“Sit here.” She patted the bed.
He took a deep breath. She would tempt a saint. “Fine. I’ll sit on the bed, so long as you promise me to close your eyes and try to sleep.”
“Not tired.”
“Try.”
“Kiss me goodnight and I’ll try.”
“Do you always flirt like this when you’re drunk?”
She grinned. “I don’t get drunk.”
“Never?”
“Getting drunk makes you lose your hibshuns.”
“Inhibitions.”
“That’s right. So I don’t do it.”
“I think that’s probably very sensible. And a great relief to me.”
He leaned forward to kiss her lips. “Goodnight, Livvy.”
“I love you, Khaled.”
She closed her eyes and her breathing soon settled into the deep rhythm of sleep. She loved him. Tomorrow there would be wrangling with the council and negotiations over settlements and contracts. He prayed he could find a way to make it all come right for them both.
Tonight it was enough to know that she loved him and he loved her.
Chapter Ten
Someone was playing a drum kit. Badly. Inside her head.
God, she needed to make it stop. She rubbed her hands into her eyes and forced herself to open them. Daylight made it worse. Damn, damn, damn.
She grabbed a pillow and pulled it over her head. That was worse, too.
It was no good. Her bladder was sending urgent signals. She was going to have to find a way of getting to the bathroom. Crawling seemed like an excellent choice.
Olivia swung her legs over the side of the bed and levered herself upright. Blood rushed to her head and she sat down again promptly. Slower this time, she decided, and tried again. That was better. Still bad, but manageable.
She tottered toward the bathroom and managed not to fall over, even when she stubbed her toe on the bedside table. Stupid place for a table, anyway.
After she splashed some water on her face and cleaned her teeth, she felt a little more human. God, how much had she drunk last night? And more to the point, had she totally embarrassed herself by getting drunk at a Saqati state reception? At least she was flying home today. She never had to see anyone here ever again.
Not even Khaled.
Especially not Khaled. Damn Khaled. He’d told her he wasn’t marrying Aliya and practically in the next breath he’d announced that he had already chosen the woman who would become his wife. Well, she wouldn’t be hanging around to get in the way of the future Mrs. Khaled Saqat. She wouldn’t even be having important business meetings with him where she could indulge her hopeless passion for ogling his forearms.
Oh, God. She groaned.
She’d danced with him.
She had no idea what she had said, but almost certainly she’d said more than she should have. There was a reason why she didn’t get drunk. She always said things that were much, much better left unsaid.
Someone had put a glass of water by the bed, together with a blister pack of headache tablets. Olivia popped out two pills and swallowed them. She sipped at the water and wondered what hideous faux pas she had committed.
Her orange dress was hanging over the back of her armchair. Had she put it there? She couldn’t remember coming upstairs. She was naked apart from the very lacy, and very sexy underwear she’d bought on a whim. Clearly she hadn’t been awake enough to find her pajamas.
Khaled. He’d been there. He’d taken off her stockings.
She grimaced.
Khaled had put her to bed, drunk.
Too drunk to sleep with him, which was something, she supposed. That would have been a worse mistake, all things considered.
Her entire trip had been a failure. She’d failed to win the contract for MCI Oil; she’d failed to prove herself to her father. Most of all, she’d failed to make Khaled love her enough to overthrow his stupid, stubborn notions of duty. The only thing she’d managed to do was to fall in love with a man who was never going to let himself have her.
She climbed back into bed, sank into her soft pillows, and closed her eyes tight shut. She was not going to cry. Not now. Not until she had said good-bye and was safely on the plane taking her out of Saqat and away from Khaled. If his duty demanded that he let her go, then she would not make it any more difficult by clinging and begging to stay. She took several deep breaths and tried to think calming thoughts.
The telephone startled her.
“Hello?”
“Olivia.” The gruff Scottish accent was unmistakable.
“Hello, Father.”
“I’ve just had a letter from Sheikh Khaled. Faxed through.” That was typical. Straight to business without a single enquiry about her wellbeing. “He’s not going to sign the contract with us.”
“I know.”
“Well, I’m sorry for it.” He didn’t sound at all sorry. “I shouldn’t have left you to handle the negotiations on your own. And while we’re talking about it, I’ve asked Charlie Munro to take over as CEO when I resign. I’ll stay on the board, of course.”