CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER THREE
D ESMOND CALLED FOR a car after telling himself that it was the business deal and not the fact that he’d just gone through one hell of a telling-off by a very sexy librarian-slash-nanny that made him do so.
It was, arguably, not a solution, but at least it would give them a semi-private place to brainstorm, and it made him feel as if he was doing something to find that insufferable teenager. Val hadn’t met his eyes since that moment between them in the restaurant; the spitfire was completely gone, replaced by the slightly distant coolness she’d maintained till dinner.
He wished she would look at him, he was surprised to realize. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had told him off or avoided his gaze. They usually sought it, if anything. But Val Montgomery had barely looked at him all day.
It bothered him more than it should.
He cleared his throat in a bid to displace the thought and focus on the task at hand. Strangely, the absurdity of the situation had eaten entirely through the clouds of gloom that had threatened to engulf him all evening.
“Has she got a location app on her mobile?”
“If you were running away from someone, would you leave it on?” she said tartly.
Desmond recoiled. “Listen, I’m just trying to help—”
“I know. I know.” While her voice wasn’t nearly as contrite as it could have been, she did look at him then, lifting soft fingertips to massage her temples. “I apologize—it’s been a very long day.”
Slightly mollified, Desmond continued. “Does she have any friends or relatives in London she might have met up with? A boyfriend?”
“I hope not,” Val muttered, but her eyes widened all the same. “Friends in London—I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.”
“What?”
“I was so busy sniping at you I didn’t think.”
Well, at least she realized she’d been sniping. He took a moment to enjoy the self-righteousness as she dug through the enormous handbag at her side, produced her mobile phone, and opened an app. He leaned in, peering over her shoulder, and was immediately taken in by a soft, powdery fragrance cut with something sharper, more vivid. She shifted and the movement caused her softness to be pressed against his side for a moment; he enjoyed it much more than he should have before she moved away.
“She’s got a dummy account,” Val said by way of explanation, sliding her horn-rims up her nose in order to see better. “I’ve been following her for years. No new posts, but—Oh, dear. Oh, dear .”
She sank back as if overcome, and Desmond took the opportunity to look at her phone, then laughed out loud. It was a real laugh that bubbled from deep inside his chest. The sound so startled him that he paused for a moment.
“What’s so funny?” she demanded crossly.
“#FleeFromNannyMcPhee?” He was cackling . “Great minds think alike.”
“I’m not her nanny,” Val said hotly. “I’m her—”
“Personal assistant,” Desmond said soothingly. “We know. Don’t take it personally. This is probably what she calls you to her friends.”
Val huffed, and the movement made her rather ample chest expand in a way that was very distracting. He brought his mind back to the matter at hand. “You can stop worrying. At least you know where she is.” He passed the phone back. “Her grammar, though, is appalling. Either that or she typed in a hurry.”
“She’s a perfect speller!” Val sputtered, but she was looking more horrified at each line.
Jailbrk! I ditched Nany McFee! Ready 4 my #1niteinLondon 3
Heddin 2 the #royloperahouse 2 c the 3 of my llife.
Pic comin up, wait 4 it!
#fleefromNannyMcPhee
“Love of her life ?” Val fairly shrieked.
Desmond was trying very hard not to laugh again, despite himself. “I don’t think she’s talking about a boy, if it makes you feel better.” A thirty-second search produced ticket sales for a popular K-pop band that performed their concerts opera-style. Val took one look and buried her face in her hands.
“Is she a fan?” he queried, politely.
“Of course she’s a fan of that moronic group. She begged for tickets, but her father said no.” Val drew in breath as if it were all too much. “Finding her in that crowd will be—”
“Virtually impossible.” Desmond tapped his wrist in memory of the watch left behind. “It’s a ninety-minute show, according to this. When does her father expect her back?”
“He doesn’t. He’s in Manchester till tomorrow morning.” Val sagged back onto the rich leather seat, placing her hands on her head as if it ached. The hem of her dress hitched up with the movement, and Desmond saw just a hint of lace and the soft dimpled skin of her thighs before the hem dropped again. Was she wearing lace-top stockings? The thought made something tighten in his middle.
If he were being honest, he had no shortage of access to women keen to spend time with him, each more beautiful than the last. None of them stayed, although some certainly did try. Some wanted his money, and those were the easiest to flush out. Some wanted his network of contacts and business partners. Some—and these repulsed him the most—were soft and starry-eyed, looking at him as a devoted prince who would ride in and save them.
