A Diamond for the Sheikh's Mistress Read online

  It took another second for the realisation to hit her that there was only one person who could have spoken.

  With the utmost reluctance, vying with disbelief, she looked up from the countertop.

  Zafir.

  For a moment she simply didn’t believe it. He couldn’t be here. Not against this very dull backdrop of a restaurant in Queens. He inhabited five-star zones. He breathed rarefied air. He moved in circles far removed from this place. This man was royalty.

  He was a King now.

  And yet her agent had told her only a couple of days ago that he’d asked for her, so she should have been prepared. But she’d blocked out any possibility of this happening. And now she was sorry, because she wasn’t remotely prepared to see the man she’d loved with such intensity that it had sometimes scared her.

  She blinked, but he didn’t disappear. He seemed to grow in stature. Had he always been so tall? So broad? But she knew he had. He was imprinted on her brain and her memory like a brand. The hard-boned aristocratic features. The deep-set dark grey eyes that stood out against his dark olive skin. The thick dark hair swept back off his high forehead. That perfect hard-muscled body without an ounce of excess fat, its power evident even under a suit and overcoat.

  He was clean-shaven now, instead of with the short beard he’d worn when she’d known him, and it should have made him look somehow less. But it didn’t. It seemed to enhance his virility in a way that was almost overwhelming.

  She hadn’t even realised she’d spoken his name out loud until the sensual curve of those beautifully sculpted lips curved up slightly on one side and he said, ‘You remember my name, then?’

  The mocking tone which implied that it was laughable she could have possibly forgotten finally broke Kat out of her dangerous reverie and shock. He was here. In her space. The man she’d had dreams and nightmares about meeting again now that her life had changed beyond all recognition.

  In her nightmares he looked at her with disgust and horror, and to her mortification she woke up crying more often than not. Her dreams were no less humiliating—they were X-rated, and she’d wake up sweating, believing for a second that she was still whole...still his.

  But she was neither of those things. Not by a long shot.

  Her pulse quickened treacherously, even though his presence heralded an emotional pain she’d hoped had been relegated to the past but which she was now discovering not to be the case.

  She spoke sharply. ‘What are you doing here, Zafir? Didn’t you get my agent’s message?’

  He arched a brow and Kat flushed, suddenly aware of how she’d just addressed a man before whom most people would be genuflecting. A man who had two conspicuous bodyguards dressed in black just outside the main door.

  She refused to be intimidated. It was almost too much to take in, thinking of the last time she’d seen him and how upset she’d been, and then what had happened...the most catastrophic event of her life.

  ‘I got her message and chose to ignore it,’ Zafir said easily, his tone belying the curious punch to his gut when he registered Kat’s obvious reluctance to see him again.

  Kat folded her arms, as if that could protect her from his all too devastating charisma. Typical arrogant Zafir. He hadn’t changed.

  Tersely she said, ‘I’m working, so unless you’ve come here to eat this isn’t appropriate.’ It’ll never be appropriate. But she stopped herself from saying that with some desperation.

  Zafir’s smile faded and those unusual dark grey eyes flashed. ‘You refused to engage with my offer, which I do not accept.’

  ‘No,’ Kat said, feeling the bitterness that was a residue from their last tumultuous meeting, when she’d left him. ‘I can well imagine that you don’t accept it, Zafir, because you’re used to everyone falling over themselves to please you. But I’m afraid I feel no such compulsion.’

  His eyes narrowed on her and she immediately felt threatened. She’d always felt as if he could see right through her—through the desperate façade she’d put up to try and convince people she wasn’t a girl who had grown up in a trailer with a drug-addicted, mentally unstable mother. A girl who hadn’t even graduated from high school.

  Yet Zafir hadn’t—for all that she’d thought he might. Until he’d had the evidence shoved under his nose and he’d looked at her with cold, unforgiving eyes and had judged and condemned her out of his life.

  ‘You’ve changed.’

