Pregnant By The Desert King. Susan Stephens
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dock, filling in time before a party that evening on board his friend Sheikh Khalid’s yacht, the Sapphire. Leaving behind the razzmatazz that went with the title Emir of Qalala, to mix with the crowds on the dock like any other visitor to the high-end marina, was a welcome release from the pressure of celebrity. Spending time with a woman who didn’t appear to recognise him was a novelty. The fact that this woman probably wouldn’t have cared less if she had known who he was was an unexpected bonus. He planned to stay on the Sapphire tonight, and a strange bed was always warmer with an agreeable companion at his side.
Or underneath him.
‘Are you sure this is okay for you?’ she asked, glancing around. ‘You seem to be creating some interest. Should I know you?’
‘You do now. And in answer to your question, this is perfect.’
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she pointed out.
‘No. I didn’t,’ he agreed.
A tense, electric silence sprang between them. He’d sensed her before he’d spotted her in the café. His senses were always fine-tuned where women were concerned, but she had intrigued him from the first moment, with her elfin looks, and full, voluptuous figure. She wasn’t remotely in awe of him, which only added to her allure. Half his size, she was quite a bit younger, though her character made up for any lack of experience.
‘Good coffee?’ she said, breaking the silence.
‘Excellent,’ he murmured, maintaining eye contact until she blushed.
In the course of his duties as ruler of one of the fabulously wealthy Sapphire States, he met many women, but never remembered them for long. None held such instant appeal. He weighed up her clothes and the body underneath. The cheap, unbuttoned coat was open over a clinging cotton sweater that spurred an urge to introduce her to fabrics that would caress her body. Kissing that challenging look off her face was another must, before bringing her to the heights of pleasure.
‘You really didn’t need to do this,’ she said as he asked the waitress for a top-up.
‘But I really want to,’ he said, holding her stare.
‘Do you always get what you want?’
‘Most times,’ he admitted.
He only had to raise a brow for her to read him easily. ‘Lucy,’ she said. ‘Lucy Gillingham.’
The name meant nothing to him, but he made a mental note to ask his security team to check her out.
‘Careful,’ he said as she dipped her head to take a sip of the refreshed coffee. ‘It’s hot.’
‘I’m always careful,’ she said with a look that left him in no doubt she would never be a pushover.
The most astonishing jade-green eyes pierced his, tilted up at the outer corners. Lucy’s expressive gaze was enhanced by a thick fringe of black lashes that added a feline touch to what was already a highly attractive package.
‘Sorry,’ she said, pulling back, and blushed attractively when their knees brushed.
‘No problem,’ he said, sliding his long legs between hers without touching her, but her blush deepened as if she was deeply conscious of the intimacy forced upon them by the narrow table. Colour tinted her Slavic cheekbones an attractive shade of rose. ‘You have beautiful hair,’ he said to distract her.
‘And you have big feet,’ she said, shuffling around to remove all chance of them touching.
Lucy wore her hair in a no-nonsense short, urchin-cut style. It suited her strong personality. In a rich shade of auburn, it reminded him of autumn on his English country estate when the leaves had turned from vibrant green to take on the tint of fire. She was fiery. She’d be amazing in bed.
‘Oh, that’s better,’ she said, having drained the mug. ‘I’m good for nothing before a coffee. How about you?’
‘I’m good for some things,’ he said.
Her cheeks burned red. He hadn’t enjoyed himself so much in a long time.
How could talking about coffee be so dangerous? Lucy spent a lot of time daydreaming, but none of them turned out like this. If only she’d paid more attention to the press and laundry gossip, she might have a clue who the intriguing man was. ‘You’re new in port,’ she prompted, waiting on more information.
‘Another coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’ As he turned to speak to the waitress, her mind strayed to lazy days on a sugar-sand beach, with blocks of chilled chocolate at her side, and a bucket of lemon sorbet Bellinis to share with the mystery man as a prelude to very good sex, the details of which escaped her for now.
‘Something wrong?’ he queried as she frowned.
‘Yes. As a matter of fact, there is. I told you my name. Or, do you have something to hide?’
He laughed and his entire face lit up. Attractive didn’t even begin to describe the creases around his eyes and the flash of those strong white teeth. Raunchy? Her nipples were prickling without him even looking at them. Close enough for her to detect his minty breath, and to register the fact that he didn’t like shaving, he was an incredible lure with those incredible black eyes burning into hers.
‘My name is Tadj.’
‘Ah—like the Taj Mahal,’ she said, relaxing.
‘Tadj with a D,’ he explained.
‘Oh.’ Her cheeks flamed up again. ‘I suppose you hear that dozens of times.’
‘Some,’ he agreed.
The killer smile had returned to his face, but she settled for regarding him coolly. With his thick black hair curling wildly around cheekbones that would have sent Michelangelo crazy for his chisel, she guessed he must be used to admiration, and was determined not to add to it, though couldn’t help herself wondering what that sharp black stubble would feel like if he rasped it very gently against her skin. Imagining her rounded curves accommodating his impressive hard-muscled frame led her to shift position on the bench seat.
‘Tadj,’ she repeated to distract herself fast. ‘Nice.’
He was still staring at her with that faintly amused expression on his face, which led to one quick thought...melted chocolate, heated gently before being spread liberally over her naked body, for him to lick off. ‘Okay, Tadj with a D, so now I know your name, but not your occupation.’
‘That’s right. You don’t,’ he said.
‘Cagey,’ she observed, narrowing her eyes. ‘I’m genuinely curious.’
‘And I’m genuinely cagey,’ he countered with a scorching look.
They both laughed and the atmosphere lightened.
‘So?’ she prompted, coffee mug hovering in front of her lips.
‘So, what? What do you want to know?’
‘Let’s start with everything?’ she said.
‘We don’t have time.’
‘Should I be worried that you’re being so evasive?’
‘Here?’ He glanced around. ‘Probably not.’
But later, she thought. She killed the thought as soon as it sprang into her head. There’d be no later. She’d try another tack to dig for information. ‘So, what brings you to King’s Dock?’
‘Old friends and business,’ he said.
‘Intriguing.’
‘Not really,’ he admitted, sitting back. ‘King’s Dock is a convenient place to meet, that’s all.’ He raised a brow, as if challenging her to ask more questions.
‘I must be keeping you from