Prince of the Desert. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
And in that hot darkness she was immediately transported back to the arousal-drenched hours of the previous night, complete with faithful audio as well as visual record.
Tariq looked down into the face turned up towards his own. Her eyes were closed and her lips were open; even her skin seemed to shimmer with sensual luminosity. He had been wrong, he realised savagely as he felt his own body react to her. She was not just good at her chosen profession. She was exceptional. He couldn’t remember any woman arousing him either so immediately or so intensely—and certainly not both at the same time. His fingers bit into the softness of her arm as he made to shake her off, but still he couldn’t drag his gaze from the temptation of her parted lips. Nor could he stop himself from wanting to reach out and fill his free hand with the weight of one of the soft warm breasts she had pressed so deliberately and enticingly against his arm. Was it because of last night that he was having so much trouble rejecting the images his mind was conjuring up? Because of how she had made him feel then that he wanted her so immediately and fiercely now?
Despite the coolness of the kitchen Tariq could feel sweat dampening his flesh whilst his mind raced with the turmoil of his emotions.
‘Forget it,’ he told her brutally, and pushed her away, keeping only a tight hold on one wrist.
Gwynneth’s eyes snapped open, and she sucked in a distressed breath as reality crashed back down. ‘Forget what?’ she demanded, recouping. ‘Forget that you’ve insulted me—verbally, physically and emotionally?’ The numbing effect of her original shock and his sensual appeal had worn off now, leaving her sick with fury and disbelief.
‘Forget those unsubtle plans you’re hatching for tonight,’ he corrected her. ‘Because I’m telling you now, you won’t be spending it my bed.’
No, she wouldn’t. Because it wasn’t his bed. It was hers, and she had the documents to prove it—or at least she hoped she did. She didn’t have anywhere else to stay, and she certainly wasn’t going to be bullied into moving out of the apartment by a man who had mistaken her for a prostitute!
‘Let go of me!’
For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her, that instead he would pull her close to him again and…
The angry hiss of his breath as he exhaled told her she was wrong.
‘I have to go out now,’ he told her flatly. ‘And you had better not be here when I get back.’ The last thing he wanted was to be seen leaving the apartment with a woman of her type—otherwise he would have physically removed her himself.
And how will you do that? a small, cynical inner voice mocked him. Via the bedroom?
Silencing it, he continued, ‘If you are, then I shall inform the police of your presence and your profession. And since, as I am sure you already know, prostitution is against the law in Zuran, you will be deported and refused future entry to the country.’
Now, abruptly, fear was crawling through her veins and locking onto her anger, feeding off its strength and smothering it.
‘You can’t do that,’ she protested, adding emotionally, ‘You’re making a mistake!’
Tariq’s mouth compressed. ‘No. You are the one who is doing that.’
Gwynneth swung away from him to conceal her expression. Thinking that she was going to walk out on him, Tariq stepped in front of her. Immediately it was as though they were locked together inside an invisible bubble of sensual tension—or so it seemed to Gwynneth as she tried to make her lungs work properly and her heart slow to its normal rate. She couldn’t seem to look anywhere but at the man standing in front of her, to do anything but remember last night—feel anything but the intense arousal that she was feeling.
What was it about her that had this effect on him? Tariq wondered savagely. At no time in the whole of his life had he wanted to take hold of any woman and kiss her until the only words her lips could frame were his name and a plea for more.
Hold me…touch me…make me yours. Gwynneth could feel the words pounding through her veins with every thud of her heartbeat, filling her mind and her senses. So much so that she felt as though they were written into her flesh. Her angry pride fought with the liquid heat of her desire and was overwhelmed by it as it flooded over the rigid barriers trickling through every tiny hole it could find to reunite in a fast-flowing surge that took her across the no man’s land that was the space between them and into the heat zone of Tariq’s body. She could sense the command going from his brain to his muscles to lift his arms so that they could enfold her. And once they had…
There was a ringing sound inside her head. No, not inside her head. The noise was coming from the mobile Tariq was lifting to his ear as he turned away from her. Who was calling him? A woman? Something previously unknown and darkly dangerous ripped at her emotions.
‘Where are you? You were supposed to be at the marina ten minutes ago.’
‘I’ve been delayed,’ Tariq answered, looking briefly at Gwynneth and wondering how much she was being paid to spy on him as well as go to bed with him before he added coolly, ‘Chad will understand why when I explain.’
‘You’d better hope he does. Otherwise you’re going to be in big trouble. Get yourself down here, double-quick.’
There was no time for him to argue with Gwynneth. Nor to do anything else with her either. Like what? There wasn’t anything he wanted to do with her.
Liar, an inner voice goaded him as he opened the kitchen door. He ignored it as he paused to warn her, ‘Remember what I told you. When I get back I don’t want to find you here. If you are, you know what you can expect.’
CHAPTER FOUR
GWYNNETH tottered over to the table and sank down thankfully into one of the chairs. Her legs felt boneless, her heart was racing, her forehead was damp with sweat and her mouth was dry. Classic signs of fear—or sexual excitement.
What on earth was happening to her? A man—a stranger—a naked stranger—walked into her bedroom, and instead of screaming for help she went to bed with him. That same man accused her of being a prostitute and she still let herself be aroused by him. Let herself? Since when, in the whole of this nightmarish scenario, had what purported to be the thinking, reasoning part of her had any say in anything? Why hadn’t she insisted on him listening to her? Why hadn’t she made him understand just how wrong he was?
She would have to inform the young man who was trying to help her what had happened. Well, at least some of what had happened, she amended mentally. Why hadn’t she insisted on him, her co-owner, giving her his name? That way at least she would have had something concrete to pass on to the authorities. Was he the rightful owner of the apartment or was she?
She looked for her handbag. It was on the worktop. She found the card the young official had given her and tapped his phone number into her mobile.
He answered her call almost immediately. Introducing herself, she asked anxiously if he remembered their meeting, exhaling in relief when he assured her that he did. Quickly she told him what had happened.
‘You say this man claims that he too is the owner of the apartment?’ the young official questioned.
‘That’s what he said,’ Gwynneth confirmed unhappily.
‘We have no record as yet of anyone else lodging a claim against this apartment,’ he assured her.
‘So that means that I am in the clear to stay here, does it?’ Gwynneth pressed him.
‘Certainly,’ he agreed promptly. ‘We know that your apartment block is one of those involved in this unfortunate fraud, but as yet no one else has come forward to claim ownership of your particular apartment. However, as I explained to you, that does not mean another potential owner does not exist,’ he cautioned.
‘But until they actually present themselves to you and make a legal claim the apartment is notionally at least mine?’
‘You