Postcards From Paris: Bound by His Desert Diamond / Amorous Liaisons / The Secret to Marrying Marchesi. Sarah Mayberry
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body, and she fleetingly found herself wondering who was supposed to be seducing who here.
‘I’m sure we can come to some sort of mutual agreement.’ Her voice came out as a sort of husky burr, more as a result of the sudden dryness of her throat than an attempt at sexiness. Still, it seemed to be working. Bodyguard man was still staring fixedly at her and, even if his granite expression hadn’t softened, there was no doubt she was doing something right.
Raising her arms, Anna went to link them behind his neck. She had no clear thought of what she was doing except that maybe she could persuade him with flattery, or perhaps blackmail him after a kiss—he was certainly getting no more that—so that she could make her escape. It went against her feminist principles but desperate times called for desperate measures.
But before she had the chance to do anything of the sort this hateful man snatched at her wrists, easily clasping them in one hand and bringing them down to her chest at the same time as swinging his other arm around her waist to pull her snugly against him. Anna gasped, the contact with his body, that part of his body, the particular swell of that part of his body, ricocheting through her with clenching waves. Granite-faced he may be, but that wasn’t the only part of his body she had managed to harden.
And, judging by the look on his face, her captor had been taken by surprise too. He was glaring at her with a mixture of horror and hunger, the hand clasping her wrists shaking very slightly before he tightened its grip. Controlling the tremble of her own body, Anna stared back. If this was a small victory, though small was hardly the right word, she was going to make the most of it. Tipping back her head, she trained her eyes on his, forcing his to meet them, to see the temptations that they held, temptations that burned so brightly, even if she had no intention of honouring them. She could sense the quickening of his heartbeat beneath his white shirt, hear the faint rasp in his exhaled breath. She had got him.
‘Princess Anna!’
Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light, illuminating their bodies, freezing them against the backdrop of darkness.
‘What the hell?’ A low growl rumbled from Anna’s captor as he spun around to face the photographer that had crept out of the shadows, the shutter of the camera clicking furiously.
Blinking against the glare, Anna felt her wrists being released as this warrior man lunged towards the photographer, clearly intent on murder. But when she went to move, to make her escape or save the photographer’s life—she didn’t know which—he was right back by her side again, pulling her forcefully into his arms.
‘Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going anywhere.’
‘Come on, Anna. Show us a kiss!’ Bolder now, the photographer took a step closer, the camera flashing all the time.
Anna had a split second to make a decision. If she wanted to get away from this man, avoid being frogmarched back to her own engagement party and forced to announce her betrothal to a man she could never, ever marry, there was one sure way to do it. Standing on tiptoes, she raised her arms to link them behind her captors head, shoving her fingers through the thick swathe of his hair and pulling against his resistance to bring him closer. If this was what the photographer wanted, this was what he was going to get.
With one final, terrifically brave or wildly foolish breath—Anna had no idea which—she reached up to plant her lips firmly on his.
* * *
What the hell?
Shock sucked the air from Zahir Zahani’s lungs, numbing his senses, closing his fists. Plump and firm, her lips had swiftly turned from cold to warm as they sealed his own, the pressure increasing as she raked her hands through his hair to pull him closer. Her breath rasped between them, her delicate scent filling his nostrils, temporarily freezing his brain yet heating every other part of his body. Zahir went rigid, and the arms that were supposed to be restraining her were no more than useless weights as Annalina continued her relentless assault on his mouth. With the blood roaring in his ears, he found his lips parting, his body screaming to show her just where this could lead if she carried on this very dangerous game.
‘Fantastic! Cheers for that, Anna.’
The camera flashes stopped and Annalina finally released him, letting her arms fall by her side. Meanwhile the photographer was already on his scooter, his camera slung over his shoulder.
‘I owe you one!’
Turning the scooter around, he noisily zoomed off into the Paris streets, giving a cheery wave over his shoulder.
Zahir stared after him, suffering a split second of silent horror before his brain finally kicked into action again. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he grabbed his mobile phone. He’d have been able to catch the low life on foot if he didn’t have this vixen to deal with. But his security team would pick him up—get him stopped and get the camera tossed into the Seine, the photographer along with it, if he had any say.
‘No.’ Her cold, trembling fingers closed over the phone in his hand. ‘It’s too late. It’s done.’
‘The hell it is.’ Shaking off her hand, he started to punch in numbers. ‘I can get him stopped. I will get him stopped.’
‘There’s no point.’
He stopped short, the cold determination in her voice halting his hand. ‘And what exactly do you mean by that?’ A trickle of dread started to seep into his veins.
‘I’m sorry.’ Dark-blue eyes shone back at him. ‘But I had to do it.’
Hell! Realisation smacked him across the head. He’d been had. The whole thing was a set-up. This deceitful, conniving little princess had set a trap and he had walked right in. Fury coursed through him. He had no idea what her motive was but he did know that she would live to regret it. Nobody made a fool of Zahir Zahani.
‘You will be sorry, believe me.’ He kept his voice deliberately low, concentrating on controlling the rage that was pumping adrenaline dangerously fast around his veins. ‘You will be more than sorry for what you have done.’
‘I had no choice!’ Her voice was full of anguish now and she even reached out a trembling hand to touch his arm before demurely lowering her eyes to the ground.
Nice try, Princess. But you don’t get to fool me more than once.
Roughly grasping her chin, Zahir tipped back her head so she couldn’t escape his searing gaze. He wanted her to look at him. He wanted her to know exactly who she was dealing with here.
‘Oh, you had a choice, all right. You’ve chosen to bring scandal and disrepute to both our countries. And, trust me, you are going to pay for that, young lady. But first you are going to tell me why.’
He saw her slender body begin to tremble, her bare shoulders hunch against the shiver that ran through her. Bizarrely he itched to touch her, to warm that tantalisingly goose-bumped skin with his hot hands. But he would do no such thing.
‘Because I am desperate.’ Clear blue eyes implored him.
‘Desperate?’ He repeated the word with disgust.
‘Yes. I can’t go back to that party.’
‘So that’s why you set up this little charade?’
‘No, I didn’t set it up, not in the way you mean. I just took advantage of the situation.’ Her voice lowered.
‘You tricked me into following you. You arranged for that photographer to be there.’
‘No! I had no idea that either of you had followed me.’
‘You’re lying. That guy knew you.’
‘He didn’t know me. He knows who I am. There’s a difference. The press have been following me around all my life.’
‘So you are telling me this wasn’t planned?’
Annalina shook her head.
‘Think