‘Tell me what you know,’ he grated.
Laura knew that she had to assert herself before this went any further. That his proximity was too distracting to allow herself any more of it—and it was with a shock like a slap to the face that she recognised that the danger she felt was in part sexual. That she was guilty of desire in a professional setting—and that she was jeapordising all that she had worked for. Oh, Laura—stop it, she told herself.
She lifted her chin and her green eyes burned into him. ‘Only if you take your hands off me.’
He stared at her for a long, considering moment, his angry black gaze clashing with the emerald fire of hers. ‘As you wish,’ he ground out.
He dropped his hands so suddenly that Laura was almost caught of balance. Her breath, she realized, was coming in short and unsteady gasps, as if she had come to the end of some long race—but the race, she knew, was only just beginning.
‘Now begin!’ he ordered, but already rogue thoughts had begun to swim into his mind. Would this woman’s statement make some sense of the many questions which had dogged his early years? And yet, in a way, wasn’t it almost better if those questions remained unasked?
At the moment Xavier’s life was perfectly ordered and exactly as he liked it. He called the shots and had all the control—but now this Englishwoman threatened to lay before him a nest of vipers which one by one would reveal their slithering bodies…
Laura bit her lip. ‘Your father is—’
‘No!’ His voice rang out like a lash of steel. ‘You will refer to no one as my father. Not when you are recounting this story to me. I do not have a father and I never have had! Do you understand?’
Laura nodded, because this was something she was well-equipped to deal with. Denial. People did it all the time—they buried their heads in the sand and pretended that something wasn’t happening because the thought that it was hurt too much.
Hadn’t she done it herself with her cheating ex-boyfriend, when the writing had been all over the wall in letters twenty feet high that he no longer wanted her? That he had got what he wanted and after that she was expendable. And hadn’t she—like a fool—made excuses for the fact that he had been slowly edging her out of his life and making her into a laughing stock into the bargain? Oh, yes, Laura knew all about denial.
‘Very well,’ she said calmly. ‘How would you like me to tell the story?’
For a moment his black eyes narrowed with suspicion. Was she mocking him? But as he searched her pale face Xavier detected a glimpse of empathy in the shimmering depths of her green eyes and he tensed, for he was not a subject in need of pity.
‘You will simply answer my questions. For now.’ Drawing his broad shoulders back, he shot her an imperious look. ‘Who are you working for?’
Laura nodded. What had Malik said to her? ‘Bring the Frenchman back to Kharastan with you, no matter what it takes.’
‘I work for Sheikh Zahir of Kharastan.’
His mouth hardened into a slash of censure, his fists clenching by the shafts of his powerful thighs—and suddenly it became easier to channel his frustration and rage outwards, rather than turn it in on himself.
‘And just how do you come to be in a position to know all this?’ Xavier demanded. ‘Are you a hanger-on to this family of sheikhs? One of those women who are turned on by the strong, dark, silent type—perhaps secretly hoping that one of them will whisk you away to his desert tent and ravish you? Is that what turns you on, cherie?’
It was clearly intended to be insulting, and it worked—but unfortunately she found his words erotic as well as a slur.
Had she thought this would be easy?
Yes, she had.
Armed with the knowledge that she was about to enlighten Xavier de Maistre and tell him that he was the son of a man so fabulously wealthy that it made your average billionaire look like a pauper, she had imagined that he would want to be on the first plane to Kharastan to rove his eyes greedily over his prospective inheritance.
How wrong could she have been?
He had failed to grab at the carrot she had dangled before him. Maybe a man as successful as Xavier could not be bought or even tempted by the lure of a possible inheritance.
‘You say nothing,’ he taunted softly. ‘And you have told me nothing of your own place in this unusual desert hierarchy.’
‘I have no place in it,’ she answered. ‘I’m working for the royal family of Kharastan; it’s as simple as that. I’m a temporary employee with no agenda of my own.’
