Читать книгу The Chatsfield Short Romances 1-5 - Эбби Грин, Marguerite Kaye - Страница 10

Chapter Three

‘So, tell me more about yourself, Natalja. Have you always worked in fashion?’

Nat shook her head, hiding a frisson of pleasure to hear him call her that. Only her mother had ever used her full name. She felt drunk on the sumptuous surroundings, delicious food and wine. And on the man who lounged as indolently as a jungle cat on the other side of the table. Almost as if mere solid furniture couldn’t contain him. Her hands played semi-nervously with the stem of her wine glass. ‘No. I’ve only been working in fashion for the last three years or so. Before that…I’d followed in my father’s footsteps.’ She grimaced self-deprecatingly, ‘Without half of his talent or acclaim I’m afraid.’

Salim’s eyebrows snapped together and she could feel him tense. It had an effect on her body, making awareness skitter over her skin. Awareness? She mocked herself, awareness was too ineffectual a word for what she was feeling. Down and dirty lust. That was more appropriate.

‘You worked in war zones?’

She nodded and forced herself to look at him, dimly aware that there were only a few people left in the restaurant. ‘Yes. I worked in Eastern Europe, Afghanistan and most recently in the Middle East.’

‘Why did you leave it behind?’

Nat fought back the reflex of pain whenever she thought of that time and looked at him. ‘I got injured…I was shot.’

She heard his intake of breath, a hiss between his teeth and it made her heart flip-flop unsteadily. As if he cared?! Quickly, to cover up how his reaction made her feel, she said, ‘I was incredibly lucky, it was just a flesh wound, my thigh. But it was a wake-up call. My father had died in similar circumstances and I think I realised in that moment that I was somehow searching for him, trying to maintain a connection. The truth is that I never loved that world as much as he did. It terrified me.’

‘You were close to him?’ Salim’s voice was hypnotic.

Nat nodded, battling down the surge of emotion to think of her tall gorgeous father, lifting her high in the air and hugging her close enough to hurt. No wonder he’d hugged her close, he’d known the risks he took.

‘Very close. And my mother…she fell apart when he died. She couldn’t cope. He’d taken her out of a small town in Russia and he was her world. Six months after he died, she killed herself.’

Salim just looked at her, those dark dark eyes like bottomless wells. Simply but with obvious empathy he said, ‘I’m sorry.’

And she knew that he knew, because she sensed the same deep well of tragedy within him.

‘Your father would be proud of you.’

Nat huffed a tremulous laugh. ‘Really? For taking pictures of a nineteen year-old girl in a dress worth thousands of dollars?’

He shook his head minutely, ‘Because you had the balls to get out before that world consumed you.’

His words went straight to her gut. Nat looked at him. She’d never revealed so much in such a short space of time, to a relative stranger. And no-one had ever got her like this before.

She cocked her head slightly. ‘What about you—what army were you in? The French one?’

Now it was Salim’s turn to laugh quietly. He stared into his glass of wine for a moment before catching her eye again. She almost shivered at the hardness she glimpsed in those depths.

‘I was in the French army no-one likes to mention. The Foreign Legion.’

Nat sucked in a breath. The Legionnaires were legendary for their brutal training regime, their fearlessness and their incredible loyalty to each other. And their mystique that was riven with equal parts controversy and myth.

‘How did you end up there?’

He took a sip of wine, for all the world a civilised man, but Nat could see the blunt edges not far beneath the surface.

‘I grew up in the banlieu, the suburbs of Paris. My father was Algerian, my mother French, there are six of us in my family, there wasn’t much time for looking out for us individually. I’d been dyslexic in school and was never diagnosed, so grew up being labelled stupid. I was running with a gang, up to no good. Petty crimes that were about to get much worse. I saw your father’s photos in a window of a gallery, and for the first time I felt a sense of purpose. I knew about the Legion…and so I went straight to the recruiting office in Paris and that was it, for ten years.’

Nat reeled. This man wasn’t stupid. Not remotely.

‘Did you have another name, in the Legion?’

Salim smiled and it knocked the breath out of her belly.

‘They called me Steven Seagal, after the actor, a play on my own name. And the ribbing I still get, especially now, is worse than any 30km forced run under the African midday sun that I ever endured.’