  His words slammed into her like a physical blow. He was right. She had changed. Utterly. And this was her worst nightmare coming to life. Meeting Zafir again. And him finding out—

  He wouldn’t, she assured herself now, feeling panicky. He couldn’t.

  ‘Is this gentleman looking for a table for one, Kaycee?’

  Kat looked blankly at her boss for a second, but she didn’t mistake the gleam of very feminine appreciation in the older woman’s eyes as she ogled Zafir unashamedly.

  Galvanised into action, she took the menu out of her boss’s hands and said firmly, ‘No, he’s not. He was just looking for directions and now he knows where to go.’ She looked at Zafir, and if she could have vaporised him on the spot she would have. ‘Don’t you, sir?’

  Her boss was pulled aside at that moment by another member of staff, and Zafir just looked at Kat for a long moment, before saying silkily, ‘I’ll be waiting for you, Kat. This isn’t over.’

  And then he turned and walked out.

  * * *

  Kat really didn’t want to leave the restaurant when her shift was over, because Zafir’s car was still outside. As was the very conspicuous black four-by-four undoubtedly carrying his security team.

  She was more than a little shocked that he was still waiting for her. Two hours later. The Zafir she’d known a year and a half ago had never waited for anyone—he’d been famously restless and impatient. Fools had suffered in his presence. He’d cut down anyone wasting his time with a glacial look from those pewter-coloured eyes.

  As Kat dragged on her coat and belted it she felt a sense of fatalism settle over her. If Zafir had ignored her agent and tracked her down this far, then he wouldn’t give up easily. She should know more than anyone that when he wanted something he pursued it until he got it.

  After all, he’d pursued her until he’d got her. Until he’d dismantled every defence she’d erected to keep people from getting too close. Until she’d been prepared to give up everything for him. Until she’d been prepared to try and mould herself into what he’d wanted her to be—even though she’d known that she couldn’t possibly fulfil everything he expected of her.

  Her hands tightened on her belt for a moment. He’d asked her to be his Queen. Even now she felt the same mix of terror and awe at the very thought. But it hadn’t taken much to persuade him of her unsuitability in the end.

  She steeled herself before walking out through the door, telling herself that she was infinitely stronger now. Able to resist Zafir. He had no idea of what she’d faced since she’d seen him last...

  As soon as she walked outside though, the back door of Zafir’s sleek car opened and he emerged, uncoiling to his full impressive height. Kat’s bravado felt very shaky all of a sudden.

  He stood back and indicated with a hand for her to get in. Incensed that he might think it could be this easy, she walked over to him, mindful of her limp, even though disguising it after a long evening on her feet put pressure on her leg.

  ‘I’m not getting into a car with you, Zafir. You’ve had a wasted evening. Please leave.’

  She turned to walk away and she heard him say,

  ‘Either we talk here on the sidewalk, with lots of ears about us, or you let me take you home and we talk there.’

  Kat gritted her jaw and looked longingly down the street that would take her to her apartment, just a couple of blocks away. But if she walked away she could well imagine Zafir’s very noticeable car moving at a snail’s pace beside her. And his security team. Drawing lots of attention. As he was doing
now, just by standing there, drawing lingering glances. Whispers.

  A group of giggling girls finally made Kat turn around. ‘Fine,’ she bit out. ‘But once I’ve listened to what you have to say you’ll leave.’

  Zafir’s eyes gleamed in a way that made all the hard and cold parts of Kat feel dangerously soft and warm.

  ‘By all means. If you want me to leave then, I’ll leave.’

  His tone once again told Kat that that was about as likely as a snowstorm in the middle of the brutally hot Jandor desert, and that only made her even more determined to resist him, hating that his visit was bringing up memories long buried. Memories of his beautiful and exotic country and how out of her depth she’d felt—both there and in their relationship. Zafir had been like the sun—brilliant, all-consuming and mesmerising, but fatal if one got too close. And she had let herself get too close. Close enough to be burnt alive once she’d discovered that the love she’d felt had been unrequited.

