The Sheikh's Undoing (13 page)

He watched as she picked up his discarded tie and began to roll it into a neat silken coil. ‘So, did you miss me?’ he repeated.

Isobel put the tie down and looked at him. What would he do if she told him that she
always
missed him? That she wished she could suddenly become one of his ties, so that she could wrap herself round his neck all day and stay there? He would run a million miles away—that was what he would do. Declarations of adoration were not what Tariq wanted, but she could see perfectly well from his darkening eyes just what he
did
want.

She rose from her desk and walked towards him,
aware of his gaze on her and conscious of the fact that her thighs were bare above her stocking tops. She’d dressed with deliberate daring for the office this morning, knowing that he was bound to want her as soon as he arrived—and determined to feed into the fantasies he had assured her on the phone last night had been building all week.

She might be new to all this, but some survival instinct had made her turn herself into the best lover she could possibly be. Because wasn’t that her default method? To do something to the best of her ability? Didn’t that usually mean security? If you became so good at something then you wouldn’t be replaced.

Only this wasn’t a new job, or a new project which was going to enhance her life. This was all about a relationship—it was strange new territory. Her mother’s often repeated warnings still came to her from time to time, but how could she take them seriously when she was looking into the glittering hunger of Tariq’s black eyes and feeling the lurch of her heart in response?

‘Of course I’ve missed you,’ she said softly.

‘How much, on a scale of one to ten?’

‘Well …’ She pretended to think about it. ‘How about seven?’

‘Seven?’

‘Eight, then. Nine!
Tariq!
Okay—ten!’

‘You’re wearing
stockings
,’ he breathed in disbelief.

‘Well, you’ve nagged me often enough about my tights.’

‘With good reason. Let me see.’ He lifted up her skirt and expelled a small appraising sigh. The tops of the dark silk stockings had been embroidered with deep turquoise and green, so that it looked as if some peacock
had wrapped its feathers enticingly around her thighs and left them there. ‘You know that there are consequences to dressing like that?’ he questioned unsteadily.

‘What kind of consequences might they be?’

‘Can’t you guess?’ he breathed, as he placed her hand on the fly of his trousers.

‘T-Tariq.’

‘I want you, Izzy.’

‘You always want me,’ she whispered back, her fingertips caressing the thick, hard shaft.

He swallowed. ‘And is it mutual?’

‘You know it is.’

He caught her by the shoulders and looked down into her widened tawny eyes. ‘Then why don’t you show me how much you’ve missed me?’ he questioned unsteadily. ‘Because I have missed you too,
kalila
.’

She savoured his unsteady words as she rose up on tiptoe to kiss him, revelling in the sheer pleasure of being in his arms again. She closed her eyes as his practised fingers began to reacquaint themselves with her body. At times like this, when he could reduce her to boneless longing within seconds, it was easy to imagine that a unique bond existed between them. Was that because they seemed to have the ability to anticipate each other’s needs—despite the disparity of their experience—or was it because they simply knew each other so well?

Or was it something far more commonplace? He’d told her candidly that making love without having to wear a condom was the biggest turn-on he’d ever known. For him, that was a brand-new experience, and that was rare enough to excite a man who’d been having sex since he was a teenager. She’d tried telling herself that
Tariq’s reaction to her was purely physical. Because if she looked the truth straight in the face then surely there was less likelihood of her getting hurt?

If only her own feelings were as straightforward. If only she hadn’t started to care. Really care. She wondered if it was normal for a woman to become a little more emotionally vulnerable every time her man made love to her. For her to start wanting things she knew she wasn’t supposed to want—things he’d specifically warned her against? Things that Tariq was renowned for never delivering—and especially to a woman like her. Stuff like commitment and happy-ever-after.

‘Izzy?’

She closed her eyes, letting go of the last of her troubled thoughts, allowing pure and delicious sensation to take over instead. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, as he pushed her down onto the floor and sank down beside her. ‘Oh, yes.’

His fingers were on her flesh now, stroking open the moist and heated flesh at the very core of her, and he was saying,
‘Luloah …’
softly and fervently beneath his breath, something which Isobel had learnt meant ‘pearl’ in his native tongue.

