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‘But that’s the point, Sara. You do have a secure future—just a different kind of future from the one you envisaged.’ He smiled at her as if he had just discovered that all his shares had risen by ten per cent while they’d been in bed. ‘You don’t have to go back to working for a large organisation. All that—what do they say?—clocking in and clocking out. Buying your lunch in a paper bag and eating it at your desk.’
‘Gabe happens to run a very large staff canteen,’ she said coldly. ‘And insists on all his staff taking a proper lunch break. And I think it’s you who are missing the point. I want to go back to work. It’s what I do. What else do you suggest I do?’
He tugged on another strand of blonde hair and began to wind it around his finger. ‘Simple. You come back to Samahan, with me.’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Samahan?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘The expression on your face looks as if I have suggested that you make your home in Hades. But I think you will find yourself greatly surprised. Samahan has improved greatly since the cross-border wars. The discovery of oil has brought with it much wealth and we are ploughing some of that wealth back into the land.’
He let go of the twisted strand of hair and it dangled in front of her bare breast, in a perfect blonde ringlet.
‘My home will not disappoint you, Sara—for it is as vast as any palace and just as beautiful. A world-class architect from Uruguay designed it for me, and I flew in a rose expert from the west coast of America to design my gardens. I stable my horses there—two of them won medals in the last Olympics. I have a great team around me.’
Sara recognised what he was doing. This was the modern equivalent of a male gorilla beating his chest. He was showing her how much he had achieved against the odds—he, the poor boy whose own mother had sold him. He was trying to reassure her that he would treat her like a princess, but that was just what she didn’t want. She had hated her life as a princess, which was why she had left it far behind.
‘And what would I do all day in this beautiful house of yours?’
‘You would make love to me.’
‘Obviously that’s extremely tempting.’ Her smile didn’t slip. ‘But how about when you’re not around? When you’re jetting off to the States or swanning off somewhere being an oil baron?’
‘You can amuse yourself, for there is much that you will enjoy. Swim in the pool. Explore my extensive library.’
‘Just like one long holiday,
you mean?’ she questioned brightly.
‘Not necessarily. You will find a role for yourself there, Sara. I know you will. I think you will find that the desert lands are changing. How long is it since you visited the region?’
‘Years,’ she said distractedly. ‘And I think you’d better stop right there. It’s very sweet of you and I’m sure your home is perfectly lovely, but I don’t want to go to Samahan. I want to go back to London because there are still loose ends to tie up. I owe Gabe an explanation about what happened and I want to finish up the project I was working on.’ Her eyes met his. She realised that she wanted him and loved him enough to want to try to make it work. So why not reverse his question to her? ‘But you could come back with me, if you like.’
‘With you?’ His black eyes were hooded.
‘Why not? We can see if we can exist compatibly there—and if we can, then I’ll think about giving Samahan a try. Does that sound reasonable?’
She saw the sudden hardening of his lips and realised that ‘reasonable’ was not on the top of Suleiman’s agenda. He wasn’t used to having his wishes thwarted, particularly not by a woman. He had expected her to fall in with his plans—without stopping to think that she might have plans of her own.
But was he seriously suggesting she might be happy being ensconced in what sounded like the luxury prison of his desert home? Hadn’t that been what she’d spent her whole life rebelling against?
‘What do you think?’ she questioned tentatively.
He slipped his hand between her legs. ‘I think we have wasted enough time talking about geographical escape.’
‘Suleiman—’
He bent his head to her neck and kissed it.
‘You want me to stop?’
‘That’s the last thing I want.’
She thought she heard soft triumph in his laugh as he sheathed himself in a condom and then lay back against the mattress with a look of satisfaction on his face. Like a conquering hero, she thought as he lifted her up like a trophy, hating the part of her which enjoyed that.
His moan echoed hers as he slid her down slowly onto his erection. With each angled thrust of her hips she took him deeper and deeper and she wondered what he was thinking. She knew he was watching her as her blonde hair swung wild and free—and suddenly she found herself performing for him.
Was she trying to prove that she was a match for all those women who had preceded her—by playing with her breasts and biting her lips, her eyes closed as if she was indulging in some wild and secret fantasy?
Whatever it was, it seemed to work because he went crazy for her. Crazier than she’d ever known him. He splayed his dark hands possessively over her hips as he made the penetration deeper still. And each time she was close to orgasm, he stopped. Stopped so that once she actually screamed out loud with pent-up frustration, because he made her build it up all over again.
