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‘Yes,’ she murmured, as sensation rippled over her skin and gathered in her sex, telling her, in case she had ever doubted it, that she still wanted him.
The assistant left swiftly, probably feeling like the fifth wheel he was, and closed the balcony doors behind him.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked, at last.
‘I think you know,’ he said, stepping closer, filling her lungs with the intoxicating scent of him—man and musk and clean pine soap. ‘I deserve answers. And I intend to get them.’
His chin lifted and she heard voices behind her. A couple had walked out onto the balcony. Her heart bounced into her throat as he swore under his breath at the interruption. ‘It’s like a train station here,’ he said. ‘Will you come with me to my suite?’
She should say no, she was still in shock from seeing him again, and going to his suite would hardly enhance her reputation. But her body refused to yield, the yearning to be with him again almost painful as she imagined him near death in Narabia.
She nodded.
‘Good,’ he murmured, then captured her hand and marched down the balcony. Entering the ballroom, he hauled her behind him. She had to lengthen her stride to keep up as he made his way through the crowd.
‘Mr Khan, Ms Salah, how is the discussion going?’ The young assistant rushed towards them, blocking their path to the exit.
‘Very well,’ Raif replied, impatience rippling through him as he was forced to stop. ‘I am inclined to agree to fund the scholarship initiative,’ he added to the assistant, disconcerting Kasia again.
Raif was the billionaire donor? Really? But how? And why? The Kholadi were a nomadic tribe, they had no wealth, no riches, their ancient lifestyle and customs based on barter and trade, not money. Or that’s what she had always believed as a teenager.
‘That’s wonderful,’ the assistant said, his cheeks flushing with pleasure. ‘Can I get you both a drink?’
Raif tensed, and she could sense his frustration at the assistant’s interruption almost choking him now, but instead of demanding the man get out of their way, he turned to Kasia. ‘Your choice, Ms Salah,’ he murmured. ‘Would you like a drink?’
The words shot through her, reminding her of another choice he’d given her a month ago. A choice that had ended in the baby now growing inside her.
Despite his fury with her, his obvious sense of grievance, he was giving her a choice again. A choice she had accused him of denying her all those weeks ago.
A choice to escape his questions, or face up to this discussion—a discussion she had avoided the last time by running away.
Gathering her courage, she turned to the assistant. ‘It’s okay, Devon,’ she said. ‘We’re going to go to Mr Khan’s suite to discuss the proposals for the scholarship in more depth.’
Devon looked delighted. ‘Wonderful. Don’t let me stand in your way, then,’ he said, stepping aside to let them pass. ‘I’ll let Ms Evershot know about your discussion,’ he shouted after them as Raif led her through the crowd.
But Alice Evershot and the scholarship initiative flew out of Kasia’s mind as Raif marched her out of the ballroom and up a sweeping staircase to the next level. Nodding at two bodyguards, he shoved open a door marked ‘Royal Suite’.
She found herself in a luxury suite of rooms, the sitting room decorated in cream silk and dark mahogany. The panoramic view of the river from a large terrace beyond the suite was even more spectacular than the one from the ballroom below.
But as he let go of her wrist and slammed the door behind them, it wasn’t the view that made her breathless.
Her whole body began to shake as she wrapped her arms around her waist.
He tugged his bow-tie loose and shrugged off his jacket, throwing it over the back of a three-seater sofa. Then he undid the top buttons of his shirt. She could see the edge of the serpent tattoo on his collarbone, the red and black ink coiling over his skin—and the forceful reminder of the night they had spent together brought with it another devastating truth.
He nearly died.
The information in Cat’s letter that morning reverberated in her skull.
His pursuit of her had nearly killed him. No wonder he wanted answers. But little did he know she had much more to answer for now.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she blurted out, backing away from him as he stalked towards her across the silk carpet.
‘What for?’ he asked.
‘Cat wrote to me and told me how ill you were. That’s because of me. I never should have run away like that, but I never meant—’
‘Stop.’ He pressed his hand to her mouth to silence her. Then captured her waist and pressed her back against the silk-papered wall of the suite. Instead of fury she saw the same riot of emotions on his face that were churning in her stomach—desire, confusion. But most of all need.
