Читать книгу Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger: Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger - Charlene Sands - Страница 10

His amusement instantly evaporated.

Rafiq suppressed the flare of annoyance and studied her dispassionately. Her hostility surprised him. He’d thought she’d leap at the opportunity to seduce him. Had she gauged he was not easily swayed? Intrigued by the idea, he assessed her. Was the taunt a ploy to capture his attention? Was it possible that she’d known exactly who he was? Researched him?

He shook off the sudden concern.

No, she might be street-smart. But she was a nobody—an insignificant foreign girl illegally working in a dubious club in the backstreets of Hong Kong. He dismissed his apprehension.

“Don’t look at me like that, you arrogant jerk.”

No one talked to him like that. Certainly not a woman like her. With a growl he grabbed her hand and yanked her toward him. She made a little squeaking sound as she landed in his lap. Rafiq softened his hold, stroking his fingers in long sweeps along her spine. Bending his head, he nuzzled the soft skin of her neck, murmuring sweet words. Her gasp quickly turned to a moan of delight. He marshaled every seductive trick he knew. She responded like a moonflower opening, overwhelming him with her sweet response.

Rafiq fought against the intoxicating pleasure her soft body unlocked. Told himself he was still in control. After all, he’d only teased her … flirted with her … kissed her to determine how far Tiffany was prepared to take this scam.

It was a test.

He told himself she’d failed. Dismally. Even as she’d kissed him like angel. He should’ve been thrilled he’d been proved right.

Instead he drowned in her unresisting softness.

When she shoved at his chest, he blinked rapidly in surprise and shook his head to clear it. “What?”

She scrambled to her feet, her breathing unsteady, her eyes blazing. “You misled me. I didn’t come here for this. I’m not so desperate for a place to sleep.”

Before she could spin away, he caught her arm.

“Tiffany, wait. You insult both of us. You might think I’m a jerk but I never assumed you came with me to find a bed for the night.” Although perhaps the possibility should’ve occurred to him.

There was something about her that made him want to believe she wasn’t like that. Maybe it was her wide brown eyes that gave her such an air of sincerity. Or the baby-soft skin beneath his fingertips …

He brushed the observation aside. She was a woman—of course her skin was soft. It made her no different from a million other women.

Time to get rid of her, before she had him believing the tales she’d spun. He dropped her arm and drew his wallet from the back of his pants, flipping it open to extract a five-hundred-dollar bill. To his surprise his fingers still shook from the aftershocks of the kiss. “Here, this is your tip for serving me drinks—that should help cover your accommodation for a couple of nights.” If indeed, that story was true.

Bowing her head, Tiffany mumbled, “I can’t take that.”

“Why not?” By Allah, she drove him mad. What did she want from him? “I always intended to give you something to tide you over.”

Rafiq tried to figure out her agenda. He still wasn’t sure what she was after. She was such a curious mix of sophistication and spontaneity. On the one hand she’d almost convinced him her purse and passport had been stolen and all she wanted was a few dollars for a couple of nights’ budget accommodation. Hah, he was even ready to give it to her. In the next breath she’d told him she couldn’t afford the airfare home, leaving him certain that he was being manipulated by an expert.

He couldn’t work out whether she was simply a victim or extremely smart.

But his conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave her homeless in case she really had been the victim of petty crime. He thought of his cousin Zara, of his brother’s wife, Megan. What if it had been one of the women of his family in such a predicament? He would hope that someone would come to their aid.

“Take it, please.”

She stared down at the note in his hand. “It’s too much. After that kiss it would feel … wrong,” she mumbled, her hair blocking him from seeing her face.

He couldn’t help noticing the catch in her voice.

“Okay.” Growing impatient with himself, for being so aware of the woman, he opened the billfold again and extracted a twenty and a ten before shoving the other note back. “Take this then—it’s not as good a tip as you deserve, but at least you won’t suspect my motives.”

She tilted her head back and stared at him for a long moment. “Thank you for understanding.”

