The Sheikh's Last Gamble. Trish Morey
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retrace its steps, no matter how hard it searched.
‘The co-pilot said—’
‘I know what he said!’ he spat, not needing input from the likes of her.
‘Oh, good. Because I thought maybe you’d developed a hearing problem. I should have realised it was a problem with your powers of comprehension.’
‘Oh, I’ve got a problem all right, and it begins and ends with you.’
She blinked up at him, feigning innocence. ‘Did I do something wrong?’
Suddenly the turbulence inside him exploded. He wheeled around and clamped his hands on the arms of the chair either side of her, his face occupying the space hers had been just moments before. He almost grunted his satisfaction, because he liked the way she’d jumped and pressed herself as far back as she could in the chair. He liked knowing he’d taken her by surprise. And, strangely, he liked knowing she wasn’t as unaffected by his presence as she made out. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’
Inches from his own, those rich caramel eyes opened wide enough until they were big enough to lose yourself in. He watched them, knowing the dangers, watching their swirling depths as she tried to come up with an answer. He’d lost himself in those eyes once before, lost himself in their promises and their persuasion. But that was before, and for all their seductive power he sure as hell wouldn’t let that happen again, no matter what pleasures they promised.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He shook his head, not believing. ‘Then maybe I should spell it out for you. I’m talking about being stuck here—you and me. I expressly told Zoltan I wouldn’t do this. I told him there was no way you would agree. And yet here we find ourselves, together. How did that happen, do you suppose? Unless you agreed to it. And I have to ask myself, what possible reason could you have for doing that? What were you thinking?’
She tried to hide her nervous swallow, but he missed nothing of the tiny tilt of her chin and the movement in her throat. He had trained himself to spot the tiniest shift in facial expression or body language of his opponents, a skill that had stood him in good stead through many a poker game. He knew she was hiding something. Did she imagine that there was a chance for them again? Did she think that, because he’d accompanied Zoltan and the others to Mustafa’s camp, it meant something? That he was ready to take her back?
She looked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘You think I really want to be here, imprisoned thousands of feet above the earth with you and your black mood?’
Her words were no kind of answer, and he would have told her, only he was suddenly distracted by a stray strand of hair that looped close to the corner of one of those eyes. ‘Somebody must have agreed,’ he rumbled as he raised one hand. ‘And it sure as hell wasn’t me.’ She flinched as his fingers neared, holding her breath as he gently swept the hair back, surprised when he felt a familiar tremor under her skin, disturbed even more when he felt a corresponding sizzle under his own.
Abruptly he pushed himself away and stood with his back to her, rubbing his hands together to rid himself of the unwelcome sensation. ‘Don’t you think I’ve got better things to do than waste my time babysitting a spoilt princess?’
‘I absolutely agree,’ she said behind him. ‘I’m quite sure there’s a casino just waiting to be fleeced by the famous Sheikh of Spin. I can’t imagine how you managed to drag yourself away.’
His hands stilled. He didn’t need any reminders of why he wasn’t still at the roulette table. He turned slowly. ‘Be careful, princess.’
She jerked up her chin. ‘That’s the second time you’ve addressed me by my title. Is it so long that you’ve forgotten my name? Or can you just not bring yourself to utter it?’
‘Is it so long that you’ve forgotten that I said I never wanted to see you again?’
‘Maybe you should have thought of that before you turned up outside my tent that night.’
‘Is that what this is about? Why should that change anything? Or were you merely hoping to thank me?’
‘Thank you? For what?’
‘For rescuing you from Mustafa.’
‘Oh, you kid yourself, Bahir. You weren’t there for me. You were along for the ride, only there to have fun with your band of merry men. A little boys’ own adventure to whet your taste for excitement. So don’t expect me to get down on bended knees to thank you.’
A sudden memory of her on bended knee assailed him, temporarily shorting his brain, just as her mouth and wicked tongue had done back then. Not that she’d been thanking him exactly that time. More like tasting him. Laving him with her tongue. Devouring him. In fact, if he remembered correctly, he’d been the one to thank her …
He shook his head, wondering if he would ever be rid of those images, knowing he would miss them in the dead of sleepless nights if they were gone. But that minor concession didn’t mean he welcomed their presence now while he was trying to make a point. ‘I wouldn’t want your thanks anyway. If I did anything that night, it was out of loyalty to Zoltan and my brothers. It was duty, nothing more.’
‘How very noble of you.’
‘I don’t care what you call it. Just don’t go thinking that I’ve changed my mind about what I said back then. You’d be kidding yourself if you did. What we had is over.’
‘You really think you have to tell me that? I have no trouble remembering what you said. Likewise, I have no trouble believing you mean it now, just as you meant it then. And, for the record, it is you who are kidding yourself if you think I am insane enough to want you to change your mind. After what you said to me, after the way you treated me, I wouldn’t take you back if you were the last man left on earth!’
He sat back down in his seat. ‘So we understand each other, this is merely duty. Of the most unpleasant kind.’
Her eyes glared across at him as he buckled up. ‘Finally you say something I can agree with.’
Her agreement offered no satisfaction. His mood only mirrored the darkening sky as the plane descended judderingly through the clouds, icy rain clawing at the windows, the tempestuous winds tearing at the wings—and a sick feeling in his gut that, whatever the weather, things were not about to improve.
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