The Sheikh's Hesitant Bride (Qazhar Sheikhs series Book 7) (4 page)

Zarif decided to rest for a short while and lay down on his bed, the closed curtains keeping out the bright sunshine of the London summer.

As he drifted off into a light sleep, images of Rachel filled his mind.

****

Rachel shifted nervously on the back seat of the limo and gazed out at the traffic. She would be at the restaurant in a matter of minutes.
 

She fussed with the loose fabric of her blue dress and adjusted the modest cleavage. Perhaps this outfit hadn't been the best choice, after all, she thought. The truth was, she didn't have too many outfits to choose from. Especially for a date like the one with Zarif. Her social life, such as it was, didn't call for a whole lot of different dresses.
 

She squinted downwards. Was she showing too much cleavage? Was this the appropriate outfit for such an exclusive place as the club to which he had invited her?

She saw the driver glance at her yet again in the rear-view mirror and wondered what his instructions had been. Rachel had insisted that Zarif should not come in the limo when it came to pick her up and bring her to the restaurant. She didn't want a repeat performance of the struggle she'd had earlier in the morning. Rachel already knew how hard it was to keep her attention off Zarif, and no good would come from putting herself in the way of unnecessary temptation.

Still, she wondered why she had agreed to this secret dinner date. Because, that was what it was. Rachel had agreed to keep the whole thing under wraps, and it had caused a few awkward moments when she had spoken with Abby when her boss had finally returned from her own lunch date with Zarif.
 

Rachel had been amazed at how Abby had been affected by spending a couple of hours in Zarif's company. She'd never seen her boss behave like that. Abby had gushed enthusiastically about how wonderful Zarif was and how they had gotten on like a house on fire. Rachel found it all slightly unbelievable since she'd sensed something completely different from Zarif. Rachel wasn't convinced that Abby had even noticed Zarif's reservations about spending time in her boss's company.

The limo slowed and started to ease into the reserved parking bays in front of the exclusive restaurant. Rachel gazed through the tinted window and suppressed a gasp.
 

Zarif was standing at the foot of the steps, his gaze fixed resolutely on the arrival of the limo. He looked astonishingly handsome in his finely tailored dark suit, crisp white shirt and bow tie. His gaze was penetrating, even from this distance. She couldn't get rid of the thought that he looked completely at home, standing in front of a private establishment that was so exclusive few people would be granted access. Rachel felt butterflies start to tumble in her middle. She chided herself for feeling like a schoolgirl on a first date.
 

Rachel dropped her clutch on the floor and crouched to pick it up. When she lifted her head, the car was beginning to slow. Any moment now the door would open, and Zarif would be extending a hand to help her out of the limo. A few people stared at the limo with expressions of curiosity on their faces.
 

Rachel had a sudden, crazy thought. She felt like a princess arriving at a fairy-tale ball, and Zarif was her handsome prince eagerly awaiting the woman destined to be his. She forced that thought into a distant corner of her mind and drew in a deep breath.

The limo drew to a halt, and Zarif opened the door.

He gazed down at her and smiled warmly. "Good evening, Rachel. I trust you had a good journey," he said. His voice sounded even and calm, with none of the teasing of earlier that morning.
 

He extended a hand, and Rachel reached up, accepting his offer of help in getting out of the limo. She felt his fingers curl gently around her hand. He guided her out, watching her take her place by his side.
 

Zarif ran an appreciative gaze quickly down the length of her body and smiled. "That's a beautiful dress," he observed.

Rachel shimmied and smiled at him. "Thank you. I just threw it on before I came out," she said with a shrug.

Zarif lifted his brows and nodded. "Well, it suits you just fine." He gestured toward the huge wooden, glass-panelled revolving doors that looked like they dated back a century. "You're going to love this place." He narrowed his eyes playfully. "Very exclusive."

"I wouldn't expect anything else," she retorted.

