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And that wasn’t even the worst thing—because the worst thing was the insidious need to know, why had he stopped?
CHAPTER FIVE
LONDON UNDER MOONLIGHT twinkled benignly outside Zafir’s suite window, with all of the famous landmarks lit up: the London Eye, the Shard, the dome and spires of St Paul’s cathedral. But he couldn’t care less about any of them. Or the fact that so far his diplomatic tour was a resounding success.
His head was filled with only one thing. Recrimination for letting a mere memory stop him from seeking the relief his body ached for. That was the past—this was the present. And yet the two were colliding far too vividly for his liking.
But when Kat had looked at him just now the sense of déjà vu had been strong enough to propel him out of her orbit. Déjà vu of the moment he’d proposed to her...
As much as Zafir would have liked to believe his proposal had been a well thought out and strategic move, it hadn’t been. It had been spontaneous—not a behaviour that usually dictated his actions. They’d been travelling in his private jet, from London back to New York, and as he’d watched Kat across the aisle, staring dreamily out of the window, with his blood still humming after an overload of recent carnal satisfaction, she’d turned her head to look at him and he’d been overcome with a desperate and inexplicable need to ensure she never left his sight. And so he’d proposed, surprising her as much as himself.
He cursed himself now and turned from the view not liking the reminder that his proposal had been far less strategic than he liked to admit. He strode into the bedroom, shedding clothes as he went until he was naked. When he reached the bathroom he stepped into the shower and turned it on. To cold.
He cursed volubly as the freezing water hit his skin, but it did little to douse the fever in his blood or the unwelcome memories in his head. He should have just followed his instincts and taken her. She wouldn’t have stopped him this time—he felt it deep in his gut. And lower, where he still ached in spite of the cold water.
If anything, Kat had only proved that her defiance and reluctance were an act, and that she was biding her time before giving in. It was a little power play...she was messing with his head.
Next time he wouldn’t let anything stop him, and when this tour was over and he’d slaked his lust he would walk away from Kat, and he would not feel the slightest ounce of regret because she’d be relegated to the past for good.
* * *
‘Dinner, Kat. It’s a social construct designed for people to sit down together and make conversation. Break bread together.’
Kat looked at Zafir suspiciously where he stood on the other side of her Parisian hotel suite’s door. The Paris event wasn’t due to take place until the following evening, and Kat had been savouring the thought of some breathing space while Zafir had meetings at the Jandor consulate nearby. She’d been looking forward to an early evening in bed, with a view of the Eiffel tower outside her window, watching old movies and eating ice-cream—her comfort staples. But now her peace was shattered.
‘I know what dinner is.’ She tried to keep her tone even. ‘But what do you want to talk about? We have nothing to discuss.’
Zafir leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, supremely relaxed. Supremely dangerous. ‘We’re friends at least—aren’t we, Kat?’
She scowled. ‘You’re my employer and I’m your employee.’
‘We have history,’ he countered.
‘Ancient history,’ she blasted back, panic rising as she realised that the past felt far too cl
ose for comfort. This Zafir was the one she remembered and feared. Relentless, seductive. Impossible to resist.
‘We’re ex-lovers,’ he said silkily. ‘I’d say we have plenty to talk about.’
And just like that a slideshow of explicit images bombarded Kat’s memory banks, rendering her speechless.
As if sensing her momentary weakness, Zafir straightened from the door and said, ‘I’ll come back for you in an hour, Kat. Be ready.’
He was leaving before she could wrap her tongue around another word, but then he stopped abruptly and came back. ‘Actually, I was going to go for a run, if you’d like to join me?’
A sharp pain lanced Kat right in the gut. She and Zafir used to jog together all the time. She’d taken great delight in keeping up with his punishing regular five-mile regime.
She felt hollow inside as she shook her head firmly. ‘No, thank you.’
Zafir shrugged minutely and backed away again, oblivious to the turmoil caused by his easy invitation. ‘As you wish—see you in an hour.’
She finally shut the door on his retreating back, and leant against it, an awful poignancy making her chest swell with emotion. Before it could turn into anything more she issued an unladylike curse and pushed herself away from the door.
The prospect of an evening with Zafir loomed large. The hollow feeling dissipated, to be replaced with a predictable array of physical reactions at the thought of sitting down with him one on one. Her skin grew hot, her pulse tripled and butterflies swarmed into her belly against her best efforts to quell his effect on her.
He was chipping away at the walls she’d erected around herself and he wasn’t even aware of it. Yesterday evening she’d come so close to succumbing, and only because of his self-control she’d been saved from outright humiliation.
Damn him and his games. Damn him and his easy invitation to do something she’d never easily do again.
