I have just come from two extremely trying days with Cristobal. Do not push me.’

That surprised her. And he saw.

‘You continue to think the worst of me even while you’re drowning and I have a lifeboat.’

She held back the words that would damn her, probably for ever. Swallowing her pride was a huge effort, but what choice did she have if she didn’t want to fail?

Besides, there was a reason she’d wanted to work for Teo Domene.

The king of haute couture was matchless in talent.

She’d been thrilled and stunned when he’d picked her as a protégé, then a temporary replacement when Cristobal went on his sabbatical.

Having it all fall apart, admitting failure and inviting more scandalous whispers especially after Nathan, wasn’t an option.

Sensing her internal battle, he leaned over the table, bringing his indomitable will to bear on her. ‘Ask me. Ask for help.’

‘And you’ll give it?’ Without strings?

Something twisted in his face, gone too soon for her to decode it. ‘It’s my name. My line. Failure may be acceptable to you. It isn’t for me. Ask for it.’

Her mouth dried, a deep tremor rising from her belly. ‘Help me.’

If she’d expected Teo to immediately produce a tablet and begin salvaging her mediocre offerings, she was in for disappointment.

He stepped away from the table, strode over to the coffee table and poured two more cups of tea. Clearly her surprise showed because he sent her a droll look.

‘The hard task-mastering will start soon enough, don’t worry,’ he drawled. Then his gaze trailed leisurely over her. ‘You still want to shower?’

Why that conjured heated images of their bodies sliding together like that night on the terrace, she refused to contemplate. ‘Yes.’

He nodded, drawing out his phone. ‘Have you had dinner?’

She blinked then warily said, ‘No.’