Tears glimmered in her eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry,” he said roughly.

“I can’t help it.” She sniffed and wiped her fingers across her eyes. “I’m sorry for calling you a jerk.”

Rafiq found himself smiling. She enchanted him, this woman whom he couldn’t get a fix on. One minute he had her down as the cleverest schemer he’d ever met, the next she appeared as sweetly innocent as his cousin Zara.

She leaned forward. The scent of gardenias surrounded him. She rested her palm against his chest, her hand warm through the fine cotton of his shirt. Rafiq’s breath caught in his throat.

But the hunger he felt for Tiffany bore no resemblance to the sisterly love he showered on Zara.

By the time Tiffany rose on tiptoes and pressed soft lips against his cheek, he was rigid with reaction.

“Thank you, you’ve saved my life.”

She smelled so sweet, the body brushing against him so feminine, that Rafiq couldn’t stop his arms from encircling her. He drew her up against him. “Oh, Tiffany, what am I supposed to make of you?”

“I’m not very complicated at all—what you see is what you get,” she muttered against his shirt front.

He felt her smile against his thundering heart, heard her breath quicken as his arms tightened convulsively around her … and was lost.

A long time seemed to pass before Rafiq lifted his lips from hers.

As Tiffany’s fingers crept up his shirt and hooked into his loosened tie, Rafiq forgot that he’d started this driven by perverse curiosity and affronted male pride, to see if Tiffany would kiss him when she’d vowed that she wasn’t affected by his brand of charm.

It had all changed.

His tightly leashed control was in shreds.

All he could think about was tasting her again … and again.

Her fingers froze. “What are we doing?” She sounded as befuddled as he felt. “Anyone could walk in on us through those sliding doors.”

“No.” He shook his head. “That’s not true. This private pool and deck are part of my suite—my key card activated the entry doors onto the deck.”

Her breath caught—an audible sound. “Your suite? You said we’d have a drink…. I would never have entered your suite.”

She’d withdrawn. Her eyes had grown dark and distrustful. Rafiq gathered she was making unfavorable assumptions about his motives. He couldn’t blame her. “The bar downstairs is noisy—and full of inebriated men at this time of night. We wouldn’t have been able to hear ourselves think.” Much less talk.

“Oh …”

Unable to help himself he stroked a finger along the curve of her jaw. Soft curls trailed over the back of his hand. “You are very beautiful, do you know that?”

“Not beautiful.” She sounded distracted.

He stilled his fingers, and cupped the side of her face. Tilting it up, he looked down into her wide eyes. “Beautiful.”

She shook her head. “Not me. Pretty, maybe, at a stretch. But in this light you wouldn’t even be able to tell.”

No one could call her vain. “My eyes are not the only senses attuned to you. I don’t need bright intrusive light to remember that your eyes are the haunting tawny-brown shade of the desert sands streaked with the burnished gold of the setting sun. I don’t need light to feel.” Gently he rubbed her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “Your mouth is the crushed red of the satiny petals in the rose gardens of Qasr Al-Ward.” His fingers explored her cheeks. “Your skin is softer than an almond blossom. Your cheekbones are carefully sculpted by a masterful hand to ensure that as you grow older you will only grow more beautiful.”

Tiffany felt herself color.

A beat of time elapsed. Tiffany tried to summon the anger that had scorched her only a moment before when she’d discovered he’d brought her to his suite, but it had vanished. His touch, the heat of his lean body, the force of his soft words had overwhelmed her. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She’d never met anyone remotely like him. He was way out her league.

Finally she gave up trying to understand the emotion that flooded her. Linking her fingers behind his neck, she pulled his mouth back to hers, his hair thick and silken under her fingers. His thigh moved against her hip, making her aware of the hard, muscled strength of him. When the kiss ended, Tiffany discovered that her heart was pounding.

Tilting her head back, she looked up into his face. His eyes glowed, he’d warmed, he was a long way from being the remote, distant stranger. A heady sense of being on a precipice of discovery overtook her.

