The Chatsfield Collection Books 1-8. Annie West
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gasp. She’d been too late. The white cotton was wet and clinging to the skin of her torso and the lace-covered curves of her breasts.
Aaliyah looked down and made a moue of distaste his mother would have been proud of, then she giggled. “Too late.”
“My very thought.”
“I guess I’d better take this off, too.”
His conscience demanded he discourage her from that particular course of action, but he refused to listen, watching in lustful fascination as she removed her uniform tie and then the soggy blouse.
Her lacy bra was surprisingly revealing.
“You like pretty lingerie,” he said with a blatant shock that would have indicated the ouzo had already hit his system to anyone who knew him.
Sayed was not blatant. He was subtle. Especially in delicate situations like this one.
Aaliyah nodded. “Why shouldn’t I? I have to dress conservatively for the job, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be as feminine as I like underneath.”
“Your uniform does not mask your womanliness.”
“Are you sure?” she asked very seriously. “I always thought it did.”
Very decisive, he shook his head. “No.”
“This isn’t very modest, is it?” she asked in that way that said her brain was catching up to her actions.
“It is all right,” he heard himself say.
“You would say that. You’re a man.”
“I am.” Despite what many thought, he was indeed a flesh-and-blood male.
“Well, I know what to do.” She nodded with exaggerated movement.
Expecting her to put her damp jacket back on, he sat blinking in lust-ridden surprise as she lifted her hands to fiddle with her hair at the back of her head.
A moment later long, black, silky waves of hair cascaded down over her shoulders and breasts. She arranged it so the wavy strands created a black silk blanket over the tempting mounds of flesh of her breasts.
“There.” She smiled with satisfaction, clearly proud of herself.
“You believe that is more modest?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last word in a way it had not done in more than twenty years.
She looked down, as if trying to figure out why he would ask. “It covers the important bits.”
“It does.” In a way guaranteed to send his libido into overdrive.
She poured herself another glass of water, managing to do so without spilling any of the liquid. Though it was a close thing.
Taking a sip, she gave him a look of expectation.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s your turn.”
“To spill on myself. I do not think so.”
“You don’t have to spill your drink, but you’re supposed to take off your outer robe and stuff.”
“I am?” Had he fallen through the rabbit hole and not realized it?
“It’s only fair.”
That made surprising sense.
He stood up, a little startled at how difficult that simple act had been. “It is called an abaya.”
“I know.”
He let it slide from his shoulders, laying it over the back of the sofa.
“The gold around the collar with burgundy embroidery means you’re a big mucky-muck in Zeena Sahra,” Aaliyah said sagely.
“Yes.”
“So does your egal. I think you should take it off.”
“Why?” He never removed his keffiyah and egal in front of strangers.
The head covering and triple-banded braided cord that bespoke his position as prince were as much a part of him as his close-cropped beard.
“I think you could do with a few hours of not being emir.”
Aaliyah’s words resonating through him, he stared at her. “I think you are right.”
Isn’t that what he’d decided himself not minutes ago?
She nodded, her hair shifting to reveal glimpses of honey-colored flesh he had a near-irresistible urge to taste. The reasons for resisting were melting away with other inhibitions that came with his place of state.
“My current thoughts are definitely not appropriate for an emir,” he admitted.
“So, take it off.”
“Removing my egal won’t take away my role.”
“We’ll pretend it does.”
The idea was very appealing. He gave in and pulled off both the head covering and egal holding it in place.
“Now the suit jacket,” she instructed.
“Are you trying to get me naked?”
“I don’t think so?”
“You don’t sound very sure.” And looked adorably confused by the idea.
AALIYAH’S BROWS DREW together in thought. “You’re supposed to be even with me.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Yes, it does.” She nodded, her head only wobbling a little, her expression all too serious.
There was something flawed in her logic, but he couldn’t identify what just then.
Besides, he liked the idea of stripping away another layer of the trappings that separated him from this woman. It was as satisfying as removing the egal and keffiyeh, letting go of his position for just a few hours in the privacy of the hotel suite.
Inexplicably, his fingers shook as he stripped out of his hand-tailored jacket, burgundy silk tie and gray pinstriped dress shirt.
Aaliyah didn’t seem to notice, her eyes eating him up in a very flattering way. After the hours spent building his muscles while honing fighting skills passed down for generations in his family, he had no false modesty.
But the way she looked at him was not simply that of a woman attracted to his fit body; it was more intense than that.
She watched him with a powerful hunger more honest than any expression he’d seen on a lover’s face.
She made a soft sound that went straight to his groin. “Your hair is too short to cover any skin.”
“You do not sound bothered by that fact.”
She shook her head.
“Perhaps you have noticed, but there is already hair on my chest,” he pointed out.
Taking after his ancestors, it wasn’t too plentiful, but enough he did not look like a boy.
“Yes.” She audibly swallowed. “Your nipples are hard.”
“I bet yours are, too.” And lusciously tempting.
“They are,” she breathed out.
He had to swallow a groan. “Drink more water. I’m having another ouzo.” It tasted about a hundred proof and he rarely drank, but she wasn’t outdoing him.
They both slammed their drinks back. Funnily enough, she choke-coughed on her water. His ouzo had gone down smooth as glass.
They