Val Montgomery was none of these things; she looked more like she wanted to push him out of the car while it was in motion, but she certainly had caught his attention. And though he had no idea where this evening was taking them, he knew one thing: he wanted more of her. In what capacity, he still wasn’t sure, but he did know that solving her problem with Hind would help.
“This is what we’ll do,” he said, cool reassurance taking over his voice. “We’ll go to the Royal Opera House—it’s about twenty minutes from here. We’ll keep an eye on Hind’s feed. If we’re lucky we’ll spot her in the crowd coming out. If we don’t, at least we know where she’s going next on her jailbreak night.”
“Not funny.”
“Sorry.”
There was a moment of silence punctuated only by traffic sounds outside the steel-wrapped oasis of their car. Val took a breath and turned to look at him.
“I was a little short before,” she said, in that soft, cultured voice with a hint of— It was bugging him. What was that accent? The American South? He’d had a classmate from Atlanta while attending school in London that spoke a little like her. “I appreciate your help. And I hope this won’t affect your opinion of Hind, or the family. She really is a good girl, just a little…bored.”
“Do you like working for the family?”
“I do.” Val sat up straight, and he saw, again, a distracting flash of lace and brown skin before it disappeared. “It’s not the most exciting line of work. But it pays well, and I need the money.” She said the last line almost too quietly to hear, in a way that was more reflective than anything else. She lifted a hand to fiddle with one of the small pearls earring she wore.
“Student loans?” he ventured after a moment. America was notorious for that, he’d heard.
She smiled a little. “No. Not many college degrees in how to be a nanny,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh.
“What did you go to school for?”
“My mother was a dressmaker. She had a small business, back home.” She was still twisting the earring, almost nervously now. Long lashes swept down over her cheeks then lifted, and she fixed her enormous brown eyes back on him. “I went to trade school for a couple of years, intending that when I graduated I’d help her. I still design—kind of. Hind has a business selling hand-sewn abayas to her friends and other girls. I help her with the technical work. It keeps Hind out of trouble and brings something extra for me.”
“You seem very close.”
“I’ve been working with the family since she was nine,” Valentina said softly.
“How did you get to know them?”
Something in her eyes closed off subtly; there was a tightening around her mouth, and her lashes fluttered down.
“I got to know Sheikh Rashid through an old…acquaintance,” she said, after a long pause. “He is the best and kindest of men.”
A ringing endorsement of her boss was to be expected, but the very slight quaver he heard in Val’s voice, the first of its kind he’d seen in her all evening, was not. He felt his eyebrows lift; exactly what was the older man to her? “That’s a very telling statement. His reputation is that he’s a bit of a—”
“His reputation comes from people who don’t know him at all,” she said sharply. “I do , and I know what he’s done for people. Myself included.”
Very interesting. “You know him well, then?”
“Well enough.” She cleared her throat, the moment gone. “Well enough to know that we need to find this girl and get her home where she belongs. And thank goodness, there it is.” She nodded, indicating the Royal Opera House a little way in front. She stopped speaking, leaving Desmond to his thoughts. Finally, some spark of emotion from Hind’s no-nonsense companion, and it’d been Sheikh Rashid who’d pulled it out of her. Her fearsome, older boss, of all people?
Could she and Hind’s father be—?
As soon as the thought flitted across his mind he banished it with an internal laugh. That was a fairly major leap of imagination, and not worthy of either of them. Val frowned at him. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Aside from it being completely inappropriate, Desmond strongly suspected Val Montgomery would not enjoy hearing that his first thought was that she was engaged in a liaison with her boss. “Let’s go and find our girl, shall we?”
“She’s hardly ours ,” Val grumbled. The driver deftly pulled the car close to the curb.
“Don’t bother with the door—traffic’s a mess,” Desmond called up to his driver, reaching for the door handle. Val began scooting over, then yelped as the car jerked forward, pushing her hard against Desmond’s body.
“Henry!”
“Apologies, sir, there’s a van behind us letting down a wheelchair. I should have said,” the driver called back.
“For Christ’s sake. We’d have been flat on the curb if the door was open.” He opened the door quickly, freeing himself from the pleasant warmth of Val, who’d shifted back almost immediately. “Sorry,” he said, and held out a hand.