Nat let out a laugh at his rueful admission. ‘And how did you go from that to this?’

He toyed with his glass, his eyes hooded. ‘When I left I was spotted on a street one day, they were looking for models…’ he made a self-deprecating face, ‘Who looked like men. I couldn’t believe how easy the work was. It was a world away from where I’d come from, the other end of the spectrum. But perversely, I think its very silliness and superficiality helped me to readjust to living normally again.’

He looked at her and shrugged minutely, ‘And the acting…I like it. I took another name, another persona, while I was in the Legion, so it’s not that hard to play someone else.’

Nat absorbed this insight, she could empathise with that need to pretend to be someone else. She’d tried to be someone she wasn’t for her father’s memory. ‘Do you still see some of the men you served with?’

Salim nodded and finished his wine. ‘One of my closest friends is from the family who own this hotel actually. Marco Rossi as he was in the Legion—Antonio Chatsfield as he is really. We were in the parachute regiment together. I’m in London to promote the movie, but also because I’m going to invest in his security business and offer my expertise. We’re meeting tomorrow to discuss it.’

His mouth tipped up on one side, ‘Let’s just say that movies and modeling are easy, fun, but not exactly…fulfilling.’

Nat was impressed. The parachute regiment of the Legion was one of the most elite forces of trained soldiers in the world. And then she thought of what he’d just said and felt a little breathless. ‘What kind of fulfilment are you looking for?’

Salim leaned forward, eyes glinting. ‘Right now?’

Nat nodded.

‘Right now I’d really like to take you dancing.’

Visions of a dance-floor and feeling his body pressed against hers sprang into Nat’s over-heated brain. She wanted to go dancing with this beautiful man, in this city, tonight. And forget about whatever tomorrow might bring. If her father’s legacy had taught her anything it was that life was short and you had to seize it when you could.

Feeling giddy with lust, desire and a general intoxication with this extraordinary man, she stood up from her seat, feeling the movement of her dress against hot skin, making her nipples peak against the material. She saw his eyes drop there and almost groaned out loud.

Softly, huskily she said, ‘What are you waiting for then?’

* * *

The throbbing insistent beat of the music seemed to have merged with the beat of Salim’s pulse. He cut a swathe through the crowd, caught some double-takes, lustful glances, but was only aware of Nat’s small hand in his as he guided her through the club to the dance-floor.

Never had he been so intensely aware of a woman. All through dinner, he’d noticed every tiny movement she’d made—twirling her hair around a finger; self-consciously tugging at her ear lobe; biting her lip; fingers cupping the stem of her glass; which had automatically made him imagine how it might feel to have them touch him like that, feathering up and down the aching straining erection he’d battled to contain. It had been a delicious torture.

Just when they got to the heaving dance-floor, the music changed to a slow sexy beat. Salim turned and looked at Nat for an infinitesimal moment. Golden green eyes locked onto black, and for the first time Salim felt some of her lightness reach out to touch the depths of his darkness, transforming it into something lighter. Impossibly.

It was too loud to speak. But they didn’t need words. He felt as if he’d known her for millenia. He tugged her into him, the crush of the other bodies making it easy to tug her even closer. She came willingly, her soft curves melting against him like parts of a jigsaw sliding into place. It sent his head into a spin. Was he losing it? Finally? The control he’d wielded over his tangled tortured past loosening, so the demons finally reach out to claim him?

But no. As he folded Nat into his arms and felt hers reach around his neck, bringing her even closer, Salim knew this was different. This felt like he was moving away from that darkness.

And then he stopped thinking. Because he couldn’t anymore. Because all he could feel was the thrust of Nat’s soft full breasts against his chest, and her belly pressing against his arousal, each movement making it harder, ache a little more.

He slid one hand down over the slippery silk of her dress and cupped her bottom, its firm lushness making him groan. She pulled her head back and looked up at him and Salim drowned in her beauty.

His mouth was on hers, crushing her sweet softness, feeling the touch of her tongue against his. And he knew that if he didn’t get them out of there right now, he’d be stripping her bare and pushing her against the nearest hard surface before anyone could stop him.

