Kitabı oku: «The Sheikh Who Loved Her: Ruling Sheikh, Unruly Mistress / Surrender to the Playboy Sheikh / Her Desert Dream», sayfa 3

CHAPTER FOUR

LUCY spent the next hour in her small attic room, pacing up and down. If only plain girls could be born with a lust bypass, she reflected, pausing by the mirror to view her unchanged reflection, it would make life and rejection so much easier for her. Of course, she knew her relationship with Mac was purely professional, and she’d only known him five minutes, but it would have been nice if, only for a few moments of that time, the frisson she felt could have been a two-way connection. The best thing now was to have a long soak and try to forget him. But she couldn’t, because she had somewhere to be and there were jobs to do first—beds to turn down, bathrooms to clean, towels to check, fires to bank up …

She was running late by the time she finished all her remaining tasks and she still had to get ready—number one on the list was a quick bath, and then she’d have to run all the way to the club where her friends would be waiting for her.

Interest laced with concern for Lucy had developed into hot, shameless lust. Razi had to have her. She was beautiful, unaffected and available—and as soon as he had given her a chance to clear up the chalet and set up for the morning he was going to have her.

His impatience was easy to explain—apart from the ache in his groin the clock was ticking. He had never felt the weight of duty more. He embraced the responsibilities coming his way with enthusiasm, but was under no illusion as to the effect they would have on his lifestyle. A traditional marriage—even if not to his cousin Leila—was on the cards. He owed it to his country. But before then …

‘Preoccupied, Razi?’ Tom asked him discreetly.

‘You know,’ he said offhandedly. They were sitting in a noisy bar and he was already itching to move on. The drinks weren’t cold enough and the nibbles tasted of cardboard after Lucy’s delicacies.

Next time she could serve them on her naked body and he’d lick the champagne she spilled off her belly.

‘We can move on if you like,’ Tom suggested.

‘Sorry, Tom. Didn’t mean to ignore you—things on my mind.’

‘Oh, no.’ Tom sighed theatrically and passed a hand across his eyes. ‘Let me guess.’

‘Don’t,’ he said sharply. For some reason he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone, even Tom, making sport of Lucy. ‘Don’t even go there, Tom. Let’s just move on.’

Muffled up in a super-sized ski jacket, a long scarf, a woolly hat with a bobble on top and a thick pair of gloves, Lucy hurried along the empty streets towards the club. The streets were deserted because everyone was already cosy and warm inside one of the many restaurants and bars by this time of night. It was a world of muffled music and the occasional blast of noise and laughter as a door opened briefly.

She was feeling guilty as she scudded along, knowing her brothers would have loved an event like the one she was due to take part in, while she felt shy at the prospect of entering a crowded club where everyone would know each other. She only hoped she could find her colleagues straight away when she arrived—and that Mac and co didn’t decide to go there too. She shivered at the thought of it and almost lost her nerve and turned around.

Her enthusiasm for the event shrank even more when a member of a rival chalet company barred her way at the entrance. ‘Here’s the runner up,’ he announced to his friends, who all started laughing. She hurried past, but her confidence had taken a dive. It got worse when she saw all her colleagues waiting for her and looking so hopeful.

‘Ready?’ they chorused.

‘As I’ll ever be,’ Lucy confirmed, wondering why she had agreed to sing in the first place. Being a good choir girl hardly qualified her for the annual karaoke competition between the rival chalet companies, and the moment she entered the makeshift dressing room, which doubled as the ladies’ restroom, she knew she’d made a big mistake. She didn’t have the personality for something like this.

‘Make-up?’ one of the girls prompted, waking her out of the terror stupor. They were stripping off her coat and scarf, and one of them plucked the hat from her head.

‘I don’t have any make-up.’

‘You don’t?’ The girls looked at each other in alarm.

‘I’ve never bought any.’

Alarm was replaced by incredulity.

‘I’m not very good with it.’

‘Not surprising if you never tried,’ one girl said with an encouraging smile, stepping forward. ‘No worries—we’ll do it for you.’

‘Oh, no, thank you—but if I wear make up, I’ll look awful.’ I look bad enough already, Lucy thought, gazing in despair at her reflection. Compared to the other girls she was a real plain Jane.