She was rattled enough to take it, and hauled herself out of the car with no further incidence.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Just fine!” She was shaking out her coat, looking disproportionately flustered. “I— Can we just go, please?”
“Fine,” he said, and they set off.
* * *
What a little hypocrite you are, Val Montgomery.
She’d reprimanded Desmond Tesfay in a very public place barely half an hour ago. She was currently trying to hunt down her charge, in a chase that might very well result in the loss of a job she needed very badly. And now, after the minutest bit of close contact with him, she was so flustered she hadn’t been able to say a word for the past five minutes.
She hadn’t felt desire in so long that its arrival this evening had startled her with its intensity. But their closeness in the car had sparked it, and she was still unsettled by the strength of its pull. She’d thought those feelings had been squashed long ago, banished by the exhaustion of poverty, of abandonment, of heartbreak. But here it was, burning as brightly inside her as kindling stirred to flame.
She was helpless against it. But she knew better. She knew better.
She wouldn’t slip up again.
Outside, they could see a crowd forming that was clearly there for the same show as Hind, streaming into the Royal Opera House, its soft yellowed light penetrating the dusk of early evening. It looked beautiful in this light, tall and imposing, a fitting background for the fading blue sky behind it. Young fans were dressed in their best in velvet miniskirts or backless, barely-there dresses, light catching the sparkles of youthful enthusiasm. Val suddenly felt very silly, and more than a little old.
Thirty-nine years old today, to be precise. Quite honestly, she’d forgotten, in all the excitement. And she was much too old to allow herself to be lost to fantasy, even for a moment. Desmond’s rich brown eyes and full, curving mouth were the stuff of fantasy, no matter how solid he seemed by her side.
He was a man. A rich and ambitious man. Nothing but trouble in a pretty suit. She’d spent the last eight years working her fingers to the bone so she could be free of men like him for good; so she could finally be completely independent.
“We’ll never find her in this crush,” Val murmured.
“We might not need to. Has she updated anything?”
Val scrolled. Hind was ensconced in one of the opera house’s plush red velvet seats, winking cheekily and flashing her fingers in salute. A background of crimson and gold illuminated her lovely face. At least she’d had the sense to cover the lower half of her face with a rhinestone-studded mask. If her notoriously private father ever saw these posts, he wouldn’t be able to identify her.
Hopefully.
“She’s inside.”
“Great.” Desmond’s hand was at her back now, hovering close enough for her to feel the heat of him without actually touching her, steering her deftly through the crowds. “We’ll go to the bar, have a drink, and scoop the little stinker up on her way out. Watch your step!”
Everybody in the crowd seemed to be young, female and beautiful, and a few were shooting Desmond appreciative looks. He was oblivious, concentrating on his job of steering Val forward without incident. His jaw was rigid; those limpid, bedroom-sleepy eyes lowered.
“I have a private box here,” he said, so close to her ear that she nearly jumped. A shiver went down her spine as his breath caressed her ear lobe.
“How convenient for you,” she managed, gripping the straps of her handbag for dear life. At the bar, Desmond procured two seats out of thin air. She nodded her thanks, blurted out something inane about needing to powder her nose, and made a run for the ladies’.
Miraculously, the place was empty except for a couple of women chatting in hushed tones while washing their hands. Val ducked into a stall, made use of the facilities and then stood with her dress unzipped for a long moment, willing the air-conditioning to cool her skin.
Her whole body felt primed for touch.
She carefully rolled down her stockings and took off her tight shapewear, then fanned air on her bare skin. She splashed cold water on her wrists and touched them to her face, then patted the skin dry and reapplied a few drops of perfume on her wrists and neck. It smelled far too sweet to match whatever pheromones her body was absolutely vibrating with at the moment. She gave herself a mental shake, then dressed herself, reapplied her lipstick, and prepared to face him again.
She headed back out to the Champagne Bar, determined not to be so silly. She was met by Desmond, who was looking devastatingly handsome and holding aloft two empty glasses.
He wasn’t going to make this easy, was he? He already had that devil-may-care look on his face—the look of a man who couldn’t relate to even a third of what she had to deal with on a daily basis. And he was sporting that charming smile that said everything and nothing. She knew that smile; she’d fallen for a similar one before and look where that had got her.
“You made it clear how serious this is,” he said, handing her a glass, “with the force of an angry monsoon. But you have to admit that this is a little funny—chasing a sixteen-year-old across London, I mean.”
