She didn’t believe in fate but...well, what else explained it? She had walked out of the door and at the exact same moment he had been walking by. Blinded by a strand of hair whipped across her face by a gust of wind, she had walked into him. Not any of the other people walking by—Benedict.
Coming out of her reverie, she clenched her hands tight as she fought the compulsion to touch his cheek. His deeply tanned skin was dusted with stubble that was the same ebony shade as the thick hair he wore cropped short. He was sleeping so peacefully and, though sleep had ironed out the lines of strain that ran from his nose to his mouth, the dark shadows under his eyes remained. Tired looked sexy on him, she decided as her fascinated gaze lingered on the shadow cast by his long spiky eyelashes against sharp cheekbones.
She released the breath trapped in her tight chest in a slow sibilant sigh. He was beautiful. Yesterday she’d had to bite her tongue to stop herself saying it, then she hadn’t. She’d said it over and over, she’d said it in between kisses and while she’d kissed her way across his chest.
They were lovers.
Her first... She hugged the knowledge to herself, a dreamy expression drifting into her eyes as her thoughts slid back to yesterday and the moment that had changed her life. It had changed her; she felt like a different person...
* * *
‘Lily!’
Benedict had always been one of the few people who never mistook her for her twin.
He handed her the book that she’d dropped and fatally his tanned fingers brushed hers. No teenage sexual fantasy—so safe because it had never been going to happen—had prepared her for the nerve-stripping effect.
The electric sizzle shook her so badly she barely remembered her name as slowly they both rose to their feet, the book they both still grasped acting as a connection they seemed reluctant to break.
It was a passer-by bumping into them that made them break apart, the book falling again to the floor.
The spell broken, they both laughed.
This time she let him pick it up. Staring at the top of his dark head, she gave herself a mental shake and put some defensive tension into her spine. She saw him raise a brow when he looked at the title and this time when he handed it to her she made sure to avoid contact. This triggered a quizzical look that she didn’t react to beyond the flush she was incapable of controlling.
‘You always were a bookworm,’ he said, smiling. ‘I remember the time I caught you in Grandfather’s library, you hid his first-edition Dickens under your jumper.’
‘You remember that?’ She stopped in her tracks, her amazement giving way to horror. ‘It was a first edition?’
‘Don’t look so worried—the old man didn’t mind.’
‘He knew?’
The lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes deepened as her astonishment drew a laugh from his throat. ‘That you used the place as an unofficial lending library? Well, he did, he doesn’t miss much...so...’ He lowered his gaze from her flushed face, turning his wrist and with a flick of a white cuff revealing his paper-thin watch.
Lily watched with a smile she really hoped said I’m in a hurry too.
The next time you are in danger of believing in magical connections, Lily Gray, she told herself, or a sexual awareness too strong to deny, remember this moment.
‘I was going for a coffee...’ He stopped, his remarkable eyes filled with warmth and other things that made her stomach flip as he gave a twisted, rueful smile and admitted huskily, ‘No, I wasn’t, but I am now.’ Head tilted a little to one side, he smiled into her face. ‘If you’d like...?’
Her knees just stopped short of buckling. They were shaking. She released a carefully controlled sigh, her emotions a mingling of excitement and fear as she thought, if a smile could do this much to her what would a touch do...a kiss...?
Getting ahead of yourself here, Lily. He’s offering you a cappuccino, not a night of wild, head-banging sex! It was just coffee, she reasoned.
‘Yes.’ Too keen, Lily. She gave a smile. ‘I’m not meeting Sam until half four.’
His dark brows twitched into a line above his masterful nose. ‘Is Sam your boyfriend?’
‘A friend,’ she said. And it wasn’t a lie: Samantha Jane was a friend, the first one she’d made at the drama college. Sam wouldn’t mind if she was late; Sam would approve. She often lectured Lily on her love life, or lack of it.
‘You have to stop being so picky,’ Sam had told her. ‘Look at me—I’ve lost count of the number of frogs I’ve kissed but when my prince comes along I’ll recognise the difference, and actually frogs can be fun.’
An hour later Lily and Benedict were still sitting in a cubicle in a small coffee shop and she couldn’t remember what they’d talked about. But she had made him laugh, and he had made her feel smart and sexy. He thought she was funny so she was. After the first five minutes she had relaxed and lowered her guard as their conversation moved from literature, to politics, to her favourite ice cream, to her drama school course and the great opportunity that had recently fallen in her lap. It was only later she’d realised that he’d hardly told her a thing about himself, but then it was, oh, so easy to be wise with hindsight.
‘So I’m going to see you on the big screen?’ Elbows on the table, he’d leant forward, his interest seeming genuine and unfeigned. He had ignored all the women who had eyed him up, not even seeming to notice them. It seemed he only had eyes for her and Lily was flattered. If she’d been a cat, she’d have purred.
‘A small part.’
‘I’m not sure actresses are meant to be self-deprecating.’
‘I’m not, just factual. It’s a small part.’
‘But the TV drama, that’s the lead?’
‘I’ve been really lucky.’
‘You could do with a few lessons in self-publicity.’
She looked at him through her lashes and asked huskily, ‘Are you offering?’
His slow smile made her insides melt and her heart race even faster.
