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“Hello.” Her nervousness intensified.
“So.” He set his drink down and steadily paced towards her. “It is done.”
“Yes.” She lifted her chin to a defiant angle. “You officially have me at your beck and call.”
His eyes darkened. “It would appear that way.”
“You know, it’s strange,” she said, reaching for the subtly stitched zip of her dress and sliding it slowly downwards.
“What’s strange?” He prompted, his eyes following the progress of her manicured fingers.
“I remember you saying that you liked the chase. The thrill of the hunt. That a woman worth having was a woman who had to be fought for. Where was the hunt here?”
His brow furrowed. “Isn’t it obvious?”
She stepped out of her dress, refusing to appear cowered by him. She was not wearing a bra, so only a pair of briefs covered her nakedness. “Not to me.”
“I don’t have you, Phoebe. Not really.”
“No. You have my body though.”
His eyes flashed with an emotion that was impossible to decipher. “I do indeed.”
He pulled her into his arms but she stepped backwards. “Not here.” She had rehearsed this. It was a stand she wanted to make. In a pair of sky high heels and silky cream underwear, she walked away from him, towards the golden door that led to a room of fascinating items.
Hakim watched, bemused and frustrated in equal measure, as she pushed the door inwards.
“I think we should be together here,” she said with a falsely sweet smile in place. “After all, it seems more appropriate to what we are.”
Though he was angry, he hid it well. “Fine.”
She moved as though she hadn’t a care in the world, into the room that had, only a month earlier, scared the heck out of her. “Well? Where do you want me, sir?”
He groaned inwardly. “Bed. Now.”
The problem was, he didn’t want this version of Phoebe. He wanted Phoebe, his equal. The woman who had taken him, for the sheer pleasure of it. Who’d taken control of their love making and shown him that she had passion and zest and needs that would not wait.
Obediently, she moved to the bed, and sat on the edge of it. Only, he didn’t want her in the Harem, either. What they shared was special and unique, and he didn’t want their connection sullied. And surely sleeping with his wife in a room used just for meaningless sex would sully their marriage.
“Stop.” He held a hand up, a rueful expression on his face. “I don’t want this. And nor do you.”
“Oh, I do want you,” she corrected with saccharine sweetness. “And I hate myself for it.”
“Hate yourself? What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She stared at him, her eyes shining with feeling. “If you don’t want this, what do you want?”
Wordlessly, he crossed the room, and scooped her up, holding her against his chest. He carried her back to his room and laid her gently on the bed.
“I want to make love to you, Phoebe.”
“Love?” She laughed. “Please, let’s call a spade a spade. Sex.”
He didn’t respond, but his kiss was so tender that she felt like her heart was turning over in her chest. She was slack beneath him, as his gentle touch softened her fury, her resentment and her anger. She felt calm for the first time in days.
“You were so beautiful tonight,” he whispered, nibbling her ear lobe. He ran his mouth lower, over her neck, tasting her sweet skin, biting her gently, as his hands roamed over her body.
“So were you,” she said, honestly.