‘You couldn’t possibly look awful,’ one of the other girls said kindly.

‘I only took off my apron five minutes ago.’

‘So imagine the transformation.’

They were all so eager to help. How could she let them down? She dragged her confidence cloak tightly round her. ‘Okay, I suppose we’d better get on with it.’

Hasty words, Lucy realised as one of them produced a costume for her to wear with a flourish, carolling, ‘Ta da!’

‘No,’ she said firmly. Singing was one thing, but she was going to wear her sensible off-duty clothes, which comprised jeans and a pale blue fleece.

The girls looked at each other and then, recognising the straw that might well break the camel’s back, they gave in.

‘Just tell me when I have to sing and I’ll be fine.’ Or she might be, if her upper lip didn’t feel as if it were super-glued to her teeth.

‘Here, have a drink of water,’ one of her colleagues said as Lucy licked to no effect with a bone-dry tongue.

Then they all went silent as the contestant from the opposing chalet company began to sing.

‘He’s got a great voice,’ Lucy commented, swallowing hard.

‘And he’s hot,’ one of the girls added.

Better to know she didn’t stand a chance before she headed for the makeshift stage, Lucy reasoned. ‘I’m going to give it everything I’ve got.’ She smiled bravely as a pile of make-up bags hit the counter.

Then the girls took over, transforming her while she could only watch helplessly. One of them brushed out her hair and curled it with a heated wand, while another made up her face.

‘Relax—I do this as a living when I’m not doing the ski season,’ one girl assured Lucy as she applied a brown stripe beneath Lucy’s cheekbones, a white one above and a blob of red on the apple of her cheek.

Now she looked like a painted doll with exaggerated colouring. She should never have let this happen.

Lucy closed her eyes, resigned to her fate, so it was a surprise when she opened them to find that once the stripes had been blended in she didn’t look half bad. Her skin looked even, radiant, and her face sculpted. The make-up was like a mask, Lucy realised with relief—a mask to hide behind. Careful work on her eyes and lips had turned her into someone she hardly recognised and Mac would certainly never recognise her if he decided to come in for a drink. ‘I had no idea,’ she murmured, leaning forward.

‘No time for that,’ the girls insisted as she continued to stare into the mirror, amazed at her reflection. Taking hold of her on either side, they ushered her outside.

One last glance confirmed the surprising fact that, left loose, her hair didn’t look half bad either. Thanks to the styling wand it hung in thick waves almost to her waist. She had never worn her hair like this before, because her mother said long hair was untidy, and, of course, in a professional kitchen her hair was always covered. Make-up? She pressed her rouged lips together anxiously—she’d never get used to it, but at least the girls looked pleased.

‘You look amazing,’ one of them assured her and they all agreed.

‘Amazingly silly?’

‘No!’

‘Have some confidence,’ one girl insisted. ‘You won our award when you least expected it, and now you’re going to win this.’

‘If I could sing better.’

‘It’s karaoke, Lucy.’ They all laughed. ‘You’re not supposed to sing—just get into the spirit of it and you’ll be fine.’

‘And if you’re not, we’ll hide and pretend not to know you,’ another girl teased her.

They had left the bar and headed back to the chalet for their skis to satisfy Razi’s whim to expend a small part of his energy skiing down the black slope with just the ultra-lights on their helmets to show them the way. With precipices on either side and at the speeds they travelled it was like playing Russian roulette with a loaded gun that had no bullets missing. It was both exhilarating and dangerous. Irresponsible, maybe, but it had left him on a high. The five of them had been doing this since school when they had first climbed out of a chalet window at midnight, leaving the school masters on the trip snoring. These days Razi pleased himself. He owned the chalet and could leave by the front door, but the thrill had not diminished.

They were all down safely, but with adrenalin surging through his veins he still had energy to burn.

‘Champagne?’ Theo suggested.

‘Lead me to it,’ Razi agreed, snapping off his skis in anticipation of a short stroll to his favourite bar.

‘Do you think we could drop by the chalet? Let Lucy know what we’re up to? Invite her along?’ Tom questioned with a knowing wink.

