Читать книгу Pleasure: The Sheikh's Defiant Bride - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 7

BY THE time Tariq’s taxi pulled up in front of the town house in the Sixties, he was having second thoughts.

Second thoughts? The truth was, he was on thirds and fourths.

What on earth had made him come here? He was looking for a wife, and were the chances of that happening at a summer party in Manhattan?

The cabbie looked at him. “Mister? You getting out or not?”

Not, he thought, but he was here. He might as well go inside.

The cab pulled away and Tariq looked around him. The street, bounded at either end by wide, busy, heavily trafficked thoroughfares, was tree-lined and quiet like many others in this part of the city but by the time he got to the front door, he could hear the beat of overamped music.

Finger poised above the bell, he hesitated.

It was not too late to change his mind. Strike three, he thought with a mixture of amusement and irritation, but not an important one. He’d go home, change into his running gear and head out again. A couple of miles through Central Park, perhaps he’d clear his head enough to stop thinking about obligation and duty and—

The door swung open.

One hundred and twenty decibels of guitar riff inundated him. A brunette with a cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other tilted her head back and flashed him a delighted smile.

“Well, well, well,” she said, “such a nice package to find on the doorstep!”

She was a nice package, too, especially in a translucent dress that would have been bedroom lingerie meant only for a husband’s eyes in his country but was the latest fashion in these circles.

“Isn’t it lucky for both of us I decided to step outside for a cigarette right this second?”

Her smile, her voice. This was the opening gambit of a game he’d played dozens of times. A few drinks, some conversation and he’d take her home. To her bed, not his, because it was less complicated that way, whether what began tonight lasted for a few weeks or even a couple of months. And then, inevitably, he’d lose interest and she would demand to know why.

The woman moved closer. “Aren’t you coming in?”

She lay her hand on his arm. He looked down at her crimson-tipped fingers, then at her face. She was beautiful but the truth was, there’d be a dozen more just like her inside. Beautiful women who’d throw themselves at him because of his looks—there was no point in being modest about what was, basically, a gift of nature that had nothing to do with him.

And when they found out who he was, that he had a title and more money than even he could comprehend.

No, he thought, he was not in the mood for that tonight.

“Sorry,” he said politely, “but I seem to have come to the wrong address.”

“Silly,” she said, moving closer, letting her breasts brush against his arm. “You’ve come to exactly the right address—but if you’d prefer, we can go someplace quiet.”

Suddenly everything about the situation was distasteful. Tariq’s expression hardened; he shook her hand away and stepped back.

“I’m not interested,” he said coldly. Her face filled with color and he told himself he was being a son of a bitch, but—

“Your highness!”

Tariq jerked his head up. One of his attorney’s younger partners was hurrying toward him. Hell, he thought grimly. He was trapped.

The brunette made a quick recovery. “Your highness?” she said in a breathy voice. “You mean, you’re a king?”

“It’s an old joke,” Tariq said sharply, “and not a very good one. Isn’t that right, Edward?”

The lawyer looked puzzled. Then, to Tariq’s relief, he grinned.

“A joke. Oh, yeah, absolutely.” He reached out, as if to clap Tariq on the shoulder, thought better of it and, instead, made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Come on—sir. Let me get you a drink.”

“Hey,” the brunette said.

Tariq ignored her and followed the lawyer into the house. It wasn’t easy; the place was packed with people but, finally, they found a small patch of empty space.

“Tariq. Your highness—”

“No, please. Call me by my name. Did I get your name right? It is Edward, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“Well, Edward, this has been a very long week for me. The last thing I need tonight is to have anyone treat me with formality.”

“Of course, sir.” The young lawyer cleared his throat. “Mr. Strickland—John—will be delighted to see you. Let me just find him and—”

“That’s not necessary. I’d just as soon wander around a bit on my own. You know, unwind.”

“Ah. I get it. You want to spend the evening under the radar. Sure. Whatever you like, your highness.”

Tariq thought of correcting the man again, but what for? Five minutes and he’d be out of here. Monday, he’d have his P.A. send flowers to John Strickland and his wife, along with a card thanking them for their hospitality and wishing them well in their new home.

So he smiled, exchanged a handshake with Edward and watched him melt into the crowd.

A waiter came by with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Tariq shook his head. Another waiter, another tray. The third time, just to avoid having another tray thrust at him, he accepted something that looked like it might have flown away if a frilled red toothpick hadn’t kept it anchored to a sliver of toast. He held on to it for a while, then inched toward a table and surreptitiously deposited it on a half-filled plate.

