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Vechno. She knew the word now.
Khaled didn’t say anything, merely grunted as if satisfied that he had her where she was.
It was the nicest sound in the world, she thought before sleep claimed her.
* * *
Well, she’d had her night with him. Now what?
Gigi eased her deliciously aching body into a sitting position, slid her long legs off the bed and, with a slightly triste glance backwards at Khaled’s much larger, uninhibited body taking up most of the mattress, tiptoed off in the direction of the bathroom.
Under the bright lights she looked as if she’d been dropped head first into a spin-dryer. Her hair was sticking up, her eyes were sleepy, and she had a cockeyed smile on her face that just wouldn’t go away.
She was also covered in the scent of him, and washing it off wasn’t her first priority. She leaned into the mirror and eyed her reflection curiously.
‘So, what exactly do you think you’re doing, Gisele?’ she asked aloud.
Apart from the obvious.
She giggled, and made a face at herself.
Her mouth was swollen, and she had beard rash in all kinds of places, but as she ran her fingers through her crazy hair she felt insanely good. There had been nothing awkward about last night, and although she could put that down to Khaled’s experience, she rather thought there was something about the way they were together that just worked.
She’d never had casual sex before, so she couldn’t compare it, but a deep female instinct told her that this wasn’t how ‘casual’ felt.
She had never felt so connected to someone or so secure as she had in Khaled’s arms.
It had her smile fading.
She’d grown up through her vulnerable teenage years with a father who’d put her through hoops—literally—to secure his attention. Nothing she’d ever done had pleased him. But it hadn’t stopped her trying over and over, and she didn’t need a psychologist to tell her that she feared sending herself down the same unsatisfactory path in an adult relationship with a man.
Which probably explained why she had never taken any of her previous romantic brushes with men very seriously. Better to be sure you wouldn’t tumble into love when love, as far as she knew it, was akin to falling down a flight of stairs. However, she had never just tumbled into bed with a man after forty-eight hours.
She was frowning at herself, and at this development in her life, when Khaled appeared in the doorway, leaning there with that extraordinary muscular grace he’d applied so breathtakingly to making love to her. Naked, rubbing his chest as he yawned, he was looking incredibly gorgeous, with a lock of dark hair falling over his eyes.
Mine.
Gigi bit her lip. No, not mine—borrowed.
She tried not to cover herself. She had no problem with nudity—she’d lost a lot of her self-consciousness in those first months at L’Oiseau Bleu. You couldn’t be too hung up about your body when you danced in the equivalent of a bikini every night. Still, it felt different with Khaled’s gaze hot and heavy on her and her nipples visibly budding in the mirror.
No place to hide.
Given his penis was behaving the same way, she shouldn’t be embarrassed.
Gigi dropped her chin and smiled as he came up behind her and put his arms around her shoulders.
‘Do you do this a lot? Talk to yourself in the mirror?’
‘Only when the person I want to talk to is passed out on the bed.’
He smiled then—a slow, incredibly sexy spread of his mouth in alignment with his dark eyes as they creased with appreciation.
‘Last night was incredible,’ he said against her ear, sincerely, kissing her neck, lifting his face so that his dark gaze met hers in the reflection.
They looked good together. Complemented one another. Him so dark and male, her so tawny and female, her lithe frame bracketed by his powerful body.
Gigi even thought she looked a little beautiful this morning, as if all the happy exercise had given her a glow.
Which didn’t explain the glow inside her.
She felt as if she’d swallowed sunshine.
‘But, Gigi...’ he said, and he looked very serious. ‘I’m not a good bet if you’re looking for any more than this.’
Gigi had the quick wits to respond before hurt got a hold. ‘Why is it men never say those words before sex—only afterwards?’
Colour actually scored his high cheekbones and Gigi, despite the way her stomach was hollowing out, almost smiled.
What worked in his favour, aside from his obvious discomfort, was the fact that he kept his arms around her—as if he had no intention of letting her go.
