a balm to her wounded pride.
‘But it is no matter. We won’t care how long we have to wait. We won’t notice the time.’
‘No…’
It was all she could manage because it was happening again. The warm sensuality of his tone had dried her throat, leaving her lips parched so that she had to slide her tongue over them to ease the discomfort. And as she saw that intent, black gaze drop to follow the small betraying movement she felt its force as if it were an actual touch on her skin, and shivered secretly in response.
The need for that touch to be a reality sent a wave of hunger through her that drained the strength from her legs so that she had to sink down suddenly onto the nearest chair. It was either that or give herself away completely by falling in a ridiculously weak heap right at his beautifully shod feet.
‘Won’t you sit down too?’ she managed.
And it was as he came down beside her that a new feeling hit. A disturbing, scary sensation that made her feel as if something wet and icy had slowly slithered down the sensitive length of her spine.
She was suddenly totally and inexplicably convinced that her life would never be the same again. That the whole of her future was bound up with this man and there was no way she could break free at all.
CHAPTER TWO
‘SO, WHAT shall we talk about?’
Lydia had to force herself to drag her thoughts back from the disturbing paths they were determined to follow. She had already let this man rattle her far too easily. It was time she got back in control of the situation! Seeing him as the ruler of her fate, indeed! He was just a new acquaintance. A stunning, fascinating, lethally good-looking one, admittedly, but just a man for all that.
But then her eyes met the dark, deep set ones of the man beside her and the description ‘just a man’ once more became totally inadequate.
‘Where should we begin?’
‘Names would be a good place to start.’
She aimed for crisp matter-of-factness and was pleased to note that she actually managed to come close.
‘We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet. I’m Lydia Ashton.’
She held out her hand as she spoke, feeling better now that things were back on a more regular footing.
‘And you are?’
A worrying glint of something that looked like amusement gleamed in his eyes but he followed her lead impeccably.
‘Amir Zaman,’ he said in that beautiful voice, the slight accent deepening on the words.
‘Amir…’
This was the normal path of things—meetings, introductions, getting to know someone… Then, and only then, did you start to harbour the sort of unexpurgated, X-rated thoughts that had been running wild in her head from the moment she had first set eyes on this man.
But then he took her hand in his and immediately she lost her grip on herself, all her careful control shattering in the space of a second.
His hand was warm and firm, his grip strong, controlled, she suspected, to ensure that the full force of it didn’t crush her slighter fingers. But it was the feel of his flesh against hers, the sensual caress of skin against skin that sent a sensation like a fierce electrical charge shooting through her body. She had the crazy feeling that this was the one touch she had been waiting for all her life, and her head swam with the impact of its effect on her.
‘Amir…’ she tried again, struggling to conceal from him the way she was feeling. ‘Unusual—and very definitely not English.’
‘It’s Arabic.’ There was a surprising edge to his voice. ‘It means Prince.’
It suited him too. Suited the proud carriage, the beautifully carved features, the way that dark head was held so arrogantly high. She could just imagine him in the wild, flowing robes of the Bedouin warriors. He would look stunning, exotic and magnificent.
‘At least it means something. I once looked up Lydia in a dictionary of names. All it means, apparently, is “a woman from Lydia” which is somewhere in Greece.’
He was still holding her hand, she realised, not having released it after that first greeting. For the life of her she couldn’t think of a way of freeing herself without communicating the wrong message with her actions.
So she simply let it lie where it was. Which was, after all, what she really wanted to do.
‘Arabic.’ Backtracking hastily, she tried to keep the conversation going. ‘Is that where you’re going?’
‘To the Gulf?’ The dark head inclined in agreement. ‘That’s where I was supposed to be flying to today.’
‘You have friends there?’
‘Family.’
Something had changed. Without knowing how, she had blundered in on a subject he didn’t want to talk about, innocently crashing through barriers that she hadn’t realised were there. There was a new hardness in the brilliant eyes, tightness around his mouth and jaw that made her shiver faintly in unease.
Perhaps it was the fact of being in a VIP lounge for the first—and probably the only—time in her life. Or perhaps it had something to do with being in transit, so to speak, not actually belonging anywhere at all at the moment, but being partway between her old life and the new. That and the whirling snow outside, obliterating the safe, familiar world she knew, had given her a strange sense of unreality. It was as if this room, this space where she and Amir Zaman sat, had become a separate little enclosed universe, a bubble suspended out of time, where none of the rules by which she normally ran her life actually worked, or even mattered.
Suddenly his hold on her hand no longer seemed so comfortable or so welcome. With a slight tug she managed to loosen his grasp, ease herself free.
‘I think I’d like something to drink,’ she managed unevenly.
‘Of course.’
In an instant the disturbingly distant mood had vanished and he was all attention, all concern, the jet eyes turning immediately in search of an attendant.
One look was all it took. He didn’t even raise his hand, made no gesture at all that she could detect, and yet the girl in the airport uniform immediately headed in their direction, summoned by the silent command.
‘Yes, sir? What can I get for you?’
‘Lydia? What would you like? Coffee? Or perhaps some wine?’
‘Just coffee, please,’ Lydia responded hastily. She didn’t dare risk anything alcoholic. She was intoxicated enough as it was.
‘Coffee for two, then.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Lydia would not have been surprised to see her actually bob a respectful curtsey. The tone of his voice was pitched just right. It