As Razi might have anticipated, this drew comment from the other men. They were experienced men of the world, but they had all seen something in Lucy—just as he had. His hackles rose. ‘Lay off her, boys,’ he warned, lifting off his helmet. ‘You could all see Lucy was overwhelmed when we rocked up.’

This drew a second chorus of knowing smirks, which he ignored. ‘The least we can do is give her a chance to get used to us.’

‘To you, don’t you mean?’

He refused to dignify Theo’s comment with a reply.

Tom drew alongside him to observe discreetly, ‘That’s extremely thoughtful of you …’

‘It’s nothing.’ Razi dismissed the comment with an impatient gesture. ‘Lucy was fine when we left and she’s probably asleep by now. She also left food on the table at the chalet, so if we need anything to eat later we can rustle up something for ourselves.’

‘Just like the old days,’ Theo agreed, coming up on his other side.

Not at all like the old days, Razi’s exchange of glances with Tom confirmed. This trip was not the same as the trips they had enjoyed in their carefree teenage years, but the briefest of stops before the weight of responsibility tied each one of them in their different ways. But for all their machismo they were up to the task, Razi concluded, taking a look around his friends. ‘Last one to the bar buys the drinks.’

Impossible to imagine their fortunes could be counted in billions as the four friends jostled and wrestled their way across the piste.

Okay, so this was it. But she needed an urgent trip to the ladies’ room first …

‘No looking back,’ the girls warned Lucy as they accompanied her to the stage.

‘I feel sick.’

‘There’s a fire bucket in the wings,’ one of the girls pointed out helpfully.

‘I can’t remember the words.’

‘You don’t have to remember the words,’ the girls reminded her in chorus. ‘This is karaoke, Luce.’

‘What if I can’t see the screen?’

‘We’ll sing along with you.’

‘What if I can’t hear you?’

‘You’ll hear us,’ they promised.

The compére was already on stage, waiting for the crowd to quieten so he could introduce Lucy. Would they ever quieten enough to hear her? It seemed unlikely, thank goodness. Freeing herself from her supporters, Lucy stepped reluctantly up to the red curtain someone had hastily drawn across the makeshift stage and peered through. She couldn’t see anything; the light was so bright—much better backstage in the dark where no one could see her. ‘Couldn’t I sing from back here?’

‘That’s a no, then,’ Lucy muttered as her friends exclaimed in protest.

She wished the spotlights weren’t quite so bright, or so well aimed. She felt nervous, hot and scared—and desperate not to let the side down.

‘There is one positive.’

‘A positive?’ the girls encouraged as she fought for breath.

‘Yes, I can’t make out any faces in the crowd—I took out my contact lenses,’ she managed on a gasp, breathing deeply into lungs that seemed suddenly on fire.

All she could hear now were whistles, shouts and catcalls. The compére had succeeded in whipping the crowd up to fever pitch just in time for her appearance. Great. The position of the fire bucket had never held such colossal significance.

‘You’ll be all right once you get on stage,’ the girls assured her, hands poised on Lucy’s shoulders in readiness to push her on.

She didn’t have time to think about it. Blundering through the curtain, she was instantly deafened by the booming bass on the backing track and blinded by the lights. She put up her arm to shield her eyes and in doing so missed the introduction. The crowd was silent like a fierce beast preparing to pounce and rip her into shreds, while she stood curled in a protective huddle in the middle of the stage, spotlights illuminating her humiliation, while her backing track moved inexorably on.

Somewhere in the distance she heard the girls shouting her name …

It was no good. She couldn’t do it—not even for them. Blinking like a mole, she realised with horror that she couldn’t see or hear anything, let alone sing …

Clenching her fists with determination, she forced herself to make a tremulous start, and no one was more surprised than Lucy when her voice gradually gained in confidence and strengthened as the beauty of the melody overpowered her fears. She had insisted on singing a love song when everyone had begged her to sing an upbeat number, and, what with the poignancy of the words and the beauty of the music, she only had to imagine Mac and she was away.

She would never have believed she could enjoy herself so much on stage—even the crowd had silenced in appreciation. They’d gathered round her and many of them were arm in arm as they stared up at her, listening. Discovering she could lose herself in music was a magical experience … Thinking about Mac made it perfect.

CHAPTER FIVE

WHAT the hell?

