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Anticipation squeezed all of her organs, so India could barely breathe.
Khalil watched her sleep as the dawn light filtered across Manhattan, resisting a selfish urge to wake her with a kiss. She was exhausted, and with good reason. He’d made love to her for hours, sensually exploring her body with his mouth, his hands, before taking possession of her once more, this time with him calling the shots, drawing her to the brink of orgasm before pulling back, then pushing her close again and again, almost tormenting her with his mastery of her body. All for a good cause, though—her eventual release, when he moved with the intention of gifting it, caused her to cry out so loudly he paused for a moment to ensure she was okay.
His ego was still riding high. They’d swum together in the infinity pool, before making love again, wet and tangled together on the terrace floor, then lain beneath the sky, talking until her eyes grew heavy and she’d fallen asleep, her head heavy on his chest. He’d carried her here rather than disturb her, and still she slept, her face angelic, her body far too beautiful to belong to a mere mortal.
Their night together had exceeded all of his expectations. His libido was impressive, his stamina renowned, and he’d never known a woman to be such a match for him. Her excitement was a thing of perfection; he wanted more of her. It was the first thought that occurred to him, and he grappled with it, frowning. More?
He didn’t do more.
One night was all he took from a woman, all he gave of himself. Fatima had made sure of that. His ex-fiancée had ensured he’d never again allow his heart to believe it was anything so foolish as ‘in love’. One night was easy. Sex was simple. Chemistry determined the trajectory, the terms were clear, as though spelled out in black and white. Physical pleasure, no promises, no line-crossing, just sex.
But with India, the sex had been enough to lure him to want more. His mind told him it wasn’t possible even as his body was taking control, trying to discover a way that he could enjoy more of her company without risking any emotional complications. His own heart was safe—it had been turned to stone by Fatima’s actions—but India wasn’t like him. There was a gentleness to her that reminded him, strangely, of Astrid, so that he wanted to protect her even as his body yearned for more.
He left the room before he could weaken, pressing a pod into the coffee machine and watching as golden liquid poured into his cup. He always drank it black and strong, a shot of energy to give mental clarity and to remind Khalil that he could achieve anything.
He carried the cup towards the balcony, his eyes landing on the hotel they’d been at the night before, just able, at this distance, to make out the hint of the balcony they’d moved onto, when he’d wanted to be sure they were alone. Remembering the way they’d kissed then, as though there were a ticking time bomb and only their intimacy could avert its explosion, brought a smile to his face and a hardness to his cock. He sipped the coffee, relishing the bitterness and warmth, the immediate buzz firing through his brain.
A noise sounded across the room and he looked over his shoulder, half expecting to see India. Only it was his phone, in the kitchen, buzzing. Frowning, he strode towards it, an immediate wave of disgust forming in his belly when he saw Ethan’s name on the screen. Last night had started out as a revenge plan, but it had very quickly morphed into something else. He no longer saw India as a means to an end; had he ever?
‘What do you want?’ he demanded in his most scathing tone—the kind of tone that would ordinarily turn his enemies into jabbering messes.
‘Oh, nothing. Just to see how your night went.’
Khalil’s brows lifted heavenwards. ‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
But Khalil shied away from sharing any details—even when he knew they’d drive the other man crazy. He was already regretting the implication he’d made, all for vengeance—India had deserved better. ‘I’m sure you can imagine.’
‘Yes, you’re right about that. I suppose you spent the night together?’
Khalil’s hand formed a fist again. He hated this guy with all his heart.
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Business is an interesting choice of words.’ Ethan didn’t sound remotely concerned. If anything, he was happy...? Something wasn’t adding up.
‘What are you getting at, Graves? Spit it out or get the hell off the phone.’
‘I presume you know she’s a prostitute?’
Khalil was not often blindsided, but the other man’s words hit him with all the strength of a knockout punch. He could hear Ethan’s smug smile, the delight he had in saying the vulgar lie.
‘An expensive one, obviously, or I wouldn’t have hired her. But she’s very, very good at her job, don’t you think?’
It couldn’t be true. Nothing about what Ethan was saying tallied with the woman he’d spent the night with. He didn’t believe it. This was just Ethan’s way of getting his own revenge.
‘You are a disgusting excuse for a human being,’ Khalil ground out.
Ethan laughed, a cackle that set Khalil’s blood raging.
‘Her name is India McCarthy, and she works for Warm Engagements Escort Agency. Search online and you’ll see her profile.’
Khalil was holding the phone in a fist. He couldn’t speak.
‘And don’t be put off by the wording that says “no sex”. I’ve booked loads of their girls before, using darling Astrid’s money, of course, and they’re always more than happy to put out—for a small extra fee. I hope you’re tipping her as well as I’d planned to, Khalil.’ He laughed as he disconnected the call.
Khalil stared at the phone, knowing he’d regret it even as he loaded up an Internet browser and typed in the name Ethan had given him. He was doing it to prove Ethan wrong, not because he believed that bastard.