Val felt her mouth creeping up at the side. “It is,” she allowed. “But water for me, please.”
Desmond made a sound of displeasure deep in his throat. “I was going to let you choose the bottle.”
“I’m working,” she said a bit primly. “And so are you, for that matter.”
“Do you not drink?”
“That isn’t the point—”
“I’ll admit to having an ulterior motive,” he said, and stepped aside, offering a hand to assist her onto the barstool. “Can I help you?”
“I’m not sure I should take either the help or the drink if you’ve got an ulterior motive.”
He laughed. “My motive is to ply you with champagne and good conversation over the course of the next hour, until you’re willing to give me some tips—good, discreet tips—to help me win the Sheikh’s business. And,” he added, cutting her off, “I’ll have the added advantage of time with a beautiful and intelligent companion—”
“Don’t ruin your chances before you begin,” Val said archly. Her cheeks were flaming hot, but her insides felt pleasantly warm. How long had it been since a man had flirted with her, in any capacity? It felt…nice. And there was an odd edge of kindness shaping Desmond’s countenance that she couldn’t identify; she only knew it was there, and she could feel it, drawing her to him despite herself.
Val took a step closer, offered him her hand, and his lips tipped up.
“Need a boost?”
“Please.”
In one breathless moment his hand was on the small of her back, burning through her clothes again, and she was up on the barstool. Had he lifted her? Had she floated? She had no idea. He was still standing, his head hovering well above hers.
She pressed her knees together, tugging to make sure the lace at the top of her stockings remained hidden; he caught the gesture and she saw something in his eyes kindle.
He was closer to her now, or was that her imagination? Val took a breath, giving herself a minute to look around at their opulent surroundings, trying to focus on anything but his face. There had been a time, years ago, when beauty had moved her. Her husband had been an expert when it came to scenes like this one: glamorous surroundings, a handsome face, a solicitous hand on her lower back. But it had all been a front, a smoke screen to nothingness.
She didn’t know what was behind the curtain with Desmond Tesfay. All she knew was that she had no intention of lifting it.
“Tell me how I’m really doing,” he murmured.
He’s closer!
She pushed the thought away with some effort and cleared her throat. “With the Sheikh?” her voice sounded unnaturally high.
“Yes.” He reached behind her and produced a tall glass of water, which he handed to her. She took a grateful sip. “I need something that will help me seal the deal.”
“I can’t divulge anything about my clients—”
“Yes, you can.” His dark eyes were glittering. “Or you can tell me what I must absolutely avoid. Come on, Miss Montgomery. You’ve seen my office, my setup, and heard a summary of my pitch.”
Yes, she had. And it was good—very good. What she’d seen of his campaign revealed the painstaking detail of his research into the region as well as the Sheikh. It had made her admire him more, really. The way his eyes had lit up—he had a vision for the region that was more than sparkly gadgets and flashy flight attendants.
“It was good,” she said with sincerity. Desmond straightened a little when she said that, and she was touched, despite herself. Her feedback mattered to him, and that showed a humility that was sorely lacking in the men she’d been interacting with over the past ten years. “You’re very young to have achieved so much,” she added.
He laughed out loud. “How old do you think I am? You’re talking as if you should be nannying me .”
“Heaven forbid.”
Desmond was leaning in closer now, with a different sort of intensity than the flirtation he’d started with, but this version made her pulse race just as quickly. “I just meant…the scope of Tesfay International is impressive.”
Desmond leaned back, focusing his eyes on some glittering object some distance away from them. “I suppose.”
“Have you been in the Gulf long?”
He shook his dark head. “This is a bit of an expansion move.” His expression was suddenly wary and she wasn’t sure what had prompted that. “We’ve mostly been in the European market up until now.”
“ We ’ve?”
“My father. It’s his company, really. Was his company.” Desmond’s voice was growing crisper by the moment. “Hence the youth of which you so charmingly spoke—I’m a nepo baby.”
“And he sent you here?”
“He’s dead, sweetheart,” Desmond said, his voice drawing out the words to something long and almost lazy. He’d tilted his head back so that his face was momentarily in shadow, and she was unable to see his expression as clearly as she had before.
Val felt mortification wash over her at her own tactlessness. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have pried.” Val paused to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, then stilled the nervous movement; there was no hair there, of course. The amount of gel and edge control she used on a daily basis would have defeated even the most errant curl.