“Are you alone?”

The voice was soft and came from just behind him. Tariq turned and found himself looking at a blonde. Here we go again, he thought.

And then he stopped thinking. Logically, at any rate.

The brunette had been beautiful. This woman was—hell, she was spectacular.

Her hair was the color of spring wheat, falling in soft waves around her oval face. She had high, elegant cheekbones; her mouth was full and soft-looking. Her eyes were dark brown and bright with intelligence. She was tall and slender, her curves accented by a simple black silk dress that clung to her high breasts, narrow waist and gently rounded hips like a lover’s caress.

“I said, are you alone?”

The same game, but a different gambit. Maybe he needed a break from the routine of the last weeks.

Maybe the evening was looking up after all.

He smiled, took the single step that brought him closer to her.

“What happens if I say yes?”

“If you say yes, you’ll save my life.”

“I’m impressed. Such high drama at a run-of-the mill party.”

A quick smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Okay, you won’t save my life but you’ll save me from being unkind to a toad. Can you do that?”

“A toad?”

“A man. He just looks like a toad.”

“Ah.” Tariq grinned. “So, I’ll get an award from the Save the Toads Society?”

The blonde laughed. Her laugh was charming, light and easy and natural.

“Something like that. Look, it’ll only take a few minutes. Just talk to me. Smile. Cocktail party stuff. Please?”

“Well,” Tariq said, looking serious, “if it’s to conserve wildlife …”

“Wonderful. Thank you.” She looked past his shoulder. “There he is,” she said softly, and she flashed him a bright smile. “Oh,” she said gaily, her voice just loud enough to carry beyond the two of them, “that’s so true! I wouldn’t have put it that way, but—” She stopped in midsentence and rolled her eyes. “He’s gone.”

“Toads have a way of doing that,” Tariq said solemnly. “Here one second and then, hop, gone the next.”

She gave another of those wonderful laughs as she looked up at him. Her eyes weren’t just brown, he noticed, they were the color of rich chocolate.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled, reached out and traced the arc of one perfect cheekbone with the tip of his finger. “What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Your name. Your address. Your phone number.” His voice grew husky. “We can start there, habiba.”

“You mean—you mean, you think.” Her face took on a hint of color. “You don’t understand. I wasn’t coming on to you. Seriously I’m …” She looked past him. “Oh, darling,” she trilled, “yes, thanks, I’d love to!”

Tariq raised an eyebrow. “The toad is back?”

“Yes.”

“If he’s done something to offend you, habiba …”

“No. Nothing like that. I just couldn’t lose him. And I didn’t want to come straight out and tell him he was wasting his time.”

“A woman with a heart.” Tariq’s voice dropped to a husky growl. “What about me, habiba. Am I wasting mine?”

Oh God, Madison thought, out of the frying pan and into the fire—except, this fire could absolutely burn a woman to a crisp.

And leave her thrilled it had happened.

Not a woman like her, of course. Not one who wanted no more of these silly games, but a woman who was impressed by good looks, a sense of humor, clothes that said a man had money, could definitely be in trouble any second.

And sex appeal. No point denying that. This man was sexy as hell.

Not like the toad.

He’d cornered her an hour ago, managed to separate her from Barb, or maybe Barb had done the separating. Either way, Madison had found herself trapped in a corner while he talked about himself. His success. His money. His genius in a high-tech field.

“Well, that’s interesting,” she’d said, when he’d paused for breath. “I’m in a high tech field, myself, and—”

She might as well not have bothered. He’d started talking again, his words silencing hers, about his expensive condo, his expensive car, his Miami pad.

“Oh, there’s someone I promised to say hi to,” Madison had said brightly, and she’d zoomed straight for the only man who’d seemed to be by himself.

She’d wanted a savior.

What she’d found was a man who would never save a woman from anything but would surely lead her straight into sin.

He was gorgeous. There was no other word to describe him. Tall, tall enough to still tower over her even though she was wearing spiked heels. Dark-haired, with eyes so gray they were almost silver. Broad shoulders, trim waist, long legs. He had the faintest accent that only added to his sex appeal.

He was a magnificent predator and it would be oh, so easy to celebrate this last night before her life changed forever by giving in to what was happening because she knew it was happening, that he wanted to take her home, take her to bed and she—and she—

Madison took a shaky breath and stepped back. Or tried to step back; the room was so crowded that she couldn’t.

