Page 12 of Out of Office Nights (Royals of Cartana #2)

‘Neither have I. Let’s do something about that,’ he said then after a moment speared her with a hard look. ‘Time’s wasting, Sabeen. I don’t work well on an empty stomach.’

A little dazed, she hurried down the short hallway to her bedroom.

Shutting the door behind her she blinked at the tea in her hand, set it down untouched on her dresser and went to her bathroom.

A quick rinsing off while she ruthlessly stemmed the tide of uneasy excitement churning inside her.

And because she absolutely wasn’t going to deem this anything but another work meeting, she chose a simple knee-length orange-striped white dress and matching orange heeled slippers with gold buckles, adding hoop gold earrings before securing her almost dried hair in a firmer knot.

A quick spritz of her favourite oud scent—all without meeting her eyes in the mirror—and she was exiting her room.

Teo rose from the sofa at her entrance, and she was thankful he hadn’t sat in her grandmother’s chair. His gaze trailed over her before dropping to his phone. ‘My assistant has sent me a list of restaurants, but you’ll probably have a better idea.’

‘Can I see the list?’

He walked over and displayed the screen. Completely unaware, she desperately hoped, of what his scent did to her. Focus!

She dismissed the first one. ‘The food doesn’t live up to the overpriced hype. Same for the second.’ She pointed to the fourth one on the list. ‘That one is run by a mother and daughter. It’s small and out of the way, but the food is excellent. And you don’t need to call ahead.’

The hint of his sardonic smile reminded her that that wouldn’t have mattered. Even in her little corner of the world, men like Teo would command red carpet treatment even without trying.

Putting his phone away, he gestured silently at the door. ‘Shall we?’

Senses still jumping wildly all over the place, she headed towards the front door. He stepped out as she locked up.

‘Do you ride?’

Her breath caught. ‘What?’

‘There are very few places I can go these days with total freedom. I couldn’t resist the chance to indulge that freedom. Such as it is.’

Movement beyond his mile-wide shoulders clued her into what that last statement meant. Two bodyguards hovered twenty feet away, alert and quietly menacing. Beyond them, a dark, armoured SUV too wide to fit into the narrow alley, idled with more bodyguards spaced out near it.

Of course he hadn’t come completely alone. He was third in line to a powerful Mediterranean throne after his twin brother and King Azar’s newly discovered son, Max. And while he could probably handle his own safety, protocol dictated he receive twenty-four-hour protection.

‘Which do you prefer?’

‘What?’

Without taking his eyes from her, he pointed to the powerful Ducati.

She’d never ridden one. The thought of her first time being with Teo Domene in singeing proximity had her shaking her head before the shiver, stupidly commonplace now, had rushed down from her head to her toes.

‘Not that, thanks.’

Again, he hid whatever sentiment he felt about her adamant refusal well, easily pivoting towards the larger vehicle.

In silence they walked to the end of the alley, where she discovered another SUV behind the first. Sabeen cringed at the thought of the attention this would attract.

‘Something wrong?’

‘Besides you giving my neighbours endless hours of gossip fodder?’

Expecting a mocking quip, she was surprised when his jaw tightened. ‘You should’ve listened better to the agreements you made then, shouldn’t you?’

She deserved that, but it still stung.

The handful of miles to the restaurant passed too quickly.

The owner, Farah, looked up from an animated conversation when they entered, her wide smile growing wider as she threw out her arms. ‘Sabeen! Good to see you. And you brought me a handsome guest too.’

That shameful sting of jealously disarmed her, but Sabeen kept a smile on her face as Teo smiled in greeting.

Of course they were given the best seat in the house, and the most expensive wine was produced in record time before Farah retreated with a promise to make every dish herself.

She was batting away the stings when Teo’s gaze pierced her.

‘Why here? What’s the significance of coming to Essaouira to work? And think before you say it’s none of my business. Knowing where your head’s at is as important as wherever you go to tap into your creativity.’

She knew that. It was why she’d come here, after all. So why was it so hard to admit that to him?

Because it’s personal. And personal is dangerous.

And yet she found herself replying. ‘Because this place is more than just a workspace. It’s home. My safe place.’ A part of her very being. The admission was thick with emotions she couldn’t readily contain.

Again, expecting some glib comeback, she was stunned when he nodded with gravity. ‘Go on.’