  She’d been prepared to marry him, buoyed up by his proposal, only to discover too late that for him it had never been a romantic proposal. It had been purely because he’d deemed her ‘perfect.’ Her humiliation was still vivid.

  She stalked past him now and got into the car, burningly aware of his gaze on her and wondering what on earth he must make of her—a shadow of her former self. The fact that she didn’t seem to be repelling him irritated her intensely.

  Zafir shut the door once her legs were in the car and came round and got in the other side, immediately dwarfing the expansive confines of the luxurious car. For a moment Kat felt herself sinking back into the seat, relishing the decadent luxury, but as soon as she realised what she was doing she stiffened against it. This wasn’t her life any more. Never would be again.

  ‘Kat?’

  She looked at Zafir, who had a familiar expression of impatience on his face. She realised she hadn’t heard what he’d said.

  ‘Directions? For my driver?’

  She swallowed, suddenly bombarded with a memory of being in the back of a very similar car with Zafir, when he’d asked his driver to put up the privacy window and drive around until he gave further instructions. Then he’d pulled Kat over to straddle his lap, pulled up her dress and—

  She slammed the lid shut on that memory and leaned forward to tell the driver where to go before she lost her composure completely.

  She refused to look at Zafir again, and within a couple of minutes they were pulling up outside her very modest apartment block. Kat managed to scramble inelegantly out of the car before Zafir could help her. She didn’t want him to touch her—not even fleetingly. The thin threads holding her composure together might snap completely.

  Her apartment was just inside the main doors of the apartment block, on the ground floor, and Kat could feel Zafir behind her. Tall, commanding. Totally incongruous.

  As if to underline it she heard him say a little incredulously, ‘No concierge?’

  Kat would have bitten back a smile if she’d felt like smiling. ‘No.’

  She opened her door and went into her studio apartment. What had become a place of refuge for the past year was now anything but as she put her keys down and turned around to face her biggest threat.

  Zafir closed the door behind him and Kat folded her arms. ‘Well, Zafir? What is it you have to say?’

  He was looking around the small space with unmistakable curiosity, and finally that dark grey gaze came to land on her. To her horror, he started to shrug off his overcoat, revealing a bespoke suit that clung lovingly to his powerful body.

  When he spoke he sounded grim. ‘I have plenty to say, Kat, so why don’t you make us both a coffee? Because I’m not going anywhere any time soon.’

  Kat stared mutinously at Zafir for a moment, and for those few seconds he was transfixed by her stunningly unusual eyes—amber from a distance, but actually green and gold from up close, surrounded by long dark lashes. They were almond-shaped, and Zafir’s blood rushed south as he recalled how she’d look at him after making love, the expression in her gaze one of wonderment that had never failed to catch him like a punch to his gut.

  Lies.

  It had all been lies. She might have been a virgin, but she’d been no innocent. It had been an elaborate act to hide her murky past. Suddenly he felt exposed. What was he doing here?

  But just then something in Kat’s stance seemed to droop and she said in a resigned voice, ‘Fine, I’ll make coffee.’

  She disappeared into a tiny galley kitchen and Zafir had to admit that he knew very well why he was here—he still wanted her. Even more so after seeing her again. But questions buzzed in his brain. He put down his overcoat on the back of a worn armchair and took in the clean but colourless furnishings of the tiny space she now called home.

  He’d never been in the apartment she’d shared with three other models when he’d known her before, but it had been a loft in SoHo—a long way from here.

  She emerged a couple of minutes later with two steaming cups and handed one to Zafir. He noticed that she was careful not to come too close, and it made something within him snarl and snap.

  She’d taken off her coat and now wore a long-sleeved jumper over the T-shirt. Even her plain clothes couldn’t hide that perfect body, though. High firm breasts. A small waist, generous hips. And legs that went on for ever...

  He could still feel them, wrapped around his back, her heels digging into his buttocks as she urged him deeper, harder—

  Dammit. He struggled to rein in his libido.

  ‘Take a seat,’ she said, with almost palpable reluctance.

