Читать книгу Desert Sheikhs Collection: Part 1 - Люси Монро, Jane Porter, Люси Монро - Страница 18

THE palace at Suhayb stood in an oasis of green as verdant and as manicured as the garden of a large English country house. Bright flowers, mainly roses, mingled in riotous and scented glory, and in the centre of a large square space of water a fountain sprinkled, catching the light in rainbow rays, the sound soft and soothing against the occasional cry of some unseen and unknown bird.

The palace itself was fashioned from mosaic in every shade of blue imaginable—from pale sky to deep ocean and a hundred shades in between—and Darian was reminded with an unwelcome pang of how the blueness of Lara’s eyes had impressed itself on him the very first time he had seen her.

Damn! He didn’t want to remember that—he didn’t want to remember anything other than the way she had deceived him.

But as Lara gazed in wonder at the palace all she saw was the gold, which picked out the varying shades of blue, as deep and as rich a gold as the eyes of the man who walked slightly ahead of her beside Khalim, their voices speaking in a low tone, so that she didn’t have a clue what they were saying.

Khalim turned, the dying embers of the sun beating down on his head, and Darian turned also, in a disturbing mirror image of the Sheikh. Despite the cool linen trousers he wore, and the fine shirt which hinted at the lean, muscular torso beneath, he looked…

Lara swallowed.

He looked as if he belonged here—and she didn’t, she thought, with a slight touch of hysteria. But wasn’t that what he was intending her to feel? With that stern and icy demeanour and the cold look of distaste? Didn’t he want to make her feel an outsider? To marginalise and isolate her? And you would not need to be a genius to work out why he should wish to do that…

A veiled female servant stepped silently out from the shadows of the magnificent entrance hall and Khalim smiled.

‘Latifah will show you to your room, Lara,’ he said. ‘And Darian will accompany me. You will find there all you need, and later someone will come to collect you for dinner. Is that to your satisfaction?’

What could she say? That she felt as though she was being edged aside, cast in a secondary role by these two powerful blood-brothers? And wasn’t it ever thus in Maraban? The men ruled and dominated—certainly in the external world, outside their homes.

Rose at least had the protection of being married, surrounded by the invisible aura which was part and parcel of being loved so fiercely by the Sheikh.

But what was Lara? A second-class citizen who could not even draw comfort from speaking to her friend, pregnant and far away in the capital of Dar-gar. Commanded here by Darian and not knowing his motives—though having a pretty good idea, she thought, with a sudden leap of her heart.

She smiled at Khalim, determined that neither man should see her spirits flagging. She was tired; that was all.

‘That sounds perfect,’ she said softly. ‘I will see you later at dinner.’ And she inclined her head very slightly towards the Sheikh.

Latifah led the way through a maze of dark, cool corridors, and when they reached her room she asked Lara in shy, faltering English whether she would like a bath drawn.

But Lara, still reeling slightly from the impact of the lavish suite which she had been shown into, shook her head and smiled.

‘I can manage,’ she said. ‘Honestly, I’m used to doing that kind of thing for myself,’ she added gently, as the girl began to protest.

Once she was alone she looked around her—at the arched high ceiling, inlaid with gold, and the leather-bound books which completely lined one wall, beneath which stood an antique and very beautiful writing desk.

It was incredible—like being on the film-set of some lavish epic. The suite was all heavily embroidered drapes and hangings in the richest and most royal of colours. Gold and scarlet, cobalt and jade. The room was thick with the scent of roses which drifted from a copper bowl—all creamy-white and edged with apricot—and Lara touched one of the velvety petals, a shiver running up her spine as she did so.

What was it about this place that seemed to make the senses come to life in a way they never quite did back in England? The room looked so stunningly opulent, and the roses seemed more fragrant than any she had ever smelt before. Through the half-open shutters a warm breeze ruffled her hair like the fingers of a lover, and she closed her eyes, trying to put it all into perspective.

