Читать книгу Pregnant By The Desert King - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 10

CHAPTER ONE

Three months earlier...

A CASUAL COFFEE in the steamy café next door in her lunch break from work at the laundry had never involved plugging Lucy’s body into a power source before. Lined up at the counter behind a red-hot Goliath with shoulders wide enough to hoist an ox, she reasoned it was only natural to be distracted, as her heart beat nineteen to the dozen. He was deeply tanned, with thick, inky-black hair that curled possessively over his neck in a way that made her fantasise about making it even more unruly; his short, rugged jacket might have been designed for no better purpose than to display his iron-hard butt, and long, lean legs. He was so big he achieved the impossible by making her feel dainty for the first time in her life. She was the woman targeted by slimming magazines who always planned to lose weight. And she would, just as soon as chocolate was written out of history.

‘Would you like to go ahead of me?’

She almost fainted when he swung around.

‘Are you speaking to me?’ popped out of her mouth before her brain was in gear. Silly question, when the most devastating black stare was directed straight into her eyes. It was the most arousal-inducing stare she’d ever been subjected to. There were eyes of all description, some of them very beautiful, but these were astonishingly beautiful eyes.

‘Can you move along, please? People are waiting to be served.’

Jerking alert as the lady behind the counter bellowed the instruction, Lucy shuffled along in line, and in doing so managed to stumble into Goliath.

‘Perhaps you should sit down before you cause a pile-up,’ he advised with amusement. His deep, husky voice with the intriguing accent, combined with his big, firm hands steadying her, blew her mind. ‘Now?’ he suggested as she stared at him transfixed. ‘I’ll get the drinks while you find the table.’

Finally, she came to. ‘Do I know you?’

‘I don’t believe so,’ he said, staring down from his great height. ‘Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate? Something to eat, perhaps?’

By now, people had turned to stare. One or two, having recognised Lucy, nodded and gave her a thumbs-up expression. She didn’t want to make a fuss. This was her local greasy spoon. Nor did she want to bolt, giving the man the impression he intimidated her. Who was he? she wondered. There was only one way to find out. ‘Coffee would be nice...thank you. Skimmed milk, two shots, please.’

As he turned to place their order she became aware of the buzz of interest in the café; most of it directed her way. Should she know him? Was he a celebrity? If only she paid more attention to the press. Maybe he had called in at the laundry while she was working in the back; no one could forget a face like that. He could pass for a sailor with his deep tan and super-fit appearance, but, with his commanding manner and expensive casual look, he didn’t strike her as crew.

‘When you’re ready,’ he prompted as he waited for their coffee to be prepared. ‘The table,’ he reminded her. ‘There aren’t many free. Better get moving.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, saluting ironically, but not before she’d absorbed his clean, spicy scent.

She did go to find a table, even though she wasn’t a fan of domineering men. This man had redeemed himself with that curving, dark-eyed smile. She guessed he used it a lot, but this was a packed café, and not much could go wrong over a coffee. It wouldn’t hurt to give him five minutes to see how he turned out. Her chums at the laundry were always complaining that nothing exciting ever happened, so at the least she’d be able to tell them about this when she got back to work.

She’d hidden herself away long enough.

As the unwanted thought shot into her mind, she shivered involuntarily, and recollections of her cruel, abusive stepfather came flooding back. Her mother’s second husband headed up a criminal empire peopled by ruthless thugs. Thank goodness he was in prison where he belonged. Lucy had left home at her mother’s insistence, to escape the increasingly unpleasant attention of her stepfather’s henchmen. She’d been lucky enough to find genuine friends on King’s Dock.

Having paused to acknowledge a couple of friends, she glanced at the man, only to see that he had not only paid for their drinks, but for an elderly couple’s pot of tea. He’d be up a tree, saving a cat next, Lucy thought with a smile as he crossed the café towards her. She had to stop being so suspicious of men. They weren’t all bad.

‘Something wrong?’ her new friend asked, frowning attractively as he drew near.

‘Nothing,’ she said, noticing how much attention he was getting. Both he and her stepfather were big, powerful men, but that was where the similarity ended. Her stepfather was a ruthless bully, and she could see nothing of the snake in this man. If eyes mirrored the soul she was safe; there was no evil in them.

Just heat, Lucy reflected with a bubble of excitement and amusement as he indicated that she should sit down. ‘Or are you going to stand here all day, blocking the aisle?’

When he lifted one sweeping ebony brow like that, and smiled into her eyes, it was impossible not to respond. Her stepfather hadn’t crushed her spirit yet.

‘Are you going to join me?’ she invited once she was settled.

She had to move the table to let him in. He was what might be referred to as a big unit, and she was hardly petite. And though he might be a player, and she his latest target, one cup of coffee did not a drama make. People knew her here, and she could leave any time she liked.

