The Sheikh's Undoing (10 page)

‘And you’re …’ His eyes narrowed as he kissed each fingertip in turn. ‘Well, right now you are looking positively
decadent
.’

Her indignation melted away as he slid her fingers inside the moist cavern of his mouth. It was as if even his most innocuous touch could weaken all her defences. ‘Am I?’

‘Extremely.’ He drifted the now damp fingers to the faint indigo shadows beneath her sleepy tawny eyes. ‘But you also look worn out,
kalila
.’

She loved him touching her like that. She loved him touching her pretty much anywhere. ‘Mmm?’

‘Mmm. So why don’t you just relax?’ He brushed
back the heavy spill of curls which had fallen down around her face. ‘Go on, Izzy. Relax.’

With a little sigh, she let her head drift back against the sofa as he continued to stroke her hair, just as if she were some cat that he was petting.

Distantly, as her weighted eyelids whispered to a close, she could hear the sound of water splashing. For one crazy moment she could have sworn that she heard someone
whistling
. But then the emotion of what had just happened and the stupefying endorphins it had produced made Isobel drift off into a glorious half-world of sleep.

She was woken by the distinct smell of sandalwood and the lightest brush of lips over hers, and when she blinked her eyes open it was to see Tariq standing over her. His black hair was glittering with tiny droplets of water and he was wearing a stark and beautifully cut tuxedo. He must have showered and changed in his office’s luxury bathroom, she thought dazedly.

The crisp whiteness of his silk shirt contrasted against the glow of his olive skin, and his black eyes positively
gleamed
with energy and satisfaction. He looked like a perfect specimen of masculinity, she thought—all pumped up and raring to go. As if, for him, sex had been nothing but a very gratifying form of exercise.

She stared up at him. ‘What’s … what’s happening?’

Tariq swallowed down a surge of lust. She looked so damned sexy lying there that part of him wanted to carry on where they’d left off. To do it to her again—only more slowly this time, and on the comfort of a couch. But wouldn’t some kind of natural break be better—for both of them? Wouldn’t that allow them to put some necessary perspective on what had just happened—and
allow her not to start reading too much into what could be a potentially awkward situation?

‘You know I have to go to the party at the Maraban Embassy,’ he said softly. ‘You were nagging me about it before we …’

Isobel kept the stupefied smile glued to her lips.
He was still planning on going to the party!

‘Yes. Yes, of course. You must go.’ She struggled to sit up a little, but Tariq made matters even worse by leaning over her and stroking a strand of hair away from her lips with the tip of his thumb. For a moment his thumb lingered, tracing its way around the sudden tremble of her lips.

‘I’ll get my car to drop you off home,’ he said.

‘No, honestly. I can get the—’

‘Bus?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Without your panties?’ His rueful gaze drifted across the room to where her ripped knickers were lying in a crumpled little heap of silk. ‘I don’t think so,
anisah
. So go and quickly run a brush through your hair, and then we’ll go.’

It was rather a grim end to an eventful afternoon, and one which made Isobel question the wisdom of what she had just done. Quickly she availed herself of his bathroom, dragging the Titian curls into some sort of order and straightening her clothes before they went down in the elevator to his waiting car.

There was no back seat kiss, no telling her that she was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever met and that he would spend the evening thinking about her. Instead all proprieties were observed as Tariq spent the short
journey to the Maraban Embassy tapping on the flat, shiny screen of his laptop.

When the car pulled up and he looked up he seemed almost to have forgotten who he was with.

‘Izzy,’ he said softly.

She looked at him, aware that he looked impeccably groomed in comparison to the rumpled exterior she must be presenting. Was he regretting what had happened? Wondering how he could have allowed himself to get so carried away in the heat of the moment? Well, she didn’t know how these things usually worked, but she was determined that he should have a let-out clause if he wanted one.

Batting him a quick smile, she pointed to the car door, which was already being opened for him. Let him see that she was perfectly cool about what had happened.

‘Better hurry along, Tariq,’ she said quickly. ‘Leave it much later and you’ll have missed all the canapés.’