‘No?’ His eyes seared into her. ‘Everyone has an agenda, cherie.’ Especially when a man was as rich and as powerful as Xavier was. He had never met anyone who didn’t want something from him. ‘Tell me, are you being employed for your legal capabilities—or because you have beautiful breasts and come-to-bed eyes?’
Laura stared at him. He was making her sound like some sort of hooker. ‘I don’t have to stand here and be insulted like that!’ she said, in a low, shaking voice.
‘You think that it is an insult to be admired for your very obvious attributes?’ he mocked. ‘But you are right—you do not have to stay and submit yourself to anything which offends you.’ He flared his nostrils like an aristocratic racehorse as he gazed at her with haughty contempt. ‘You do not like what I say to you? Then leave—and leave now—for I am not stopping you!’
He was calling her bluff—he knew it and she knew it. But she did not dare leave for fear that she might not get another chance to return and state her case.
What Xavier de Maistre thought of her and said to her was irrelevant—she was here to do a job, that was all, and this was strictly business, not personal.
So stick to business, Laura told herself. If he only came up to her knee and had spots all over his face would she be melting in some kind of pathetic pool on the Persian carpet? Of course she wouldn’t.
She forced a glossy smile. ‘Do you have a photograph of your father here in the office?’
‘What do you think?’ His gaze flicked over her, icy-black and unfriendly. ‘Do you keep photos of your parents in your office?’
‘I’ll take that as a no,’ she said quietly, ignoring the sarcasm. ‘Would you like to see a photo that I’ve been given?’
What he would like would be to walk away from the potential dynamite of this situation, but it was already too late. Like being witness to a crime. You couldn’t rewind the clock and wish you hadn’t seen it because of the complications which would follow in its wake.
‘I suspect that you are about to produce one from your bag,’ he observed caustically. ‘Like a magician performing a trick at a children’s party.’
Her fingers were trembling as she unclipped her briefcase and withdrew the card-backed envelope which contained the portrait. She held it out towards him.
Xavier took it from her without a word and sucked in a long, low breath as he stared hard at the photograph.
It was a professional studio portrait, and the man in it had been captured in his most virile prime. Glimpsed beneath a white flowing headdress, held in place with a circlet of knotted gold, his hair was as raven-dark as Xavier’s, and the cruel beak of a nose and sensual lips were instantly recognisable.
Xavier felt his throat tighten, for the resemblance was undeniable. ‘Okay, so he looks a little like me,’ he grated.
A little? But Laura said nothing.
‘We both have black eyes and hair,’ he said with a shrug, and then, when still she said nothing, he lifted his head to stare at her. Without a word, he put the photo down on his desk, then strode over to where Laura had since sat down.
Something in his expression both alarmed and excited her, and she sprang up to face him, trying not to flinch beneath the fierce onslaught of conflicting expressions which had suddenly turned his rugged face into the face of an adversary.
‘Where did you get this?’ he demanded.
‘I told you,’ said Laura, her tongue flicking out to moisten her parched lips a
s she saw something in his eyes far more threatening than anger or contempt. Something which looked uncomfortably like desire. ‘From the man….’ She picked the phrase with care, remembering his admonition. ‘The man who claims to be your father.’
He made a low, growling sound at the back of his throat, and then, reaching out, he caught hold of her and brought her right up against his hot, hard body—registering with satisfaction but no surprise that her pupils dilated in automatic response and that the tips of her breasts were pushing against the sensually soft material of her suit.
‘What do you want from me?’ he demanded, but his hand had snaked around her waist and had begun to caress its narrow indentation.
Breathlessly, Laura stared up at him as he began to stroke her, feeling tension coiling at the pit of her stomach, the hot prickling of her breasts, and a kind of dazed incredulity at the situation in which she found herself. This was outrageous! Yet his proximity was nothing short of destabilising—his touch as irresistible as freedom to the caged animal. And, just like an animal, she gave a tiny whimper of disbelief.
