“For heaven’s sake, I don’t have a problem with telling you. I simply don’t see why it’s relevant.”
He grinned at her, teasing her. “Ah, I have it now. You’ve decided what things are relevant and you don’t mind me knowing those.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She cradled her hands around her glass, warming it slightly.
“So what is it then?”
“What?”
“Your favorite color.”
She let out a long sigh. “Red. Happy now?”
“Scarlet or crimson?”
Olivia bit back her frustration. “Poppy,” she said after a pause.
“It suits you.” He nodded at her red sweater. “Mine is brown.”
“Brown?” she asked, curiosity temporarily overcoming her irritation.
“Mm. It’s such a complicated color. Every time you find something in nature that looks brown, it turns out to be a mixture of a hundred other colors. I like that.”
“You like complicated things?”
“I like breaking complicated things down into simpler parts. How long has it been since you worked on the rigs?”
“Nearly ten years.”
“There’s a scar here.” He picked up her hand and his thumb traced the silvery mark between her first two fingers.
“From a kitchen knife. I was chopping a cucumber and it slipped.”
He laughed. “So there is something that you’re not so good at?”
“Plenty of things. Cooking is one of them.”
“I can cook.”
His eye caught hers, and for a moment there was no whisky, no contract, no oil rig—only Khaled watching her. She held her breath as she gazed back, trapped in the black depths of his eyes. A log fell in the fireplace, and the loud crack was enough to break the moment.
“Do you cook traditional Saqati food?” she asked, bringing her thoughts back to their conversation.
“Mostly I cook baked beans on toast.”
“I can scramble eggs.”
“For breakfast?”
“For supper. It’s not worth doing a cooked breakfast just for me.”
“There’s a way round that.” He grinned at her and Olivia smiled back, pulled in by his easy charm.
“I’m not sure that would be worth it for a plate of scrambled eggs.”
Khaled laughed out loud. “Oh, I’m sure it would.”
She laughed too, but shook her head. He pushed back his chair and stood. “My bones are freezing.”
She got up as well. “I’m sorry. Dad believes the central heating should only be used in winter.”
“And this is?”
“May. Positively spring like. Almost summer.”
He grimaced. “I should have my own woolen jumper.” He stroked a finger down the sleeve of Olivia’s scarlet sweater. “Doesn’t it scratch?”
She shrugged. “I wear a blouse underneath. And a vest.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure you want me thinking about what you’re wearing underneath.”
Olivia opened her mouth, but as he caught her eyes and held her gaze, the words disappeared. Now she was wondering what Khaled wore underneath his shirt and tie, and whether his skin was golden all over, and how she could warm him up.
“So, no central heating. How are you going to make sure I don’t freeze to death in my bed tonight?”
Her mind immediately followed his innuendo, but she managed to dig up a sensible answer from somewhere. “We have hot water bottles. I’ll give you a couple to keep your feet warm.”
“What about the fireplace?”
“I’m not sure how much heat you’d get from it. We don’t often light the upstairs fires.”
“I’d like to try. Where do you keep your firewood?”
Olivia took him outside to the shed where the neatly chopped wood was stacked, and showed him the piles of kindling over to one side. Khaled filled a large bucket with logs and balanced some smaller kindling on top.
“Can you find some old newspaper and matches?”
“Of course. I’ll bring them up in a minute.”
“Bring the whisky as well,” he said over his shoulder. “Two glasses.”
A few minutes later, she knocked on his door. Khaled opened it wide to let her in. He’d removed his jacket, shoes, and socks. Barefoot, hair rumpled, and dark stubble outlining his jaw, he took her breath away. Literally.
She stood her ground in the corridor. He was even more of a temptation than she’d realized.
He tilted his head in question. “You’re not coming in?”
She swallowed, remembered where she was. What she wanted from this man. “Paper. Matches. Whisky.” She shoved them into his hands.
“Only one glass?”
“I’ve had more than enough to drink tonight.”
“But you’ll come in and make sure I’m not burning your house down.”
There was a gleam of mischief in his eyes that Olivia almost responded to.
“No, I trust you not to do anything foolish.”
He quirked his lips. “Foolishness can be fun, don’t you think?”
A small, silly part of her wanted to grin and let him draw her into his bedroom and show her what sort of foolishness he had in mind, but she knew perfectly well that she couldn’t. It would be utter folly to compromise her reputation with a business associate as important as the sheikh.