‘You taste of honey,’ he said on a shuddered breath, his mouth high on her thigh.

‘Tariq—’ His tongue had reached the most sensitive part of her anatomy, and Isobel gave a little gasp of pleasure as she felt its delicate flick. Glancing down, she could see the erotic image of her boss’s black head between her legs, and the sheer intimacy of it only increased the sensations which were beginning to ripple through her.

Her head fell back as an unstoppable heat began to
build, and she trembled on the brink as he teased her with his tongue.

‘Tariq,’ she gasped again, clutching at his shoulders, her fingers biting into him.

‘What?’ he drawled against her heated flesh.

Tariq, I think I’m falling in love with you!

But her passionate thoughts dissolved as a feeling of intense pleasure washed over her—strong enough to sweep away everything else in its wake. Wave after wave of it racked her trembling body—and just when she thought it couldn’t get any better he thrust deep inside her.

‘You feel so
good
,’ he said unsteadily.

‘So … do you.’

He thrust even deeper, his breaths becoming long and shuddering. ‘And I’ve been wanting to do this to you
all week
.’

She heard his voice change and felt his body tense, watched him splinter with his own pleasure. She loved the helplessness of his orgasm, feeling in those few heightened moments of sensation that he was really hers.

Afterwards, they lay wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, until Isobel lifted her head to free some of the hair which was trapped beneath his elbow.

‘You know, we’re going to have to stop meeting like this,’ she murmured.

Tariq laughed, drawing his fingers through the spill of her curls and marvelling at how
uncomplicated
all this seemed. His mouth settled into a curve of satisfaction. He could walk in from a trip and within minutes have her writhing and compliant in his arms. There were no demands made, nor questions asked. What could be better than that?

‘I think this is a very good place to meet.’ He yawned. ‘You’ve brought a whole new meaning to the expression “job satisfaction”.’

But Isobel wasn’t really listening. Now that her euphoric state had begun to evaporate she was remembering what she’d been thinking at the height of their lovemaking. About loving him.

She stared at the ceiling, her heart beginning to pound with fear.
Love?
Surely she wasn’t crazy enough to waste an emotion like that on a man who very definitely didn’t want it? Who had explicitly warned her against it? And hadn’t her mother done the very same? She’d managed to convince her daughter that love was rare—and Isobel knew it was an impossibility to expect it from a seasoned playboy who shied away from commitment.

Uncomfortably, she wriggled, wanting to get away, to try and soothe her confused thoughts into some kind of order. ‘Tariq, we can’t lie here all day.’

‘Why not? We can do anything we like.’ He touched his lips to hers. ‘I
am
the boss.’

She pulled away from him—but not before he had caught hold of her, his eyes narrowed. ‘Something is wrong,
kalila?
’ he queried softly. ‘You are angry with me because we have had yet another
fumble
on the floor of the office?’

Isobel smiled. ‘I can hardly blame you for wanting instant sex when I was a willing participant. I just happen to know that there’s a whole pile of things which need your attention. And we
are
supposed to be working.’

Yawning, he rose to his feet and held out a hand. ‘By
the way—I’ve brought you a present from New York,’ he said as he pulled to her feet.

‘Oh?’ She felt her heart skip a beat. ‘It’s not my birthday.’

“That’s a little disingenuous of you, Izzy.’ Walking over to his briefcase, he slanted her a lazy smile as he withdrew a slim leather case. ‘Don’t you like presents?’

She wasn’t sure—her feelings were pretty mixed when it came to presents from Tariq. She wanted to be the first and only woman he’d ever bought a gift for. Not to feel as if she was just one in a long line of women who smiled their acceptance of whatever glittering trinket he had bought them.
But she was. That was exactly what she was
.

She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need presents. Because she knew him too well and she knew how he operated. Her counterpart in New York had probably been dispatched to choose something for her—just as she had chosen such gifts for his lovers many times before. She had probably even consulted him to find out what the budget for such a gift should be.

But she kept silent. She was curious and scared, knowing that she was in no position to make highly charged pronouncements because of what the outcome might be. Because mightn’t he just shrug his shoulders and walk away?