Before she could speak, Rafiq grasped her hand. “Come.”

He led her through a pair of French doors into a darkened room. A flick of a switch and dim lighting washed the room, revealing a king-size bed in a sumptuously decorated room.

Tiffany hesitated for a microsecond as Rafiq shrugged off his shirt. Then he turned her in his arms and the moment of cool analysis was gone.

Her wide, elasticized belt gave…. She heard something fall, and dismissed it. The zip on the back of her borrowed dress rasped down. His hands closed over the shoulder straps and eased them down her arms along with the tiny, dainty bag looped around her wrist. She didn’t have any time to feel exposed … or naked. Only relief that the tight dress was gone. Rafiq drew her against his bare torso, his skin smooth and warm against hers.

His fingers tangled in her hair, before moving in small circles down her back, setting flame to each inch of flesh he massaged.

Tiffany flung her head back. A moan escaped. Desire flared uncontrollably within her and her nipples peaked beneath the modest black bra she wore. She didn’t even feel Rafiq loosen the back before the plain bra gave and he removed it, tossing it over the bed end. Then he was on his knees in front of her, easing her heels off, sliding the cotton briefs down her legs, his touch trailing fire down the insides of her thighs.

She started to shake.

The explosive hunger that consumed her was unfamiliar. Powerful. Incredible. A new experience. He buried his face in her belly. Goose bumps broke out over her skin as sensation shook her to her soul. Her hands clutched at his hair, the texture rough as she closed her fingers over the short strands.

“I’m going to pleasure you—but we’re not going to make love,” he murmured.

Relief, instantly followed by a crazy kind of disappointment spread through her. “Why won’t we make love?”

Did he think he was too good for her?

“I’m not … equipped.”

“Equipped?” Then it struck her what he meant. “Oh.”

The next thought was that if he didn’t carry condoms around with him, then he didn’t do casual sex, either. It made her almost start to like the man who had her in such a sweat.

Perversely, it made her want him to make love to her.

Tiffany reached for the puddle of her dress on the floor and found her bag. Opening it she extracted the condom that Renate had stuck in. “I only have one.”

“Better than nothing,” he growled.

Then he had her on the bed and everything started to move very fast. She closed her eyes as his mouth teased her nipple, arousing sensations she’d never experienced. A wild, keening sound broke from her throat as his teeth teased her burgeoning flesh. His hands were everywhere…. He knew exactly what to do to reduce her to a state of quivering arousal. Her body turned fluid. It seemed to know exactly what he wanted … how to respond to his every move.

When he finally moved over her, her legs parted. Opening her eyes, she glimpsed the tense line of his jaw, the fullness of a bottom lip softened by passion. He shifted into the space between her legs, his body so male, so unfamiliar against her own. He moved his hips, and Tiffany tensed, fighting the instinct to resist.

The pressure. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. He wasn’t going to fit. Staring at the mouth that had wreaked so much pleasure, she waited uncertainly. Suddenly her body gave, and the pressure eased. The shudders subsided. Her heart expanded as he sank forward. A glow of warmth swept her. Her hands fluttered along the indent of his spine as a powerful, primal emotion swept her.

Tiffany thought she was going to cry with joy, at the beauty of it all.

The warmth spiraled into a fierce, desperate heat as he moved within her. As the friction built, she could feel herself straining to reach a place she’d never been. Her body tightened, no longer hers, taken over by the passion that ripped through her.

“Relax,” he whispered in her ear. “Let it happen.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about. Yet the warmth of his breath against her ear caused a fresh wave of shivers to race up and down her spine, spreading out along every inch of her skin.

This time she didn’t fight the sensation. She allowed it to sweep her away. Pleasure soared.

He grew still. Then he moved, his body driving in quick thrusts into hers, his breath fast.

A cry of shock caught in her throat as her body convulsed. Waves of heat broke, rippling through her, a tide of inexorable sensation that left her limp.

Tiffany opened her eyes and blinked against bright sunlight.

