like angel. He should’ve been thrilled he’d been proved right.
Instead he drowned in her unresisting softness.
When she shoved at his chest, he blinked rapidly in surprise and shook his head to clear it. “What?”
She scrambled to her feet, her breathing unsteady, her eyes blazing. “You misled me. I didn’t come here for this. I’m not so desperate for a place to sleep.”
Before she could spin away, he caught her arm.
“Tiffany, wait. You insult both of us. You might think I’m a jerk but I never assumed you came with me to find a bed for the night.” Although perhaps the possibility should’ve occurred to him.
There was something about her that made him want to believe she wasn’t like that. Maybe it was her wide brown eyes that gave her such an air of sincerity. Or the baby-soft skin beneath his fingertips …
He brushed the observation aside. She was a woman—of course her skin was soft. It made her no different from a million other women.
Time to get rid of her, before she had him believing the tales she’d spun. He dropped her arm and drew his wallet from the back of his pants, flipping it open to extract a five-hundred-dollar bill. To his surprise his fingers still shook from the aftershocks of the kiss. “Here, this is your tip for serving me drinks—that should help cover your accommodation for a couple of nights.” If indeed, that story was true.
Bowing her head, Tiffany mumbled, “I can’t take that.”
“Why not?” By Allah, she drove him mad. What did she want from him? “I always intended to give you something to tide you over.”
Rafiq tried to figure out her agenda. He still wasn’t sure what she was after. She was such a curious mix of sophistication and spontaneity. On the one hand she’d almost convinced him her purse and passport had been stolen and all she wanted was a few dollars for a couple of nights’ budget accommodation. Hah, he was even ready to give it to her. In the next breath she’d told him she couldn’t afford the airfare home, leaving him certain that he was being manipulated by an expert.
He couldn’t work out whether she was simply a victim or extremely smart.
But his conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave her homeless in case she really had been the victim of petty crime. He thought of his cousin Zara, of his brother’s wife, Megan. What if it had been one of the women of his family in such a predicament? He would hope that someone would come to their aid.
“Take it, please.”
She stared down at the note in his hand. “It’s too much. After that kiss it would feel … wrong,” she mumbled, her hair blocking him from seeing her face.
He couldn’t help noticing the catch in her voice.
“Okay.” Growing impatient with himself, for being so aware of the woman, he opened the billfold again and extracted a twenty and a ten before shoving the other note back. “Take this then—it’s not as good a tip as you deserve, but at least you won’t suspect my motives.”
She tilted her head back and stared at him for a long moment. “Thank you for understanding.”
Tears glimmered in her eyes.
“Oh, don’t cry,” he said roughly.
“I can’t help it.” She sniffed and wiped her fingers across her eyes. “I’m sorry for calling you a jerk.”
Rafiq found himself smiling. She enchanted him, this woman whom he couldn’t get a fix on. One minute he had her down as the cleverest schemer he’d ever met, the next she appeared as sweetly innocent as his cousin Zara.
She leaned forward. The scent of gardenias surrounded him. She rested her palm against his chest, her hand warm through the fine cotton of his shirt. Rafiq’s breath caught in his throat.
But the hunger he felt for Tiffany bore no resemblance to the sisterly love he showered on Zara.
By the time Tiffany rose on tiptoes and pressed soft lips against his cheek, he was rigid with reaction.
“Thank you, you’ve saved my life.”
She smelled so sweet, the body brushing against him so feminine, that Rafiq couldn’t stop his arms from encircling her. He drew her up against him. “Oh, Tiffany, what am I supposed to make of you?”
“I’m not very complicated at all—what you see is what you get,” she muttered against his shirt front.
He felt her smile against his thundering heart, heard her breath quicken as his arms tightened convulsively around her … and was lost.
A long time seemed to pass before Rafiq lifted his lips from hers.
As Tiffany’s fingers crept up his shirt and hooked into his loosened tie, Rafiq forgot that he’d started this driven by perverse curiosity and affronted male pride, to see if Tiffany would kiss him when she’d vowed that she wasn’t affected by his brand of charm.
It had all changed.
His tightly leashed control was in shreds.
All he could think about was tasting her again … and again.
Her fingers froze. “What are we doing?” She sounded as befuddled as he felt. “Anyone could walk in on us through those sliding doors.”
“No.” He shook his head. “That’s not true. This private pool and deck are part of my suite—my key card activated the entry doors onto the deck.”
Her breath caught—an audible sound. “Your suite? You said we’d have a drink…. I would never have entered your suite.”
She’d withdrawn. Her eyes had grown dark and distrustful. Rafiq gathered she was making unfavorable assumptions about his motives. He couldn’t blame her. “The bar downstairs is noisy—and full of inebriated men at this time of night. We wouldn’t have been able to hear ourselves think.” Much less talk.
“Oh …”
Unable to help himself he stroked a finger along the curve of her jaw. Soft curls trailed over the back of his hand. “You are very beautiful, do you know that?”
“Not beautiful.” She sounded distracted.
He stilled his fingers, and cupped the side of her face. Tilting it up, he looked down into her wide eyes. “Beautiful.”
She shook her head. “Not me. Pretty, maybe, at a stretch. But in this light you wouldn’t even be able to tell.”
No one could call her vain. “My eyes are not the only senses attuned to you. I don’t need bright intrusive light to remember that your eyes are the haunting tawny-brown shade of the desert sands streaked with the burnished gold of the setting sun. I don’t need light to feel.” Gently he rubbed her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “Your mouth is the crushed red of the satiny petals in the rose gardens of Qasr Al-Ward.” His fingers explored her cheeks. “Your skin is softer than an almond blossom. Your cheekbones are carefully sculpted by a masterful hand to
