to intimidate me, or however charmingly you flirt with me.’
His smile vanished, but before she had time to exult he advanced on her, his silent grace a threat. Although Sanchia’s stomach lurched, she refused to back away.
‘This,’ he said, resting his thumb on the jumping pulse in her throat, ‘has nothing to do with the document you made the decision to sign.’
Gently, without pressure, his hand curved around her throat, the fingertips moving slightly against the sensitive nape of her neck, producing a tiny friction as purposeful as it was erotic. ‘Neither has the fact that your eyes are a smokier, more sultry green than I remember, and that your mouth is a miracle…’
Sanchia looked up into metallic eyes and saw the effort he had to put into relaxing his fingers. Inside her a latent hunger uncoiled, began to move through her veins like the tide of life greeting an arctic spring, long-awaited, unrestrainable.
‘Nothing to do with business at all,’ Caid repeated dispassionately, his voice deep and hard. ‘I find you very attractive, very appealing—I have ever since you turned sixteen. But I do not intimidate women, nor force them into my bed, and I don’t use lies to seduce them into making decisions either. Am I forcing you now?’
‘No.’ The word splintered with repressed emotion—terrifying emotion—a passionate, wild desire that warned of sensual meltdown.
Slowly, whispering across the surface, his fingertips tantalised her skin as his thumb noted the increased thudding of her pulse. Sanchia shivered.
Bending his head, he said fiercely, ‘You can walk away if you want to.’
She lifted heavy eyelids. ‘I don’t want to.’
Triumph flashed in the blue eyes. ‘Good,’ he said, and kissed her.
It was like an earthquake: the foundations of her world shifted and she no longer had any reference points for normality as sensation stormed through her. Shattered by the violence of her response to Caid’s seeking, demanding mouth, Sanchia gave up trying to think and surrendered to the astonishing pleasure his kiss summoned.
Some time later she surfaced; locked in his arms, she was pressed against him from shoulder to thigh so that his arousal was more than obvious.
Appalled, she tried to pull away, but he lifted his head and said harshly, ‘It’s too late for that.’
‘Oh, no, it’s not,’ she muttered, beating back the first icy trickle of fear. ‘I must be mad. Caid, let me go!’
‘So nothing has changed,’ he said coldly, releasing her immediately. ‘Kissing is all right but I must go no further. Why, Sanchia?’
Twisting away, Sanchia ran a shaking hand through her hair and whispered, ‘I won’t let this happen again!’
He showed his teeth. ‘Hell, isn’t it?’ he agreed sardonically. ‘Just one of those mad attractions that shatter kingdoms and ruin lives.’ His eyes glinted. ‘Perhaps you have such a powerful effect on me because I spent several summers watching you grow up. And one infinitely frustrating holiday trying to get past the iron-clad barriers that slammed in my face whenever I touched you. What’s your excuse?’
Weighed down by reaction to the adrenalin overdose, Sanchia blinked and gathered the tattered remnants of her wits about her. ‘Look, produce this piece of paper, I’ll sign it and say goodbye, and we can forget that the—that this ever happened.’
‘Coward,’ he taunted.
‘Absolutely,’ she agreed fervently, thrumming with thwarted desire now that he’d let her go. ‘I like a peaceful life and you’re very definitely not peaceful. We’ve got nothing in common.’ She dragged her gaze from his enigmatic face to stare around the room. ‘Where is this option?’
‘In the office.’ But even as he nodded towards a door he said caustically, ‘We have one thing in common, Sanchia—a consuming physical passion that’s going to drive both of us crazy unless we do something about it. Why does it scare you so much? I won’t hurt you.’
Sanchia swallowed to ease her arid throat. For a second panic clutched her, and with it a soul-destroying shame. Had he guessed? No, she decided with a swift spurt of relief, not yet. She strode across the room in front of him, flinging over her shoulder, ‘I don’t want an affair with you!’
‘So you said three years ago. Why, Sanchia? Does passion terrify you so much?’
If only he knew…
She said jerkily, ‘I’m not cut out for being a diversion, a pretty toy to be used and then discarded. You forget that while you were checking the length of my legs and whether I laughed or not, I was watching girls chase you. You didn’t run very far, they didn’t last very long—just long enough to break their hearts. I noticed the pattern early and it’s not one that fits me. I need independence—to lead my own life, for myself.’
‘And does your wonderful independence,’ he queried in a dangerously silky voice, ‘keep you sated and warm at night?’
‘There are more important things in life than sex.’
He said something swift and angry in Greek, the language she had stubbornly refused to even consider learning. Switching to English, he said, ‘Or perhaps you work off that violent physical appetite of yours with strangers, with casual affairs?’
She’d kept so much from him she was tempted to add a whopping lie, but she said stiffly, ‘I don’t approve of petty, sordid affairs.’
So unnerved that she barely understood her own words, she yanked the door open and walked through, frowning when she saw she was in a passage. ‘Which way?’
‘To the left, second door down.’
He walked beside her, close enough to intimidate, not close enough to touch. Just as well—she’d go up like a fireball if he laid so much as a finger on her. All right, so it was merely the physical passion he’d called it, but oh, God, it was overwhelming—like being branded by him so that her body registered him, recognised him, yearned to know him intimately.
Feared him.
Because the one time she’d tried to break past the arbitrary limits her body had set, it had frozen in fierce, unreasoning rejection.
He asked coolly, ‘Does that mean there have been no affairs—or just no petty, sordid ones?’
‘Mind your own business!’ she retorted fiercely.
‘You are the person who used the word sordid.’ Stone-faced, he pushed the door open and stood back to let her through. ‘And any affair between us would never be petty. I promise you that.’
CHAPTER THREE
THAT last comment didn’t just sound like a threat, Sanchia realised with an inner shiver as she glanced at Caid’s harshly beautiful face, it definitely was one.
The intriguing scent—faint, potent—of aroused male made her grit her teeth as she walked past him into a room set up as an office. Apprehension roiled her stomach as she stopped in the middle of the room and waited