  Zafir took the opportunity to disguise his uncontrollable response, not welcoming it one bit. He put it down to his recent sexual drought.

  She sat on a threadbare couch on the other side of a coffee table. Zafir took a sip of coffee, noting with some level of satisfaction that she hadn’t forgotten how he liked it. Strong and black. But then he frowned, noticing something. ‘Your hair is different.’

  She touched a hand to the unruly knot on her head self-consciously. ‘This is my natural colour.’

  Zafir felt something inside him go cold when he observed that her ‘natural colour’ was a slightly darker brown, with enticing glints of copper. Wasn’t this just more evidence of her duplicitous nature? Her hair had used to be a tawny golden colour, adding to her all-American, girl-next-door appeal, but in reality she’d made a mockery of that image.

  He put down his cup. ‘So, Kat, what happened? Why did you disappear off the international modelling scene and who is Kaycee Smith?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ALL KAT HEARD WAS, ‘Why did you disappear off the international modelling scene?’ For a moment she couldn’t breathe. The thought of letting exactly what had happened tumble out of her mouth and watching Zafir’s reaction terrified her.

  She’d come a long way in eighteen months, but some things she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for...namely revealing to him the full reality of why she was no longer a model, or who she was now. The graceful long-legged stride she’d become famous for on catwalks all over the world was a distant memory now, never to be resurrected.

  She breathed in shakily. Answer his questions and then he’ll be gone. She couldn’t imagine him wanting to hang around in these insalubrious surroundings for too long.

  ‘What happened?’ she said, in a carefully neutral voice. ‘You know what happened, Zafir—after all you’re the one who broke it to me that I’d been dropped from nearly every contract and that the fashion houses couldn’t distance themselves fast enough from the girl who had fallen from grace.’

  Kat had been blissfully unaware of the storm headed her way. She’d been packing for her new life with her fiancé—filled with trepidation, yes, but also hope that she would make him proud of her... What a naive fool she’d been.

  Zafir’s face darkened. ‘There were naked pictures of you when you were seventeen years old, Kat. They spoke pretty eloquently for themselves. Not to mention
the not inconsequential fact of the huge personal debt you’d been hiding from me. And the real story of your upbringing—enabling a drug-addicted mother to find her next fix.’

  Kat’s hands tightened on her cup as she remembered the vicious headline Zafir had thrust under her nose. It had labelled her ‘a white trash gold-digger.’ A man like Zafir—privileged and richer than Croesus—could never have begun to understand the challenges she’d faced growing up.

  Kat felt a surge of white-hot anger but also—far more betrayingly—she felt hurt all over again. The fact that he still had this ability to affect her almost killed her. Feeling too agitated to stay sitting, she put down her cup and stood up, moving to stand behind the couch, as if that could offer some scant protection.

  Zafir was sitting forward, hands locked loosely between his legs. He looked perfectly at ease, but Kat wasn’t fooled by his stance. He was never more dangerous than when he gave off an air of nonchalance.

  ‘Look,’ she said, as calmly as she could, ‘if you’ve just come here to re-enact our last meeting, then I can’t see how that will serve any purpose. I really don’t need to be reminded of how once my so-called perfect image was tarnished you deemed me no longer acceptable in your life. We said all we had to say that night.’

  Her hands instinctively dug into the top of the couch as she remembered that cataclysmic night—stumbling out of Zafir’s apartment building into the dark streets, the pain of betrayal in her heart, her tear-blurred vision and then... Nothing but blackness and more pain, the like of which she hadn’t known existed.

  Zafir stood up too, dislodging the sickening memory, reminding her that this was the present and apparently not much had changed.

  ‘Did we, really? As far as I recall you said far too little and then left. You certainly didn’t apologise for misleading me the whole time we were together.’

  Struggling to control herself as she remembered the awful shock of that night, Kat said, ‘You saw that article and you looked at those pictures and you judged and condemned me. You weren’t prepared to listen to anything I had to say in my defence.’