“Are you ever allowed out without them?” She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be constantly under supervision, even if it was for her own protection. She would hate to have someone else following her, invading her privacy.
“Not really. When I’m doing fieldwork, it’s more relaxed. There aren’t too many potential assassins in the Antarctic.” He winked at her. “And if I’m on a yacht, then everyone has to crew, including the guards.”
“Including you?”
“Even including you, Ms. McInnes.” He nodded at the mooring rope behind her. “You can cast off now.”
He steered the motorboat as confidently as he drove a car. It was a pleasure watching him take the helm, all the tension seeping from his muscular frame as he relaxed into his natural element. He’d dressed casually for the day, in canvas trousers rolled up at the ankle, and old, battered boat shoes. His faded green sweatshirt was pushed up to his elbows, giving her a glimpse of those delectable forearms. It was clear that Khaled was completely at ease as he negotiated their way out of the busy harbor.
Once they were out on the open water, he turned and shot Olivia a grin. Boyish and carefree. Dangerously charming.
“Want to try?”
She shook her head, but got to her feet and went to stand by him at the helm.
“You love it out here on the water, don’t you?”
He smiled again. “I always have. I used to sneak out when I was a kid and go swimming and snorkeling. I had my first dinghy when I was six years old.”
“Good job you didn’t grow up on the North Sea coast.”
“There are plenty of boats here. It’s not so much fun for swimming, though.”
“Wetsuits. No bikinis.”
“You brought a wetsuit?” His eyes widened comically.
She laughed. “No. I’m not planning to swim. Are you?”
“Not today. We can see everything we need to without getting wet.”
“What exactly are you expecting to see?”
Khaled grinned again. “I was hoping to see you in a wetsuit. Or a bikini. Preferably a bikini.”
“Sheikh Khaled…”
He put a hand on her arm. “Do you think, for today, you could drop the ‘sheikh’?”
She bit her lip. “Khaled. We’re supposed to be working together, remember.”
“We’re not working together yet. I haven’t decided whether to sign the contract.”
“Exactly! I can’t do anything that might prejudice your decision.”
“Trust me, Olivia, nothing I have in mind would prejudice my decision against your company.” Her name was soft and warm when it came from his lips. “See that, in the distance?”
She looked toward the rocks where he was pointing. “Seals?”
He nodded. “Basking in this sunshine, which begs the question: how is it that Scotland is freezing cold even on a sunny day?”
Olivia laughed. “I did tell you to wear an extra layer.”
Khaled moved a little closer and slid his arm around her waist. “I know another way to keep warm.”
Her mouth went dry. “Khaled…”
“Olivia?”
“We can’t.”
“No one can see.”
Her head turned to check on the bodyguards, following at a discreet distance.
“They know better than to see anything.”
“You’re a client.”
“But still a man. And you, Olivia McInnes, are a woman, despite all your attempts to prove otherwise.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Your work clothes. The suit and tie.” He combed his fingers through her hair and she shivered at the intimacy of it. “The short hair. I like it, by the way.”
“You’re not supposed to be noticing my hair.”
He laughed. “I noticed everything about you from the very first time we met. I thought you were a new secretary. Totally off limits.”
“You assumed I was a secretary. How sexist.”
“Not at all. You were in the photocopying room. What else was I supposed to think?”
“That I was doing my photocopying?”
“Hm. In general, in the embassy, the secretaries do the photocopying. Whether they are male or female.”
She relented. “Very well. But I should like to point out that, even though I am not your secretary, I am still off limits.”
“Are you? This little dimple here.” He traced it with his finger. “I noticed that when you smiled at Saleema. She brought you a cup of tea. And the tiny scar in your eyebrow here, I was looking at that while you were examining the dugong. How did you get it?”
“I fell off my bike when I was five.”
“I’m sure you got straight back on it. Now we come to the kissable spot beneath your ear, just here.” The pad of his finger pressed lightly against her skin. “How far off your limits is that?” His eyes bored deep into hers, waiting for an answer.
She could still say no.
She couldn’t say no. That was the problem.