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‘You want my honest opinion?’ Suleiman questioned.
‘Suleiman’s not a great connoisseur of art,’ put in Sara hast
ily, before shooting him a furious look. She put her hand on his arm and pressed it—the sharp dig undeniably warning him not to elaborate. ‘Are you, darling?’
Suleiman felt a cold fury begin to rise within him. She was speaking to him as if he were some tame little lapdog she had brought along with her. But he could see that causing a scene here would serve no purpose, except to delay their departure and ensure her fury. Clearly she danced obediently to this man Steel’s tune—and when they got home he would do her the favour of pointing it out.
So he merely gave a bland smile as he reached out and drew her against him, a proprietorial thumb moving very deliberately over her ribcage. He felt her shiver beneath his touch and he allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he looked at her boss.
‘Sara’s right, of course. I have never been able to understand the penchant for spending vast sums of money on modern art. Call me old-fashioned—but I prefer something which doesn’t look as if a cat has regurgitated its supper all over the canvas.’
‘Oh, I think we could certainly call you old-fashioned, Suleiman,’ said Sara in a high, bright voice.
‘But I can see that your campaign has been successful,’ conceded Suleiman, forcing a smile. ‘Judging by the amount of people here tonight.’
‘Yes, we’re very pleased with the turnout,’ said Gabe. ‘Much of which is down to the talent of your girlfriend, of course. It was her artwork which made people sit up and start taking notice.’ He smiled. ‘Sara’s one of the best creatives I have.’
‘I’m sure she is. I just hope you have a good replacement ready to step in to fill her shoes,’ said Suleiman.
He could see the look of surprise on Gabe Steel’s face and the sudden draining of colour from Sara’s.
‘Something you’re not telling me?’ questioned Gabe lightly.
‘Nothing that I know of,’ she answered as her boss gave a brief nod of his head and walked across the art gallery to talk to a woman on the other side of the room.
‘Shall we go home?’ questioned Suleiman.
‘I think we’d better,’ said Sara quietly. ‘Before I smash one of those very expensive “regurgitated cat supper” canvasses over your arrogant head.’
‘Are you saying you’d like one of those hanging in your living room?’
‘I do happen to like some of them, yes, but I’m not going to have a conversation about the artwork.’
Suleiman kept his hand firmly on her waist as he steered her towards the cloakroom, so that she could collect her wrap.
She didn’t speak until they were outside and neither did he, but just before he opened the door of the waiting cab he leaned into her, breathing in her scent of jasmine and patchouli oil. ‘Just what is your relationship with Steel?’
‘Don’t,’ she snapped back. ‘Don’t you dare say another word, until we’re back at my apartment.’ She began speaking to him in Qurhahian then, her heated words coming out in a furious tirade. ‘I don’t want the cab driver thinking I’m out with some kind of Neanderthal!’
She made no attempt to hide her anger all the way through the constant stop-starting of traffic lights but Suleiman felt nothing but the slow build of sexual hunger in response. The stubborn profile she presented made him want her. Her defiantly tilted chin made him want her even more. He felt the hardening at his groin. He would subdue her fire in the most satisfying way. Subdue her so completely and utterly that she wouldn’t ever defy him again. She wouldn’t want to...
Feeling more frustrated than he could ever remember, he watched as the orange, green and red of the traffic lights flickered over her face. The flickering kaleidoscope of colour and the sparkle of her golden dress only added to her beauty.
If it had been any other woman, he would have just pulled her in his arms and kissed her. Maybe even brought her to gasping orgasm on the back seat of the cab. But this was not any other woman. It was Sara. Fiery and beautiful Princess Sara. Stubborn and sensual Sara.
The elevator ride up to her apartment was torture. The heat at his groin almost too painful to endure. All he could see was the glimmer of gold as her dress highlighted every curve of her magnificent body, but her shoulders were stiff with tension and her face was still furious.
It seemed to take for ever before the lift pinged to a halt and they were back in her apartment again. The front door had barely closed behind them before she turned on him. ‘How dare you behave like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Coming over all possessive and squaring up to my boss like that!’
‘So why the sudden defence of Steel, Sara? Was he your lover? The man to whom you lost your innocence?’
‘Oh!’ Frustratedly, she stared at him for a piercing moment before turning her back and marching into the sitting room, just the way she’d done on Christmas Eve at the cottage. And just like then, he followed her—mesmerised by the shimmering sway of her bottom, until she turned round to glare at him again.
The violet flash in her eyes warned him not to continue with his line of questioning, but Suleiman found he was in the grip of an emotion far bigger than reason. ‘Was he?’ he demanded hotly. ‘Is that why he lent you his cottage? Why you were so keen to get to the party tonight?’
