The Sheikh Who Loved Her: Ruling Sheikh, Unruly Mistress / Surrender to the Playboy Sheikh / Her Desert Dream. Kate HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
strokes, while she did nothing but enjoy, but then the urgent need for release overcame her, made her fierce, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, shouting his name and rocking furiously while Mac pressed back against the door to support her weight. He was hers to please and enjoy. No one could get into the room while she had her legs locked around his waist, and she was beyond caring what anyone heard. They were both brutally aroused, and from here it was a short, fast ride to pleasure and oblivion.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE LEFT Lucy to take her shower. He kissed her outside her room, brushing silky strands of hair away from her flushed face. For a moment when he released her her eyes were bright with hope, but then she understood. Pressing her lips together, she quietly left him.
He’d stood outside her closed door without moving before taking the stairs two at a time to his own apartment on the top floor. There was no point in wishing things could be different when he was chained to destiny.
Lucy had set the tradition for canapés and an aperitif before dinner. He settled for a coffee and a croissant in town. He chose an anonymous café none of his friends frequented. He needed space. He needed time to think, but whichever way he played it one thing was non-negotiable. He had to make a clean break from everything in his past in order to give his future to Isla de Sinnebar. He shouldn’t be thinking about Lucy at all, let alone thinking about her in terms of taking her with him—
Forget it!
He pushed his chair back so violently the other customers turned to stare. He paid the bill and clattered outside in his ski boots to harness himself first to his skis and then to the challenge of the mountains where no troubling personal thoughts could intrude.
But they would.
Lucy already meant more to him than he, in fairness to her, could tell her. She always would. She had won his heart in no time flat, and when it came to things he had to give up to be the type of leader he intended to be, she was turning out to be the biggest sacrifice of all.
She was back in uniform, having showered, dressed and cooked dinner. Tom had asked her to hold everything for an hour as Mac had gone out again to ski. That news only added to everything Mac hadn’t said to her outside her room. Fast sex was all part of his race to the finish. She could sense the fact that Mac would be leaving soon, though he was chatting to his friends now he was back as if an aperitif of hot, heavenly sex was an everyday occurrence for him.
Perhaps it was, Lucy reflected, handing round the canapés. Perhaps she was the one who needed a reality check to see those looks he kept flashing her way were just that—concerned looks. He didn’t want her burning dinner, after all.
The meal was a triumph, the group of men told her, and now they were going out skiing on the floodlit slopes while she cleared up. ‘Have a good time,’ she called after them. ‘Breakfast at seven?’ she confirmed with Mac, acting bright and businesslike as if she weren’t hoping for some words of reassurance long before then. He’d changed into jeans, boots and a hooded sweater after taking a shower and looked hot beyond belief, making the gulf between them unbridgeable and herself a fantasist for even imagining it could be any different.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and help you clear up?’
She did a double take, while his friends laughed good-naturedly as if this was the most hilarious suggestion Mac had ever made. ‘Thank you, I’m good,’ she said, smiling a casual smile as if there were nothing between them.
She thought Mac’s look was almost one of disappointment, but then he flashed a glance at his watch and his expression firmed up. ‘We’d better get going,’ he announced to his friends. ‘Time’s running out.’
She shivered inwardly as Theo clapped a hand round Mac’s shoulders as if he understood. They all understood—while, for all her intimacy with Mac, she knew nothing about his private life. ‘Have a good night,’ she said on autopilot, keeping her smile in place until Mac led the men out of the room.
But then her smile faded. She felt sick, weak, foolish and the rest. Someone should have warned her how much love hurt—she’d have been more careful to avoid it. But she could hardly blame Mac for wanting to ski with his friends when the slopes were floodlit for the torchlit procession down the mountain to the village. Skiing was what he was here for, after all. He was hardly going to stay behind on one of the best nights of the year to help her clean the chalet. Plucking a clean cloth from the drawer, she set to. However many knocks life threw at her she was going to bounce back and start over. The next stage would be to forget him.
Forget Mac? Impossible. She would never forget him. She wouldn’t even keep him in her heart as a warning; she’d keep him in her heart because that was where he belonged. And if Mac couldn’t see how she felt about him …
He was hardly going to see it now, Lucy reasoned sensibly, giving the table the polish of its life—it was proving harder to bring up a sheen while her tears were falling on it. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that Mac would soon be gone, or that she only had herself to blame for falling in love with him, but it was one thing being a fool and quite another knowing it.
‘Let me pick up the pieces for you,’ Tom offered, ducking his head inside the helicopter.
Pieces? This was a car crash. ‘No need, Tom. I’ve got it covered.’ He’d been right thinking Lucy wasn’t his usual type of woman, and right again, suspecting he was in too deep. So much for holding back on feelings. Lucy had drawn more feeling out of him than he’d realised he had. She’d given more than he’d ever expected anyone to give—and he had expected no more of Lucy than he expected of any woman.
‘Do you want me to pass on any messages?’ Tom shouted above the roar of the rotor blades starting up overhead.
It was better to make a clean break—better for Lucy. He’d known his destiny since Ra’id had explained it to him when he was just thirteen. He was going back to Isla de Sinnebar to put on the robes of duty and devote himself to the service of a country. In doing so he would lose his freedom. He did this gladly, but a pure, free spirit like Lucy Tennant deserved something better than a man who had to be so single-minded for the sake of his country.
‘Razi?’ Tom pressed him as the engine noise increased.
Guilt and longing swept over him. He felt so bad leaving Lucy. The first of many times he would experience such feelings, he suspected as the image of her open, trusting face remained steady in his mind. ‘If she needs anything, anything at all—a job, a reference …’ Tom and he were almost as close as brothers and there was no need for explanation—they both knew he was talking about Lucy.
He felt diminished as he handed Tom his no-frills business card. He’d signed it so it carried his authority. ‘See she gets this, will you, Tom?’ Before Tom had chance to answer or he had chance to change his mind, he gave the signal and the helicopter lifted off.
What was this? She felt sick inside as she sank down on the bed. She had just switched on the bedside light and seen the money someone had left on the nightstand. Before this moment she hadn’t even known there was such a thing as a five-hundred-euro note—and now there was a stack of them within touching distance.
Not that she wanted to touch them, even though they were crisp and new and looked as though they hadn’t been touched, other than to have whatever paper bands had held them together removed.
There must have been tens of thousands of euros in the neat pile, Lucy realised, staring at them. And there was ice in the pit of her stomach, because she knew. She didn’t need it spelling out to her—she didn’t need to think about it. Mac hadn’t come home with the other men and his bodyguards had gone too. Whoever he was—and she had shut the possibilities out of her mind just to live the fantasy—fabulously wealthy Mac had returned to whatever world he belonged to, leaving her with a small fortune in pinkish, purplish notes, as if sufficient money could paper over the cracks in her heart.
He thought money could do that?
She turned her face to the wall,