Hot-Blooded Husbands: the Sheikh's Chosen Wife. Michelle ReidЧитать онлайн книгу.
of his hand, then turned to stride off on long slender legs with his husky laugh following as she pulled him behind her.
Back in their stateroom, now magically cleared of all evidence that they had eaten, they parted at the end of the bed, one stepping to one side of it, one to the other. Eyes locking in a needle-sharp, sensual love game, they disrobed together, climbed into the bed together and came together.
Hot, slow and deep, they made love into the night and didn’t have to worry about empty spaces in between because one loving simply merged into another until—finally—they slept in each other’s arms, legs entwined and faces so close on the pillows that the sleep was almost a long kiss in itself.
Leona came awake to find the place beside her in the bed empty and felt disappointment tug at her insides. For a while she just lay there, watching the sunlight seeping in through the window slowly creep towards her across the room, and tried not to let her mind open up to what it was bringing with it.
After a night built on fantasy had to come reality, not warm, like the sun, but cold, like the shadow she could already feel descending upon her even as she tried to hold it back for a little while longer.
A sound caught her attention. Moving her head just a little, she watched Hassan walk out of the bathroom wearing only a towel, his sun-brown skin fashioned to look almost like skillfully tanned leather. For such a dark man he was surprisingly free of body hair, which meant she could watch unhindered each beautifully toned muscle as he strode across to one of the concealed doors in the wall and sprung it open at a touch to reveal a wardrobe to provide for the man who had everything. A drawer was opened and he selected a pair of white cotton undershorts, dropped the towel to give her a glimpse of lean tight buttocks before he pulled the shorts on. A pair of stone-washed outer shorts followed. Zipped and buttoned, they rested low on a waist that did not know the meaning of spare flesh to spoil his sleek appearance. A casual shirt came next, made of such fine white Indian cotton she could still see the outline of his body through it.
‘I can feel you watching me,’ he remarked without turning.
‘I like to look at you,’ Leona replied. And she did; rightly or wrongly in their present situation, he was a man to watch whatever he was doing, even fastening buttons as he was doing now.
Shirt cuffs left open, he turned to walk towards the bed. The closer he came the faster her heart decided to beat. ‘I like to look at you, too,’ he murmured, bracing his hands on either side of head so he could lean down and kiss her.
He smelt clean and fresh and his face wore the smooth sheen of a wet razor shave. Her lips clung to his, because she was still pretending, and her arms reached up so she could clasp them round the back of his neck. ‘Come back to bed with me,’ she invited.
‘So that you can ravish me? No way,’ he refused. ‘As the wise ones will tell you, my darling, too much of a good thing is bad for you.’
He kissed her again to soften the refusal, and his mouth was smiling as he straightened away, but as his hands reached up to gently remove her hands she saw the toughening happening behind his eyes. Hassan had already made contact with reality, she realised.
With that he turned away and strode back to the wall to spring open another set of doors which revealed clothes for the woman who wanted for nothing—except her man. And already she felt as if he had moved right out of her reach.
‘Get up and get dressed,’ he instructed as he walked towards the door. ‘Breakfast will be served on the sun deck in fifteen minutes.’
As she watched him reach for the door handle the shadow of reality sank that bit deeper into her skin. ‘Nothing has changed, Hassan,’ she told him quietly. ‘When I leave this room I won’t be coming back to it again.’
He paused, but he did not turn to glance back at her. ‘Everything has changed,’ he countered grimly. ‘You are back where you belong. This room is only part of that.’ Then he was gone, giving her no chance to argue.
Leona returned to watching the sun inch its way across the cream carpet for a while. Then, on a sigh, she slid out of the bed and went to get herself ready to face the next round of argument.
In another room not that far away Hassan was facing up to a different opponent. Ethan Hayes was standing there in the clothes he had arrived in minus the bow tie, and he was angry. In truth Hassan didn’t blame him. He was wearing a bruise on his jaw that would appal Leona if she saw it, and he had a thick head through being encouraged to imbibe too much alcohol the night before.
‘What made you pull such a crazy stunt?’ he was demanding.
Since Hassan had been asking himself the same thing, he now found himself short of an adequate answer. ‘I apologise for my men,’ he said. ‘Their…enthusiasm for the task got the better of them, I am afraid.’
‘You can say that again.’ Ethan touched his bruised jaw. ‘I was out for the count for ten minutes! The next thing I know I am stuck on a yacht I don’t want to be on, and Leona is nowhere to be seen!’
‘She’s worried about you, too, if that is any consolation.’
‘No, it damn well isn’t,’ Ethan said toughly. ‘What the hell was wrong with making contact by conventional methods? You scared the life out of her, not to mention the life out of me.’
‘I know, and I apologise again.’ Not being a man born to be conciliatory, being forced to be so now was beginning to grate, and his next cool remark reflected that. ‘Let it be said that you will be generously compensated for the…disruption.’
Ethan Hayes stiffened in violent offence. ‘I don’t want compensation,’ he snapped. ‘I want to see for myself that Leona is okay!’
‘Are you daring to imply that I could harm my wife?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ Ethan returned in a tone deliberately aimed to provoke. ‘Overenthusiasm can be infectious.’
Neither man liked the other, though it was very rare that either came out from behind their polite masks to reveal it. But, as the sparks began to fly between the two of them, this meeting was at risk of being one of those times. Leona might prefer to believe that Ethan Hayes was not in love with her. But, as a man very intimate with the symptoms, Hassan knew otherwise. The passion with which he spoke her name, the burn that appeared in his eyes, and the inherent desire to protect her from harm all made Ethan Hayes’ feelings plain. And, as far as Hassan was concerned, the handsome Englishman’s only saving grace was the deep sense of honour that made him respect the wedding ring Leona wore.
But knowing this did not mean that Hassan could dismiss the other man’s ability to turn her towards him if he really set his mind to it. He had the build and the looks to turn any woman’s head.
Was he really afraid of that happening? he then asked himself, and was disturbed to realise that, yes, he was afraid. Always had been, always would be, he admitted, as he fought to maintain his polite mask because, at this juncture, he needed Ethan Hayes’ cooperation if he was going to get him off this boat before Leona could reach him.
So, on a sigh which announced his withdrawal from the threatening confrontation, he said grimly, ‘Time is of the essence,’ and went on to explain to the other man just enough of the truth to grab his concern.
‘A plot to get rid of her?’ Ethan was shocked and Hassan could not blame him for being so.
‘A plot to use her as a lever to make me concede to certain issues they desire from me,’ he amended. ‘I am still holding onto the belief that they did not want to turn this into an international incident by harming her in any way.’
‘Just snatching her could do it,’ Ethan pointed out.
‘Only if it became public property,’ Hassan responded. ‘They would be betting on Victor and myself holding our silence out of fear for Leona’s safety.’
‘Does she know?’ Ethan asked.
‘Not yet,’ Hassan