‘Yes!’ she exclaimed triumphantly.

Too soon.

‘No-o-o-o!’

She held the ribbon, but the parcel kept travelling as the bow unravelled in a long pink stream until the gift hit the concrete with what sounded horribly like breaking glass.

At which point she let slip the word she’d promised Sadie that she would never, ever use in front of a client.

Maybe-please-Sheikh Zahir’s English wouldn’t be good enough to grasp her meaning.

‘Hey! Where’s the fire?’ he asked the boy, hauling him upright and setting him on his feet, holding him steady while he regained his balance, his breath, and completely dashing her hopes on the language front.

Only the slightest accent suggested that the Sheikh’s first language wasn’t English.

‘I am so-o-o-o sorry…’ The boy’s grandmother, the focus of his sprint, was overcome with embarrassment. ‘Please let me pay for any damage.’

‘It is nothing,’ Sheikh Zahir replied, dismissing her concern with a graceful gesture, the slightest of bows. The desert prince to his fingertips, even without the trappings.

He was, Diana had to admit, as she picked up the remains of whatever was in the parcel, a class act.

Then, as she stood up, he turned to her and everything went rapidly downhill as she got the full close-up impact of his olive-skinned, dark-eyed masculinity. The kind that could lay you out with a smile.

Except that Sheikh Zahir wasn’t smiling, but looking down at her with dark, shaded, unreadable eyes.

It was only when she tried to speak that she realised she’d been holding her breath.

‘I’m sorry,’ she finally managed, her words escaping in a breathy rush.

‘Sorry?’

For her language lapse. For not making a better job of fielding the package.

Deciding that the latter would be safer, she offered it to him.

‘I’m afraid it’s broken.’ Then, as he took it from her and shook it, she added, ‘In fact it, um, appears to be leaking.’