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Now his lips curled with unmistakable derision. ‘A date who sent you to the bar to get his drink? Is such a man really worthy of your time?’
‘I offered,’ she said. ‘He was in an important business conversation.’
‘No conversation is more important than your time. If you were here with me, you would know that.’
Her lips parted; a reply was impossible.
‘A man lucky enough to secure a date with you should make it his life’s mission to keep you happy, not send you scurrying to the bar whenever he develops a thirst.’
Her breath escaped in a hot rush. ‘It’s not—like that—’ she insisted. Her pulse was thready and her lips were tingling. Even as she acknowledged that Ethan had, in fact, pointed to the bar and given her his order, treating her like the paid companion she, in fact, was.
‘Would you like to hear what a date with me would entail?’
‘I have to get back,’ she groaned huskily, without making any attempt to free herself from his proximity.
‘First, I would send you the address of a Fifth Avenue boutique, so you could go and enjoy choosing what you would wear—lingerie, a dress, shoes, jewellery, anything your heart desired. My driver would then take you to the presidential suite at the Carlisle, where you would spend the afternoon preparing, pampering and, most vitally, enjoying a nap to be sure you were well rested.’
A frisson of desire ran the length of her spine at the image he was painting. It was a far cry from the life she currently led.
‘I would collect you at eight. We would go for dinner, but I would book the entire restaurant to be sure we each had the other’s full attention. Alone, we would dance with no eyes on us, and then, before midnight, we would return to your hotel room, where I would enjoy hearing my name on your lips over, and over, and over again.’
Her eyes closed as imagery flourished in her brain, his body naked, hers, entangled in billion-thread-count sheets at the impossibly prestigious hotel. The night sounded like perfection, and if India hadn’t learned for herself how fleeting men’s interest would be, then she might not have known to ask the next question. But once bitten, twice shy, was a motto that had served India well for years.
‘And in the morning?’ she whispered, the thickness to her voice betraying how tempted she was by his words.
Her eyes glanced at his, just in time to see a spark of something like surprise in their depths.
‘The morning would be a new day,’ he said quietly.
‘And without you in it.’
His head dipped forward. ‘I am never in America for long. My life is in Khatrain.’
Ah! Khatrain. She knew of the country instantly, of course. Prosperous, modern, politically important, perched on the edge of the Persian Gulf with a capital city that was one of the modern wonders of the world.
‘The date sounds wonderful,’ she said wistfully. ‘But I make it a rule not to get involved in one-night stands.’ Now she pulled backwards, but not quickly enough.
‘Even when it’s what you want?’ he prompted silkily.
Her heart began to slam into her ribs. She stared up at him, lost in his eyes, his nearness, her breath burning. ‘How do you know what I want?’
‘I don’t. I’m guessing. Am I wrong?’
Yes. Say yes. But India was honest to a fault. She shook her head once, her body swaying forward.
‘I didn’t think so,’ he said simply, his head dropping slowly to hers, his eyes teasing her, tempting her. He intended to kiss her, and even when India knew she should pull away, her body moved of its own volition, her feet pushing her higher, willingly submitting to his passionate kiss, his outright possession, so her ability to think was blown completely to smithereens.
His hand stroked her hip, and one leg shifted, moving forward to brace her, forming a sort of cage around her body, holding her just where she was, totally wrapped up in him. ‘It would only be one night, but the night would set your soul on fire, azeezi, I promise.’
It was like being doused in ice water. She jerked her face away, quickly looking towards the crowded bar. Ethan’s back was turned to her—thank God. Her fingertips quivered with the flood of sensations and the rush of anxiety over what had just happened. She’d be fired for sure if Ethan reported this to the agency, and she couldn’t live with that. Where else would she get a job like this? Warm Engagements was an escort agency with a difference—no sex between client and staff. It was a hard rule, and it meant India felt safe accepting bookings without worrying that her client was going to expect a little ‘added service’ at the end of the night, and it paid ten times better than anything else she was even remotely qualified for.
‘I can’t,’ she said, her eyes awash with anguish because, oh, how she wanted to! ‘Please, just, forget we ever met.’
