Hot-Blooded Husbands. Michelle Reid
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Oh, dear heaven, she thought, putting a hand up to her eyes as the full weight of what he was asking settled over her. How could she refuse? She didn’t even want to refuse. She loved that old man as much as she loved her own father. But there were other issues here which had not been aired yet, and it was those that kept her agreement locked inside.
‘The other wife they want for you,’ she prompted, ‘am I to appear to accept her imminent arrival also?’
His expression darkened. ‘Do me the honour of allowing me some sensitivity,’ he came back. ‘I have no wish to sacrifice your face for my own face. And I find it offensive that you could suspect that I would do.’
Which was very fine and noble of him but—‘She is still there, hovering in the shadows, Hassan,’ Leona said heavily. She could even put a name to the woman, though he probably didn’t know that she could. ‘And taking me back to Rahman does not solve your problems with the other family leaders unless you take that other wife.’
‘The old ones and I have come to an agreement,’ he informed her. ‘In respect for my father, they will let the matter ride while he is still alive.’
‘Then what?’
‘I will deal with them when I have to, but for the next few months anyway, my father’s peace of mind must come first.’
And so, he was therefore saying, should it for her. ‘Will you do this?’
The outright challenge. ‘Did you really think that I would not?’ She sighed, standing up and pushing her chair away so that she could step around him.
‘You’re angry.’ His eyes narrowed on her sparkling eyes and set expression.
Anger didn’t nearly cover what she was really feeling. ‘In principle I agree to play the doting wife again,’ she said. ‘But in fact I am now going to go away and sulk as you like to call it. Because no matter how well you wrap it all up in words of concern, Hassan, you are as guilty for using me in much the same way my foiled abductors intended to use me, and that makes you no better than them, does it?’
With that she turned and walked away, and Hassan allowed her to, because he knew she was speaking the truth so had nothing he could offer in his own defence.
Within seconds Rafiq appeared with a question written into the hard lines of his face.
‘Don’t ask,’ he advised heavily. ‘And she does not even know the half of it yet.’
‘Which half does she not know,’ Rafiq asked anyway.
‘What comes next,’ Hassan replied, watching his half-brother’s eyes slide over his left shoulder. He spun to see what he was looking at, then began cursing when he saw how close they were to reaching their reserved berth in Port Said. ‘How long?’ he demanded.
‘You have approximately one hour before the first guests begin to arrive.’
A small hour to talk, to soothe, to plead yet again for more charity from a woman who had given enough as it was. ‘You had better prepare yourself to take my place, Rafiq,’ he gritted. ‘Because, at this precise moment, I am seriously considering jumping ship with my wife and forgetting I possess a single drop of Al-Qadim blood.’
‘Our father may not appreciate such a decision,’ Rafiq commented dryly.
‘That reminder,’ Hassan turned to snap, ‘was not necessary.’
‘I was merely covering for myself,’ his half brother defended. ‘For I have no wish to walk in your shoes, my lord Sheikh.’
About to go after Leona, Hassan paused. ‘What do you wish for?’ he questioned curiously.
‘Ah.’ Rafiq sighed. ‘At this precise moment I wish for midnight, when I should be with my woman in a hotel room in Port Said. For tonight she flies in to dance for visiting royalty by special request. But later she will dance only for me and I will worship at her feet. Then I will worship other parts of her until dawn, after which I will reluctantly return here, to your exalted service, my lord sheikh,’ he concluded with a mocking bow.
Despite the weight of his mood, Hassan could not resist a smile. ‘You should change your plans and bring her to dinner,’ he suggested. ‘The sheer sensation she would cause would be a diversion I would truly appreciate.’
‘But would Leona?’ Rafiq pondered.
Instantly all humour died from Hassan’s face. ‘Leona,’ he predicted. ‘is in no frame of mind to appreciate anything.’
And on that grim reminder, he went off to find his woman, while half wishing that he was the one treading in Rafiq’s shoes.
He found her without difficulty, shut behind the bathroom door and hiding in the steam being produced by the shower. The fact that she had not bothered to lock the door spoke volumes as to her mood. Hassan could visualise the angry way she would have walked in here, throwing the door shut behind her then taking the rest of her anger out on the heap of clothes he could see tossed onto the floor.
So what did he do now? Go back to the bedroom and wait for her to reappear, or did he throw caution to the wind, strip off and just brave her fiery den?
It was not really a question since he was already taking off his clothes. For this was no time to be feeble. Leona had agreed in principle, so now she was about to learn the consequences of that. With a firming of his mouth he opened the shower-cubicle door, stepped inside and closed it again.
She was standing just out of reach of the shower jets with her head tipped back as she massaged shampoo into her hair. Streams of foaming bubbles were sliding over wet gold skin, collecting around the tips of her tilted breasts and snaking through the delightful valley in between to pool in the perfect oval of her navel, before spilling out to continue their way towards the chestnut cluster marking the apex with her slender thighs.
His body awoke; he allowed himself a rueful smile at how little it took to make him want this beautiful creature. Then she realised he was there and opened her eyes, risking soap burn so that she could kill him with a look.
‘What do you want now?’ she demanded.
Since the answer to that question was indubitably obvious, he didn’t bother with a reply. Instead he reached for the container of foaming body soap, pumped a generous amount into the palm of his hand and began applying it to her skin. Her hands dropped from her hair and pressed hard against his chest in an effort to push him away.
‘Thank you,’ he said, and calmly pumped some soap onto his own chest as if it was a foregone conclusion that she would wash him. ‘Sharing can turn the simplest of chores into the best of pleasures, do you not think?’
The green light in her eyes took on a distinctly threatening gleam. ‘I think you’re arrogant and hateful and I want you to get out of here,’ she coldly informed him.
‘Close your eyes,’ he advised. ‘The shampoo is about to reach them.’
Then, even as she lifted a hand to swipe the bubbles away, he reached up and directed the shower head at her so that the steamy spray hit her full in the face. While gasping at the shock, he made his next move, turned the spray away and replaced it with his mouth.
For a sweet, single moment he allowed himself to believe he’d made the easy conquest. It usually worked. On any other occasion it would have worked as a tasty starter to other ways of forgetfulness. But this time he received a sharp dig in the ribs for his optimism, and a set of teeth closed threateningly on his bottom lip until he eased the pressure and lifted his head. Her eyes spat fire and brimstone at him. He arched an eyebrow and glided a defiant hand down to the silken warmth of her abdomen.
‘You are treading on dangerous ground, Sheikh,’ she warned him.
‘I am?’
She ignored the message in his tone. ‘I have nothing I want to say to you. So why don’t you leave me alone?’