The Arabian Love-Child. Michelle Reid
The chair was in the way, the marble desk blocking any other form of escape. ‘Let me pass,’ she insisted.
‘Of course.’ He took a step sideways.
Flustered beyond daring to think, Melanie went to slither between him and the desk. His hand snaked out, caught her by the waist to bring her to a standstill. It was the first time he’d touched her in eight long years and it turned her senses into live wires that forced her to draw in a sharp breath.
He laughed huskily. ‘Sure you want to go?’
She lifted her face to spit out her answer at him. Eyes clashed with eyes, hot and elemental. She parted her lips on a shivering gasp. Rafiq dipped his dark head and covered them. She fell into his kiss like a suicidal lemming.
What shocked Rafiq more was that he did the same thing himself. He had no idea where it all came from. One minute he was toying with her just for the hell of it, the next he was locked into hottest, darkest, most sexually arousing kiss he had ever experienced in his life! He could feel every quivering inch of her as if they were already naked. Her perfume filled his head, and the desperate little groans she was making as she tried to fight what was happening and knew she did not stand a chance vibrated in every one of his nerve cells.
Melanie the harlot, he thought grimly as she arched compulsively then hungrily deepened the kiss. Well…why not? he asked himself as the anger still burning within the desire gave him the excuse to do what he liked. The desk was convenient. All it would take was a lift of his arm and he could be enjoying her on a slab of cold marble. Sex in a mausoleum, he thought grimly, sacrificial and pagan. It suited him very well.
A sound beyond the door infiltrated the madness. With a tug Melanie managed to separate their mouths, then took a jerky step back. Shocked and shaken by the whole experience, she slumped weakly against the edge of the marble and gasped like a sprinter while trying to clear the dizzy fog from her head.
‘What made you do that?’ she choked out when she could manage to say anything.
He laughed—harshly—as if she’d just told a really bad joke. But the really bad joke was the way he was standing there calmly fastening shirt buttons she must have unfastened! Horrified, she looked down, and saw her jacket was hanging open revealing her skimpy black lace bra. Pure vanity had made her decide to wear nothing else beneath the jacket, so as not to spoil its smooth line. But now she had to deal with the mortifying knowledge that he knew she had come here only half-dressed!
As if she was begging for it. She shuddered. She could almost hear him saying those derisory words out loud. Why not? She had fallen into that kiss like a love-racked teenager.
Her skin was flushed, her nipples hard. ‘I don’t believe this is happening,’ she breathed shakily, while urgently redoing buttons with numb fingers and wishing she couldn’t still feel his hands on her body.
‘You should not have come here, Melanie,’ Rafiq said grimly.
‘I didn’t come here for this!’ she cried.
‘Take my advice and get out of here.’ Turning, he strode back round the desk. ‘And if you have any sense at all you will not attempt to come back.’
Melanie nodded in complete agreement, tried swallowing down the lump in her throat and tried to stand without the aid of the desk. It didn’t happen. Her legs refused to support her. It was the final humiliation and she had to put a trembling hand up to cover her burning eyes.
He was a ruthless, heartless, arrogant devil. How could she have let herself forget all of that?
But she hadn’t forgotten it. She’d merely shelved it in a box marked, Has had time to change.
‘I n-need my papers,’ she stammered, and in a last-ditch attempt to leave with some dignity she forced her stupid legs to carry her weight.
He nodded coolly, and began gathering the papers together. Melanie stood at his side and waited in stiff silence for him to hand them over so that she could get out of here and never, ever come back.
‘Your uncle is still running the farm?’ he asked suddenly.
She frowned at the question, her head still too fluffy to think properly. ‘He died five years ago in a farming accident.’
‘I’m sorry, I had not heard.’
Melanie shrugged away his commiserations. There had never been any affection between her and her uncle. She was sorry he had died so tragically, but other than that, she still could not bring herself to forgive him for the part he had played in trying to ruin her life.
‘And Jamie?’
Ah, he couldn’t resist it, could he? A fresh wave of bitterness welled, putting the light of defiance back in her eyes. Her chin went up and she threw that defiance straight at him. ‘My papers,’ she prompted, holding a hand out.
To Rafiq, this was a challenge and a refusal to make any comment on the person she had betrayed him with. He lowered his gaze to the outstretched hand.
‘You’ve changed,’ he remarked. ‘Grown more assertive.’
‘Life has a habit of changing you.’
‘And money.’
‘And money.’ She nodded in agreement.
‘Which you would like me to invest for you?’
‘Money is a devil to look after if you’re not used to handling it,’ she answered.
‘Why me?’ he asked, suddenly curious when Melanie no longer wanted him to be.
‘Because Randal assured me that you were the best.’ And that’s all you’re getting out of me, she added silently.
‘Liar,’ he drawled. ‘You suggested me to Randal.’
Oh, that shook her. She hadn’t expected Randal to reveal that juicy bit of information. Still, she rallied. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you aren’t the best?’
His smile this time was disturbing. Disturbing because she’d seen Robbie use the exact same expression, but had never connected it with his father before. She knew that physical things, like the colour of eyes and hair and skin, came as part of the genetic package, but she hadn’t realised that smiles did also.
‘There you are, then.’ She tried a smile. ‘I was hoping your business ethic would put you above bearing grudges. It seems I was wrong. My mistake. I’ll find someone else.’
‘To…’ he glanced at the top piece of paper “‘…invest one half of your inheritance in long-term options while the other half is locked into a trust fund,”’ he read out loud.
A frisson of alarm disturbed her breathing. He was beginning to show interest when she no longer wanted him to. ‘Randal is setting the trust fund up for me,’ she said tensely, her eyes fixed on those long brown fingers set against the white paper that held the details of her entire life.
Her life and Robbie’s life.
‘For whom?’ Rafiq questioned.
‘Does it matter?’ she countered stiffly.
‘If you want me to work with you, it does,’ he murmured quietly.
‘But I don’t any longer.’
He ignored that and went to sit down in his chair—taking her papers with him. ‘Sit and explain,’ he smoothly invited, then flipped to the next page.
‘N-no,’ she refused. ‘I’ve changed my mind, Rafiq. I made a mistake to come to y-you. I know that now. You were right. I should leave. I’m s-sorry I intruded.’
Rafiq narrowed his eyes on her taut stature; something inside him went very still. She was afraid, white with it, suddenly no longer defiant but teetering dangerously on the edge of panic.
‘For whom?’ he repeated very quietly, and watched with deepening