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He spoke over Imogen’s gasp of outraged indignation, tightening his grip warningly on the arms she tried to pull away from him. He caught her tiny murmur of discomfort and immediately loosened his grip just a touch. Not enough to let her break away, but enough not to bruise that soft white skin that was making it hellishly difficult to concentrate on what he was saying.
What he really wanted was to tell them all to get to hell out of here, to press his mouth against the fine line of her exposed neck, kiss it, let his tongue slip out to taste it, press nibbling little bites…
Hell, no!
Brutally, he dragged his mind back from the wanton path it seemed determined to follow, the shockingly sensual little wriggle that Imogen gave against him revealing without words that she was aware of the effect she was having on him. The battle he was fighting to control his most basic feelings roughened his voice so it sounded harsher than he had intended.
‘Imogen came to see me—we knew each other before, didn’t we, chérie?’
‘No!’
Imogen couldn’t believe what was happening, what he was saying. How could he possibly be calling her darling when it was so far from any sort of truth? Particularly when it was hissed in her ear like the voice of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.
‘Oui, ma chère.’
Long fingers stroked down her arm, making her writhe in uncontrolled response. A tiny, abandoned moan escaped her, sliding out before she could bite down hard on her lower lip to hold it back. How could this be happening?
But she couldn’t suppress the red alert flaring in all her senses; couldn’t bring that yearning memory under control. Behind her, Raoul’s strength supported her, his heat surrounded her, his mouth drifted across her neck at the point where her pulse throbbed in desperate, uncontrolled response. Even now, with no trace of privacy in the room. With her father, her sister… Oh, dear heaven—Adnan!
To her horror, she found herself closing her eyes in response then frantically forcing them open. And wishing she’d never done that when she caught the raw savage rage in Adnan’s eyes, the snarl of fury that twisted his mouth.
‘You were lovers.’
It was thrown straight into her face and there was no way she could avoid it. It was as if the ground had opened up beneath her, throwing her down, deep down into hell, and she couldn’t possibly escape. She couldn’t deny it either. To do so would be to lie to Adnan and she couldn’t do that. She owed him the truth if nothing else.
Rough and raw, she dragged in a painful breath to give her the strength to speak. At the same time, unexpectedly, she felt the change in Raoul’s grip, the new way he was holding her. Still tight, but somehow stronger, supporting rather than restraining her.
‘Yes…’ she sighed, sad and low. ‘Yes, we were.’
Raoul hadn’t expected that. She sensed it from a new tension in the long body against which hers was pressed. He clearly hadn’t expected her to speak the truth. But what else could she do? She had valued Adnan’s friendship for so long. She couldn’t wrong him now.
The words fell into icy silence. The only sound in the room was her own heart thudding heavily in her ears, the blood pulsing along her veins. There was the tiniest sensation of Raoul’s breath, warm and soft on her neck, and shockingly it felt like a touch of comfort in a world where everything had turned black.
‘But…’ She tried to start again but her voice had no strength and no one could hear her whisper because of the snarl of icy fury from Adnan that covered it.
‘You’re welcome to her.’
The words were tossed into the room, cold, stark, totally indifferent. And they were directed at Raoul, flying past her as if she no longer existed.
She didn’t exist any more—not for Adnan. She had no doubt about that. If she needed any further proof, it was there in the way he turned on his heel and strode away, angry footsteps echoing down the corridor.
She tried to tug herself away from Raoul’s hold.
‘Let me go!’ she cried, turning her head to direct it at his cheek.
But that was a terrible mistake. It brought her face so close to his that the scent of his skin warmed her senses; and, when she cried out her rage, her lips actually grazed the stubble covering the rich, olive skin of his jaw. She could taste him against her tongue and the rush of memory almost took her legs from under her. She would have sagged against him if it weren’t for the sudden tightening of his grip, the strength of his muscles supporting her.
