The Sheikh's Collection. Оливия Гейтс
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protest was stifled with a hungry kiss. She could hear the rasp of his zip and the buoyant weight of his erection as it sprang free. She reached down to touch him, her fingertips skating over his silken hardness before he removed her hand. Cushioning the weight of her bottom with his hands, he positioned himself where she was hot and wet for him and thrust deep inside her.
Her legs wrapped tightly around his hips, Sara clung to him as they rocked in rhythm, but it was over very quickly. Her head wilted like a cut flower as she leaned it against his shoulder and her voice was sleepy in his ear.
‘Nice,’ she murmured.
‘Is that the best you can do? I was hoping for something a little more lyrical than “nice”.’
‘Would stupendous work better?’
‘Stupendous is a good word,’ he said.
‘Listen.’ She kissed his neck. ‘Do you want to go to the opening of that gallery in Whitechapel? The one I told you about? It’s tonight.’
He lifted up a handful of hair and brushed his lips against her neck. ‘No, I don’t—and neither do you. Let’s just stay home. I’m making dinner and afterwards I’m sure we can find ways to amuse ourselves.’
Sara could feel the warmth of her orgasm beginning to ebb away. ‘Suleiman, I have to go.’
‘No, you don’t. You don’t have to go anywhere. You’ve been working all day as it is.’
‘I know I have. But this is my job. Remember?’ She thought of her mother and the way she’d let all her options slide away from her. She thought of the way that men could manoeuvre women into a corner, if you let them. And she wasn’t going to let Suleiman do that to her. She bent down to pick up the tattered lace which had once been her panties. ‘I’ve been a major part of the whole campaign from the get-go and I want to see the launch. It’s expected of me and it would look very odd if I wasn’t there. But I asked Gabe whether I could bring you along—and he said yes.’
There was a pause. ‘How very generous of him,’ he said acidly. ‘And you didn’t think to give me any notice?’
‘Actually, I did.’ She tried to ignore the dangerous note in his voice, telling herself that she had sprung this on him at the last minute. And why had that been? Because she’d feared just this kind of reaction if she’d said anything about it sooner? ‘I tried ringing, but you weren’t picking up. Look, you really don’t have to go to this, Suleiman, but I do. So I’m going to take a shower and get ready.’
Without another word, she walked into the bedroom and stripped off her clothes before hitting the shower. She half expected Suleiman to follow her, but he didn’t.
She was not going to feel guilty. Furiously, she lathered shampoo into her hair. If he loved her—as he said he loved her—then shouldn’t he be making more of an effort to integrate into her world, and her life?
He could meet Gabe and he’d see Alice again—as well as some of the other graphic designers she’d spoken about. Wasn’t that what modern coupledom was all about?
But as she blow-dried her hair in front of the bedroom mirror her fears just wouldn’t seem to leave her. She found herself wondering if they were just playing at being modern. Pretending that everything was fine, when deep down nothing had really been addressed. At heart, wasn’t Suleiman just another old-fashioned desert warrior who was incapable of any real change?
Knowing that the press would be there, as well as the usual smattering of celebrity guests, she was extra generous with the mascara. She could hear the sound of water running in the bathroom next door and moments later Suleiman walked into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his hips.
He rubbed at his damp hair with a second towel and she thought how powerful his body looked. The whiteness of the towel contrasted against the deep olive of his skin and droplets of water gleamed there, as if he’d been showered with tiny diamonds.
‘Oh, good,’ she said, and smiled. ‘You’ve decided to come.’
‘Reluctantly,’ he growled as he pulled a white shirt from the wardrobe.
She watched him from the mirror as she finished fiddling around with her make-up. He looked heartstoppingly gorgeous in that dark suit which emphasised the blackness of his hair and eyes. She wondered what Alice would say when she saw his name on the guest list. She wondered how he would fit in with all her work colleagues. But her heart was suddenly ridiculously light. He was coming, wasn’t he? How could they fail to love him, as she loved him?
She had just slithered her dress over her head, when his words whispered through the air and startled her.
‘You’re not wearing that?’
She felt the clench of her heart, but she turned round to face him, a sanguine expression on her face. She smoothed her fingers down over the fine gold mesh and smiled. ‘I am. Do you like it?’
‘No.’
‘Well, that’s a pity. It’s made by one of London’s top designers, so it’s eminently suitable for tonight’s party.’
‘It may be, but it is also much too short. You’re practically showing your panties.’
The tone of his voice made her heart contract, but she was determined not to back down. She’d thought that they were over all this.
‘Don’t exaggerate, Suleiman—and please don’t come over all heavy on me. The dress is a fashionable length and I’m wearing it. End of story.’
Their eyes met and she became aware of the silent war being waged between them and she tried to see it from his point of view. In Suleiman’s world, a woman going out in public wearing a dress this short was sending out a very definite message.
‘Look, I know it’s the way you’ve been brought up,’ she said. ‘But you’ve really got to lose this idea that women are either saints or scrubbers. I’m wearing gold tights and long boots with it. The boots you bought me in Paris, actually—’
‘And I bought those for you to wear in the bedroom.’
‘Yes. Well, it may have missed your notice—’ she lifted up her leg to reveal the sole of the boot ‘—but they have real heels made for walking. They weren’t designed just for the bedroom! So are you going to lighten up and enjoy the evening?’ Her gold bangles jangling, she walked over to him, placing one hand on his shoulder as she tilted her head to one side. ‘Are you?’
There was a moment while their eyes fought another silent, clashing battle before Suleiman gave a low growl which was almost a laugh. ‘No other woman would dare speak to me the way that you do, Sara.’
‘That’s why you love me, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe.’ He slid his hand possessively around her waist. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
MOODILY, SULEIMAN GLANCED around the vast art gallery. The cavernous space and endlessly high ceilings made him think that this might have been a warehouse in a former life, though the place certainly bore no resemblance to its humbler origins.
On white walls hung vast canvases sporting naïve splashes of colour which a five-year-old child could have achieved—all bearing price tags far beyond the reach of most ordinary mortals. Stick-thin women and geeky-looking men in glasses stood gazing up at them in rapt concentration, while waitresses dressed like extravagant birds offered trays of exotically coloured cocktails.
He still couldn’t believe he was here. He couldn’t believe that Sara had brought him here to look at these dull paintings and meet dull people, when she could have been in bed with him instead. He had been cooking her a meal. Didn’t she realise that he’d never cooked for a woman before? But instead of switching off her phone and treating him with a little