Page 36 of Bred By the Sheikh

She asked how I took my coffee and gave me several breakfast choices without sounding as though the kitchen would collapse if I requested something outside them.

I chose eggs, fruit, and toast.

Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed in a pale coral sleeveless blouse with a cream A-line skirt and nude flats, I sat at the little table in my private sitting room with coffee hot enough to restore civilization.

There was no Tariq, no ceremonial breakfast table, and no flying melon, which was probably safer for everyone.

I ate while reviewing the deck, made three notes, changed one sentence, and managed almost seven consecutive minutes without thinking about his hands on my waist.

By eight-thirty, I was downstairs in the working room with my laptop open and most of my attention on the campaign.

Then Tariq walked in, and my progress ended.

He wore a charcoal suit today, crisp white shirt open at the throat without a tie. His hair was controlled, his beard immaculate, and the sight of him sent a slow warm pull through my belly before he’d said a word.

His attention found me almost immediately, subtle enough that no one else would notice.

I did.

“Good morning, Chrissy.”

“Good morning.”

Somehow, my voice sounded normal.

He took his seat without a private smile, a reference to last night, or any indication that his tongue had been in my mouth and his body hard against mine the night before.

I wanted to throw a pen at him.

The session began.

For the next two hours, we actually worked.

The revised campaign sequence opened with a guest arriving after a long flight, moved through small moments of anticipated need, and used the hotel itself as the setting instead of the subject.

I presented three alternate messaging directions.

One of the Al-Hadid executives preferred the safest.

I didn’t.

“The first line is cleaner,” he said, “and more traditionally luxurious.”

“It is,” I agreed. “But it takes us back toward describing the property instead of showing the experience.”

He looked toward Tariq.

Tariq didn’t rescue me.

“What would you keep?” he asked.

I pulled the second concept onto the screen.

“This one. It lets the guest remain central.”

“Even though it’s less formal?”

“Because it’s less formal.”