* * *

Today was turning out better than anticipated, Tadj concluded as he studied the lush-figured woman sitting opposite him. She had magnificent breasts, which even her bulky winter clothes couldn’t hide. But it wasn’t his automatic male assessment that struck him most, but her natural poise and unaffected manner. It was such a welcome change from the women who usually flocked around him, hoping for the position of wife, or mistress at the very least.

He’d been walking the dock, filling in time before a party that evening on board his friend Sheikh Khalid’s yacht, the Sapphire. Leaving behind the razzmatazz that went with the title Emir of Qalala, to mix with the crowds on the dock like any other visitor to the high-end marina, was a welcome release from the pressure of celebrity. Spending time with a woman who didn’t appear to recognise him was a novelty. The fact that this woman probably wouldn’t have cared less if she had known who he was was an unexpected bonus. He planned to stay on the Sapphire tonight, and a strange bed was always warmer with an agreeable companion at his side.

Or underneath him.

‘Are you sure this is okay for you?’ she asked, glancing around. ‘You seem to be creating some interest. Should I know you?’

‘You do now. And in answer to your question, this is perfect.’

‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she pointed out.

‘No. I didn’t,’ he agreed.

A tense, electric silence sprang between them. He’d sensed her before he’d spotted her in the café. His senses were always fine-tuned where women were concerned, but she had intrigued him from the first moment, with her elfin looks, and full, voluptuous figure. She wasn’t remotely in awe of him, which only added to her allure. Half his size, she was quite a bit younger, though her character made up for any lack of experience.

‘Good coffee?’ she said, breaking the silence.

‘Excellent,’ he murmured, maintaining eye contact until she blushed.

In the course of his duties as ruler of one of the fabulously wealthy Sapphire States, he met many women, but never remembered them for long. None held such instant appeal. He weighed up her clothes and the body underneath. The cheap, unbuttoned coat was open over a clinging cotton sweater that spurred an urge to introduce her to fabrics that would caress her body. Kissing that challenging look off her face was another must, before bringing her to the heights of pleasure.

‘You really didn’t need to do this,’ she said as he asked the waitress for a top-up.

‘But I really want to,’ he said, holding her stare.

‘Do you always get what you want?’

‘Most times,’ he admitted.

He only had to raise a brow for her to read him easily. ‘Lucy,’ she said. ‘Lucy Gillingham.’

The name meant nothing to him, but he made a mental note to ask his security team to check her out.

‘Careful,’ he said as she dipped her head to take a sip of the refreshed coffee. ‘It’s hot.’

‘I’m always careful,’ she said with a look that left him in no doubt she would never be a pushover.

The most astonishing jade-green eyes pierced his, tilted up at the outer corners. Lucy’s expressive gaze was enhanced by a thick fringe of black lashes that added a feline touch to what was already a highly attractive package.

‘Sorry,’ she said, pulling back, and blushed attractively when their knees brushed.

‘No problem,’ he said, sliding his long legs between hers without touching her, but her blush deepened as if she was deeply conscious of the intimacy forced upon them by the narrow table. Colour tinted her Slavic cheekbones an attractive shade of rose. ‘You have beautiful hair,’ he said to distract her.

‘And you have big feet,’ she said, shuffling around to remove all chance of them touching.

Lucy wore her hair in a no-nonsense short, urchin-cut style. It suited her strong personality. In a rich shade of auburn, it reminded him of autumn on his English country estate when the leaves had turned from vibrant green to take on the tint of fire. She was fiery. She’d be amazing in bed.

‘Oh, that’s better,’ she said, having drained the mug. ‘I’m good for nothing before a coffee. How about you?’

‘I’m good for some things,’ he said.

Her cheeks burned red. He hadn’t enjoyed himself so much in a long time.

How could talking about coffee be so dangerous? Lucy spent a lot of time daydreaming, but none of them turned out like this. If only she’d paid more attention to the press and laundry gossip, she might have a clue who the intriguing man was. ‘You’re new in port,’ she prompted, waiting on more information.

‘Another coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’ As he turned to speak to the waitress, her mind strayed to lazy days on a sugar-sand beach, with blocks of chilled chocolate at her side, and a bucket of lemon sorbet Bellinis to share with the mystery man as a prelude to very good sex, the details of which escaped her for now.

‘Something wrong?’ he queried as she frowned.

‘Yes. As a matter of fact, there is. I told you my name. Or, do you have something to hide?’

He laughed and his entire face lit up. Attractive didn’t even begin to describe the creases around his eyes and the flash of those strong white teeth. Raunchy? Her nipples were prickling without him even looking at them. Close enough for her to detect his minty breath, and to register the fact that he didn’t like shaving, he was an incredible lure with those incredible black eyes burning into hers.