He grinned and extended an arm, making it clear he expected her to curl her hand inside. She paused and looked into his eyes, seeing the clear assumption that she understood what he wanted her to do. Rachel slid her arm inside his and felt him pull her closer to him. She looked up at him and then they made their way up the stairs.

Walking side by side with him felt suddenly right, completely appropriate, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. That realization startled her, made her conscious of every step she took. Then they were inside the revolving door, and he released her arm, guiding her out of the door and into the most sumptuous lobby she had ever seen.
 

The place had tradition stamped on it; luxuriously carpeted floors; dark wooden panels; painted portraits of notable former members; expensively upholstered sofas; a huge plaque listing prominent club chairmen. The entire room had an air of the past, a heavy feeling of class and sophistication. Rachel had always wondered what some of these older establishments were like on the inside. It had always seemed to her that they held dark secrets, hidden traditions that needed to be kept from prying eyes.

And now she was inside on of those establishment. It oozed privacy and exclusivity. Zarif placed a hand gently on her elbow and spoke quietly to an elegantly dressed man, who nodded and led the way toward a door. They were taken down a corridor, past closed doors. Rachel felt the silence of the place in her bones as she walked alongside Zarif. She glanced up at him, and he smiled reassuringly at her. The man opened a door at the end of the corridor and gestured for Rachel and Zarif to enter.

Rachel stepped inside and forced herself to contain a gasp. Inside the wood-panelled room was one rectangular table with two chairs, one at each end. Alongside the walls were long sideboards upon which were placed glasses, plates, cutlery and white napkins. Flowers in vases filled the room with a sweet scent and a riot of color which offset the restrained elegance of the dark panels.

Zarif followed Rachel into the room, and the man left, closing the door softly behind him.

Rachel turned to Zarif. "What is this place?"

Zarif ran his gaze around the room. "The ultimate in private dining. I've been coming to this place for years. I thought it would give us a chance to talk. Away from prying eyes."

Zarif walked to the table and drew out the chair and looked at Rachel. He gestured for her to take her seat. She sat down and felt Zarif ease the chair against the back of her legs. When he touched her shoulder briefly, she felt a tingle down her spine. Trying to hide the reaction, she glanced up at him. His gaze was filled with obvious appreciation. She could see that plain and clear. He paused for a moment and then made his way to his own seat at the other end of the table.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I've never been in a place like this." She paused and looked around the room. "It's different from what I expected."

"How so?"

"I don't know. It's old-fashioned."

"You mean, traditional?"

Rachel nodded. "I suppose so. Traditional might be a better word."

She saw him settle back in his chair and heard him sigh. "I like tradition," he said in an even voice. "Back in Qazhar things have changed so much. It's almost as if people have turned their back on the values of the past."

Rachel noticed that his voice had acquired an almost wistful quality. She wondered about the sudden transformation.

"What about you?" he asked quickly, as if he wanted to cover up what he'd almost revealed about himself. "Tell me something about yourself."

Rachel shifted in her seat. "I don't know really. What do you want to know?" she asked.

Zarif leaned his elbows on the table and fixed his gaze on her, his eyes narrowing with eager curiosity. "Everything," he stated bluntly.

Rachel gasped and smiled. "Is that all?"

Zarif shrugged. "Why not. We have all evening."

Rachel drew in a deep breath and glanced down at the table. After a moment she peered at him. "I thought we might talk about the apartments. I have some thoughts about how you could approach the whole issue."

Rachel saw him scowl slightly. "Property talk isn't what I'm interested in this evening." He waved a dismissive hand and leaned further forward. She felt the intensity of his gaze all the way from the other end of the table. "I want to know more about you. Where you come from. Your past. Where you grew up."

Rachel felt an uneasy twist in her middle, and her throat tightened. Too personal, she thought. There was no way she was going to tell him all he wanted to know. Not even the smallest part.

She was grateful for the interruption when the waiter entered the room, wheeling in a trolley upon which were numerous plates covered with silver tops. Rachel saw a flash of frustration glint in Zarif's eyes as he watched the waiter enter the room. She saw his jaw tighten, and he leaned back in his chair, admitting temporary defeat.