“No need to apologize. You weren’t to know.” His words were carefully enunciated, as if he’d rehearsed the lines many times but was still uncertain as to how to deliver them.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” And there she was, apologizing again. He lifted the corners of his mouth but it wasn’t a true smile.
“You’re very kind.”
They sat in silence for a moment, lost in their own thoughts as soft conversations and the strains of Chopin hung faintly in the air.
“It’s not something I talk about in public,” Desmond said, after a while. His eyes still seemed to be focused on something far away. “He died in an accident some years back. Plane crash.”
The words were said so baldly that Val’s breath caught in her throat. “That must have been devastating.”
“It was.” His face hadn’t changed expression but his voice had quieted; she had to lean in to hear him above the chatter and clinking glassware. “I am privileged enough to ensure with my business—our business…that his legacy didn’t die with him.”
“That’s very…noble.” Val hoped her words sounded sincere; she meant them, but there was something about Desmond in this moment that meant she didn’t trust her voice.
He looked at her; his eyes were dark and liquid and she involuntarily lifted a hand to her neck. His gaze was making her pulse thrum like a hummingbird in her throat. “He would be so proud.”
The storm in those eyes had increased till the color was nearly obliterated; all she could see was black. “Kind words,” he said after a moment, and bitterness entered his voice. “Empty, but kind.”
What?
“I did not intend—”
“My father might hate what I’ve done with this company. How would you know? I barely know what he would think.”
She had no idea what to say to that.
“Are your parents proud of you, Miss Montgomery?” he asked coldly.
Well, that was certainly a shift in conversation. A lump rose hard and fast to the same place where her pulse beat. “My, um—”
“I’m just curious.”
“Well, I—”
Desmond’s eyes fell on her lap where she knotted her hands, and he raised his brows.
“Am I making you nervous, Miss Montgomery?”
“A little.” She might as well be frank. “This conversation…”
“Has become a little heavy?”
“Well…”
He smiled, and in a flash the introspection was gone, replaced by the familiar smirk. “My apologies. Consider us back in shallow waters.”
“No, I didn’t mean…” Val fumbled. Oh, how had she managed to bungle this up so badly? And why did she mind so much that he’d withdrawn from her, despite her relief that his question had ended up being rhetorical? He’d clearly launched that question out at her like a grenade to throw her off balance, and it had worked. “Mr. Tesfay—”
“No, no, no need to explain.”
“Well…all right.”
“I need something. Anything at all,” Desmond continued, taking up his former line of conversation with ease. “You know as well as I do that these things often come down to some arbitrary thing. A shared interest, membership of the same club, a brand of whiskey…? Although I know he doesn’t drink,” he added.
Shallow waters. It was much easier to breathe now that he had changed the subject, that was for sure. She found herself licking her lips, gathering her wits and answering in kind.
“Ignoring the fact that revealing information like this would be very indiscreet of me, that would be giving you quite the unfair advantage, wouldn’t it?”
“It absolutely would.”
He said it so confidently that Val had to cover her mouth with a hand, stifling the laugh that burbled forth. When he smiled, it was like the sun coming out after a storm. She knew it was real and involuntary because it made fine lines fan out of the corners of his eyes, as if he were a man who laughed often.
“Well?”
Why shouldn’t she? Why shouldn’t she give him some harmless nugget of information that would help him—and more importantly, prolong the conversation?
She did want to prolong the conversation, didn’t she, despite that horribly awkward exchange a few moments ago? He was still very close to her, and looking at her keenly, as if he were trying to find the key to a puzzle. It was an oddly penetrating look that made her grope awkwardly for the champagne flute.
“We’re drinking now?” Desmond asked, rather triumphantly.
“One glass,” she allowed.
“What’s your choice?”
“I don’t care.” She eased the death grip on her handbag and took a deep breath. She was having a drink at the Royal Opera House in the Champagne Bar with a man as rich as Croesus while her sixteen-year-old charge was presumably dancing to K-pop inside. She must be in a fever dream.
“ID, please!”
The bartender’s voice startled her. She fumbled in her bag, identified the slim rectangle, and pushed it forward. The pigtailed woman squinted at it, then at her, then returned it with a straight face.
“Happy birthday, Valentina!” she said chirpily, and poured, then disappeared. She felt heat shoot up to her cheeks. Desmond was staring at her, as if seeing her for the first time.
