another meeting, at another time. At the solicitor's, perhaps.'
Rachid's lips thinned. 'What is wrong with us sharing a meal here? Have we not done so many times before?'
'That was different.'
'How different?'
Abby hunched her shoulders. 'We—we were married‑'
'We are still married,' he snapped shortly. 'And if you wish me to treat this matter favourably, then I suggest you stop putting obstacles in my way.'
Abby looked reluctantly at him. 'Are you going to dress?'
'I am dressed,' he retorted, controlling his temper with difficulty. 'Now—please, take off your coat, and I will offer you a drink.'
Abby shrugged, and then complied. It was easier than allowing him to help her, easier than feeling those long brown fingers brush her neck or bring a tingle to the sensitive bones of her shoulders. She dropped the sheepskin jacket on to a chair by the door, and then stood apprehensively in the middle of the floor, aware of his eyes moving over her. She was wearing boots, her pants zipped inside their soft suede lining, accentuating the masculine stance she adopted, and with a faint quirk of his eyebrows he crossed the floor on silent feet.
'Martini, sherry? Or something stronger?' he queried, waiting for her decision, and she deliberately chose Scotch. She needed something to combat the feelings of inadequacy he aroused inside her, and it gave her a sense of reassurance to have a glass in her hand.
He poured the whisky without comment, dropping in several cubes of ice at her instigation, and then carried the glass back to her. Abby took it cautiously, taking care not to touch his fingers, and he watched her sip its contents with a strangely enigmatic smile.
'Aren't you having anything?' she enquired, self conscious in spite of her assumed arrogance, and with a shrug Rachid returned to the tray resting on a cabinet near the long windows. He poured himself a small glass of orange juice, and raised it in a silent toast before swallowing the sun-kissed liquid, and Abby's nerves tightened anew at this deliberate exhibition of abstemiousness.
'Will you not sit down?'
He indicated a low sofa, and although Abby would have preferred a chair, she refused to let him think she was afraid of him. She subsided on to the striped cushions, albeit rather stiffly, and crossing her legs rested her arm holding the glass across her knees.
Rachid studied her for a moment, then he went to summon Karim once more. 'We will eat now,' he advised shordy, giving his instructions, and Karim withdrew with his usual gesture of obeisance.
'I understand you have resumed your position as Daley's secretary,' Rachid commented, as they waited for the food, and Abby nodded. 'How convenient that he needed a secretary at just this time.'
Abby glanced quickly up at him. 'It wasn't arranged, if that's what you think. Brad had had a series of girls since I left, none of them satisfactory. He dismissed the last one the week before I returned to London.'
Rachid's lips curled. 'Is that what he told you?'
'It's true.'
'It is true that Daley had had several different girls working for him, but I find the latter part of your statement hard to believe. I think he dismissed his last secretary because he knew you were returning to London. He knew that working for him you would feel more loyalty than for some strange employer, who has not had time to win your, confidence.'
'What do you mean?'
Rachid flexed Iris shoulder muscles wearily. 'I mean that your estimable boss knew I was- looking for you, and was determined to put as many obstacles in my way as possible.'
Abby gasped. 'That's ridiculous! What could it achieve?'
'It could make the difference between your staying in London, or returning to Abarein.'
'No!'
'Yes.' He was inflexible. 'By restoring the—what do you say? Status quo?—Daley knew you would think twice before making a decision in my favour. Whereas,' he made an eloquent gesture, 'in a strange job, with a strange employer, and perhaps not
Rachid's lips thinned. 'What is wrong with us sharing a meal here? Have we not done so many times before?'
'That was different.'
'How different?'
Abby hunched her shoulders. 'We—we were married‑'
'We are still married,' he snapped shortly. 'And if you wish me to treat this matter favourably, then I suggest you stop putting obstacles in my way.'
Abby looked reluctantly at him. 'Are you going to dress?'
'I am dressed,' he retorted, controlling his temper with difficulty. 'Now—please, take off your coat, and I will offer you a drink.'
Abby shrugged, and then complied. It was easier than allowing him to help her, easier than feeling those long brown fingers brush her neck or bring a tingle to the sensitive bones of her shoulders. She dropped the sheepskin jacket on to a chair by the door, and then stood apprehensively in the middle of the floor, aware of his eyes moving over her. She was wearing boots, her pants zipped inside their soft suede lining, accentuating the masculine stance she adopted, and with a faint quirk of his eyebrows he crossed the floor on silent feet.
'Martini, sherry? Or something stronger?' he queried, waiting for her decision, and she deliberately chose Scotch. She needed something to combat the feelings of inadequacy he aroused inside her, and it gave her a sense of reassurance to have a glass in her hand.
He poured the whisky without comment, dropping in several cubes of ice at her instigation, and then carried the glass back to her. Abby took it cautiously, taking care not to touch his fingers, and he watched her sip its contents with a strangely enigmatic smile.
'Aren't you having anything?' she enquired, self conscious in spite of her assumed arrogance, and with a shrug Rachid returned to the tray resting on a cabinet near the long windows. He poured himself a small glass of orange juice, and raised it in a silent toast before swallowing the sun-kissed liquid, and Abby's nerves tightened anew at this deliberate exhibition of abstemiousness.
'Will you not sit down?'
He indicated a low sofa, and although Abby would have preferred a chair, she refused to let him think she was afraid of him. She subsided on to the striped cushions, albeit rather stiffly, and crossing her legs rested her arm holding the glass across her knees.
Rachid studied her for a moment, then he went to summon Karim once more. 'We will eat now,' he advised shordy, giving his instructions, and Karim withdrew with his usual gesture of obeisance.
'I understand you have resumed your position as Daley's secretary,' Rachid commented, as they waited for the food, and Abby nodded. 'How convenient that he needed a secretary at just this time.'
Abby glanced quickly up at him. 'It wasn't arranged, if that's what you think. Brad had had a series of girls since I left, none of them satisfactory. He dismissed the last one the week before I returned to London.'
Rachid's lips curled. 'Is that what he told you?'
'It's true.'
'It is true that Daley had had several different girls working for him, but I find the latter part of your statement hard to believe. I think he dismissed his last secretary because he knew you were returning to London. He knew that working for him you would feel more loyalty than for some strange employer, who has not had time to win your, confidence.'
'What do you mean?'
Rachid flexed Iris shoulder muscles wearily. 'I mean that your estimable boss knew I was- looking for you, and was determined to put as many obstacles in my way as possible.'
Abby gasped. 'That's ridiculous! What could it achieve?'
'It could make the difference between your staying in London, or returning to Abarein.'
'No!'
'Yes.' He was inflexible. 'By restoring the—what do you say? Status quo?—Daley knew you would think twice before making a decision in my favour. Whereas,' he made an eloquent gesture, 'in a strange job, with a strange employer, and perhaps not
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