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‘What do you want?’ he asked. ‘I’ve told you there can be no marriage, my father would never—’
‘You really think I want to marry you?’ Maggie checked. ‘Just to give you an heir? No, Ilyas, it’s a partnership I want and conversation. A relationship,’ she said, ‘but you don’t do that.’
‘We’re talking now,’ Ilyas returned.
‘I mean real conversation. You’re more than willing to listen to stories I tell you, but you tell me so little about yourself.’
‘That’s not true,’ Ilyas refuted, for he had shared with her things he never discussed with anyone.
‘Let’s talk about your brother, then,’ Maggie said as she pulled on her little top and flicked out her hair. ‘Come on.’
‘Leave it.’
‘Or,’ Maggie suggested, ‘we could talk about Petra...’
‘Maggie!’
‘Okay, too personal. What about what you’re going to be doing today?’
‘I have meetings in the morning.’
‘About what?’
‘Things that do not concern you,’ Ilyas said. He was not used to sharing and did not know how to do it.
‘So what am I to do if I stay?’
‘I’ve told you, you would be beautifully looked after.’
‘You mean I’d while my days away in thehammamgetting ready for sex on demand with you!’
‘And what is wrong with that?’
For a beat, for a second, Maggie waited for his smile to tell her that he was joking, but then she realised the absolute arrogance of the man—Ilyas meant every word.
Worse, though, despite the fury at him that was coursing through Maggie, there was something else too. She was angry at herself for considering it.
‘Oh, I should have saved that slap for now!’ Maggie snarled, but her real anger was not aimed at him. Yes, the thought of being his lover and living this luxurious life still danced in her mind, still tempted her with its dazzling promise, and she was precariously close to saying yes.
She went to walk away but he followed her and caught her wrist.
‘We haven’t finished,’ he told her.
‘Yes, we have!’ Maggie cried. Though she loathed his words, she loathed herself more.
Lust gripped her tighter than the hand on her wrist, but it was Ilyas who started to kiss her.
It was a raw kiss, a persuasive kiss, and so intense that it pushed her so her back was to the stone wall.
There was not an inch of her that was not willing, for her tongue was tussling with his. Maggie wanted this kiss, and she wanted the tug of his hands as he shredded the bikini she had just replaced.
But even as her body craved him—and maybe it would for ever—she had learnt long ago to guard her heart, and she knew this could only serve to hurt her further.
‘I have to go.’
‘Not yet...’
She was turned on and so too was he; she could feel him pressed hard into her. It would be the easiest thing to sink into his kiss, to be taken again.