So she took the box he handed her and flipped open the clasp with fingers which were miraculously steady. The first irreverent thought which crossed her mind was that she was pretty low down on the price scale. After five years of choosing various sparklers for Tariq’s women, she could see instantly that her own offering
would not have caused a stratospheric hole in his wallet. No diamonds or emeralds for
her
.

But in a stupid way she was glad. Precious jewels would have been all wrong on someone like her: they would have felt like some sort of
payment
and they wouldn’t have suited her. Instead Tariq had bought her something she might actually have saved up for and bought for herself.

Lying on bed of blue-black velvet lay a shoal of opals, fashioned into in a dramatic waterfall of a necklace. Isobel drew it out of the box. The stones were dark grey—almost black—but as the necklace shimmered over her fingers she could see the transformation of each gem into a vivid rainbow.

‘Do you like it?’ questioned Tariq.

Isobel blinked. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ she whispered.

‘I chose it myself,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I liked the element of surprise. In some lights it looks quite subdued—while in other aspects it’s amazingly vibrant.’ His eyes narrowed and his tone was dry. ‘A little like you, in fact, Izzy.’

Isobel suddenly became extremely preoccupied with the jewellery, swallowing down the glimmer of tears which were hovering at the back of her eyes. He’d chosen it himself. To her certain knowledge he’d never done that before—not in all the time she’d worked for him. So did that
mean
anything? She couldn’t help the wild leap of her heart. Did such an unexpected gesture mean that his feelings for her might be growing and changing? Dared she … dared she
hope
for such a thing?

‘You do like it, Izzy?’

His question broke into her thoughts and she lifted her head. ‘I do like it. In fact, I
love
it.’

‘Good.’ There was a pause. ‘I thought you might want to wear it tomorrow night.’

She heard the studied casualness in his voice. ‘Why? What’s happening tomorrow night?’

‘My brother is in town.’

She blinked. ‘You mean your brother, the
King?
’

‘I only have one brother,’ he answered drily. ‘He flew my sister-in-law to Paris for their wedding anniversary. Francesca hasn’t been back in England in nearly a year, so they’ve decided to come on to London. Our embassy is throwing a formal dinner for them tonight—which I shall have to attend. But tomorrow they want to meet up privately. You’ve spoken to Zahid on the phone so many times that I thought you might like this opportunity to meet him.’

Carefully, she put the necklace back in its case and smiled. ‘I’d love to meet your brother,’ she said.

‘Good.’ Tariq walked through to his private office, calling out over his shoulder, ‘I’ll let you have the details later.’

Isobel waited until the door had closed behind him, then stared at the jewellery case in her handbag, a strange cocktail of emotions forming a tight knot at the pit of her stomach. She might be going out of her mind, but try as she might she couldn’t quite subdue the sudden flare of happiness which rose within her. Hand-picked jewels and meeting his brother were surely remarkable enough to merit a little analysis. Was it possible that, deep down, Tariq was willing to move this relationship on to something a little more tangible?

Cold reason tried to swamp her as she remembered
the emphatic way he’d told her that he didn’t ever want commitment, or a family of his own. But measured against that was the terrible loneliness he’d experienced as a child. Maybe now he was coming to realise that people could change—and so could circumstances. That what they had was good. That it didn’t have to peter out after a few weeks—that maybe it could endure and grow. Was that too much to hope for?

But she felt as if she was on shifting sands—her hopes quickly replaced by a strange feeling of foreboding as she remembered something she’d read somewhere.

She clicked open the box to stare at the multi-hued fire of her brand-new necklace, and frowned. Because weren’t opals supposed to be awfully
unlucky?

‘Y
OU
look
fine
, Izzy. Really.’

For the umpteenth time Isobel smoothed damp palms down over her thick mass of curls, aware that she was probably mussing her hair up instead of flattening it. She frowned at Tariq. What kind of a recommendation was that? ‘Fine’ wasn’t the kind of description she wanted when she was about to meet the King of Khayarzah and his English bride Queen Francesca. Not when she felt so nervous that her knees were actually shaking.