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And with his good looks he could have his pick of women to be his bride. So what could possibly have driven him to choose her?
None of it made sense. So she had done the right thing. She knew it. Despite the sex. Even if she couldn’t imagine ever tiring of feeling the way he’d made her feel last night, sex just wasn’t enough. For since when did compatibility in bed constitute a sound basis for marriage anyway? It wasn’t as if they were in love with each other after all.
Oh, she’d miss him when she returned to Milan, that was true. She’d miss catching his hooded gaze upon her when she looked up, and his brooding magnetism setting her nerve endings alight. She’d even miss the verbal sparring between them and the endless mounting tension.
And there were times she even liked him. Though that was hardly the same thing as love.
Hardly the same thing at all…
On impulse she leaned over to him, his face still turned into the pillow. Holding back her hair with one hand, she dipped her head and kissed him.
His eyelids batted open and he smiled, uttering a low growl as one arm came down and circled around her.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
She smiled back. ‘I think it was my pleasure.’
‘It was our pleasure,’ he purred, nuzzling her ear. ‘You are so beautiful. I cannot understand why any man would be crazy enough to choose another over you.’
She went rigid. Paolo hadn’t even entered into her thoughts and right now was hardly the time to bring him up. Not that she felt guilty. It wasn’t as if they were still involved in a relationship and she’d betrayed him by sleeping with Khaled, not given her last phone call to him that had signalled the end of their relationship.
But still she didn’t want to think of Paolo when she was in another man’s arms. The shock of Paolo’s deception was still too raw, too painful. She didn’t want to be reminded of it now. She didn’t need to be reminded of it now.
Tell me you enjoyed making love to me, she wished; tell me it was worth it. But don’t remind me that someone else thought I wasn’t.
He cursed under his breath. What was he thinking? He had done what he had set out to do. He had made her want him and then he had made her his own. But his victory over Paolo was for his satisfaction—he should never have mentioned his name. Not when she was probably still mourning the loss of their relationship.
He pushed himself up, scooping her into his arms, kissing her averted cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That was a stupid thing to say. But there is one thing I’ll never be sorry about.’
A blink of her eyelids, the soft parting of her lips on a sigh, was her only response.
‘I could never be sorry that you are here, in my arms and in my bed. I will never be sorry for that, for as long as I live. I don’t think I could ever have enough of you.’
She took a deep breath, her chest rising in a way that could not escape his attention. He couldn’t resist. He dropped his mouth over the closest nipple, rolling it languidly between his lips with his tongue, to be rewarded almost immediately with her gasp of pleasure as the nipple peaked in his mouth. Then he lifted his head fractionally, blowing softly on to the tip, fascinated to watch it pebble and firm.
She trembled in his arms as he drew closer to the other nipple. ‘Prove it,’ she invited.
The capital was bustling with afternoon crowds and swirling traffic by the time they neared the palace. She sat quietly in the Range Rover, the return trip having gone all too quickly for her liking, and she cursed the invention of the internal combustion engine that saw her sitting in a luxurious leather bucket seat, so far from Khaled’s reach, when a century ago she might have been sharing his saddle the entire journey.
The journey on camels from the encampment back to the vehicles had been the best. Almost every part of her felt tender, her aches a welcome reminder of their night of passion, and she’d let herself relax into his body, had even found ways she could inveigle herself closer still, pressing her face to his chest, relishing the scent of man, rich and raw, as it fed into her senses.
Even after a night and morning of passion she was still burning for him. She couldn’t help it. Back home in Australia his touch would come with a government health warning—it was dangerously addictive. And after a night spent revelling in his touch, and a ride together through the desert dunes on a loping camel on their way to meet the cars, the more addicted she’d become.
It was going to be more of a wrench to leave than she could ever have imagined. Surprisingly more of a wrench, given yesterday she’d been demanding to be taken to the airport so she could leave the country immediately. She’d been so sure then, so absolutely driven to escape the first chance she had.
Why now, then, was she in two minds about leaving? Why, barely more than twenty-four hours later, was the thought of heading for the airport so much less compelling?
What had changed, other than they’d made love, out there in a tent amongst the desert sands?
Unless this wasn’t just about sex? Unless…
No way!
There was no way. Between them there was just sex. It was just a physical thing. There could only ever be just sex.
So why did the thought of leaving Jebbai, of leaving Khaled, seem to tear a hole right through her? Seem to gut her completely? Why did the closer she got to saying goodbye for ever make her less and less comfortable? It couldn’t only be put down to the best sex she’d ever had, surely.
‘What’s wrong?’ said Khaled from the driver’s seat.