‘My name is Tadj.’

‘Ah—like the Taj Mahal,’ she said, relaxing.

‘Tadj with a D,’ he explained.

‘Oh.’ Her cheeks flamed up again. ‘I suppose you hear that dozens of times.’

‘Some,’ he agreed.

The killer smile had returned to his face, but she settled for regarding him coolly. With his thick black hair curling wildly around cheekbones that would have sent Michelangelo crazy for his chisel, she guessed he must be used to admiration, and was determined not to add to it, though couldn’t help herself wondering what that sharp black stubble would feel like if he rasped it very gently against her skin. Imagining her rounded curves accommodating his impressive hard-muscled frame led her to shift position on the bench seat.

‘Tadj,’ she repeated to distract herself fast. ‘Nice.’

He was still staring at her with that faintly amused expression on his face, which led to one quick thought...melted chocolate, heated gently before being spread liberally over her naked body, for him to lick off. ‘Okay, Tadj with a D, so now I know your name, but not your occupation.’

‘That’s right. You don’t,’ he said.

‘Cagey,’ she observed, narrowing her eyes. ‘I’m genuinely curious.’

‘And I’m genuinely cagey,’ he countered with a scorching look.

They both laughed and the atmosphere lightened.

‘So?’ she prompted, coffee mug hovering in front of her lips.

‘So, what? What do you want to know?’

‘Let’s start with everything?’ she said.

‘We don’t have time.’

‘Should I be worried that you’re being so evasive?’

‘Here?’ He glanced around. ‘Probably not.’

But later, she thought. She killed the thought as soon as it sprang into her head. There’d be no later. She’d try another tack to dig for information. ‘So, what brings you to King’s Dock?’

‘Old friends and business,’ he said.

‘Intriguing.’

‘Not really,’ he admitted, sitting back. ‘King’s Dock is a convenient place to meet, that’s all.’ He raised a brow, as if challenging her to ask more questions.

‘I must be keeping you from your friends,’ she stated, reaching for her bag.

‘You’re not,’ he said, still relaxed, still surveying her as a soft-pawed predator might observe his next meal.

As they stared at each other, a quiver of arousal tracked down her spine. He was enjoying this, she thought. And so was she. A lot more than was wise. Why had this extraordinary-looking man landed in the middle of an ordinary day? Time to take a tougher line. ‘You sat me down, force-fed me coffee, so now you have to pay for the pleasure of my company with information.’

‘You think?’ Few women had ever made him laugh as Lucy did. Being so irreverent and funny was part of her charm. ‘You won’t get round me,’ he warned when she pulled a mock-disappointed face.

‘Why not?’ she complained in the same style. ‘Is what you do for a living classified information? Maybe you’re a secret agent,’ she speculated with a lift of her finely drawn brow.

‘And maybe I’m a man drinking coffee in a café and minding his own business as best he can...’

‘How boring. I prefer my version.’

‘I’m in security,’ he admitted finally. This was the truth. One of his many companies was responsible for the safety of some of the most prominent people on the planet. As the ruler of a country it was in his interest to hire the best.

‘Aha.’ Sitting back, Lucy appeared to relax. ‘Now it makes sense.’

‘What does?’

‘Your evasiveness,’ she explained. ‘I’m guessing you handle security for one of the those big fat potentates on their big fat superyachts.’ She angled her chin towards the window, beyond which a line of imposing vessels loomed like huge white ghosts against the steel-grey sky. ‘What’s it like working for the super-rich, mystery man?’

Her naivety was irresistible, but her innocence compelled him to tell the truth. ‘Actually, I’m one of them.’

‘A big, fat potentate?’ she exclaimed, frowning in a way that made him laugh.

‘I thought it was the yachts you thought big and fat.’

‘You’re being serious, aren’t you?’ she said in a very different tone.

‘Your expression does my ego no good at all,’ he admitted.

‘Well, this changes things,’ she said, ‘and I can’t help the way I look.’

‘Having money changes your opinion of me?’

She hummed and frowned again. ‘I don’t have an opinion about you yet,’ she admitted honestly. ‘I don’t know you well enough.’

He would be the first to admit he was touchy about money. His late uncle had plundered the Qalalan treasury, leaving it empty when Tadj inherited the throne. Tadj had built up a bankrupt country brick by brick. Even then, when everything was back on an even keel, a family to whose daughter he’d been engaged since his birth turned up to demand he marry the girl right away. It had cost him a king’s ransom to sort that out. The experience had left him with a horror of state marriages, together with the distinct impression that a mistress was far preferable to a wife. He had to marry one day to provide Qalala with an heir as the constitution demanded, but not yet, and his thoughts regarding taking a mistress in the interim had just taken on a new and vigorous lease of life.