Her throat felt so tight that she could barely get the words out. Because this was desire given a whole new meaning. ‘I can’t think straight when you’re…’
‘When I am stroking you?’ he purred, and he bent his head down to whisper into her ear. She could feel the warm caress of his breath, and his words were the most irresistible sounds she had ever heard. ‘But you like me stroking you. You would like me to be stroking you far more intimately, I think….’
With my fingers parting your thighs and touching you where you are like a molten blazing furnace. Touching you until you shudder beneath me and cry out my name, then kissing the sound into silence.
‘Stop it,’ she said breathlessly, because she could sense his desire—taste and smell it, almost hear it—as if it were thrumming in the air around them. She felt like a piece of wax left in front of the fire, dissolving beneath the warmth of his touch. ‘Stop it right now.’
He dropped his hands like a man who had been playing a game he had become bored with, enjoying the sight of her darkened eyes, the way she was trying to gulp air into her lungs and the faint flush which had shaded her pale skin. He would have her—of course he would—mais pas encore.
Not yet.
‘You still haven’t told me what it is you want,’ he said tonelessly.
Laura gave herself time to compose herself—to rid herself of the erotic pictures which were playing in slow motion in her protesting brain, and the sensations which were dancing dangerously over her sensitised skin. ‘I have orders to bring you back to Kharastan,’ she said slowly.
He flexed his long olive fingers and then curled them down into the palms of his hands, so that they resembled the claws of some predatory bird, fixing her in the ebony sight of his gaze as if she were some helpless prey.
‘Orders?’
‘I’m sorry—that was an inadvisable choice of word.’
‘Damned right it was!’ he gritted out. ‘But the word is not nearly as inadvisable as the sentiment.’
He leaned forward, his eyes spitting fire, so that Laura got some idea of what the coals of hell might look like.
‘Do you really think that a man like Xavier de Maistre can be summoned?’ he demanded. ‘Taken to some God-forsaken country to meet a man whom I do not even believe is my father?’
Freed from the seduction of his touch, Laura felt reason began to return—but she knew she could not allow herself the luxury of answering him back. Just stay with it for a little while longer, she urged herself. All she had to do was get him on that plane, and then she would have earned her bonus and need never set eyes on his dangerous, sexy face again.
Once again, Malik’s words came back to her.
‘Bring the Frenchman back to Kharastan with you, no matter what it takes.’
What would it take? Laura looked around at the costly furnishings. Not a bribe, that was for sure. Nor vague promises that might never been fulfilled.
What would a powerful man like this treasure above all else?
The truth, perhaps?
For what else did she have to offer him?
‘I think you may regret it if you do not agree to accompany me,’ she said boldly.
Her words did not seem to be what he was expecting. ‘Regret?’ he echoed incredulously. ‘I can assure you, cherie, that regret is not a part of my nature.’
No, she could imagine that with those cold eyes he would move restlessly ever forward, like a shark—never looking back or experiencing that wistful ache that maybe something should have been done differently.
‘I think this may be the exception which proves the rule,’ she said, and sighed, her green eyes troubled as she looked at him. Because this had now become much more than a job to be successfully completed. She didn’t really know Xavier—and what she did know of him she didn’t particularly like. Yet deep down he was a man who risked throwing away an opportunity which might never come again—and so she spoke to him from the heart.
‘The Sheikh is old and frail,’ Laura said softly. ‘You might be right—this whole incident might be the result of a series of misunderstandings. Perhaps you aren’t his son. But unless you go, you’ll never find out. Once you have the truth, you can reject it if you please—but how would you feel if he was your father and you missed this opportunity? If you want a chance to meet your father, then I advise you to act now, before it is too late.’ Laura lifted her chin and met his gaze. ‘Because old men can die at any time, Xavier.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE atmosphere in the sumptuous room changed, became electric—as if the mention of death had somehow charged it with life.