“Listen,” she said quickly, “What I started to tell you a couple of minutes ago is the truth. I don’t blame you for misunderstanding. I mean, it’s my fault entirely, but—”

“Have we met before?”

Her eyebrows lifted. Such a trite line from a guy like this?

“No, we haven’t. And as I was just saying—”

“We must have. At a party, perhaps?”

“Sorry. I just have that kind of face.”

His gaze moved slowly, almost insolently over her face, lingering on her mouth with such intensity that her heart began to gallop.

“Trust me,” he said softly. “You don’t.”

The surge of the crowd pushed them closer. Madison felt her breasts brush against his chest. Heat raced through her at the contact.

His reaction was far more blatant.

His body hardened.

She felt it, felt that swift male arousal … and felt the shock of an answering curl of desire low in her belly.

Quickly she put out her hands and pressed them against his chest.

“Thank you for your help,” she said brightly.

“Planning an exit, habiba?”

His voice was soft, filled with sexual promise. No, she thought wildly, no, I am not going to do this, not with the rest of my life so perfectly planned.

“I am,” she said in that same artificially bright tone. “He’s gone.”

His smile was wonderful, slow and sexy and completely male. “But he’ll be back.”

“I’m sure he won’t.”

“He will, if he has an ounce of blood in his veins. No man would be fool enough to let you walk away from him.”

“Look, I don’t—I mean, you don’t—” Madison’s gaze slid past the stranger. “Oh, hell,” she said unhappily, “here he comes.”

“Come on.”

The man’s hand—big, hard, powerful—clasped hers.

“Where?”

“Out those doors. See? There’s a patio … or would you rather let the toad catch you?”

The blonde hesitated, but only for an instant.

“All right,” she said, and Tariq hurried her through the crowd, through the French doors, onto the patio.

He knew damned well he could have gotten rid of her pursuer with one look but why do that when he could, instead, bring the woman here, where it was quiet and cool?

He hadn’t come here looking for a night’s diversion but he’d told her the truth. Only a man with no blood in his veins wouldn’t want her. He was going to have her for the night. Hell, for the weekend, and nothing was going to stop him.

The French doors swung open.

The toad stepped outside.

He looked at them and his face lit.

“There you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking everywhere. I never did finish telling you about the place I just bought in Miami—”

Tariq looked at the blonde. She bit her lip, just lightly enough to make him wish he was the one doing the biting.

“Oh, hell,” she whispered.

Tariq felt his blood leap.

“Indeed,” he said softly.

A heartbeat later, he had her in his arms. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

“What are you—”

“I’m making it clear who owns you tonight,” Tariq said thickly, and he bent his head and kissed her.

She gasped. Her breath sighed against his lips. He made a sound deep in his throat and drew her closer.

“Kiss me back,” Tariq whispered.

And she did.

Her lips parted; he slid the tip of his tongue between them, silk meeting silk, heat meeting heat, and the patio faded, the toad faded, nothing existed but the woman in his arms, the feel of her.

“Oh,” she whispered, and he knew it was the same for her.

Her hands rose, flattened against his chest, slipped up and up until her fingers were deep in the thick, silky hair at his nape. She leaned into him, her breasts soft against his chest, her scent in his nostrils.

Tariq groaned.

All the taut sexual control he’d maintained for the past two months fell away. His sex hardened; he felt it leap against her and when she moaned and lifted herself to him, he gathered her closer, deepened the kiss, tasting her, letting her taste him, running his hands down her spine, cupping her bottom, lifting her, bringing her hard against him, cradling the power of his erection in the hot vee of her thighs.

Somehow, they were moving. Off the patio. Into the garden, letting the gathering night close around them, sealing them in its velvet darkness, its sweet floral scent.

The sounds of the party faded; the light spilling from the house diminished. Tariq felt something at his back. The wall of a small building. A summerhouse, screened and secluded, lit by only the softest of lights.

He drew the woman inside; she clung to him, her mouth hot and open to the penetration of his tongue, her breathing as ragged as his, her hands clasping his face as she gave herself over to the wildness of his kiss.

“I want you,” he said thickly.

“Yes,” she whispered, “yes …”

His mouth was at her throat; his hand was on her breast, cupping it, shaping it, his fingertips moving over the engorged nipple that pressed through the silk of her dress and teased his palm.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, “so beautiful …”

She slid her hand under his suit jacket, then inside his shirt. Her touch scalded him; he groaned again, grasped the hem of her dress, pushed it up her thighs.