As they entered the bar Razi’s gaze was immediately drawn to the stage where Lucy was singing.

Lucy was singing?

He couldn’t believe his eyes, though he’d have known her anywhere. But this was a very different Lucy. Her hair was a shimmering curtain of gold, hanging to her waist, and she was wearing make-up that enhanced her features without being too heavy. Her top was something blue and soft that framed her face and set off the lustre of her hair, but it was her singing voice that really captivated him—as it had every other man in the room.

His expression darkened as he took in all the other male onlookers lusting after Lucy. Her singing and the sincerity of her interpretation had them gripped. Her voice was richly seductive and as beautiful as if it came from her very soul. It was also the husky tone he had imagined hearing in bed …

There was a solid mass of bodies at front of the stage between him and Lucy, but it parted for him like the Red Sea. He didn’t even have to elbow his way through. His motors were running and everyone knew it. No one cared to get in his way. She had finished her song and the audience was demanding an encore. Men were cheering and wolf-whistling as he reached the front, by which time she was singing again. The fact that that they found her pleasing was irrelevant to him—or maybe even made it worse. His warrior ancestry pressed down on him. The fact that he adored women demanded action. For however short a time Lucy Tennant was his to protect and defend—

And make love to, he added silently as she stared at him in alarm.

Her voice faltered. The audience fell silent. The tension mounted. He sensed a tipping moment when the crowd would either cheer her to the rafters or boo her off the stage. Her eyes locked with his in silent appeal.

For one fire-burst moment she was so high on adrenalin she exulted in the fact that Mac was staring at her. She had been persuaded to sing an encore, but she wanted to sing for Mac—so he could see who she could be and hear what she could never hope to express in words. This was Lucy Tennant flying high and wide, allowing the music to speak for her. Singing made anything possible …

Or would have done, had not Mac’s eyes been narrowed. With disapproval? It was hard to tell. He was looking at her—the audience was looking at him—and then at her. And back to Mac. Their little drama was proving far more interesting than the karaoke competition and she could hardly ignore him. Slowly but surely all her confidence-inspiring adrenalin seeped away, and then everything spiralled in. What was she doing singing on a stage—other than looking ridiculous?

But then the incredible happened. Mac’s face changed, relaxed. His eyes darkened as he stared at her and his mouth slowly curved in a sexy smile. Was that a nod of approval? Was it? Mac wanted her to sing for him and that was what she was going to do.

The moment she started singing again everyone began to cheer. They were on their feet applauding her—a noisy frame to the stillness that had developed between her and Mac. By the time she had finished the song, she was oblivious to the cheers. She was trembling all over, her brain in a whirl of confusion. How amazing that moment of connection between them had felt! Mac’s power … His reaction to her singing … Her reaction to him … Arousal … Frustration. Overwhelming relief …

Mostly relief, Lucy realised now she was coming back down to earth. A few more seconds on stage without Mac willing her on and she might have turned into her usual bashful self—and for a crowd fuelled up on drink and excitement that wouldn’t have worked.

Now she’d won. Incredibly, she’d won. She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief as her friends crowded to the front of the stage. Mac stood at the side at the foot of the steps, quietly waiting for her. That was perhaps the sexiest, the most telling moment of all. They had to call her name twice she was so distracted by him, and on the second time of calling her Mac looked up, his face creasing in the familiar bad-boy smile as he slowly began to applaud without ever once losing eye contact with her. ‘Go on,’ he mouthed. ‘You won …’

Still shaking her head, she walked forward to accept her prize.

‘I don’t know why you find it so surprising,’ Mac said, offering her his hand to help her down the steps at the side of the stage. ‘You have a great voice, Lucy—and a great way of putting a song across.’ He shrugged, muscles easing across the wide spread of his shoulders as he stared down at her with humour in his eyes.

‘You’re still here,’ she said foolishly, all her shyness returning in a rush. Being on stage was one thing—being here in front of Mac with no spotlights between them was something else.

‘Of course I’m still here,’ he said as if she’d said something very puzzling indeed. ‘Why would I go?’

Breathing was hard suddenly. She could think of a million reasons why he would go, but she wasn’t going to give him any hints. Instead she forced a laugh, knowing he had to be joking. Mac was a guest and she was a chalet girl. He didn’t want her—not in that way.

