A Whisper of Disgrace(26)
Rosa stared at him in horrified fascination. He came out with the most outrageously chauvinistic statements—worse than her own brothers’ at times—and yet somehow he managed to get away with it. Was that because his sophisticated exterior didn’t necessarily reflect the true man underneath?
Because on the surface he might look like a modern playboy, with his sleek designer suit and his private jet, but beneath all the trappings he was nothing short of primitive. He was powerful and wealthy, yet he certainly wasn’t predictable. His matter-of-fact response to her admission about her paternity had surprised her, and had removed some of the emotional sting from its tail—something she hadn’t thought possible. And wasn’t part of her grateful to him for that? Just as she was grateful for the almost effortless way he had just given her an orgasm.
Her cheeks grew pink as she remembered the way she’d let him touch her and the way that had made her feel. She couldn’t carry on feeling daunted by his sexuality, could she? Despite what she suspected was a very selfish nature, he had just proved to be the most generous of lovers. And surely she should be generous back. How difficult could it be to give a man pleasure? Why not get it over with, so that it was out of the way and that she wouldn’t have to dread it any more?
She lifted her hand to his face, letting her fingers slide over his sensual mouth, and even that brief touch felt electric. As she let her hand drift to the unopened neck of his silk shirt, she could see the suspicion which narrowed his eyes and her words of explanation came out in a breathy rush. ‘Maybe I’ve changed my mind,’ she whispered. ‘Maybe we could make love after all—if you say that your staff would be sure to leave us alone.’
There was a split-second pause. A moment when she saw anger and frustration darken his face, before he swiftly removed her hand from his neck.
‘You think you can play with me, as a cat would a mouse?’ he demanded. ‘That I am a man who can be picked up and put down? Are you nothing more than a tease, Rosa?’
‘No!’ she protested. ‘I never meant to tease you. I was nervous, that’s all—but I think I’m over that now.’
‘Well, that’s too bad,’ he responded acidly, shifting his aching body away from her. Maybe it was time he showed her who she was dealing with—that he was not the kind of man to tolerate a spoiled little girl’s sexual games. His smile was cold. ‘It’s not going to happen. At least, not right now. The flight to Paris only takes fifty minutes and I’m afraid we’ve wasted most of them talking.’
Rosa felt her heart clench. Wasted them? When she’d opened up to him like she’d never done to anyone else? When she’d let him touch her body as nobody had ever touched it before. When she’d decided that maybe she could trust him enough to tell him the truth about her parentage, only now it seemed that he was throwing it all back in her face. When would she ever learn that the only person she could really trust was herself?
‘How silly of me,’ she said lightly.
‘Very silly,’ he agreed, though the tremble of her lips made him briefly wonder whether it was worth telling the pilot to circle the plane so that he could indeed seduce her. Wouldn’t ridding himself of this terrible ache make such an indulgent breach worthwhile?
And yet, hadn’t he been partially responsible for this very unsatisfactory turn of events? He had been leaning forward, about to kiss her, when he had been arrested by the look on her face as he had touched her so intimately. He had never seen a reaction so instant nor so rapturous and hadn’t he just watched her with a kind of dazed voyeurism, instead of undressing her and starting to make love to her?
He shifted his body as he decided against a delayed landing. Maybe it was better this way. The fantasies he had been building about his feisty little Sicilian should be enjoyed in slow time—not in some rushed explosion of need in the rather limited confines of an aircraft.
He snapped shut his seat belt and subjected her to a cool stare. ‘In life, I find that timing is everything. Maybe that’s something you should bear in mind for the future, Rosa.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
KULAL’S BREATH CAUGHT in his throat as Rosa entered the Damask reception room of the Zahrastanian Embassy, looking like a vision in her bridal finery. He stared at her, finding it hard to reconcile the pole-dancing temptress with the woman walking slowly towards him. By necessity, the white gown she wore was modest, covering her entire body so that only her hands and her neck were left bare. Her dark hair was coiled on top of her head and the lace-trimmed veil was held in place by a priceless diamond-and-ruby tiara from the Al-Dimashqi collection.