Was it just that Maraban was a world away from her normal life? A world free from pollution and care and worries? At least, it certainly was here—in this isolated and splendid palace.

But there were worries waiting to rear their heads, and the main one was Darian, who had scarcely spoken a word to her since they had left London. All she had been aware of whenever she looked at him was a sensual, smouldering intent that excited her even as it terrified her.

But she ran herself a bath, determined not to fall into the trap of thinking that just because they were here—and just because of the discovery of his royal blood—he was in some way her superior. He was not. He was her equal, no matter what.

Actually, the bath was more like a mini-swimming pool, she realised with a small sigh of pleasure as she lowered her body into the warm, sudsy water and sniffed at the steamy fragrance of patchouli and sandalwood which filled the air.

Aware that she was indeed very tired, she did not dare soak for too long for fear that she might fall asleep, but she washed her hair, noting that all the luxury beauty products were exclusively French and that it felt like sheer indulgence to use them. It was like being in the most gorgeous hotel, only better.

She had just wrapped herself in a thick towelling robe, and was rubbing at the damp tendrils of her curls, when she heard the sound of a door opening and then closing again. She frowned, standing dead still and thinking that she must have imagined it.

But she had not imagined it. She felt the unmistakable sense of a presence in the adjoining room, and her heart began to pound strong and loud and fast.

She would not run away. She would confront her fear—except that it was not strictly accurate to define it as fear. Not when she knew almost certainly the identity of the person who was moving around. And there was no way she was ever going to be frightened of him.

She walked into the bedroom and there, leaning against the shuttered window, his thumbs looped arrogantly in the belt of his trousers, as if he had every right to be there, in her room, was Darian.

Lara opened her mouth to speak, and never had speaking seemed such an effort. ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’

He gave a smile, the kind of smile which a cobra would probably give if it could, just before it devoured a small animal—whole.

‘I’m just waiting for your towel to fall,’ he drawled, running his eyes over her with a look of smoky anticipation. ‘To see you in all your pink and white nakedness, with little droplets of water still clinging to your soft skin. I would lick them off with my tongue. Every one,’ he finished on a murmur, and his tongue snaked out as if to illustrate his words—if any illustration was needed.

Lara tried to look outraged, but the reality was that her body was betraying her sense of shock and debilitating sensual awareness as she imagined him doing just that. Beneath the towel she felt the prickling of her nipples, budding and pointing almost painfully in response to his words. Even worse was the honeyed rush right at the very cradle of her, and she found herself squeezing her thighs together—the way you were taught to in an exercise class. But, oh, what a long way away the gym seemed right at this moment!

‘Get out,’ she whispered.

He laughed, but it was a cruel, cold laugh.

‘You don’t want me to go anywhere, you lying little bitch,’ he taunted.

She recoiled from his harsh words as if he had struck her. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Oh, no.’ His voice became a caress of silk and of velvet. ‘You want me. You want me to touch you.’

‘You’re mad!’

He nodded. ‘Quite probably,’ he mused. ‘I must have been mad to have wondered why you were so deliciously compliant on our so-called “date”. I may have had a moderate degree of success with women, but they usually require a little more wooing than one course at an inexpensive restaurant and a short massage around the shoulderblades.’

It was as insulting as it could possibly be, but that was what he wanted. He wanted her to react. And she wouldn’t.

‘You were the one who invited me out—remember?’

‘True.’

He removed one hand from where it had been poised over his belt, like some gun-slinger, and rubbed thoughtfully at the darkening shadow which emphasised the masculine jut of his jaw. As macho gestures went, he really couldn’t have bettered it, thought Lara weakly.

‘But you played the siren, didn’t you, Lara? That super-smart confidence at the casting. The way you spoke to me as if you didn’t care.’ He nodded, as if he had been shown a glimpse into the workings of a criminal mind. ‘Very clever. Did someone once tell you that what powerful men crave more than anything is for someone to speak to them as if they aren’t? To treat them just like everyone else?’