‘Drink?’ he suggested. ‘Or back to the chalet?’

She blinked, refocusing in a rush. There was no mistaking his meaning. Even she wasn’t naïve enough for that. It was all there in his eyes and in Mac’s body language. It didn’t come much more direct. His eyes spoke of sensual promise. There could be no misunderstanding. And, of course, she should rebuff, rebel, refuse—and to hell with the fact that Mac was a guest and she mustn’t offend him—

But there was a small problem with that. She wanted him.

She was violently aroused.

Mac’s compelling gaze didn’t waver from her face for a single moment, and suddenly the thought that he might want her back at the chalet to clear out the cinders or coddle him an egg seemed far more ridiculous than the realisation that he wanted her in bed. Mac, in casual clothes that moulded his powerful frame with formidable attention to detail, wanted her.

Mac, who looked as fresh and ready for action as if he hadn’t been thrashing the slopes for the past few hours, wanted her?

He looked lush. Mac was the quintessential forbidden fruit. She would miss out on her taste if she didn’t find the courage to seize the moment—and when better than now? She would never get another chance like this one. ‘I’d better get my coat.’

‘You better had,’ he said.

He felt a surge of heat and triumph—not that the final outcome had ever been in any doubt. Lucy had needs and he had urges. It was a match made in … Val d’Isere. It was a match that would last for precisely one night. He’d leave her happy, but he’d leave. His playboy life was over. Duty beckoned and he was ready to serve.

He smiled as she came shyly towards him, all buttoned up and ready to be undressed. He’d serve Lucy Tennant and then he’d serve Isla de Sinnebar with the same focus and energy—though for a lifetime rather than a single night.

By the time they reached the chalet he had extended Lucy’s time with him to one night and one day to accommodate all his plans. He enjoyed her company. He loved her voice. She didn’t have the slightest idea how beautiful she was. Granted, the outfit she was wearing now was dull, but that only whetted his appetite for unpeeling her. She’d be like a ripe, delicious fruit emerging from layers of tasteless pith, and from what he’d seen of Lucy on stage there was enough sensitivity and passion to keep his interest way beyond a single night. It was just a shame life didn’t work that way. However he felt about her and whatever happened between them, duty would always come first for him, but that was no reason not to make the most of the time they had.

The chalet was empty when they got back. Taking off her boots slowly, she could feel herself blushing scarlet, second-guessing his plans. When it came to sex she knew she could only disappoint. What she knew about sex could be written on a pin head and to date Mac had only seen her camouflaged in layers of clothing, but when that came off—

‘Are you cold? Shall I run a bath for you?’

She stared at him incredulously. Mac run a bath for her? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

His smile widened. ‘Better still, let’s use the hot tub together. Don’t pretend it hasn’t occurred to you.’

Now his arm was round her shoulder and he was leading her up the quaint wooden stairs, past the cosy living room, and on up the next flight of stairs to the main bedrooms, and then up another flight to the master suite on the top floor, which was entirely his.

She was trembling so hard she hardly registered what was happening as he closed the door behind them. Unzipping his jacket, he tugged it off and tossed it aside. ‘Your turn,’ he said, flashing a glance down the length of her safely bundled-up body.

He wanted to play striptease? ‘I want to thank you for not sacking me,’ she said primly, clinging with everything she’d got to the one thing that made some sense.

‘I don’t talk business after six o’clock—it’s a rule I have,’ he murmured, toying with the toggle on her jacket. ‘And I’m still waiting. For you to take it off?’ he prompted, angling his chin to direct his amused stare into her eyes.

She supposed that was okay. Unzipping her jacket self-consciously, she hung it neatly on a chair.

Mac flipped the braces off his ski pants and tugged off his top.

She gasped and looked away.

‘I’m waiting, Lucy.’

Match that impossibly hard-muscled torso with something he’d find desirable? Match Mac’s confidence? She couldn’t—She really couldn’t—

Mac gave her no chance to nurse her concerns. One minute he was leaning against the wall, looking relaxed, and the next she was in his arms.

