A Whisper of Disgrace. Sharon Kendrick
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thin satin of her minidress. Or to slide his hand up her thigh and touch the undoubtedly moist heat which would be searing its way through her panties.
That’s if she was wearing any.
He swallowed, wondering if she could feel the sudden jerk of his erection.
He’d noticed her the moment she’d walked into the nightclub—but then, her shiny red dress had left little to the imagination. She had the type of body which was deeply unfashionable—especially here, in the South of France. She didn’t look as if she spent hours at the gym and she didn’t look as if she existed on a punishing diet either. The kind of diet which always left women with that furrowed and slightly anxious look—as if they were worried they might pass out from hunger. Instead she was ripe and luscious—like a juicy mulberry just before it fell from the tree.
He’d noticed the way her hair had tumbled like dark satin all the way down to her waist and her dress had skimmed the smooth expanse of her bare thighs. Their eyes had met across the dance floor—he had seen her eyes widen as if she had been surprised—and in that moment he had known. Just as he always knew when a woman wanted him. She was his for the taking and he wanted to take her as soon as possible—because one day very soon, this kind of sexual dalliance would be a thing of the past.
Kulal felt his mouth flatten in resignation, for the duty and the protocol of an arranged marriage loomed close on his horizon and his carefree playboy days were numbered. Even if he and his new bride were to agree to an ‘open’ marriage—or at least ‘open’ for him—he knew that in future he would have to conduct his affairs discreetly. He came from the kind of culture where wives turned a blind eye to their husbands’ indiscretions, but marriage brought with it certain responsibilities. Gone would be the days of walking into a nightclub alone, and walking out with a beautiful woman on his arm.
He pressed his lips against the warm, fleshy shell of her ear as they moved in time to the music. ‘What’s your name?’ he questioned.
‘Rosa,’ she replied, instinctively leaving off the ‘Corretti’ bit. He might have heard of her notorious family or he might not, but she wasn’t going to take that risk. Tonight might be her night for behaving recklessly, but not stupidly.
‘Rosa,’ he repeated, running his palm down over the thick spill of her dark hair as if he was stroking the flank of his favourite mount. He smiled as he felt her wriggle in response. ‘I like that too. Are you Italian?’
‘Yes,’ Rosa managed, even though it was difficult to speak when his earthy scent was overpowering her. Who cared that she was being a little economical with the truth? She was Sicilian through and through, and her family would have erupted with rage if they’d heard her claiming to being Italian! But it was easier this way. And she no longer owed her family anything, she reminded herself fiercely. Not a single thing. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘And do you make a habit of pole dancing in nightclubs, Rosa?’
She shook her head. ‘Never done it before in my life.’
‘Interesting. Why not?’
Rosa screwed up her face because this was a path she didn’t want to venture down. She shook her head. ‘Tell me about you instead!’
But Kulal was coming to realise that he didn’t want to have to shout to make himself heard, and he didn’t dare stay on the dance floor with her much longer. Much more of her rubbing her voluptuous body against him and he would be unable to move. So why not cut to the chase and continue this conversation somewhere more private—like the seclusion of his villa complex, with the convenience of a nearby bed?
‘Why don’t we go somewhere a little quieter?’ he suggested.
Rosa swayed. She wished he’d given her some kind of warning before he’d loosened his grip on her like that, because suddenly she felt like a ship which had broken anchor. ‘Like where?’
Kulal frowned as a flicker of irritation skittered over him. Why did women always do this? Why did they pretend total innocence when they both knew exactly how the night was going to end? Trying to suddenly play the innocent was never going to work for someone as foxy as her. He shrugged. ‘I know a place with an amazing view, where we could sit and watch the stars.’
‘Oh, I love the stars,’ said Rosa dreamily.
‘I love them too. So why don’t we get out of here and find our own little piece of heaven?’
He made the words sound so poetic, Rosa thought as a feeling of wooziness shimmered over her again. She tried to remember the last time she’d eaten but it seemed like a long time ago. ‘Okay,’ she agreed carefully.
And Kulal smiled, for it was as easy as he had expected it to be. What Kulal wanted Kulal got. That’s what they always said about him. He’d never had to fight for anything or anyone—except for the one person he’d really wanted, and it hadn’t been possible to fight for her.
She was looking up at him now and the expression on her face was so soft and...trusting—and he didn’t want her to look at him that way. He wanted her hard and hot and sexy. ‘Let’s go and find my car,’ he said, his gaze skating over her bare arms and legs. ‘Do you have a jacket, or something?’
Rosa blinked. Did she? She couldn’t recall. She stared down at the satin minidress which was skimming her thighs. She remembered buying it in that ridiculously expensive boutique in Antibes just a few hours earlier, along with the towering shoes which complemented it. It matched the crimson bag which was hanging from her shoulder on a gilt chain, but she didn’t remember it coming with a jacket.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said vaguely.
The look that Kulal shot her was tinged with apprehension and, as he steered her through the packed dance floor, he suddenly began to regret his impetuous offer. She might look like every man’s fantasy come to life, but now her gait was distinctly unsteady and he began to wonder just how drunk she was. He liked women who weren’t good, that much was true, but he liked them to be sober.
His hand resting in the small of her back, he felt her stagger as they stepped outside the club and he caught her and steadied her. Thank God there were no paparazzi around, he thought grimly as he gently levered her into the back of the waiting limousine and she slumped back in the seat with her long legs splayed out in front of her, her eyelids fluttering to a close.
For the first time in his life, Kulal found himself tugging down the hem of a dress in a vain attempt to introduce a modicum of decency. Now was not the time to make the observation that she was wearing panties. Or that they were lace, by the look of them. ‘Just how much have you had to drink?’ he demanded.
That deeply accented voice penetrated her woolly thoughts and Rosa’s eyes snapped open. The fresh air had made her feel very peculiar but suddenly she felt safe in this luxurious car. And he was still here, she thought. Her black-eyed rescuer from the nightclub who’d held her so closely on the dance floor. She felt very safe with him. So why wasn’t he still holding her? Holding her so tightly that she could forget everything except the sensation of him touching her.
‘Come over here and kiss me,’ she mumbled as his jet-dark eyes swam in and out of focus, before the effort of keeping her eyelids open became too much and she closed them again. ‘Please. Just kiss me.’
Kulal caught hold of her arms and gave her a little shake as he tried to wake her—but he didn’t bother hiding his feeling of disdain, or his growing anger for having allowed himself to get into a situation like this. Did she really think that he wanted to kiss her when she was in that kind of state?
‘Rosa,’ he accused. ‘You are drunk!’
‘I know I am.’ Her head lolled back against the soft leather seat as his unfamiliar words washed over her. ‘And it feels fantastic.’
‘If you could see yourself you would not think that,’ he raged. ‘For a drunken woman is never a pretty sight.’
‘But a drunken man is okay, I suppose?’ she mumbled.