Page 8 of Prince of Her Heart
She hated broccoli with an irrational passion but adored sushi and dirty martinis.She would devour an entire bag of potato chips but let tortilla chips go stale.She hated squirrels for reasons she refused to explain.She despised cooking and would happily eat popcorn every night for dinner.She loved to run but avoided weights like they were contagious.And she worked longer hours than anyone else in the building—sometimes longer than him.
She could read body language better than most intelligence officers, and her negotiation skills were borderline lethal.She had a sixth sense for spotting corruption in a company, and she wouldn’t touch an unethical business with a ten-foot pole.It was why he paid her more than anyone else on his staff—and why he trusted her more than most people in his life.
Ramzi knew Tabitha.
Which meant Tilda had to be wrong.
Tabitha wasn’t hung up on some coward who couldn’t keep his pants zipped.That wasn’t her.But somethingwasholding her back—and now, Ramzi was going to find out what.
Heading back to her hometown might give him the answers.
And that blush?
That blush was worth chasing.
“Time to explore,” he muttered under his breath, anticipation already stirring as he turned back toward his desk.
Then he pressed the button on the intercom.“Marwan.My office.Now.”
Plans needed to be made.
And he needed information.
Chapter 4
Tabitha returned to her office forty-five minutes later, still mortified by her mother’s dramatic declarations.The car ride back from the train station had given her time to replay every cringe-worthy moment in detail—and to rehearse how she’d pretend none of it had happened.
She decided to start with an apology.
Armed with the research files he needed, she walked straight into Ramzi’s office.
“I’m so sorry about my mother’s interruption,” she said, her voice brisk and businesslike as she crossed the threshold.“How did the meeting with Mark Bondras go?Is he on board?”
“He is,” Ramzi replied, his deep, smooth voice wrapping around her like silk laced with steel.
He was seated behind his desk, relaxed in that impossibly large leather chair, looking entirely too comfortable and unfairly attractive.His tie was loosened.The top few buttons of his crisp white shirt undone.
Her gaze stalled.
Just below the open collar, a sliver of sun-kissed skin teased her.Her thoughts skipped.Her feet paused.
She stood frozen, clutching the reports, staring openly.
What would it be like to unbutton the rest?To trace that line of skin with her fingers—or her mouth?Was his chest bare and smooth, or dark and rugged?
Her eyes dipped lower, brushing over his flat abdomen.
Definitely not soft.
Every inch of him looked like carved marble.She had no doubt he was hard—sculpted, disciplined, precise.
“Would you like me to take it off?”
Her eyes snapped to his face.His voice had dropped lower, richer, almost amused.
Mortified, she turned away quickly, her cheeks burning.
Her mother thought she was still in love with her ex-fiancé.
