Pregnant By The Desert King. Susan StephensЧитать онлайн книгу.
could that be true?’ Khalid queried. ‘I’ve only just learned about her. But, good hunting—you’d be surprised how many women are delighted to be seduced in the Golden Suite.’
‘No doubt spurred on by the inspiration provided by the artwork,’ Tadj commented dryly. ‘But this one’s different.’
‘Different how? She’s a woman, isn’t she?’
Seeing his expression, Khalid shrugged. ‘You’ve got it bad, my friend.’
* * *
Bad? Tadj ground his jaw as he sprang out of the Sapphire’s lap pool. Bad was putting it mildly. Grabbing a towel, he dried his exercise-pumped body with impatience. Warnings should be issued with Lucy, that she could change the direction of his thoughts within ten minutes of meeting her. Even exercise hadn’t helped him today. He’d never known anything like this. Women didn’t get to him; he got to them. Lucy was so young and unsophisticated, she couldn’t know the tricks that others played. Funny, blunt and challenging, she was absolutely irresistible, and irresistible was the one thing he didn’t need. His usual type knew the score, and were sophisticated enough to use him for what they wanted, without complication. The feeling was mutual, but he couldn’t be that way with Lucy. Innocence came at a price, and, though he was no saint, the thought of waking her to physical pleasure was driving him crazy.
Having dressed and checked every timepiece and lump of tech on board in order to convince himself that minutes really could tick by so slowly, he parked the shave and transferred his pacing from ship to shore. He hadn’t experienced this level of anticipation since he’d been an overeager youth. When he spotted Lucy standing in the doorway of the laundry, it was as if an atomic reaction went off in his brain. They locked eyes, and he walked towards her. It was the challenge on her face that aroused him. Her body language said she knew who he was, and intended to make him pay for withholding the information.
‘You have a lot of explaining to do,’ she said.
All he was aware of now was her intoxicating wildflower scent.
‘Am I late?’ he said, glancing at his wristwatch and frowning, as if he didn’t know what she meant.
‘Don’t try that on me,’ she warned him, narrowing her astonishing jade-green eyes in the very best type of threat.
‘Good evening to you too,’ he murmured mildly, maintaining eye contact.
‘Good evening, Your Majesty.’
‘My name is Tadj,’ he reminded her quietly.
‘The Emir of Qalala, I believe.’
He wanted to kiss her as her expressive mouth twisted in a wry smile.
‘What are you doing?’ she protested as he dragged her close.
‘What does a title change about me?’
‘Everything,’ she said as he brushed her lips teasingly with his. ‘Are you going to let me go now?’
‘No.’
The first kiss was extraordinary in that it fired every part of him, and made it vital there were more. ‘Let’s start over,’ he said, releasing her before she was quite ready. ‘Good evening,’ he murmured.
‘Good evening, Your Majesty,’ she teased him, still trying to catch her breath. They stared at each other with a mixture of acceptance and humour. ‘You’ve got a long way to go to recover your credibility,’ she warned, testing her kiss-bruised lips with the tip of her tongue.
‘More tolerance required,’ he suggested.
‘On my part?’ she queried.
‘Yes, on your part,’ he confirmed. ‘Shall we?’ He glanced in the direction of the super yacht.
The Sapphire was a fabulous vessel. Even he was impressed from here, where he could appreciate every inch of it, blazing with light from bow to stern. Party planners had been working tirelessly all day to create a fairyland for the guests, and, though she might still be reeling from the unexpected start to their evening, even Lucy couldn’t hide her excitement.
‘No more deception, and no more surprises,’ she warned as they approached the security gates. ‘Promise—or I’m not going any further.’
‘When you look at me like that...’
‘What?’ she murmured, her eyes darkening.
He would promise her almost anything, he thought, but sensibly confined himself to a wry smile and a shrug.
‘So you’re really the Emir of Qalala?’ she said as the security guards waved them through.
‘I really am,’ he confirmed.
‘I’m impressed.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he argued with amusement. ‘Not by my title, anyway.’
‘Are you always so confident?’
‘Always.’ Except for tonight, he thought, because Lucy was a whole new experience.
‘You’re one of the infamous Sapphire Sheikhs,’ she observed. ‘That alone is supposed to impress me, isn’t it?’
‘Legendary, rather than infamous, I’d hope.’
She shrugged and halted. ‘You should have told me you’re one of the world’s richest men.’
‘Told you, why?’ he asked. They were approaching the gangplank where a queue of guests was forming.
‘Because it makes us very different,’ she said.
‘If we’re so ill matched, why are you here? For a glimpse into the life of the super-rich?’
‘That’s part of it,’ she admitted frankly.
If he’d been looking for a smooth-tongued casual date, a woman who would do and say everything she could to impress him, he’d got it badly wrong—and thank goodness for that!
‘SIR...’
One of the security guards, having recognised Tadj, escorted them to a second boarding point a bit further along than the first.
‘What’s that the other guests are holding?’ Lucy asked him as she gazed at those queuing patiently to have their identities checked before being allowed on board.
This was her first taste of life on the other side of the Sapphire Sheikh divide, he reminded himself as he explained, ‘Sheikh Khalid’s invitations have been issued in silver boxes, studded with sapphires.’
‘Recyclable, I hope,’ she teased him with a cheeky smile.
‘Yes,’ he confirmed, matching her mood. ‘The box has to be large enough to hold a passport and other documentation, such as a visa.’
‘You need passports to get on board?’ Lucy exclaimed, staring up at him with an engaging mix of indignation and surprise.
‘Only when certain guests disembark in certain countries,’ he explained with a shrug. ‘The party doesn’t last for one night,’ he added when she looked at him in bemusement. ‘It lasts at least a week.’
‘Not for me, it doesn’t,’ she assured him. ‘And, anyway, I don’t have my passport with me.’
‘None needed,’ he confirmed. ‘The umbrella of diplomatic immunity covers both of us.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, turning serious and concerned. ‘I haven’t signed up for a cruise. A couple of hours with you will be enough.’
‘For me too,’ he assured her dryly.
They