‘I
JUST
wanted to check that you got home okay. The party at the Embassy went on longer than I thought. In fact it was a bit of a bore. I should have stayed right where I was and carried on with exactly what I was doing.’
There was a pause before the distinctive voice deepened.
‘I’ll see you in the office tomorrow, Izzy.’

With an angry jab of her finger Isobel erased the message on the answer-machine and made her way out to her tiny kitchen; where the morning sunshine was streaming in. It was a strangely unsatisfying message from the man she’d given her virginity to—Tariq must have left it late last night, after she’d gone to bed. But what had she expected? Softness and affection? Tender words as an after-sex gesture? Why would he bother with any of that when she’d practically
begged
him to have sex with her?

She stared at the piece of bread which had just popped out of the toaster and then threw it straight into the bin. She wasn’t in the mood for breakfast. She wasn’t in the mood for anything, come to think of it, except maybe crawling right back under the duvet and staying there for the rest of the week. She certainly wasn’t up for going
into work this morning to face her boss after what had happened in the office last night.

She closed her eyes as a shiver raced over her skin, scarcely able to believe what she’d done. Taken complete leave of her senses by letting Tariq have wild sex with her, pressed up against the wall of his office. After years spent wondering if maybe she didn’t
have
the sexual impulses of most normal women, of wondering if her mother had poisoned her completely against men, she had discovered that she was very normal indeed.

Behind her eyelids danced tormenting memories. Was that why she’d behaved as she had? Because a lifetime of longing had hit her in a single tidal wave? Or was it simply because it was Tariq and subconsciously she’d wanted him all along?

She shuddered. She’d been like a woman possessed—urging him on as if she couldn’t get enough of him. It had been the very first time she’d ever let a man make love to her, and she’d been so greedy for him that she hadn’t wanted to wait. She felt the dull flush of shame as she acknowledged that she hadn’t even been ladylike enough to hold out for doing it in private—in a
bed!

Yet she
knew
what kind of man he was. Hadn’t she seen him in action often enough in the past? She’d lost count of the times she’d been dispatched to buy lastminute presents for his current squeeze—or bouquets of flowers when he was giving chase to a new woman.

And what about when he started to cool towards the object of his affections, so that he became positively arctic overnight, usually three to four weeks into the ‘relationship’? She’d witnessed the faint frown and the shake of his head when she mouthed the name of some poor female whose voice was stuttering down the telephone
line as she asked to speak to him. She’d even seen him completely cold-shoulder one hysterical blonde who’d been lying in wait for him outside the Al Hakam building. Then had had his security people bundle her into a car and drive her away at speed. Isobel remembered watching the woman’s beautiful features contorted with rage as she glared out of the back window of the limousine.

Time and time again she had told herself that any woman who went to bed with Tariq needed her head examined—and now she had done exactly that. Was she really planning to join the long line of women who had been intimate with him and then had their hearts broken into smithereens?

She stared at her grim-faced reflection in the mirror.

No, she was not.

She was going to have to be grown-up about the whole thing. Men and women often made passionate mistakes—but
intelligent
men and women could soon forget about them. She would go in to work this morning and she would show him—and herself—how strong she could be. She would surprise him with her maturity and her ability to pretend that nothing had happened.

So she resisted the urge to wear a new blouse to work, putting on instead a fine wool dress in a soft heathery colour and tying her hair back as she always did.

Outside it was a glorious day, and the bus journey into work should have been uplifting. The pale blue sky and the fluffy clouds, the unmistakable expectancy of springtime, had lightened people’s moods. The bus-driver bade her a cheerful good morning, and the security man standing outside the Al Hakam building was uncharacteristically friendly.

The first part of the day went better than she’d expected—but that was mainly because Tariq was away from the office, visiting the Greenhill Polo Club in Sussex, which he’d bought from the Zaffirinthos royal family last year.

She juggled his diary, answered a backlog of e-mails, and dealt with a particularly persistent sports journalist.

