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Her hand tightened on the door handle. ‘Good night, Zafir.’
For a heart-stopping moment she thought he was about to step forward and kiss her, and she knew that if he did that she wouldn’t be able to resist. She felt as if an outer layer of protective skin had been removed.
But Zafir just took a step back and said, ‘Good night, Kat. Get some rest.’
Kat watched him leave, and a minute later she was still rooted to the spot and trembling all over. That explicit look had been hot enough to make her feel scorched all over. And hot enough to confuse the hell out of her. Because he’d walked away again.
She was also still reeling from his sincere apology. And his anger on her behalf at the photographer. He still didn’t know the half of it. About the blackmail...
An insidious though sneaked into her head... Maybe she’d finally done it. Maybe the truth of her past had been enough to drive him away.
Realising she was still standing outside her room, Kat quickly went inside and rested her back against the door, doing her best to ignore her thumping pulse and the betraying feeling of disappointment.
But it was clear now: her past was a passion-killer. Zafir might still be attracted to her, but he didn’t really want the whole unvarnished truth of her past getting in the way. She told herself that she should be happy. Relieved. This is what she wanted, wasn’t it? To prove to herself that Zafir only wanted the superficial and nothing deeper.
But she wasn’t happy—or relieved. She was in more turmoil than ever.
* * *
A short while later, in his own suite, Zafir paced up and down, his head reeling with what Kat had told him.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he’d started a search for the man who had taken such advantage of her. Despite her insistence that she had been just as responsible.
Zafir had had no idea how erroneous those salacious newspaper reports had been, or how cruel. And when he thought of a much younger Kat, in dire straits, needing help, he felt a helpless raw fury rise up within him.
She hadn’t kept all this from him for fear he’d break the engagement and because she’d sought financial security—it had been because she hadn’t trusted him enough to accept her past. And she’d been right.
Recrimination blasted him. He’d judged and condemned her before she’d had a chance to say anything.
There was so much more to her than he’d ever given her credit for, and this insight was proving yet again that something he’d thought would be easy—seducing Kat into his bed again—was anything but. And yet he’d never wanted her more.
* * *
When Zafir met Kat at the door of her room, early the following evening, he stopped in his tracks. For a heart-stopping, pulse-pounding moment he thought she was naked. But then he realised that she was wearing a flesh-coloured dress that moulded to her every curve, dip and hollow. It had a high neck and long sleeves, so she was effectively covered up, and yet he’d never seen anything more provocative.
Her hair was up again, and she already wore the diamond. It sat, glittering, over the dress against her breastbone. Only the presence of the stylist and Noor and her guards stopped Zafir from overreacting and sending Kat back into her suite to change into a sack that would cover her from head to toe.
He was the one, after all, who had specified a wardrobe of clothes designed to show off the diamond to best advantage, and this dress did it perfectly. The problem was that it set Kat off to best advantage too, and the truth was that once again she effortlessly outshone the rare stone.
His eyes met hers and something clenched tight inside him when he saw a hint of vulnerability before she quickly masked it.
Willing the heat in his body down to a dull roar, he held out his arm to her and said, ‘Shall we?’
* * *
The function was taking place in a ballroom at the very top of the hotel in which they were staying. It was sumptuous and decadent—and a blur to Kat. As was the view of Paris visible through open French doors on this unseasonably warm autumn evening. Apparently the rolling bank of clouds on the horizon heralded a storm, and Kat didn’t appreciate the irony that the weather was mirroring her feelings so accurately.
She’d barely slept a wink last night, tossing and turning, wondering if she had driven Zafir away. As dawn had risen she’d felt gritty-eyed and hollow. Fully expecting that the next time she saw Zafir he would be looking at her with pity, or a kind of cool reserve.
But he hadn’t. He’d looked at her with explicit heat in his eyes. And now she hated him for doing this to her, making her feel so confused and on edge.
Compounding her inner storm was the fact that Zafir had barely left her side. He was touching her constantly, either taking her arm or her hand, or placing his hand low on her back, just above her buttocks. She was hot all over and between her legs there was a merciless throb. Her breasts felt full and heavy, her nipples pressing against the material of the dress, but thankfully not glaringly obvious under the heavy material of the gown.
He’d turned away from her for a brief moment, and she was relishing the chance to get her breath and try to bring her heart rate under control again. But just as she was relaxing slightly a vaguely familiar voice called out.
‘Kat! It’s really you!’
Kat turned and a jolt of pure shock ran through her to see one of the only models she’d been relatively close with.
