Chapter Four #2
She had been here with work, admittedly most of her time had been spent in the grounds, but there had been a sumptuous lunch.
She thought of the director, Matthew, clicking his manicured fingers and tutting at the slightest delay.
How Kasia, the model, had moaned about the seating or an olive, or something she wanted changed, and the staff had been more than accommodating.
Yet for Rafiq, there was a subtle difference…and she tried to place quite what it was. He didn’t, like the executives in her company and the models who had been there that day, demand the best. To Rafiq the best was readily given.
She frowned, trying to understand her own thoughts, and what they meant and suddenly shy, she looked over to him.
‘Here.’ He handed over her glass, warmed by his palm.
‘Thank you.’ She took a sip of her drink. ‘Gosh, that’s far too nice.’ She decided to address the dreaded money issue. ‘Just the one though. I can’t afford to be going Dutch too many times in one night.’
‘Dutch?’ He frowned but then remembered back from his student days, when life had been lighter and bills would be shared. And though she smiled and made light, he did not forget she had recently had to walk out on a truly terrible date.
‘Liliana,’ he said. ‘Tonight I shall be paying for things, and I shan’t hear otherwise…
’ Her mouth opened to protest, and then she blushed a little.
‘And may I assure you that if at any time you feel uncomfortable…’ He paused, realising that words were perhaps not enough, and so he signalled to the waiter and asked for the concierge to be brought over.
‘Can I know your surname?’ Rafiq asked her.
‘Hamilton,’ Liliana said and then the concierge appeared.
‘Miss Hamilton might have to leave at short notice—can you please ensure a car is ready for her?’
‘Of course.’ The concierge nodded.
When they were alone, he gave her a grim smile. ‘At any time, all you have to do is request your driver.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, thinking how kind he was to think of that, especially after what she had just told him. ‘I mean that. It’s very thoughtful of you.’
‘So,’ he said, ‘tell me about this dress I won’t see…’
And she was no longer shy. ‘When you don’t take me to the ball,’ she sweetly smiled.
‘I really cannot.’
‘I know. I was just teasing.’ She actually tapped his foot with her own. ‘The dress is heaven. Though, if I’m honest…’
‘You’re not honest though,’ he teased and tapped her foot back.
‘I can be.’
God, they were sitting respectfully apart, yet devouring each other with their eyes, and there was a penalty shootout taking place beneath the table. Not quite, just the odd tap but this was more than mere conversation. It was sublime.
‘If I tell you something you must promise never to share it.’
‘Of course,’ he agreed and politely nodded.
‘The company I work for,’ she said and winced for a second. ‘I don’t like a lot of their designs.’
He waited and when she didn’t elaborate, he frowned. ‘That’s it?’
‘I feel disloyal even saying it. They tend to do too much, go over the top at the last minute and add too much detail. But this dress I’ve bought.
’ She dived into her bag and took out a huge sketch pad, flicking the pages.
‘It’s couture, but the client changed her mind during the fittings, and so it was never finished off, but that actually suits me, no extra frills. I did a quick sketch.’
He sat there as she handed it across the table.
It took all his effort to take the pad rather than move their chairs closer—he wanted to feel her head by his as he surveyed her work, yet he was supremely polite and held out his hand.
She handed him the pad, and their fingers brushed, their eyes meeting, and he saw her look of slight bemusement that a mere touch of fingers could make you ache, but he remained stoic and withdrew his gaze and looked down to the page.
A quick sketch!
It was a work of art in itself.
‘May I?’ he asked, lifting up a page, to check if she minded him looking through her work.
And when she nodded, he found he smiled when he recognised one of her sketches.
He looked over to where she sat, blushing a little as he surveyed her designs and then handed the pad back to her. ‘You made the dress you are wearing?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you are very talented.’
‘I wish someone would tell my boss.’
‘Have you thought about doing your own work, starting out by yourself?’
‘Of course I have,’ Liliana said, ‘It’s the dream.
I do make a few things now and then and sell them but I don’t want to end up doing alterations and such…
’ He gave her a quizzical look that invited her to explain further.
‘The plan is to put together an upmarket off-the-peg collection and then rent the tiniest shop.’ She sighed.
‘I don’t know if you can see from those sketches but the fabrics that I love are really expensive. ’
‘I can tell that from the dress you are wearing.’
‘Actually, for this one I found the fabric in a thrift store in Marylebone. I think it might have started life as a tablecloth.’
