there she was. Relief mixed with triumph was a heady rush along with a spiking of arousal, sharp and intense. Merde. He hadn’t had it this bad in a long time, if ever.
As if sensing his look from across the bar, her head turned towards him and he couldn’t breathe. Her hair was down, long and wild. Her dress was gold, silk, wrapped around her body showing the curve of her hips and breasts. Those slim legs were bare all the way down to nude high-heels. Her hands clutched a bag.
Salim stood still as he tracked her slightly hesitant walk towards him. She was a complete stranger—but he knew that if he didn’t have her before the night was out, he might die.
* * *
He was still here. Nat refused to acknowledge that the feeling rushing through her was relief. She forced her legs to move and made her way to where he was, in a corner of the bar. He wasn’t moving. Again that preternatural stillness caught at her forcibly. Along with the sheer reality of how gorgeous he was.
When she came close he put out a hand and Nat looked at it. It was big, long fingers. The heat in her lower body sizzled even more. She put out her hand too, but instead of shaking it, he took it and lifted it up and lowered his head.
His face lowered closer and his eyes locked on hers. Nat’s heart was thumping so hard now she felt light-headed. For a long moment he did nothing and it was as if he was sending her some kind of silent subliminal message. And then his mouth brushed the back of her hand, fleeting and yet hot enough to send a shard of pure sensation right to the pulse between her legs. Lord.
He let her go and straightened up, indicating for her to take a seat. ‘Thank you for joining me.’
Nat sat down, aware that her legs were wobbly, and watched him take a seat on the other side of the small, intimate table.
She admitted a little sheepishly, ‘I thought you might be gone.’
His mouth tipped up in a wry smile, ‘I almost was.’
The hint of a smile made him look younger, less brooding. A waiter interrupted them and Nat took a breath, ordering a white wine. As he conversed with the waiter, Nat took him in. He wore a black suit, which even her eye could tell was bespoke as it lovingly hugged powerful muscles. A crisp white shirt emphasised how dark he was.
And then the waiter was gone and he was looking at her again.
She put down her bag, aware she was clutching it like some kind of terrified virgin. A spurt of panic as to what he might think of her capitulation made her say, ‘Look, I’m just here for a drink, ok? I’m not…up for anything else.’
He arched a brow and that smile played around his mouth again. ‘I believe I just asked you for dinner, and as much as I can’t deny that I haven’t thought about taking you to bed…I will respect your boundaries, of course.’
Nat’s face burned. What he said was all at once so blatantly honest and yet courteous. As if he was from another time. He wanted her. The flames licked higher.
‘And,’ he was adding now, ‘As I don’t even know your name, maybe we should start there, hm?’
Nat got the distinct impression that he was no mere model turned actor. She smiled, a part of her relaxing for the first time since she’d walked in. ‘I’m Nat. Nat Jordan.’
‘And I’m Salim Segal.’
The waiter arrived and put down their drinks. When he was gone Salim raised his glass, ‘To meeting you, Nat Jordan.’
She lightly tipped her glass off his. ‘You too.’
Sipping at the cool fresh wine, she put down the glass and had to admit, ‘Someone told me who you were, earlier. After you’d left.’
‘Ah.’
Once again, not the self-involved response of a person in the media glare. It was as if he was waiting for her reaction. Interesting.
Feeling awkward now she said, ‘I believe you have a film coming out? And you’re a model?’
His face seemed to harden as he admitted with clear irritation, ‘I’ve been answering those questions all day in a million different ways. Would you mind if we didn’t talk about it?’
Nat’s mouth opened and shut again. And her eyes must have widened because he drawled, ‘What? You’d heard I was a model and an actor and you expected to find me either gazing at my own reflection or asking you out so I could talk about myself ad nauseum?’
She flushed and lifted her glass to hide behind. When she looked at him again he was staring at her and she had to shrug a little and admit, ‘I wasn’t sure what to expect…but I know what my experience of models has been and they’re usually—’
‘A bunch of vacuous clothes-horses?’
Nat’s mouth twitched. ‘Now that’s not fair, they’re not all like that. For instance our model today, Lenka, she’s studying to be a neuroscientist in Moscow.’
He leaned forward and growled softly, ‘I don’t want to talk about Lenka, or models, or films.’
He sat back and took a sip from his glass. He held it in his hand and something about the delicacy of the glass in his big hand made a light sweat break out all over her skin. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her wrap dress. Aware of how it could gape slightly at the front, showing more than she liked. She resisted the urge to tug it together.
Was it her imagination or was his gaze on her there? Hot.
But then he was asking, ‘Nat…what’s it short for?’
Her name on his tongue made little sparks skate across her skin, raising it to goosebumps. She’d never thought of herself as a particularly sexual person but right now it seemed to be all she could think about. What it would be like to feel his mouth on hers, his tongue…that body pressing her down, spreading her legs to take him-she blurted out before she lost it completely, ‘It’s short for Natalja. My mother was Russian, my parents met when my father was covering elections there.’
‘I heard you talking Russian today.’
Nat felt hot to think of him observing her work. ‘I used to speak it with my mother. My father would be away…for long periods of time.’
He leant forward again. ‘I came across your father’s work when I was twenty, in a gallery in Paris. It was seeing his images that inspired me to join the army. He died not long after I joined, I was sorry to hear of his death.’
Nat struggled to take this in, not liking how her chest got tight to hear him mention her father as a personal influence. It…bound them in a way that made her wish he was just some dizzy model interested only in talking about fashion. And then she thought about what he said. ‘You were in the army?’
He nodded. But just then someone coughed discreetly nearby and Nat looked up, a little dazed, to see the hotel manager, Cavello. He glanced at her with not a little surprise and bowed deferentially towards Salim. ‘Mr Segal, your table is ready in the restaurant, would you like us to hold it, or…?’
Nat looked at Salim. His name conjured up dark exotic things. Like him. He spoke