Lara gave a low laugh. ‘I wish I had a tape recorder,’ she vowed fervently. ‘Then I could play this back to you in the morning—I think that even you might be appalled at your own arrogance and conceit.’

He raised his eyebrows in a mocking challenge. ‘It would make for a very interesting morning,’ he agreed laconically. ‘But, there again, it’s going to be an interesting morning anyway—isn’t it?’

It took a moment or two for his meaning to sink in, and when it did Lara underwent an uncomfortable sensation of shock coupled with excitement, which made her want to squirm—except she didn’t dare to, for fear that he would misinterpret it. Or—even worse—interpret it correctly.

‘I hope you aren’t suggesting that you’re spending the night here? With me!’

‘Of course not.’

Lara frowned, feeling like a mouse being teased by a very clever cat. ‘You’re…not?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything, Lara. Just stating a fact. Of course I’ll be here in the morning—we’re sharing a room.’

It was like that feeling you got when you’d eaten three chocolate biscuits and knew that you were going to eat a fourth, even though you shouldn’t.

Lara didn’t want Darian Wildman anywhere near her. She didn’t.

Okay, she did.

But that was on some stupid fundamental level. That was a Lara who didn’t exist, wanting to be with a Darian who didn’t exist. If only they could be standing here, a man and a woman who had just met…but that was crazy.

If they had only just met then they most definitely wouldn’t be standing here—and neither would she be wearing just a towel covering her nakedness. A nakedness she was pretty sure he was responding to, judging from that dark, seductive look in his eyes, as if he were running those long, experienced fingers over every single crevice of her body. And yet the contrast between that hot look of desire and the cold contempt which rang from his voice was almost unbearable.

‘Darian,’ she breathed. ‘We…we can’t!’

‘Can’t what?’ he enquired unhelpfully.

‘We can’t share a room together—you know we can’t!’

‘Afraid that you won’t be able to resist me?’ he questioned insultingly.

Yes! ‘No! I will not stay here—not with you!’

‘But our host has allotted us this room,’ he ground out. ‘We cannot question the Sheikh or his judgement.’

‘Oh, really?’ she demanded furiously. ‘He just happened to put us in here together, did he? Without any pressure from you?’

‘No pressure from me, I can assure you.’ He gave a slow smile, pleased to see her give an instinctive little wriggle of frustration, knowing that her body craved him even while her mind fought him. ‘He simply asked whether or not we were lovers, and I told him that yes, we were. So here we are,’ he finished, on a murmur which somehow managed to sound like a sultry threat.

‘We are not lovers!’ she declared.

‘Want to do something about that?’ he drawled, and began to unbutton his shirt.

‘Darian, stop it!’

‘Stop what?’

‘Un…’ The shirt fluttered to the floor and Lara watched it in fascinated horror, lifting her eyes only to be confronted by the infinitely more disturbing vision of Darian’s bare chest—the tawny flesh gleaming enticingly. ‘Undressing!’ she managed to get out.

‘But I have to undress,’ he said seriously. ‘I’m going to take a shower.’

His belt was unclipped and she heard the rasping of a zip. She closed her eyes in horror.

‘I refuse to share a room with you!’

‘Then go and tell Khalim that yourself!’

The silky challenge made her open her eyes again, and she wished she hadn’t—because he was completely naked. And completely at ease with it.

Lara went hot. Then cold.

‘Are you trying to torment me?’ she gasped.

He frosted her with an icy smile. ‘That’s about the most honest thing you’ve said so far,’ he clipped out. ‘But then, honesty isn’t really your forte, is it, Lara?’