“Valentina?” he said, and that was all it took. His low voice curved around the syllables of her name. If calling her Ms. Montgomery gave her butterflies, then using her full name made a quiver go up from her tummy to her throat.
She jerked as if she’d been burned. “Don’t call me that!”
“ She called you that.”
“It’s on my ID, that’s why.” Damn the bartender and her presumption. Val took a large sip from her glass to bolster herself. She registered icy cold first, then bubbles burst on her tongue with a delightful apple-like crispness. She closed her eyes for a second and wished Desmond gone. When she opened her eyes he was looking at her curiously.
“It’s a beautiful name,” he said with that odd gentleness that occasionally characterized his speech. She pressed her knees together so hard it hurt.
“It’s ridiculously sentimental,” she said tightly. “My father named me that because I was due on—”
“Valentine’s Day! Of course!” Now he sounded a bit amused. “And it’s the sixteenth. You missed it by a hair.”
“I suppose I did.”
“Do you really hate the name that much?”
“I don’t hate it, I just…” She used to love it, actually. She used to think it was elegant and old-fashioned and a little romantic, just like her. She’d liked the association with what had once been her favorite holiday. But now …
Well. Life had been diligent about showing her how dangerous sentiment and romance could be, hadn’t it? And the name she’d once loved mocked her whenever she heard it.
“Val is easier to pronounce than Valentina where I live,” she said. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. “It’s Val now.”
“ I think your full name suits you much better,” he declared.
“ I think what you think matters little in this case,” she said acidly.
Irritatingly, the man wasn’t put off. Instead, he topped off her glass and offered a half smile. “And it’s your birthday. Valentina,” he said, as if testing out the name.
There it was, again, that liquid fissure beginning to creep between her thighs. “Don’t call me that,” she said automatically, burying her nose in her glass, although her voice was perhaps not as sharp as she’d intended.
When she resurfaced, he was gazing at her thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. This is a dreadful way to celebrate, isn’t it?”
She shrugged. “It’s not as if I had any other plans.”
“Oh, that’s too–”
“No, it isn’t bad. It isn’t bad at all,” she said crisply. Despite whatever…attraction she felt, at the end of the day her rules remained the same. “It’s lovely, actually. No stress, no obligations, no parties, no men ,” she said pointedly. “Just another day, exactly as I want it.”
To her surprise he laughed. “I can relate. I haven’t celebrated a birthday for years.”
“Why not?”
A shadow crossed his face. “No time,” he said, briskly. “Work. And my…family lives quite a distance away.”
There was something he wasn’t telling her, and she was surprised to find herself wanting to know what it was.
“But enough about me,” he said quickly. “How old—?”
“Older than you. And no, I’m not telling you.” She was old enough to think back on the girl she’d been, and how she’d screwed up badly enough to put her in this position on her thirty-ninth birthday. Images raced through her mind of the shy, neglected girl she’d been: a whirlwind courtship with a man she’d met by chance at Mardi Gras in her native New Orleans; a marriage—a short, terrible marriage; and finally—
Val abruptly stood. She didn’t want to go down this road tonight, even though she knew it was inevitable. At the very least she could wait until she was in the privacy of her own room. “I should find Hind,” she said firmly. “Thank you for the drink.”
“Where is she now?”
“I’m going to try and scoop her up on the way out.”
“And if you’re unsuccessful? Listen—” And there it was again. Tha t look . Flickering down the length of her body, almost too quick to note. He seemed…
When was the last time anyone had looked at her like that? And since when had she cared that they did? Desmond Tesfay was eroding every single vow she had made and that had kept her safe for the past decade. Champagne. Closeness. Flirting. Him saying her name . And she was terrified at how much she liked it.
His voice, rich and low, broke into her thoughts, quieting them. “I’ve got as much at stake as you do, don’t I? Let me help you.”
When she tilted her head, he raised both hands in surrender. “No funny business. And consider your full name forgotten.”
She gritted her teeth. “Will you keep haranguing me for information about the Sheikh?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.”
There it was again, that easy smile. Those unreadable, yet oddly intense dark eyes.
Shallow waters.
She paused for a long moment to regain her composure.
“Fine,” she finally forced out, and he nodded.
“It’ll be a birthday to remember, if nothing else,” he said lightly, and offered his arm. Val took it.
A birthday to remember.
Really, the man had no idea.