It was four o’clock by the time he arrived back, and Isobel was so deep in work in the outer office that for a moment she didn’t hear the door as it clicked open.

It was only when she lifted her head that she found herself caught in the ebony crossfire of his gaze. His dark hair was ruffled, and he had the faint glow which followed hard physical exercise. He looked so arrogantly alpha and completely sexy in that moment that her heart did a little somersault in her chest, despite all her best intentions. She wondered if he’d been riding one of his own polo ponies while he’d been down at Greenhill, and her imagination veered off the strict course she’d proscribed for it. She’d seen him play polo before, and for a moment she imagined him astride one of his ponies, his powerful thighs gripping the flanks of the magnificent glistening animal …

Stop it
, she told herself, as she curved her lips into what she hoped was her normal smile. No fantasising—and definitely no flirting. It’s business as usual. It might be difficult to begin with, but he’s bound to applaud your professionalism in the end.

‘Hello, Tariq,’ she said, her fingers stilling on the keyboard. ‘Good day at Greenhill? I’ve had the
Daily Post
on the phone all morning. They want to know if it’s true that you’ve been making approaches to buy a defender from Barcelona. I think they were trying to
trick me into revealing whether the football club deal is still going ahead. I told him no comment.’

Tariq dropped his briefcase to the floor and frowned. He’d been anticipating …

What?

A blush
at the very least!
Some stumbled words which would acknowledge the amazing thing which had taken place last night. Maybe even a little pout of her unpainted lips to remind him of how good it had felt to kiss them. But not that cool and non-committal look which she was currently directing at him.

‘I’ll make you a coffee,’ she said, rising to her feet.

‘I don’t want coffee.’

‘Tea?’

‘I don’t want tea either,’ he growled. ‘Come over here.’

‘Where?’

‘Don’t be disingenuous, Izzy. I want to kiss you.’

Desperately she shook her head, telling herself that she couldn’t risk a repeat of what had happened. He was
dangerous
. She
knew
that. If she wasn’t careful he would break her heart—just as he’d broken so many others in the past. And the closer she let him get the greater the danger. ‘I don’t want to kiss you.’

He walked across the office towards her, a sardonic smile curving his lips as he reached for her, his hand snaking around her waist as he pulled her close. ‘Well, we both know that’s a lie,’ he drawled, and he brushed his lips over hers.

Isobel swayed, and for a moment she succumbed—the way women sometimes succumbed to chocolate at the end of a particularly rigid diet. Her lips opened beneath his kiss, and for a few brief seconds she felt herself
being sucked into a dark and erotic vortex as he pressed his hard body into hers. Her limbs became boneless as she felt one powerful thigh levering its way between hers, so that she gave an instinctive little wriggle of her hips against it.

Until common sense sounded a warning bell in her head.

Quickly she broke the contact and stepped away from him, her cheeks flushing. She cooled them with the tips of her trembling fingers. ‘D-don’t.’

‘Don’t?’ he echoed incredulously. ‘Why not?’

His arrogant disbelief only made her more determined. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Not to me.’

‘Because … because I don’t want to. How’s that for clarification?’

Tariq’s gaze ran over her darkened eyes and the telltale thrust of the taut nipples which were tightening against her dress. His lips curved into a mocking line as he transferred his gaze to her face. ‘Really?’ he questioned softly. ‘I think the lady needs to get honest with herself.’

Stung by the slur, but also aware of the contradictions in her behaviour, Isobel shook her head. ‘Oh, Tariq—please don’t look at me like that. I’m not saying that I’m not attracted to you—’

‘Well, thank heavens for that.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘For a moment I thought my technique might be slipping.’

‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that,’ she said drily. ‘But I’ve been thinking about last night—’

‘Me, too. In fact I have thought of little else.’ His voice softened, but the blaze in his black eyes was searing.
‘You’re now regretting the loss of your innocence? Perhaps blaming me for what happened?’

She shook her head. ‘No, of course I’m not blaming you. I’m not blaming anyone,’ she said carefully. ‘It’s just I feel I’m worth more than a quick fumble in the office—’