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Her head fell back as an unstoppable heat began to build, and she trembled on the brink as he teased her with his tongue.
‘Tariq,’ she gasped again, clutching at his shoulders, her fingers biting into him.
‘What?’ he drawled against her heated flesh.
Tariq, I think I’m falling in love with you!
But her passionate thoughts dissolved as a feeling of intense pleasure washed over her—strong enough to sweep away everything else in its wake. Wave after wave of it racked her trembling body—and just when she thought it couldn’t get any better he thrust deep inside her.
‘You feel so good,’ he said unsteadily.
‘So … do you.’
He thrust even deeper, his breaths becoming long and shuddering. ‘And I’ve been wanting to do this to you all week.’
She heard his voice change and felt his body tense, watched him splinter with his own pleasure. She loved the helplessness of his orgasm, feeling in those few heightened moments of sensation that he was really hers.
Afterwards, they lay wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, until Isobel lifted her head to free some of the hair which was trapped beneath his elbow.
‘You know, we’re going to have to stop meeting like this,’ she murmured.
Tariq laughed, drawing his fingers through the spill of her curls and marvelling at how uncomplicated all this seemed. His mouth settled into a curve of satisfaction. He could walk in from a trip and within minutes have her writhing and compliant in his arms. There were no demands made, nor questions asked. What could be better than that?
‘I think this is a very good place to meet.’ He yawned. ‘You’ve brought a whole new meaning to the expression “job satisfaction”.’
But Isobel wasn’t really listening. Now that her euphoric state had begun to evaporate she was remembering what she’d been thinking at the height of their lovemaking. About loving him.
She stared at the ceiling, her heart beginning to pound with fear. Love? Surely she wasn’t crazy enough to waste an emotion like that on a man who very definitely didn’t want it? Who had explicitly warned her against it? And hadn’t her mother done the very same? She’d managed to convince her daughter that love was rare—and Isobel knew it was an impossibility to expect it from a seasoned playboy who shied away from commitment.
Uncomfortably, she wriggled, wanting to get away, to try and soothe her confused thoughts into some kind of order. ‘Tariq, we can’t lie here all day.’
‘Why not? We can do anything we like.’ He touched his lips to hers. ‘I am the boss.’
She pulled away from him—but not before he had caught hold of her, his eyes narrowed. ‘Something is wrong, kalila?’ he queried softly. ‘You are angry with me because we have had yet another fumble on the floor of the office?’
Isobel smiled. ‘I can hardly blame you for wanting instant sex when I was a willing participant. I just happen to know that there’s a whole pile of things which need your attention. And we are supposed to be working.’
Yawning, he rose to his feet and held out a hand. ‘By the way—I’ve brought you a present from New York,’ he said as he pulled to her feet.
‘Oh?’ She felt her heart skip a beat. ‘It’s not my birthday.’
“That’s a little disingenuous of you, Izzy.’ Walking over to his briefcase, he slanted her a lazy smile as he withdrew a slim leather case. ‘Don’t you like presents?’
She wasn’t sure—her feelings were pretty mixed when it came to presents from Tariq. She wanted to be the first and only woman he’d ever bought a gift for. Not to feel as if she was just one in a long line of women who smiled their acceptance of whatever glittering trinket he had bought them. But she was. That was exactly what she was.
She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need presents. Because she knew him too well and she knew how he operated. Her counterpart in New York had probably been dispatched to choose something for her—just as she had chosen such gifts for his lovers many times before. She had probably even consulted him to find out what the budget for such a gift should be.
But she kept silent. She was curious and scared, knowing that she was in no position to make highly charged pronouncements because of what the outcome might be. Because mightn’t he just shrug his shoulders and walk away?
So she took the box he handed her and flipped open the clasp with fingers which were miraculously steady. The first irreverent thought which crossed her mind was that she was pretty low down on the price scale. After five years of choosing various sparklers for Tariq’s women, she could see instantly that her own offering would not have caused a stratospheric hole in his wallet. No diamonds or emeralds for her.
But in a stupid way she was glad. Precious jewels would have been all wrong on someone like her: they would have felt like some sort of payment and they wouldn’t have suited her. Instead Tariq had bought her something she might actually have saved up for and bought for herself.
Lying on bed of blue-black velvet lay a shoal of opals, fashioned into in a dramatic waterfall of a necklace. Isobel drew it out of the box. The stones were dark grey—almost black—but as the necklace shimmered over her fingers she could see the transformation of each gem into a vivid rainbow.
‘Do you like it?’ questioned Tariq.
Isobel blinked. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ she whispered.