And reached between them.

Skin. Silken and smooth. A strip of lace. Heat. The softness of damp curls.

By Ishtar, he was going to come. He, who never let passion fully sweep him away, who always maintained just enough emotional distance to observe the woman in his arms as he took her.

He was going to come.

But not like this. Damn it, not like this. He wanted to be inside her. Feel her womb close around him. Feel her legs wrap around his waist.

“No!”

Her cry shattered the stillness in the little summerhouse. Tariq raised his head, looked at her through eyes that were all but blind.

“Damn you, get away from me!”

Her fist slammed against his shoulder. It was enough to drag him back toward reality if not fully into it.

“What?” he said. “What?”

“You—you bastard! You no-good son of a—”

Madison slapped both hands against the stranger’s chest, shoved hard. She could feel the panic spreading through her, not of him as much as of herself, at what she had almost done.

“Let go of me,” she said. “Do you hear me? I said—”

“I heard what you said.” His voice was cold. “I’m sure half of Manhattan heard what you said.”

His hands fell away from her. He stepped back but it didn’t mean a damn; she could hear his ragged breathing, smell his maleness. Oh, yes, a predator, and the worst kind. Handsome. Arrogant. Wealthy. He moved in the right circles.

He was everything she despised and somehow, she’d been hovering on the brink of having sex with him. Hovering? Hell, she’d been a kiss away from it. How could that have happened?

A shudder racked her body. “You took advantage of me!”

“I took advantage of you?” he said … and he began to laugh.

She wanted to hit him again, but she was angry, not insane.

“You think this is amusing?”

“What I think,” he said, “is that I probably should thank you for our little encounter. You see, I’ve been searching for something and now I realize it’s going to take longer to find than I thought.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“And, also thanks to you, I just realized how easy—and how unfortunate—it would be should some woman make me give up something I must not give up, except to the right one.”

“Gibberish,” Madison said, folding her arms. “But I don’t care. Whatever you’re talking about means nothing to me.”

“Exactly. And it means everything to.” He paused, frowned, cocked his head. “Of course,” he said softly.

“Of course, what?”

“I just realized why you looked familiar. You’re the ice princess from—what’s that outfit? FutureTense?”

“FutureBorn,” Madison said, “and what would you know about it?”

His cool smile faded. She could almost see his brain rev into high gear.

“Not as much as I’m going to know,” he said cryptically.

“Do you know my boss? If you think you can get me fired—”

He laughed and turned away.

“You can’t,” Madison yelled. “I’m not going to be there long enough for that.”

Tariq didn’t turn around. Whatever she said meant nothing to him.

The toad was still standing on the patio. Tariq flashed a vicious smile. “The lady’s all yours,” he said, and made his way into the house, through the foyer, through the dining and sitting rooms, his purposeful stride attracting curious glances until, at last, he saw his attorney.

Strickland was part of a small knot of people, laughing and chatting.

Tariq stood a few feet away. “Strickland?”

The attorney looked up, saw Tariq and fell silent in midsentence.

“Your highness.”

People turned and stared. Tariq knew the look; it was part respect, part awe, part outright envy.

Ordinarily he loathed it. Now, he welcomed it.

The blonde had made a fool of him tonight but no one else would dare.

Strickland came to his side. “Edward said you were here, your highness. I looked for you, but—”

“I need legal advice.”

The lawyer blinked. “Now?”

“Right now.” Tariq took his cell phone from his pocket, pressed a button and heard, as he had known he would, the voice of his personal physician answering the number that connected him to only this one patient. “Dr. Miller,” he said, with the crisp conviction of a man who never has to ask but has only to command. “I am at my lawyer’s home. Please meet me here in half an hour.”

“Are you ill, sir?” Strickland murmured after Tariq rattled off the address and ended the call.

“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

“Yes, of course.”

The lawyer led the way to the second floor and a handsomely furnished den far from the noise of the party.

“No,” Tariq said, once the door was shut, “I’m not ill.”

“Then what …”

“I wish to safeguard the rightful succession of my heir to the throne of Dubaac,” Tariq said briskly, “in the unlikely event something should happen to me before I find a suitable wife. I’ve asked my doctor here to discuss the details but, basically, I intend to have a sample of my sperm frozen and to do it as quickly as possible. Do you foresee any legal problems?”

The attorney smiled. “None, your highness. Actually I’ve handled similar situations before.”

“Good,” Tariq said, and for the first time since his brother’s death, he breathed a long sigh of relief.