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Donning comfortable cotton pants, he sat at the edge of the bed for long moments, trying to speak, trying to tell her the rest of the truth, the mistakes he had made. The reason why it was so important that he not lose her.
She was tired, he told himself. He could tell her when the sun rose, when he perhaps had more information on his brothers.
His contacts should know something by now, he assured himself. He would speak to them first, then he would speak to her.
Bending to her he kissed Marty's forehead gently then rose from the bed and quietly left the room to allow her to sleep.
He had to know where his half brothers were, what their plans were and if they had targeted Marty. And if they had, then he had a decision to make. Plans to put together. Killing in cold blood was far different than taking down a terrorist cell.
They would stop at nothing to kill Marty. And that was something he could never allow.
Now, he had to protect her, even if it meant becoming the coldblooded killer his brothers accused him of being.
Chapter 7
She wasn't going to survive the emotions tearing her apart. As Marty escaped the estate hours after Khalid had left the bed and disappeared into his study, she had to fight back her shame. It wasn't shame about what they had done. The pleasure had been so intense, so mind-blowing, that there wasn't a chance in hell that she could feel ashamed about it.
It came from the very fact that for some reason he hadn't been able to lie beside her, to sleep with her, once the sex act had been completed. The anger that had surged through her once she realized that he had no intention of returning to her had burned through her like wildfire and had sent pain into the very depths of her soul.
The next afternoon she still hadn't managed to get a handle on that pain and anger.
Khalid had called more than once that afternoon and the messages on her answering machine were becoming colder, and obviously angrier. And she was becoming more nervous. Khalid wasn't the type of man to whom a woman said no easily. If nothing else, bittersweet regret would linger in her memories for more years than it should.
And he wouldn't do it through physical intimidation. Oh hell no, Khalid would use his sexuality, his experience, and a woman's hunger to make damned sure she didn't escape him until he was ready to let her go. And that terrified her almost as much as the intensity of her emotions did. Her body was in conflict with her mind, and it was craving more of Khalid.
The phone rang again. Turning to stare at the offending instrument, Marty waited until the answering machine clicked on.
"Marty, it's Shayne. " The amusement in his tone had her frowning. "It seems Khalid's upset with you, darling. Could you give him a call? I'm afraid he just might lose that legendary control of his soon if you don't. "
Marty winced. Yes, Khalid's patience was considered legendary.
"Come on, sweetheart, don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be," he finished, just before the recorder clicked off.
Great. Now Shayne. She should have listened to her instincts where he was concerned. He was simply too damned dominating.
She bit at a fingernail as she paced the living room floor, struggling with what she wanted to do versus the anger and fear rising inside her. What the hell had he done to her the night before? Hell, it was just sex. Right? It wasn't as though he had grown two heads and tried to steal her soul. Well, he hadn't grown two heads, she thought, with a weary sigh. But the stealing her soul part . . . she wasn't too sure about that. Her entire body was too sensitive, as though being away from Khalid was putting her through some sort of withdrawal.
She wanted him again. Her pussy was wet, her breasts sensitive, her arms ached to hold him, her thighs tingled at the memory of the feel of him between them.
She almost scoffed at the idea of an addiction, but God, she just needed him. But she had needed him for years. The feelings raging through her were amplified from those that she had felt before he had taken her i
n that big bed of his. Before his release had spilled inside her. Before he had cleaned her with painstaking care afterward.
Why hadn't she believed the rumors that Khalid rarely slept with a lover? That in most cases the members of the club who more often played the role of a third did so because the responsibilites, such as sleeping with their lovers, were the very responsibilities they shunned in a relationship.
She had needed that sense of intimacy, though. She had ached for it with the same strength that she had ached for his touch, his possession. The lack of it now left her struggling with both anger and pride.
The problem was, she had no idea how to do anything about it. The most she had managed to do was perhaps piss him off because she had left before he was ready for her to leave.
And there was no doubt that he was angry. She had refused to answer the phone all morning, but he had still called. Several times. His voice becoming darker and more brooding each time. At least she had some satisfaction from that. Slight though it may be.
The phone rang once again.
"Have you ever been spanked?" Khalid's tone was dark, brooding. "Because I'm thinking that's just what you need, baby. Pick up this damned phone, Marty. Now. " She stared at it as though it were a snake, coiled and hissing. The recorder clicked off as a surge of nervous energy began to race through her. If she stayed here, then there wasn't a doubt in her mind that Khalid would be there soon. She would have to face him eventually, but she had hoped to get a handle on whatever the hell it was she was feeling, and to get over her anger, before dealing with the situation.
If she only knew what to do now. How did you make a man provide the intimacy needed when he clearly seemed against it?
The other part of this intimacy problem was the half-truths he had given her the night before. He had given her just enough to warn her that danger could be coming soon, but not enough to provide a clear picture why.