He drew back even though every cell in his body protested. It took a long moment for her eyes to open and when they did they were darkened with the same need he felt.

He muttered roughly with uncharacteristic inarticulateness, ‘I want you.’

For a moment he tensed, thinking she might say no. He was already howling inwardly in rejection of that. But then she just said, ‘yes,’ and Salim clung onto the shreds of whatever control he had left to take her hand and lead her off the dance floor.

* * *

The chauffeured car ride back to the hotel was thick with sexual tension. Nat was still jittery after Salim had pulled her close as soon as they were in the back and he’d said, ‘The privacy window stays down. If it goes up then I won’t be able to stop myself from taking you, here and now. Unless you want that.’

Nat had looked at him in the gloom in the back of the car and had wanted nothing more than to say yes and have him pull her onto his lap, so this unbearable ache might be assuaged.

But the strength and depth of her desire scared her. So she’d shaken her head. And now Salim was gripping her hand and looking forward, his jaw tight, every torturous second that passed making her regret her decision. Making her wish she was brave enough to straddle him, take him inside her.

But then the gleaming golden lights of the hotel came into view and Nat almost let out a sob of relief. When the car pulled up, Salim was out of the door before the driver could get out, and he reached in for Nat, practically lifting her out.

She could feel the urgency between them and it was like a giddy rush. She felt wild, young, carefree, for the first time in her life. She’d never been aware of how weighted down she felt before.

The lobby’s grand hushed opulence went over Nat’s head, Salim’s hand tight on hers. She almost had to run to keep up with his long-legged stride. They were at the lift and she was breathless. She couldn’t look at Salim though, too afraid he’d see her desperation.

And then the lift doors opened and they stood back to let a tall distinguished grey-haired gentleman out. He stopped when he saw Salim and exclaimed, taking his free hand and pumping it enthusiastically. Frustration gnawed at Nat as she took in the conversation, Salim’s tight smile.

Salim drew her into his side and looked down for a second. She could see the frustration mirrored in his dark eyes and almost felt like giggling.

‘Natalja, this is Gene Chatsfield, owner of the Chatsfield empire, and my friend Antonio’s father.’

The older man turned to Nat. She could appreciate that he was an Alpha male past his prime but still very much in control. His gaze was shrewd and had assessed her in an instant.

He bowed towards her briefly, ‘I trust your photo shoot went well Miss Jordan?’

Nat was taken aback that he knew of it. ‘Yes, of course, everyone was very helpful, thank you.’

He straightened up. ‘Your father was a great man, he stayed here many times over the years.’

‘Yes,’ Nat said huskily, ‘I knew that.’

Salim’s hand tightened on hers as if to comfort her and she clung to him like a rock. The past and present, it was all meshing and colliding in this place. Salim was bidding Chatsfield good-night and finally they were free to step into the lift.

Once the doors closed and Salim had pressed the button, presumably to his floor, he turned to her and cupped her jaw with a hand. He looked at her and she saw concern in his eyes. ‘Ok?’

She knew that he meant the reference to her father just now. And it touched her. She nodded her head, any tendrils of emotion being drowned in the waves of heat emanating from Salim in the small space.

He didn’t pull her closer, didn’t try to kiss her again. Just looked at her as if he could see all the way to the very depths of her being. It was more profound than if he’d touched her physically, even though every part of her body ached for him to do that.

The lift pinged and the doors slid open silently. Salim led her out and down a luxuriously carpeted hall. Nat could see that it was far more opulent than her floor. Salim opened ornate doors and walked inside, flicking a light switch.

Nat followed him into the palatial suite which she could see took in a stunning view of London. She was used to some of the most jaw-dropping locations in the world thanks to her job and this was up there with them. ‘What is this suite?’

Salim was slipping off his jacket, dark eyes taking in her reaction. ‘It’s the Princess Royal suite, Antonio’s little idea of a joke.’

Nat said dryly, ‘Pretty impressive joke.’

But she could see what he meant now as he flicked on some more low lights. The furnishings definitely ran to a more…feminine bent. But perversely, it only highlighted the intense masculinity of the man who was now prowling towards her and looking so intense that she shivered with anticipation.