Over her third cup of coffee, looking into his electric-blue eyes, Lily made the dizzying discovery that it was potentially addictive having a man look at you with undisguised desire. Especially when the man in question had, for a large part of your life, represented the perfect ideal and you’d spent your life measuring other men against him—inevitably they had fallen short.
Could that be why she’d still not had a single serious relationship?
The possibility drifted into her head and then was gone because he had caught her hand and, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, was massaging the pad of her palm. The light arabesques sent deep tremors through her body. What she was feeling bore no resemblance to any teenage crush. It bore no resemblance to anything she had felt or imagined feeling.
She didn’t even know she’d closed her eyes until he spoke in his deep husky voice.
‘I have a room.’
She didn’t say anything; she couldn’t.
Her voice sounded throaty and deep, unfamiliar to her own ears, when she finally managed a response: ‘Yes.’
* * *
If she’d known what she was saying yes to she wouldn’t have waited even that long. Last night had been more than Lily had ever dreamed!
Her body still thrummed with the sensual aftermath of their lovemaking and her heart felt full. And there was more to come, much more, there were days and nights and... She felt her heart flutter as she thought of a future with Benedict in it, beside her in her bed. Last night was the start of something...it had to be.
Not romanticising, she told the voice of caution in her head. The sex had been incredible but it had gone beyond the physical; nothing that special could be transitory. She had no name for it, but it had been real.
‘What are you waiting for, Lily?’
/> Lily had never had an answer for Sam’s exasperated lectures about lowering her expectations and being realistic.
As she directed her searching, hungry gaze at his face a series of sensual images superimposed themselves over his sleeping features. The accompanying taste and textures were so real that the effort of separating herself from them brought a fine sheen of perspiration to Lily’s skin.
She shivered even though she was close enough to feel the warmth of his body. She had an answer to Sam’s question now—Benedict was the man she had been waiting for.
Did he realise that he’d been her first? Last night the memory of Lara’s experience had made her hold back. The man her twin had fallen for had said virgins were not his style—a deal breaker, she remembered Lara saying, while she outlined her solution to the problem.
Did other men feel that way...?
Did Benedict?
Would it be a deal breaker...? Could she take the risk?
Did not telling him constitute lying?
In the end the moment had passed, as had the fear her inexperience might be a problem. But she still didn’t know if he’d realised.
She would ask him, she decided, fighting the strong compulsion to wake him, her lips curved in a contemplative smile. Lily lay down with a sigh and, in an effort to distract herself, began to scroll idly through her emails before moving on to read the latest theatre gossip. She discovered, as her fingers idly flicked through the website, that the play she’d seen the previous week had been nominated for an Olivier award and the fans of a soap were demanding they reinstate a recently axed daytime favourite. A celebrity couple were splitting but staying good friends and a—
Her finger froze as she stared at the screen. The images there screamed silently back at her until she felt as though her skull would explode with the building pressure, the anger aimed as much at herself as him.
‘No!’ she whispered, but though the words and images blurred through the tears in her eyes they remained there, visible evidence of her wilful stupidity!
The piece was written in a gushy style that included quotes from friends of a newly engaged couple. There were several photos of the bride-to-be, the shiny rock on her finger and the groom...the groom...looking handsome on a ski slope, snow on his eyelashes...looking elegant and aloof at a red-carpet event...looking dynamic and sombre at an economic conference.
Her chest lifted in a tremulous sigh as she started breathing again and turned her head.
‘Nobody is surprised,’ she’d read.
Well, they were wrong; she’d been. Self-disgust left a rancid, metallic aftertaste in her mouth as she asked herself, Why are you surprised? You saw what you wanted in him, not what was there. He’s a man, and you were an easy lay.
Anger and devastating hurt clawed at Lily’s throat as she struggled to swallow a sob. Hands clenched, her nails gouging deep into the soft skin of her palms, she turned her hard, glittering stare on his sleeping face.
At sixteen she’d seen through him; she’d had more sense then than she did at twenty-two! Even if he had assumed that she was perfectly all right with one-night stands, he was engaged, newly engaged, for God’s sake!
On the brink of waking him, confronting him, Lily pulled back, breathing hard as she struggled to regain some control. Would venting her feelings of outrage, would the satisfaction of confronting him, be worth exposing her own humiliation? It would be tantamount to admitting she was a naïve idiot who believed in soul mates and true love.
Anything, she decided, was better than that!
Shaking from head to toe, she pushed back the covers, freezing like a creature caught in the headlights when he groaned. She waited, heart hammering, until his breathing had settled into a deep regular pattern again before standing up.
Naked, she moved around the room, shooting wary glances at the sleeping figure as she gathered her clothes. She dressed in the bathroom, not daring to put on the light, and slipped like a thief into the early morning. It felt furtive and sordid, but then, she reflected grimly, it was.
It wasn’t until she was on the tube that she realised she had lost one of her earrings.
It wasn’t the only thing she had lost. But what Lily didn’t know then was that she had also gained something...
Copyright © 2015 by Kim Lawrence
ISBN-13: 9781460386354
Traded to the Desert Sheikh
Copyright © 2015 by Caitlin Crews
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Traded to the Desert Sheikh Page 18