She wanted to appeal to his better judgement. But how could she appeal to anything when now he wasn’t just naked, but was showing unmistakable signs of…

She turned her back, biting her teeth down into the flesh of her bottom lip, hearing his low laugh with something approaching despair as he walked towards the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Lara had never dressed more quickly in her life. Whipping through the few outfits she had brought for herself, she slithered into a dress she had bought on a modelling assignment in Singapore. It was a long, fitted dress in bright scarlet silk piped with black—high-necked and skimming her body to fall demurely to her ankles. She controlled the most wayward of her curls with tiny jet-covered clips, applied mascara and lipstick with a trembling hand, and then went over to the bookcase which stood in one corner of the large room, determined to have something to occupy her. Anything to keep her mind and her eyes off the impending and disturbing prospect of Darian emerging from the bathroom…

But it was difficult to concentrate on the book—a beautifully photographed history of Maraban—which would normally have fascinated her. She could hear the splash, splash of the shower, and the sound of Darian singing, loudly and rather tunelessly—as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

He seemed to have settled in and coped with his momentous news with amazing ease, she thought, her eyes nearly popping out of her head as she studied a photo of Khalim and Rose’s wedding—and her own unmistakable profile as she bent to adjust Rose’s train!

Darian switched off the powerful jet of water and stepped out of the shower, shaking his dark head slightly as he began to rub the droplets of water away. This felt like a dream from which he would in a minute wake—and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

The emotions he had felt when confronted with what seemed like the uncontradictable truth of his heritage had been varied. There had been confusion, yes—and yet a strange sense of calm, as though the answer to a question he had never dared to ask had finally been given.

Didn’t this news of his father’s identity make a whole lot about himself clearer and more understandable? That sense of being different, of being an outsider, had always burned much stronger in him than in any of the other fatherless boys he had grown up with. It hadn’t just been the strange and exotic colour of his skin and the unusual gold of his eyes; it had gone far deeper than that.

Even as a child Darian had always been a loner. He had kept his emotions and his affections severely contained and restrained. So had that been something he’d been born with, or something he had learned along the way?

He had not grown up in an environment where you got close to people, and this was a habit he had carried with him into his adult life. In a way it had made his success more achievable—if you didn’t carry around the baggage of close relationships then you had a lot less to distract you from your ambition.

He reflected on the bizarre events of the day, thinking that Khalim, too, had been a surprise—in more than one sense. From making the discovery that he was related to the dark, powerful and enigmatic leader it had proved a disturbingly short step to discovering that he might actually like him—maybe even form some kind of tenuous bond with him.

He didn’t know what the outcome of this strange and totally unexpected visit to Maraban would be, and for once in his life it didn’t bother him. Usually Darian liked everything mapped out, to know where he was going and what he was doing, but suddenly he recognised that sometimes you just had to go with the flow.

In fact, the only shadow on the current landscape took the form of the woman he could hear moving around in the adjoining room. His mouth twisted with a mixture of contempt and desire.

What could have been a straightforward—if highly unusual—state of affairs had been complicated and made distasteful by the behaviour of Lara Black.

He felt the slow, steady pulsing of his heart, wondering why it should bother him—why he couldn’t just dismiss the thought of her. Heaven knew, he usually managed that just fine. But she was like an itch. Something niggling away at him, stinging at his skin and making him feel aware of her in a way he didn’t want to be. He needed to get her completely out of his system, he decided grimly, and there was one surefire way to do that.

But this time Lara would fight him all the way, he recognised, and somehow that sharpened his senses even more. He gave a slow smile of anticipation as he wrapped a towel around his narrow hips and sauntered back into the bedroom.

She was lost in the book she had been reading, but at the sound of his footfall she automatically looked up and her mouth dried. ‘Oh, I see you’ve bothered to put something on,’ she observed caustically, even though her heart was thudding away like a piston.

His fingers hovered provocatively over the knot of the towel at his hip and he raised his eyebrows mockingly. ‘Is that disapproval I hear in your voice, Lara? You’d prefer me to lose it, would you?’

