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He lifted a hand, as though he couldn’t resist, pressing his thumb and forefinger to her chin so he could hold her face where it was, lifted towards him. The contact was so personal, it felt as though they’d crossed a line they couldn’t uncross. They could no longer pretend this wasn’t happening. They were acknowledging the pull that ran between them.
‘I wasn’t going to do this.’
‘Do what?’
With his body in the door frame, he dropped his head by a matter of degrees, so there was ample time for her to move, to say something, to stop this. She didn’t. She stayed where she was, her face held in his fingers, her body swaying a little closer to his so her breasts brushed his chest and, through the fine fabric of his shirt and her blouse, she was sure he must feel the hardening of her nipples, the way they strained against her lace bra.
‘I swore I wouldn’t.’ And then, his mouth claimed hers, his kiss fierce, filled with all the passion of having fought this, of having felt desire and resisted it for as long as he was able.
It was a kiss born of need and it surged inside her, his lips pushing hers apart, his tongue driving into her mouth, his other hand lifting and pushing into her hair, his fingers cradling her head, holding her against him so he could plunder her mouth, tasting her, his body so big and broad compared to hers that she felt utterly enveloped by him, swallowed by his strength and power, her senses subsumed completely by this.
It was a kiss of oblivion, so consuming that she didn’t hear the dinging of the lift doors. She was lost completely in this moment but he wasn’t. He broke the kiss swiftly, his body in the door frame concealing her. ‘Go to my room.’ His eyes held a warning that she heeded even when nothing made sense and her body could scarcely move. She’d been in the suite enough times to know where the master bedroom was. She ran there, pushing the door shut except for an inch, so she could peer out.
She saw members of the kitchen team walk into the apartment, each pausing to bow for the Sheikh, before moving to the table and setting it. Sariq’s eyes chased hers, down the corridor, so she moved away from the door, pressing her back against a wall and closing her eyes, needing her heart to slow down, her breathing to return to normal. She lifted her fingers to her lips; they were sensitive to the touch.
She was grateful beyond belief for his quick thinking. If it had been up to her, she would have stayed where she was, and someone from the staff would have seen her and rumours would have been flying. His quick response had saved her from that embarrassment. What would Henry say? Mortified, she fanned her face and tucked her shirt in more tightly—it had become loose at her waist, and she paced the room as she waited. It didn’t take long. A few minutes and then she heard the click of a door, the turning of a lock, and they were alone once more.
She pulled the door to his bedroom open, moving into the lounge area to find him uncorking a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. His eyes, when they met hers, were loaded with speculation.
‘I ordered us dinner.’
Her eyes moved to the table. Surprise usurped whatever she’d been feeling a moment ago. ‘You did? Why?’
His smile was without humour. ‘Because we have to eat.’
She sighed heavily. ‘I don’t have to eat with you, though, Your Highness.’
‘I can taste your kiss in my mouth,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you called me something else?’
His words were so evocative but she shook her head. ‘You’re my client. That should never have happened...’
He paced across the room, handing her the wine glass. She took it without taking a drink. He stayed close to her, his body’s contact intimate and loaded with promise. ‘It shouldn’t,’ he agreed, after a moment. ‘But it did, and I think we both know it will happen again. And again. So let’s stop pretending we don’t want this.’
Her eyes flared wide. Need punctured sense almost completely—but not quite. ‘I can’t afford to lose my job.’
She felt his naked speculation. ‘Do you think I’m going to jeopardise that?’
‘Socialising with clients is strictly forbidden. It’s actually in my contract. And what we just did goes way beyond socialising.’
‘I have my own reasons for requiring discretion,’ he said firmly. ‘Whatever happens between us, no one will know.’
Whatever happens between us. The words glowed with promise. Her insides quivered.
‘Nothing can happen.’
‘Why not?’
‘I told you, my job...’ but she wasn’t even convincing herself.
‘And I told you, no one will find out. Do you have a boyfriend?’
‘No.’ How long had it been since she’d been with a man? That was easy. Max. He was her only lover. He’d been her first, and when they’d divorced three years ago, she thought he’d be her last.
‘I think you want me.’ His words held a challenge. He took her wine glass from her, sipping from it and then placing it on the table to his left. His eyes glowed with the same challenge as he lifted his fingers to the top button of her blouse.
‘I am going to undo these buttons very slowly, giving you plenty of time to ask me to stop. If you say the word, then it’s over. You can go away again.’ He did as he’d promised, his fingers working deftly to undo the first button, so she felt a brush of air against her skin. Then the next, exposing the top of her lace bra. The next revealed the midsection of the bra and, with the next button, the shirt gaped enough to reveal it completely. At the last button, his fingers slowed.
‘You haven’t asked me to stop.’