Disorientation was quickly followed by a suffocating sense of dread. What had she done? Slowly, she turned her head against the plump oversized pillow.

The space beside her in the giant king-size bed was empty. Rafiq was already awake … and out of the bed. With any luck he’d stay closeted in the bathroom until she could escape. Except she could hear no sound. Perhaps he’d gone to have breakfast … a swim … to work out. Anything.

Tiffany didn’t care so long as she didn’t have to confront him.

A movement drew her gaze to the floor-to-ceiling windows where the drapes had already been thrown back. Squinting against the gauze-filtered sunlight, Tiffany made out the dark shadow of a backlit figure.

Rafiq.

She shifted and he must’ve heard the movement, because he wheeled around and spoke. “You’re awake.”

Too late to squeeze her eyelids shut and fake sleep.

“Yes.” She offered him a tremulous smile, and tried to read his expression, but bright light behind him frustrated her attempt.

“Good.”

Was it? She wasn’t so sure. He moved closer and came into focus. The passionate lover from last night’s dark, delicious world had vanished. Replaced by the aloof man she’d met—was it only the evening before?

Tiffany shuddered.

“You’re already dressed.” Did she have to sound so plaintive?

He shrugged. “I have a busy day planned.”

And it was time for her to make herself scarce.

He didn’t need to speak the words out loud. It was painfully obvious.

But she had no intention of getting out of bed with him standing less than three feet away. She was naked under the sheet. And he was impeccably, immaculately dressed. She’d exposed more of herself than she’d ever intended, and she had no one but herself to blame. He would not see another inch of her body. A fresh flush of humiliation scorched her at the memory of what had passed between them last night.

Tiffany raised her chin and bravely met his granite gaze. “So why are you still here?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to awaken.”

The harsh features that had been aflame with desire last night had reverted to keep-out coldness. Any hope that he’d wanted to tell her something momentous withered. Her stomach balled into a tight knot.

“Why?”

He reached into his jacket pocket.

His fist uncurled. A cell phone lay there—slim and silent.

Tiffany frowned, trying to make sense of the tension that vibrated from him. And what it had to do with her. “That’s Renate’s phone. I slipped it into my belt—”

“You took pictures last night.”

Oh. Darn. She’d forgotten all about that. “I meant to delete—”

“Yes.” His mouth curled. It was not a nice smile. “I’m sure you meant to. But you didn’t. And you assured Sir Julian that you already had deleted the images.”

She’d been scared of losing her job—now she’d been caught in a lie. She wriggled under the sheet, trying to think of how to explain. In the end she decided she’d probably be better off remaining silent, before she dug herself into a deeper hole. What a mess.

“Nothing to say?”

“Why do you care?”

“Oh, I care.” He brandished the phone at her. “One of the photos is of me with Sir Julian—and enough of Renate to make sure the viewer knows exactly what kind of relationship she’s contemplating with him.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Of course, you didn’t.” He sneered. “You were very interested in talking about Sir Julian Carling last night, too.”

“I was making conversation.” Tiffany was utterly bewildered by the turn the conversation had taken. “So what?”

His eyes darkened. “So what? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

Tiffany drew the top sheet more securely around herself. What had possessed her to let this daunting stranger get so close last night?

“You are wise to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” she lied. “I’m confused.”

The silence swelled. Tiffany was growing decidedly nervous. Her gaze flitted toward the door. Even if she made it out the room, she wouldn’t get very far without any clothes. And she doubted she’d have time to scoop up her dress and bag off the floor.

She turned her attention back to him and decided to brazen it out. “Why are you angry?”

His eyebrow shot up. “You expect me to believe you don’t know? Come, come, it’s enough now.”

Tiffany decided it would probably be better to say nothing. It would only enrage him further. So she waited.

“There’s a text message from your friend on her phone asking how your night went.”

The expression of distaste on his face told her that he’d jumped to the conclusion that she’d discussed sleeping with him with Renate.

Damn Renate. “You’re misunderstanding—”

He held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. How much do you want?”