She swallowed down the infuriating desire to say yes. ‘I’ll just carry on reading my book while you get dressed,’ she said, then glanced at her watch. ‘Better hurry up,’ she added sweetly. ‘Khalim is not a man who should be kept waiting.’

She saw him shrug and then stared unseeingly at the words on the page, listening while he pulled on his clothes, not saying a word. The silence seemed to grow until it became huge and unwelcome. And suddenly all Lara’s doubts and fears and uncertainties began to nag at her. She was angry at him for all kinds of complex reasons, but deep down she feared that her main motive was self-seeking. Wasn’t she angry because he had shown a decided lack of interest in her as a person—because she had started to fall for him in a big way and he clearly hadn’t reciprocated her feelings? And wasn’t that a rather shameful reason for helping to maintain this sizzling undercurrent of tension between them? What good was that going to do any of them?

Maybe it was up to her to try and make peace.

She waited until he had slipped his shoes on, and then looked up to see him running his fingers through still-damp hair.

‘Darian?’ she said quietly.

The look he gave her was deliberately impartial—but then he wasn’t foolish enough to get himself worked up into a state of sexual desire just before dinner, not when there wasn’t enough time to see it through to its ultimate conclusion. ‘Yes, Lara?’

She closed the pages of the book and put her fingertips on the soft leather which bound it. ‘I’m sorry that I deceived you.’

‘Sorry that you deceived me?’ he questioned tonelessly. ‘Or just sorry that I found out?’

‘But it was inevitable that you would find out!’ she argued. ‘You must understand why I wanted to get to know you before I decided what action to take about the letter—why, you could have been any kind of maniac, for all I knew!’

‘As opposed to a red-hot stud, you mean?’

‘You flatter yourself, Darian.’

Their eyes met, his gaze boring into her until her cheeks began to burn. ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ he said softly. ‘You may be an actress, Lara, and a very good one at that—but I know enough about women to realise that you weren’t faking it.’

She slapped her palms to her hot cheeks. ‘Don’t!’

‘Don’t speak the truth? No, I can see that might bother someone with your morals.’

This was just getting worse instead of better. She drew a deep breath, hoping to appeal to his sense of reason—to something…anything that would make him stop looking at her with that reluctant desire which made her feel so small.

‘Surely you can understand why I didn’t mention anything to you, Darian? At least not until I’d spoken to Khalim? I’ve known him and Rose for a long time—I didn’t know you at all!’

‘But you sure knew me better after dinner, didn’t you?’ He gave a low and insulting laugh. ‘Did you want to make sure that the brother to the Sheikh fulfilled all the criteria for being a man?’

Her temper snapped. ‘Now you are wilfully twisting everything I say! I had no intention of letting you make love to me that night. It just…it just…happened,’ she finished lamely.

‘Does it happen a lot for you that way?’ he enquired, with the sardonic air of someone asking an unnecessary question.

‘Never!’ she retorted. ‘I told you that at the time!’

‘So it was just me,’ he mused. ‘In which case—I should be flattered.’ He lowered his voice to a sultry promise. ‘It was pretty good for me, too, Lara, if you really want to know—which makes me wonder why you’re being so unnecessarily prim. After all, if you had sex with me when we barely knew each other, then I should have thought you would be eager to repeat the experience now that we’re so much better acquainted.’ He smiled as he let his gaze travel to the huge brocade-covered bed. ‘It seems a bit of a waste of a good opportunity otherwise, don’t you think?’

He couldn’t have made it sound more mechanical if he had tried—a man and a woman who were fiercely attracted to one another—simply making use of the facilities on offer! But while Darian might have a heart of stone Lara was simply not made that way.

She opened her mouth to tell him that he was the last person on the planet she would ever get intimate with after what he had said to her, but at that precise moment there was a light rap on the door.

Darian raised his eyebrows. ‘Shall we continue this fascinating conversation later?’ he drawled. ‘I think we’re being summoned to dinner.’