Page 6 of Out of Office Nights (Royals of Cartana #2)

Dios , what the hell was this?

‘Not quite,’ he disagreed. ‘Since this dress was created for someone shorter, the hem will need to be taken down, as will the sleeves.’

Striding to the tablet containing his sketches and ideas, he quickly made the requisite notes and sent it off to his three New York assistants.

Then he returned, stalking around her three more times, gauging further adjustments until he was somewhere near satisfied. He looked up then and caught the peculiar look on her face which she quickly attempted to suppress. ‘Something wrong?’

‘Who did you make it for?’

From the colour staining her cheeks he suspected she hadn’t planned on asking him that. She confirmed it a moment later with a single wave of her elegant hand. ‘Actually, never mind. It’s not important.’

‘Are you sure?’

She blinked, most likely at the bite in his voice, entirely produced by the weight of knowing everything he did from now until his goal was achieved was of crucial importance. That he couldn’t afford a single slip.

‘Is it part of your upcoming collection?’ she said after a stilted silence.

He aimed a narrow-eyed glance at her. ‘You should know better than to ask since I never reveal my creations beforehand.’

Again a dart of something fractured her composure. And heaven help him he wanted to dig at it, to bare it to the light. See what made her tick.

He didn’t need to know what made her or any woman tick.

All he needed was sex when the need arose, then distance when feelings risked getting in the way.

He’d learned a long time ago that seeking solace elsewhere only brought disappointment and the same grasping demands his mother craved.

Keeping his entanglements in emotion-free zones suited him perfectly.

‘Arms up,’ he instructed.

Her slim arms rose to exactly shoulder height, displaying how the draped sleeves fell. Satisfied he nodded and held out a hand. ‘Walk around, show me how it looks in motion.’

She took his hand, stepped down, then withdrew her fingers with insulting haste, before starting her signature strut that had held millions in her thrall during her modelling years.

Teo couldn’t have pinpointed why her walk was mesmerising if his life depended on it.

All he knew was that, like the unfathomable depths of the passion for creativity that flowed in his veins, hers was an intangible gift.

If only it didn’t succeed in scrambling most men’s brains.

Men like Nathan Gray.

The scandal-courting photographer’s name made thunderbolts rumble across his already roiled senses.

She froze. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Not with the dress, no,’ he drawled.

‘Does that imply there’s something wrong with me?’ she pressed, her cool tone sliding into chilly territory.

Yes. What on earth did you see in an imbecile like Gray?

‘We’re done here for today, Sabeen. Take off the dress,’ he said curtly, aware of an alien spark that absurdly resembled jealousy.

She remained motionless for a stretch longer, then swayed towards him with that same distant composure that made his fingers itch to unravel her. To reenact that kiss just to feel her melt in the helpless way that attacked him far too often. With admirable strength of will he resisted.

She reached him and pivoted, silently directing him to lower her zip.

The second he did, she shimmied out of the dress, handed it to him then with glorious confidence, and a complete lack of self-consciousness, strutted back to where she’d dropped her dress.

Teo just about managed to keep his libido from exploding, shaming him thoroughly as he walked her in silence back to his front door. Watched as she sailed out, nose in the air after his instruction to report back the next evening to ready herself before leaving for the gala.

And if he cringed beneath the cold shower he had to take after the departure of the woman who occupied far too much room in his thoughts, it was worth it. Mastering his control around Sabeen was essential. Because nothing could derail his plans.

Nothing.

It felt like a blink of an eye had passed before Sabeen found herself back in front of Central Park Tower. She didn’t bother looking up. Making herself dizzier than she currently felt wasn’t a wise choice when she was about to fling herself into Teo’s cyclonic presence again.

But she was vividly aware of the stratospheric sensation of dealing with Teodor Domene, a reality pounded home when she stepped into the fastest elevator in the world and was whisked up with stomach-dropping speed to the Domene residence.

Of course he lived in the most iconic building in New York City.

If only she wasn’t unequivocal about punctuality, abhorring those who blithely went with the fashionably late rule. But, she grimaced inwardly, neither fifteen seconds nor fifteen minutes would calm her shredded nerves.