Xavier stared at the woman with the dark red hair and felt the slow, powerful beat of his heart—followed by an odd, inexplicable twist of pain which he quashed as ruthlessly as he would a fly.
Drawing himself up to his full impressive height, Xavier subjected Laura to a stare of insolent question. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me, cherie?’ he drawled, his rich accent edged with sarcasm. ‘Mmm?’
Laura shook her head uncertainly. Hadn’t she already said enough?
‘No? Not about to disclose that you are working for some cable TV reality show and are carrying a secret camera to film me in the sanctity of my office?’
Laura was about to ask him why he was being so suspicious—until she remember the snatched photos in Bonjour! magazine. No wonder the black eyes were glittering with such hostility.
‘Get out,’ he said quietly.
This wasn’t how the meeting was supposed to end, and Laura stared at him in disbelief. ‘But surely you want to—’
‘Do not try to second-guess me!’ he interrupted furiously. ‘Just go—and go now! Maintenant!’
Laura looked into his face and read something implacable there, and she knew that further words would be wasted. She nodded and picked up her bag, taking from it one of her business cards which she laid down on the desk. ‘That’s my mobile number,’ she said. ‘I’m staying at the Paradis if you want to contact me.’
She went to pick up the photo, but his voice rang out across the office.
‘Leave it here,’ he ordered. ‘If it is—as you say—a photo of my father, then I can lay a greater claim to it than you.’
‘But—’
‘I said leave it!’ he said icily. ‘And go.’
Aware of his dark eyes burning into her, Laura made her way across the vast room and somehow managed to walk out of the door with her head held high—but by the time she had re-emerged on the pavement in the fashionable eighth arrondisement her hands were trembling.
Her hotel wasn’t that far away—but her fancy new suede shoes were most definitely not designed for walking. So she hailed a cab, which crawled through the affluent streets before dropping her at the Paradis.
Was it possible that she had failed in her mission at the first hurdle?
The lift zoomed her up to
the vast suite which the Sheikh’s aide had insisted on providing for her. Just as he had insisted on supplying a stylist, who had taken her on a comprehensive shopping tour once she had arrived in the city. Because it seemed that although Laura had the brains, the discretion and the qualifications needed for this very unusual job, she did not have the wardrobe to carry her comfortably into the highest echelons of society.
And, whilst her well-pressed navy blue suit and cream blouses were ideal for life as a small-town lawyer, she was infinitely grateful for the couture clothes she was wearing today. Clothes could protect you, she realised. They could make you look the part you were playing—even if inside you felt as insecure as a little child left alone at a party where she didn’t know anyone.
Once safely inside the suite, she kicked off her shoes and lay back on the sumptuous hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what on earth she should do next. Hang around like a puppy dog, waiting to see if Xavier would take the bait and call?
And if he didn’t, then what?
Then she would have wasted a perfect opportunity to explore a city she’d never visited before. Time would hang heavily if she just waited, and she would find out soon enough whether or not she would be banking the huge sum of money she had been promised if she succeeded in her mission to return with Xavier.
Carefully, Laura took off the new suit and hung it in the wardrobe, enjoying the luxury of choice before pulling on a russet-coloured cashmere dress which should have clashed with her hair but somehow didn’t. A gold chain belt and flat brown boots completed the look, and she set off to sightsee. Yes, it would be easy to get used to being a wealthy woman, she decided ruefully.
‘Are there any messages for me?’ she asked the chic young woman at the reception desk.
‘Non, madesmoiselle,’ the girl replied, with an apologetic shrug.
The major attractions were all within walking distance, but Laura felt as if she was only half there. To the outside world she was aware that she must look like a woman awestruck by the sights of the city, bewitched by the majestic Eiffel Tower which straddled the Trocadero like a giant steel croquet hoop, enchanted with the Sainte-Chapelle, whose glowing stained-glass interior was like being inside a jewelled casket.
Desert Princes Bundle Page 3