Her eyes widened. He wanted more? ‘It feels like every important point in my life is rooted here.’ It was where she’d defied her grandmother—while secretly being spurred on by her mother—to accept the modelling scout’s invitation to audition for her first gig.

It was where she’d celebrated after her first, second and third appearances on the cover of Vogue .

Where she’d sought refuge in grief, yearning for closeness after her grandmother had passed away.

And it was where she’d come to heal after Nathan—

Nope. Not him. Not here.

She was saved from further rumination about her ex when their food arrived.

Fragrant couscous with a thick chickpea sauce made her mouth water.

Fish chermoula , kefta tagine and a heavenly chicken pie dish made with thin pastry and saffron.

And zaalouk , a platter of chips with an aubergine purée and hummus.

Sabeen was forced to shake her head firmly when Farah tried to foist more dishes on them. At this rate, they’d only manage to eat a fraction.

Teo tucked into it with gusto, his groans of appreciation making Farah beam. And Sabeen squirm in her seat.

Surprisingly, a companionable near silence passed, Teo occasionally asking the origins of a dish. But she couldn’t let her guard down.

When their meal was cleared, she ordered gunpowder and mint tea. He ordered the thick Moroccan coffee.

Then he sat back, all bridled power and intense focus. She knew her brief reprieve was over when he tossed back the first tiny cup of coffee.

‘For this to work, we need a few rules in place. We will work for as long on this as I deem fit. And you will do it all without attitude. Agreed?’

His domineering, boundless confidence should’ve been infuriating, but Sabeen couldn’t forget that it was the reason he was who he was.

Never mind the royal blood running through his veins.

He had reached the pinnacle of his profession by honing his passion into creating countless masterpieces, some of which hung in museums across the world.

A chance to refine her own design skills under his tutelage was why she’d originally applied to be part of his team.

And why, since she’d asked for his help, she needed to swallow her pride now. ‘Okay.’

His eyebrow rose. ‘Just okay ?’

She shrugged. ‘Would you rather I nitpicked the issue with you just for the sake of it?’

‘No. But feel free to bring up any opinions you feel strongly about.’

‘Don’t worry about that. It may be your line, but when I succeed, it will be my name on the collection as well, no?’

He reached for the coffee-pot, poured himself another cup and tossed it back eyeing her the whole time. ‘What you created for Eden for the wedding and the coronation was exquisite. What has happened between then and now?’

Her insides clenched hard. Yes, she’d lost her grandmother and that’d been devastating, and for a brief few days she’d had her mother around for comfort before she’d returned to the other side of the world.

But Sabeen couldn’t honestly lay all her problems at grief’s door. Especially not when her emotional compass kept pointing to one man…one issue.

Playboys and everything about them spelled disaster for her and yet she couldn’t seem to distance herself from this one in particular. She shook her head. ‘Why does it matter?’

His nostrils flared with a hint of displeasure. ‘Because until you confront what it is that’s standing in your way, you’ll only be courting further roadblocks.’

Irritation and slivers of panic whistled through her. ‘I didn’t realise this was a therapy session. Are you saying that your every collection has been born out of carefree abandon?’ she challenged purely, she knew, out of self-preservation.

Shadows drifted across his face before he effectively banished them. ‘No. But I’m a master at compartmentalising. Clearly you are not.’

It wasn’t an insult. It was a fact confidently stated, infuriatingly accurate. Because for as long as she could remember, her every emotion had bled into a well of sensation that she’d tried hard to suppress over the years. Until recently she was sure she’d succeeded.

Now it felt like all those bottled-up emotions were threatening to explode. ‘Does missing a loved one count?’ she asked then cringed a little at throwing her beloved grandmother up as a shield to hide behind. She could already feel Jida ’s disapproving glare.

‘Who?’ It came with that sharp edge she’d heard a few times now.

‘My grandmother.’

He watched her closely for several seconds, his gleaming gaze telling her he knew she was hiding more. Surprisingly, the edge softened. She exhaled with gratitude and relief.

‘When we get back, you will tell me what about your grandmother you feel when you look at the sketches.’

Another knot inside eased but didn’t fully disappear because she knew it wasn’t as simple as that. There were other layers to her problem. Nothing came easily, not like it had for the Playboy Prince.

The Playboy Prince who’s currently helping you.

She ignored the flip in her chest and examined him closer, attempting to see beneath the surface.