“What?”

“To forget that you ever saw me with Sir Julian.”

Her mouth dropped open. He was delusional. Or paranoid. Or maybe just plain crazy. That was enough to make her say hastily, “Just delete the images—it’s what I meant to do last night. I forgot … and then I forgot to give the phone back to Renate.”

“How convenient.”

Tiffany didn’t like the way he said that.

“When you didn’t respond, your friend’s texts make it clear she’s decided you must’ve stolen her phone.” He smiled, but his eyes still smoldered like hot coals. “That you’re planning to sell the images yourself.”

“I wouldn’t do that!”

He made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “Sell the images or steal her phone? Since when is there honor among thieves?”

What on earth was he getting at? She gave him a wary glance, and then said, “Just say what you mean.”

“You and your friend intended to blackmail me and Sir Julian. Your friend has decided you’ve decided to proceed alone. I think she’s right.”

“Blackmail?”

He was definitely, certifiably crazy. Her eyes flickered toward the door again. Maybe, just maybe she could get out of here … and if she yanked the sheet along, she’d have cover.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled and sat down on the bed, pinning her under the sheet that she’d been planning to escape in, wrapped around her like a toga.

“I know.” She gazed at him limpidly.

His eyes narrowed to slits. “That look won’t work. I know you’re no innocent.”

If he only knew.

“Uh …” Tiffany’s voice trailed away. No point telling him, he wouldn’t believe her.

“So what were the two of you intending to do with the photos?”

“Nothing.”

He shook his head. “You take me for a fool. Your friend was desperate to know whether you still had the phone and the photos. Someone was ready to buy them. You were in on the deal.”

She wasn’t going to argue with him. Not while he was looming over her, and she wasn’t wearing a stitch under the scanty cover that the hotel’s silk sheet provided. No way was she risking sparking the tension between them into something else … something infinitely more dangerous.

Panic filled her. “Get off me!”

He didn’t budge. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to delete the images from the phone. Then I’m going to buy you the ticket that you were so desperate for last night. Then I never want to see or hear from you again. Do you understand?”

Tiffany nodded.

He sat back and she breathed again.

“I’m not going to give you the money you so badly want. I’m going to take you to the airport and pay whatever it takes to get that ticket changed—so I hope you really need a flight to Auckland.”

“I do,” she croaked.

He pushed himself away from her. “It will be waiting for you downstairs when you are ready to leave.”

As he rose from the bed, her bravado returned. Her chin lifted. “I don’t need you to take me to the airport—it won’t help. My temporary travel documents will only be ready on Monday. I’ll take a cab back to the hostel.”

“I want you out of Hong Kong.”

“I have no intention of staying a minute more than I have to. Nor will I cause you any grief. I promise.”

He gave her one of those narrow-eyed glances that chilled her to the bone. “If I learn that you have—”

“I’m not going to do anything. I swear. And, believe me, I intend to pay you back,” she said fervently. Tiffany had no intention of being beholden to this man.

He waved a dismissive hand. “Please. Don’t lie.”

“I will repay you. But I’ll need your bank details.”

“To further scam me?” The bark of laughter he gave sounded ugly. His eyes bored into hers. She didn’t look away. The mood changed, becoming hot and oppressive. Something arced between them, an emotion so intense, so powerful that she lost the ability to think.

Without looking away, Rafiq reached into his pocket for his wallet. This time he extracted a small white card. “Here are my details. You can post me a check … but I don’t want to see you again. Ever.”

It stung.

Determined to hurt him, she flung the words back at him. “I have no intention of seeing you again.” Then, for good measure, she added defiantly, “Ever.”

She bit her lip hard to stop it trembling as he swung away, and she watched him head for the door with long, raking strides. When the door thudded shut behind him, she glanced down at the card she held.

Rafiq Al Dhahara. President, Royal Bank of Dhahara.

She should’ve known. He wasn’t any old banker. He was the boss. The man who had showed her a glimpse of heaven would never be an ordinary man.