Because you wouldn’t need to be experienced to realise why Gabe Steel’s face had darkened like that. Or why he was staring at her with a hot, hard look which was making her feel weak.
‘Does your mother know you’re out?’ he questioned roughly.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t have a mother. Or a father.’ She kept her voice light, the way she’d learned to do. ‘I’m just an orphan girl.’
His eyes narrowed. Darkened. He winced, as if she’d said something which had caused him pain.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly and reached out to brush the tip of his thumb over her lips. ‘So sorry.’
The weirdest thing was that Leila wasn’t sure if he was talking to her, or talking to himself. But suddenly she didn’t care because it was happening—just like in all the films she’d seen. He was reaching out and pulling her into his arms and she could feel the heat of his body as he moulded it against her. He framed her face with the palms of his hands and now his mouth was coming down towards hers. He seemed to be moving in slow motion, and Leila felt weak with excitement as her lips parted eagerly to meet his.
Because for the first time in her life, a man was going to kiss her.
CHAPTER TWO
GABE FELT THE thunder of his heart as their mouths made that first contact. The warmth of her flesh collided with his and her skin smelt of flowers and spice. Desire flooded through him like fire but his hot lust was tempered by the cool voice of reason.
This was insane.
Insane.
He thought about the way she’d burst into his suite and the surly-faced bodyguards who might return at any time. It was obvious she shouldn’t be here—and he was in danger of jeopardising a deal. A very important deal. He was here on business and due to dine at the Sultan’s palace in a little under two hours. There wasn’t time to make love to her properly—no matter how gloriously accessible she appeared to be.
So for God’s sake, get rid of her!
But the moment he chose to push her away was the moment she chose to wind her arms around his neck and to move her body against his and to whisper something breathless in a language he didn’t understand. The breath died in his throat as heat pooled in his groin and he was helpless to do anything other than deepen the kiss. He could feel the mound of her pubic bone pressing against his growing arousal—making his erection exquisitely hard and almost painful. Her tiny breasts were flattening themselves against his chest and, for the first time all day, his body felt warm instead of filled with the cold and aching memories of the past.
Tearing his mouth away, he stared down into her face, trying to ignore the provocative trembling of her lips. ‘That was a mistake,’ he said unsteadily. ‘And I think you’d better get out of here before I make another one.’
‘But what if I want you to?’ she questioned breathlessly. ‘What then?’
He felt another fierce stab of arousal as she looked at him. Her eyes were wide. Wide and bright. Shining as brightly as the aquamarine studs at her ears. He could feel his senses warring with his moral compass. Send her away before it’s too late. But he couldn’t stop looking at her or wanting her. Her lips were soft and gleaming. They looked as if they had been specially constructed to accommodate his erection and to suck him dry.
He thought about the dull pain nailed deep into his heart and how her soft body could alleviate it—even for an hour. Because sex could obliterate pain, couldn’t it? He could feel his resolve slipping away from him, like sand through his fingers, and wondered if there was a man on earth who could have resisted what was being offered to him now.
‘I’m giving you one last chance to get out of here,’ he said unevenly. ‘And I’d advise you to take it and go.’
‘But I don’t want to go anywhere,’ she whispered. ‘I want to stay right here.’
‘Then I make no apologies for doing this,’ he said. ‘Which I have been wanting to do ever since you first walked in.’
He started to unbutton her shirt, exposing the silken flesh beneath, and another fierce jerk of desire shot through him. She was perfect, he thought. Just perfect. Her olive skin was dark against a brassiere so white that it looked as if she’d put it on new that morning. He drifted his fingertips over the gentle swell of her breast. ‘So what have you got to say about that, Leila?’
Beneath the tantalising touch of his fingers, Leila grew weaker still. Where were the nerves she should be feeling? And why did it feel so natural? As if she had been waiting all her life for Gabe Steel to touch her like this?
‘I think it’s gorgeous,’ she said, praying he wouldn’t stop.
‘I want to kiss your breasts,’ he vowed unsteadily. ‘Each beautiful breast which is peaking towards me, just waiting to be kissed.’
A pulse was hammering at his temple and Leila jerked with pleasure as he lowered his mouth to one tightening nipple. His dark blond head contrasted against the snowy silk of her bra, and she could feel the fabric growing moist as he sucked her. She squirmed in time to each provocative lick of his tongue, as helpless then as she could ever remember feeling. And suddenly she understood what all the fuss was about. Why sex was so powerful. Why people did such crazy things to get it.
‘G-Gabe,’ she gasped, the word stumbling over itself in disbelieving pleasure.
He lifted his head to stare at her, and suddenly his grey eyes were not so cold. They seemed bright with pewter fire.
‘I think we’re going to have to skip the next few stages,’ he said. ‘In fact, if I don’t get you horizontal in the next couple of minutes, I think I’m going to go out of my mind.’
He caught hold of her fingers and led her straight into the bedroom she’d seen earlier—the bed still in rumpled disarray.
Now slightly disorientated, Leila looked around in faint bewilderment because she had never seen a room in such a state before. In her ordered and enclosed world, a servant would have attended to it while she’d been in the shower—making the bed all neat and pristine again and tidying away her discarded clothes.
She had never been lowered down onto untidy sheets which were still rich with the scent of the man who had slept in them. Nor towered over by someone whose mouth was tight as he continued to undress her. She stared up at him but he wasn’t staring back. He was too busy removing her trainers and then unzipping her jeans as if he’d removed countless pairs of women’s jeans in his life.
He probably had.
Of course he had.
Leila remembered what she’d read about him on the internet. Fragments of information about all the beautiful models and actresses he’d dated came drifting back. Women infinitely more experienced than she was.
She felt the cold shiver of insecurity reminding her to face facts and not be swept away by fantasy. She knew what men were like. How they were guided by the heat in their loins or the weight of their own ambition. She knew that they viewed women simply as possessions or as adornments—or as vessels to carry children.
She must not forget that.
This