His eyes took in the fabric, and then his gaze moved to her shoulders, and down the length of her pinkening arms, and then slowly back up, dusting her shoulders and to her burning face.
It felt as if he’d just stroked her, or kissed up her arm.
‘What colour is your new gown?’ he asked, handing her back the pad.
‘Pink.’ Then she hurriedly added, ‘Now, pink can be problematic…’
‘I agree.’
She glanced up, a little surprised by his reaction. ‘Not with your complexion.’ His caramel skin could wear it well.
‘Not to wear—I meant I have a pink horse and he is indeed problematic.’
‘Sorry?’ She must have misunderstood.
‘Well, he is rose gold—he’s an Akhal-Teke.’ She clearly had not heard of the rare breed. ‘Their coat has a metallic sheen in certain lights. I have them in several shades. Gold, silver, a beautiful copper…my stallion is rose gold.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ She smiled and sipped her drink, certain he was teasing her again, but there was no tap of his foot to confirm that he was. No private smile.
‘But it’s true.’ He took out his phone and swiped through, and then handed it to her.
The same brush of fingers and when she looked at his stunning horse and her mouth gaped, he could resist no more. Possibly, to the waiter’s and hovering concierge’s horror, their surprise guest, a crown prince no less, got up and moved his chair for himself.
Liliana almost closed her eyes in relief as Rafiq positioned his chair beside her own so that they sat together. She could feel his thigh on hers and their arms touching again as he swiped through.
‘He’s beautiful.’
‘He knows it,’ Rafiq said, showing her more images.
Only Liliana could barely take in the magical horse; more, she was noticing the very solid long thighs of the rider wearing jodhpurs, and those long forearms and the hands that loosely held the reins…
Then she saw a dark shadow on his wrists and frowned, but there wasn’t time to properly examine the image or zoom in as he had already swiped on.
And her breath caught again, for he was galloping on sand and wearing black robes. ‘Where’s that?’
‘Al-Zahir’s desert.’
‘Wow!’ The contrast between the blue skies and golden sands was so vivid but again she was looking mainly at the rider.
Rafiq, of course, spoke about his horse. ‘That is around midday. You can’t really see the sheen there—I’ll find one at sunrise. We call it the golden hour for these horses, because the slant of light brings out the colours and metallic sheen.’
They were lost in time again, as they had been on the tube, but there was so much more between them now.
Oh, this man changed and surprised at every turn, and she felt almost dizzy from her own shallow breathing. But as he swiped again, she looked not at the images but down to his wrist, which was now exposed a little by the cuff of his shirt and she wasn’t sure if it was a dark tattoo or…a scar?
He must have felt her stare. ‘Don’t ask,’ Rafiq told her in a low voice, and she nodded, accepting the instruction not to mention it.
‘Okay.’ Then she gave up on horses and turned her head so that all that remained in the world was his eyes. ‘I know why I told you I haven’t slept with anyone.’ She had made up her mind at their first kiss, before that even. ‘Will you be with me tonight?’
He didn’t blink—her request was clearly not a complete surprise. The air was electric between them, molecules leaping and colliding as her body silently begged him not to deny her and Rafiq attempted to resist.
‘You deserve so much more than a one-night stand for your first time.’
‘I disagree.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘I expected it to be so much less.’
‘Liliana,’ he reminded. ‘I leave tomorrow.’
‘I know that.’
‘I’m not sure you do. I would love to say that when I return, I shall wine and dine you, take you to the ball, but that would be a lie.’
‘I know that too.’
‘Do you? The thing is, I am…’
Liliana knew there was about to be a disclosure—he was about to give her the reason they could never ever work and, quite simply, she did not want to hear it. She didn’t want to think about impossible futures, just knew she did not want this fantasy night to end.
‘Don’t say it.’
She gently placed her fingers to his lips. Whatever it was, she didn’t want or need to know, and he captured her hand for a moment, and she willed him to kiss it.
He did not.
There could be no public displays for a man in his position.
Yet he was glad she had stopped him, for he didn’t want to reveal his title or his past. Nor did he want to reveal his jaded and bitter self.
He could though be the person she needed tonight.
Just for one night.
Gently he removed her hand.
‘Not here,’ he said, ‘we cannot touch here.’
The old Liliana might have taken that as a rejection, but Rafiq brought out the new. A braver new, a bolder new.
‘Then take me somewhere we can.’