The meal was delicious, one of the finest she had ever eaten. Thin soups, delicately cooked fish and vegetables, finished off with crumbly pastry filled with fruits. Throughout the meal, Rachel managed to steer the conversation away from anything personal about herself. For most of the time, anyway.
 

Eventually, though, she found herself opening up to him. Zarif possessed a charm which was both polite and insistent. There was an ease about him that she found increasingly difficult to resist. He gazed at her in a unique way, with an attentiveness she had never experienced before with anyone else.

 
After a while, and a couple of glasses of the finest white wine she had ever tasted, Rachel found herself warming to him, feeling that perhaps it wouldn't do any harm to respond to his gentle probing.

"I grew up in a little village. Spent all of my childhood knowing the same people, going to the same school, the same shops. I had a happy childhood," she added softly.
 

Zarif smiled warmly. "It sounds wonderful. What were your parents like?"

Rachel nodded and smiled, remembering her mother and father. "They were wonderful," she said softly, feeling a sudden, familiar rush of emotion. She lifted her glass and took a sip of wine, needing a moment to compose herself.

"Were?" he asked.

Rachel nodded. "They passed away a few years ago. "

She saw Zarif's brows furrow, sympathy overtaking his features. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

Rachel shook her head. "My mother got sick while I was away at college. Of course, she wouldn't tell me anything about her illness. She always was one to keep how she felt secret from me. Even when she was sick. Especially then."

Zarif glanced downward, his shoulders sinking perceptibly. Maybe he regretted wanting to know more about her. Perhaps she was giving him too much. But, she had started, so she was determined to tell him all. Or, at least, as much as she felt he should know. Because, then it would be her turn to ask him about himself.

"My mother took a sudden turn while I was back from college. She passed away so suddenly, my father and I hardly had a chance to know what was happening."

Rachel saw Zarif's nostril flare, and she heard him draw in a sharp breath. His brows furrowed into deep ridges. She wondered what kind of suffering he'd experienced in his own life; whether his wealth had shielded him from pain. Did he understand any of this?

"Anyway. My father took it very badly. He just couldn't live without my mother." Rachel's voice cracked as she continued. "He just sort of faded away. He passed away within a year. And that was that. I didn't know what had happened. I couldn't make sense of it. I was alone. No sisters. No brothers. So, I just threw myself into college work. Buried myself in whatever I could do to stop me from thinking. From feeling."

Rachel looked at Zarif and saw his face was pale, an expression verging on horror written across his features.

He stood and dragged his chair to the side of the table next to her. He sank down and reached out a hand, but she pulled her hand away from him. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her refusal, but he fixed his gaze on her, seeking permission. She looked at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes. Holding his gaze, she made it clear that she would listen to him, that she would respect his need to say something, anything that would console.

 
"I'm sorry. I had no idea."

Rachel shrugged, but said nothing in reply.

"That must have been so tough for you. How did you survive that?"

She glanced at him. "My mother was a tough cookie. She taught me well," she said, a hint of defiance in her voice.

She saw the corner of his mouth crease with the shadow of a smile. A hint of respect, maybe.

"And you finished college and found a job working for Abby?"

Rachel nodded. "I had a few small jobs before this, but all they did was make me determined to take my chance when Abby offered me a place. So I did," she concluded with a shrug of a shoulder.

Once again she saw a hint of admiration flicker across his features. Rachel could feel her eyes begin to moisten. The thought of showing such emotion compelled her to take gather herself. She drew in a deep breath and gave Zarif a smile that helped her restore some sense of composure. "And you? What about you, Zarif?"

She saw him stiffen slightly, and his eyes narrowed. There was that distance again, she told herself. The same quality she'd noticed earlier in the day.

Rachel could see the deliberation in his eyes, see the sudden calculation, as if he was measuring how to respond.

"You already know about me, Rachel," he said.