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Orla shivered. So Karim had bought out the Quinns. And he hadn’t bothered to tell her. All the questions she’d had before about the purchase came hurtling back, along with that weird feeling of vindication.
‘Are they really?’ Karim remarked, but he already sounded bored.
His thumb stroked her inner elbow, the light touch controlling enough to send her heartbeat catapulting into her sex.
‘Yes, sir, they—’ Miles began again. But this time Karim cut him off.
‘Miles, do you think you could leave us alone? I’d like to speak to my fiancée in private.’
‘Your fiancée?’ The boy’s face went bright red, but it was the flash of panic in his eyes that spoke volumes. ‘I’ll be off, then,’ he said and left so fast Orla felt sure the rumours Dervla had repeated about Karim’s motivations for destroying the Quinns, while they couldn’t be true, had certainly travelled far and wide in the racing world.
‘That’s quite a trick,’ she murmured, aware of the flicker of panic in her own body—but for very different reasons—as Karim pulled her round to face him.
‘What trick?’ he asked as he drew her closer, so close she could smell his cologne, and the subtle scent of his soap, which had haunted her dreams for days.
‘The ability to make annoying people disappear. I wish I had that knack,’ she said.
The slow smile that curled his lips was so sensual and so arrogant her breathing became distressingly ragged. ‘I’ll teach you it,’ he said. ‘But first you need to answer a question for me.’
‘Yes,’ she said, fairly sure they weren’t talking about Miles What’s-His-Name anymore.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
The question was delivered calmly but with enough of an edge for Orla to know he was holding onto his temper for the benefit of their audience. But while the nerves in her belly were now doing back flips she refused to apologise. He’d left her alone for a whole week, with nothing to do. After refusing to let her return to Kildare. She needed a role in London, or she’d go mad.
‘I knew my knowledge of the lots could be useful. I’ve studied the catalogue and I know what Calhouns needs to purchase…’ The frantic explanation trailed into silence as he continued to stare at her. One dark brow rose up his forehead, mak
ing his scepticism clear. And suddenly she found herself blurting out, ‘Why did you buy out the Quinns? And destroy Patrick’s reputation? Was it…?’ She sucked in a breath, determined to continue despite the way both his brows lowered ominously—this was not a conversation he wanted to have. But she needed to know. ‘Was it because of what happened at the ball?’
‘You think I spent fifteen million euros to buy a stud farm neighbouring Calhouns to defend your honour?’ he asked.
The mocking tone and the glitter of cynicism in his eyes were unmistakeable. But she could still detect that edge. And before she could stop herself she asked the question that had been burning in her gut since her conversation with Dervla. ‘Well, did you?’
The minute she’d said it, she felt like a fool. Of course he hadn’t—why would he really care about that, if he didn’t care about her?
The rueful smile remained fixed on his lips, but his eyes narrowed.
‘No,’ he said.
Her chest deflated, and hot colour flared in her cheeks, making her feel hideously exposed. But then he stroked the side of her face with his thumb, the callused skin sending darts of sensation everywhere. His touch was light but so intimate her breath caught when he added, ‘Or not entirely.’
She gulped down the lump forming in her throat. And began to feel light-headed. Was it the intensity in his gaze? That misguided yearning to be sheltered and cherished by this man—that had overwhelmed her when he had rescued her from Patrick that night? Or was it the visceral desire tugging at her sex and making every one of her pulse points pound? Because she was fairly sure the excitement racing through her veins right now wasn’t to do with her desire to find a way to be useful when it came to buying bloodstock for Calhouns anymore.
The stunned awareness in Orla’s eyes turned the bright emerald to a compelling jade and sent a renewed shaft of longing through Karim’s system… And he was finally forced to confront the lie he’d been telling himself for a week, that somehow by avoiding her he would be able to control the effect she had on him.
He’d never gone back on a contract, never reneged on an agreement. That wasn’t how he did business. But this had stopped being a business deal a week ago. This was about need and desire and chemistry as well as expediency now.
This hunger was visceral and real and all-consuming. For them both. And if they didn’t feed it soon it would only become more so.
He could hear the speeches being made by the director at Hammonds and then the auction began. The auctioneer listed the first horse up for sale: a two-year-old filly who had run some good races.
Orla’s gaze flickered away from his face. She looked down at the brochure in her hands, avoiding his eyes. ‘You should buy her. She’s a good prospect.’ She flicked through the pages, her fingers trembling. ‘And number five, Debonair Boy, is a good colt,’ she said, her cheeks glowing as she struggled to fulfil the role he’d once given her… A role that he now didn’t give a damn about. It wasn’t her expert racing advice he wanted. If it had ever been.
He signalled to his assistant, who was hovering nearby. The man appeared by his side instantly. ‘Jason, buy this filly. And the fifth horse on the docket,’ he said, not taking his gaze off his fiancée.
‘Yes, Mr Khan,’ the man replied.
‘And make my excuses to Devereaux,’ he added, surprised he could even remember the commitment he’d made earlier when all he could seem to focus on was the staggered rise and fall of Orla’s breathing, the sultry scent of her perfume and how much he wanted to strip her out of the summer dress and lick every inch of her fragrant flesh. ‘I won’t be joining him for dinner after all.’