‘Shy?’ he murmured. ‘I like that. Though I would never have guessed you were shy after seeing you on stage tonight.’ His mouth curved in a wicked grin, only millimetres from her mouth.

‘That was a one-off,’ she admitted, staring into his eyes.

This was all happening so fast she felt dizzy. But in a good way, Lucy decided. The sensation of being pressed into hard, unyielding muscle was amazing—and would have been even more so without quite so many layers in between. Mac toyed with the zipper on her fleece, sliding it down slowly. All she could think of was his erection, pressing insistently huge and hard against her. To say she was melting with desire was something of an understatement.

‘Say something,’ he murmured.

‘I can’t …’

Cupping her buttocks possessively, he smiled. ‘You’re right—why waste time talking?’

His hands tightened and released until every pleasurable sensation she had ever known in her life was exceeded by infinity. She couldn’t stifle a moan or breathe steadily or pretend a moment longer. Every nerve ending in her body was primed and ready—every resolution she had ever made to remain at least pure-ish until The One came along meant nothing. There was no past, no future, there was only this, longing for Mac to make love to her.

As if sensing this change, he took her hand, linking their fingers in a gesture that was both deeply intimate and reassuring. He led her past the king-sized bed she had dressed herself with crisp white sheets, and on towards the doorway leading into the impossibly luxurious bathroom and from there to the deck and the hot tub. She cleaned the area twice a day and knew it well. She had even stood here dreaming, but she had never imagined in her wildest dreams that one day she might use it, let alone make love in it. It was as if she was seeing it all again through new eyes—the exquisite apricot-veined marble that complemented the azure skies and shimmering snow-capped mountains in daylight, now framed in black velvet shimmering with diamond stars. There was an uninterrupted wall of glass overlooking the moonlit mountains, and, as far as she was concerned, it was the most romantic place on earth …

‘Second thoughts?’ Mac murmured, misunderstanding her silence as she stood gazing out.

‘None,’ she assured him.

‘Do you want to get undressed in the bedroom?’ Lifting her hand to his lips, he held her gaze.

She looked so vulnerable she touched some long-forgotten part of him. He had learned to switch his feelings on and off like a light bulb as a boy when it had been the only way to cope with the disappointment of promised visits from a mother who never came to see him. Now he understood his mother had had too much to lose. The ruling sheikh, his father, wouldn’t tolerate his mistress having another love interest—even if that love interest was their son. His mother had had to forget him, just as he had learned to forget all the other women who had passed through his life. But Lucy was different—at least, she was for tonight.

The hot tub was bubbling temptingly and steam was rising into the night sky by the time she returned from the bedroom. There was a mountain range of foam waiting for her to step into. He was gazing east towards the Isla de Sinnebar when she pushed the door open and came out to meet him. His heart juddered when he saw her. He was still half naked and his feet were bare, while Lucy was wearing an abundance of duvet in stark white—and still managing to look indescribably lovely to him.

‘You won’t need the duvet in the hot tub.’ He grinned as he held out his hand to take it from her.

She stood her ground, clutching it tightly.

‘Have you changed your mind?’ He would never force her. ‘Do you want me to leave you to it?’

‘No need,’ she whispered. And taking a deep breath, she dropped the duvet and walked towards him.

Two more paces and she was in his arms.

‘Are you going to bathe with your clothes on, Mac?’

He smiled into her eyes. She was so trusting and so beautiful, and just for tonight they were going to live the dream.

She glanced at the glittering foam. ‘Shall I undress you?’ she suggested shyly. Her voice was shaking.

He smiled down at her. ‘Or you could enjoy the hot tub all by yourself.’

She held his gaze with her honest eyes. ‘I don’t trust myself in all that water without something to hold on to …’

His lips tugged in a grin. ‘You have all the answers, don’t you?’

‘It’s work in progress,’ she admitted with the truthfulness he loved about her, and then her face grew serious as she no doubt contemplated what was about to happen.

His mood changed too. Pushing the last of his doubts aside, he laced his fingers through her hair and, cupping her head, drew her close to kiss her. Her lips were plump and yielded softly beneath his mouth. Kissing Lucy filled him with feelings he couldn’t name—feelings it was better not to name. Sex was what they both wanted and needed, and sex, like skiing, was a sport at which he excelled.