The cynical glint in his eyes intensified. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Someone else would’ve fired me by now. So…’

‘You believe there’s an ulterior motive?’

She bit the inside of her cheek. Held her silence. But the truth was a writhing current between them.

After a tense beat he set down his cup with a sharp clip. ‘My reasons are my own.’

‘That’s not—’

‘Fair?’ he bit out when she trailed off, then more shadows chased across his hauntingly captivating face. ‘Perhaps I’m stubborn enough to chase after an illusion. I won’t be dictated to over my ultimate goals. Or maybe I see something I’m not willing to let go. Yet. Including you.’

Her inner turmoil escalated, her breath whooping out softly.

With relief? With gratitude? With unwarranted excitement?

With deep curiosity, because she wondered if that had been aimed at something besides his next collection?

But even if she’d been inclined to give in to curiosity, the subtle but imperious gesture to one of his bodyguards signalled the end of their meal.

A beaming Farah pleaded for them to return soon as she pocketed an astronomical tip. And when the older woman winked broadly and whispered in Arabic for Sabeen to hang on to this one , she smiled her way through the heat engulfing her whole body, her feet hurrying to the waiting car.

She was aware of Teo’s penetrating gaze on the ride back.

‘I would’ve thought you’d hurry to correct her.’ His voice was desert-dry.

Surprise snapped her head in his direction. ‘You speak Arabic?’

‘Enough not to be hoodwinked by market vendors.’

She felt her eyes widen further. ‘Market vendors?’

‘You’d be surprised what inspiration can be found in the colourful alleys of Marrakesh.’

She knew that. Of course she did.

She’d frequently lost herself in the fabric stalls of Jemaa el-Fnaa market and the smaller, out-of-the-way ones as a young girl dreaming of a life in fashion design. It was at one of these very stalls that she’d been talent-spotted.

Somehow, though, she hadn’t pictured Teo in that setting. It made him too familiar. Too accessible. She didn’t want that because…

Aware of his keen stare she struggled to retain her composure. ‘There was no point responding to Farah. She’s an incurable romantic. She’ll see what she wants to see.’

His mouth twisted again, eyes staying on her. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss that illusion.’

‘Meaning?’

‘If that is what she wants to see, create it for her.’ A handful of words, tossed out with bold challenge.

Her breath caught. Possibilities rose sluggishly from an ashen landscape. Hazy then slowly taking form. The earthy, vibrant colours Farah loved, the loud jewellery that announced her arrival long before she appeared, like a percussive soundtrack to her existence.

For the rest of the journey and after they’d returned to her house, Sabeen scrambled to gather drips of inspiration. After examining her sketches one more time, he turned and leaned against the dining table.

‘Tell me about your grandmother,’ he prompted.

Sabeen swallowed. Shook her head. ‘Not tonight.’ The reply held faint pleading. One she hoped he’d miss or, if not, heed.

He stunned her by nodding and heading to the door.

‘You’re leaving?’

‘Get a good night’s sleep. Your taskmaster will return early. And Sabeen?’

Her belly performed yet another unhinged flip. The way he said her name was positively sinful. ‘Hmm?’

‘Be warned. I give very little unearned latitude.’

He waited until she nodded. Accepted his caveat.

Then she trailed after him, telling herself she was merely being polite. Walking a guest to the door. The disarming truth was that she wasn’t entirely ready to see the back of him.

With a handful of words, he’d awoken something inside her tonight.

She’d expected the pushy prince and received the enigmatic man who’d unsettled her with his peculiar questions and observations.

A mere three hours in his company, and he’d muddied the waters of her conviction, rearranging himself just so he wouldn’t slot so comfortably into the pigeonhole she’d created for him.

As she’d accused him of doing to her in New York?

She leaned against the doorway, still unable to definitively dismiss him as he crossed the narrow street, swung one leg over the powerful bike and straddled it.

He didn’t glance her way, but a live-wire awareness throbbed between them. As much as she hated herself for this admission too, Sabeen couldn’t help but appreciate the sexy figure he cut astride his motorbike. A jolt of disappointment went through her for not accepting his invitation earlier but…

No. Hell, no. What the hell was wrong with her?

Stepping back abruptly, she grabbed the door, ready to shut it, just as his head swung her way, his gaze snagging her.

‘Buenos noches.’

‘Goodnight,’ she murmured.

She stood there, her feet refusing the order to turn around as he gunned his engine and roared out of the alley.