She still couldn’t believe her behaviour yesterday, flinging off her clothes in front of him like the supermodel she’d once been.

Telling herself it was his fault for answering his door in a deplorable mood, triggering her own recklessness, hadn’t stopped her agitation for the rest of the day, nor her tossing and turning last night.

And the voice whispering that she’d wanted to see him ruffled again, maybe even display a feral gleam like the one after their kiss? Well, that voice could take a long walk off a short pier because it didn’t help one iota.

She’d stayed within touching distance after the fitting, breathing him in, revelling in that heady scent of sea-breeze and smoke. That rusty vault she’d locked tight had cracked open, allowing a sliver of craving to escape. Shaming her as she relived that kiss for the thousandth time.

So yes, she deserved to be suffering now, boiling in remembered disgrace.

Suffering through her body’s reaction to Teodor’s undisguised virility.

Maybe this was the control-mastering test she needed to pass before regaining peace and inspiration?

To honour her promise to her grandmother never to let a man hold sway over her independence and future?

She was saying a feverish prayer when the double doors to the most breathtaking residence she’d ever seen were thrown open, a finely dressed butler nodding in courteous greeting.

‘Miss El-Maleh, welcome.’ He gestured her into the spectacular living room, little of which she’d noticed in Teodor’s presence yesterday. ‘His Highness is just finishing up with a phone call in his study. You’ll be attended to shortly.’

Hell, no, she was not disappointed that Teo hadn’t greeted her himself.

‘Thank you.’

‘May I get you something to drink?’

Summoning a smile, she shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I’m fine.’

The lingering look the middle-aged butler cast her she was used to, dismissing it as she surveyed her surroundings. She’d been subject to every expression under the sun when it came to her physical features.

Long before she’d crossed the challenging threshold between girl and woman, she’d been labelled everything from goddess to witch , angel to Jezebel .

And while a thick skin hadn’t ultimately protected her vulnerable heart, she’d learned better composure and poise in the face of others’ reaction to her.

So she ignored the hovering butler and took in the black-trimmed cream elegance and comfort of the luxury furnishings she knew would feel heavenly to touch and relax in, the priceless art she recognised from some of the most renowned artists both living and dead and the gorgeous hints of soft-toned veined marble.

Then she feasted her eyes on the pièce de résistance, the iconic landscape spread out like the most exquisite banquet beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass walls.

Central Park was the perfect rectangle surrounded by glittering lights in the early evening, kissed by the spectacular orange sunset over it.

She was so absorbed in the breathtaking vista, she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until they were feet away. Bracing herself, she turned. Only to feel another hollowing in her belly.

‘Mara, Gio, I didn’t know you were here.’ If her tone faintly reflected her disappointment at Teodor’s continued nonappearance, she fervently hoped they didn’t pick up on it.

Mara, one of Teo’s dozen-strong assistants who worked at his flagship House of Domene base in Milan, quirked one carefully plucked eyebrow, her expression hovering between mild amusement, condescension and barely disguised jealously that immediately made Sabeen’s tense up.

‘Of course I’m here. We’re always on call for whatever Teo needs. You know that.’

The familiarity with which she addressed her boss invoked the intended speculation that Sabeen absolutely despised herself for.

Berating herself more sharply, she smiled coolly, switching to look at Gio, only to stifle her frustration at his equally unwelcome expression of amusement and heated appraisal of her body.

‘Right. I see.’ She flicked her gaze past them, letting the obvious question hover in the air. She wasn’t going to ask, risk it come out wrong and be forced to deal with their attitude. She was unsettled enough as it was.

Gio stepped forward, hand outstretched, forcing Sabeen to reluctantly place hers in his, grimacing when he weaved his fingers through hers.

‘We’ve been here all day, slaving away to ensure your gown is perfect.

Now it’s time to transform you from bellissima to magnifica ,’ he crooned, kissing her fingers.

She tugged herself firmly from his hold, ignored his patent disappointment as she followed them both down the familiar hall.

Her heartbeat picked up when she heard deep tones behind one of the closed doors, but Sabeen kept her focus rigidly straight, aware of Mara’s watchful gaze.

She had zero interest in being drawn into any drama from one of Teodor’s acolytes. Or was she more than that?