The Royal House of Karedes: One Family: Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress / The Desert King's Housekeeper Bride / Wedlocked: Banished Sheikh, Untouched Queen. Carol Marinelli
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torture were too exquisite. She thought he was as turned on as she, his body was so rigid and she was sure she could feel him shaking while he took possession of her mouth with his tongue. Oh, his tongue and his lips tasted of paradise and they alternately nibbled and devoured her. She moaned again under the onslaught of sensual pleasure, the promise of carnal delight and she couldn’t wait much more. She wanted that tongue everywhere; she wanted him everywhere. She wanted it all, right now.
And then he was gone. Wrenching his head free of her hands, which were roughly tugging through his thick hair, he stepped back, whirled round and planted his back on the wall next to hers. He rammed both fists beside him onto the cool concrete. It must have hurt. Side by side they stood. Silent save for the rush of breathing and the fight to get it back to normal speed.
Finally James spoke. Quick, rough, all banter banished. ‘You were right.’
Bemused, she turned her head, wanting to read his expression. But side on she saw nothing but the set of his jaw and lowered lids as he scrutinised the stairs going down ahead of them.
She just wanted him to step closer again.
His frown deepened and when he spoke again the words impacted much more clearly. ‘That wasn’t a good idea.’
A chill feathered over her—making goose bumps rise on her overheated skin. For all her supposed wild-child ways she’d never contemplated sex in a stairwell before. And one minute ago she hadn’t just been contemplating it, she’d nearly begun to beg. She’d been the one moaning; she’d been the one rocking against him; she’d been the one to incite it all. He’d just stayed tight and hard—right up against her. Except for his tongue, which he damn well knew how to use, he hadn’t been moving at all.
And he was regretting even that already. Here she was feeling both shattered and completely turned on and he was thinking, uh oh, bad move. It was written all over him—in the way he’d thrust away from her, not into her as she’d wanted.
Humiliation seeped through every cell. Had she turned him off? He’d only asked for a kiss and she’d offered him everything on a platter. Side order of fries and free dessert included—all at once. Too far, too fast.
And he wasn’t interested. Right now he wouldn’t even look at her.
‘Then let’s just forget it ever happened.’That sure was what she intended to do. With cold precision she moved forward, up the last flight of stairs to where their offices were.
He didn’t reply, didn’t follow. Didn’t appear in the office for another twenty minutes—during which time she’d managed a side trip to the bathroom to fix her face and hair. She winced at her reflection—all big eyes and puffy lips and hard nipples.
When he walked back into the office suite he didn’t acknowledge her. Just nodded generally in the direction of her and the temp secretary, stalking straight into his office and closing the door. Clearly he’d paid a trip to the little room too because his hair wasn’t sticking up the way it had after she’d had her fingers through it.
She’d never had an experience where she’d slipped so out of control. As far as he’d be concerned she’d have proved herself right on one thing only—that she was pretty fast. But he’d never know that that was only with him. She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself like that again.
Utterly mortified she sat and forced herself to focus and work hard on the arrangements. She refused to fail now. It was precisely what they all expected her to do. Even James. Especially James.
Now more than ever, she needed to prove him wrong.
THE exhibition opening at the contemporary art gallery was a do that many of the socialites had been hyped up about for days. It was going to be the most fabulous party, darling, everyone who was anyone was going to be there—the Premier of the State, the actors, the models and, yes, even the newest princess in the city.
Liss had been looking forward to it simply for the fun it promised, but now she was even keener given her current task. If it was that fabulous then she wanted to know why. What was it that made one party so much more successful than another? She intended to start analysing, not just enjoying.
She arrived only a little late and looked around, taking in the décor, the drama of the entrance, the ambience and atmosphere as well as the practicalities—who took the coats and bags and where they put them, how the drinks were being served and the nibbles were being presented. She slowly walked around the perimeter, for once not going straight into the centre of the action. Instead she stood back, trying to take in the whole picture.
‘Taking notes?’ An all-too-familiar sarcastic voice at her shoulder finally made her pay attention to the other guests—well, one in particular.
She turned slowly to face him, giving herself time to hide the involuntary smile. The sight of him in a tux would always make her smile and her body sizzle—she mentally dove into a tub of ice. ‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ She registered the wariness in his expression and chilled down further.
‘Tell me what you see, then. What can you learn from this party?’
She decided to take the question at face value and ignore the suggestion of cynical disbelief. ‘I like the way there are so many wait staff no one is going to have a problem getting a drink or something to snack on.’
He didn’t look overly impressed. ‘I guess it’s always good to satisfy appetites. You wouldn’t want anyone to be left hungry for more.’
She shot him a quick sideways look but his face was bland.
‘Actually hungry for more is a good thing,’ she declared, determined not to agree with him. ‘Having enough, or, worse, overindulging, can leave a sickly taste. You want them to look back on the night wishing they could have had more, could have stayed for longer. Wishing there was another party just like it the next night.’
‘But there won’t be, will there? The situation can’t be replicated. So aren’t you in danger of everyone leaving with a feeling of disappointment?’
‘All good things must come to an end.’ She fell back on cliché. ‘Better to have everyone finish on a high rather than overtired and no longer wanting the indulgence.’
He stared at her for a moment too long and her discomfort increased. They were just talking parties, right? Because if they weren’t, she felt the need to point out he was the one who’d broken up their own little private party the other day a tad early for her liking. She was the one left disappointed. She was the one reliving humiliation now with warming cheeks.
Rapidly she moved on to another point. ‘But the music is too loud, that’s a basic no-no. People can’t hear each other talk.’
‘Do they really want to talk, though? And if they do, they have to get closer to hear. Isn’t that a good thing?’
She looked at him, realised he was standing closer than convention and felt the heat rise more. ‘It rather depends on what you want to get out of the occasion. What’s the point of the party?’
‘All the best parties are the ones where people hook up.’ His smile made an appearance—the caustic one. ‘And it gives the other guests something to talk about. They all love a little gossip.’
He looked around, seeming to enter the spirit of analysis while she tried to figure him out. Was he flirting? Quite what they were analysing and why was a little fuzzy to her. That, combined with the aftermath of the kiss earlier in the week, had her on the defensive.
‘What about the lighting? It’s a little bright, isn’t it?’he asked.
‘It’s an art gallery, James.’ She relished the rare opportunity to make a comment as witheringly as he so often did.
‘Yeah,