face Adham, holding the negligee up so he could get a good look at it. “How about this? Do you think it would be flattering?”
Adham’s face remained as coolly impassive as ever, a slight tightening of his jaw the only indication that he’d heard her. He began to walk toward her, the heat in his eyes causing an answering fire to ignite low in her belly.
He was so close, too close, his masculine scent teasing her, making her heart pound heavily. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt as if it was coated in sandpaper.
He extended his hand and ran his fingers along the edge of the nightie’s neckline, his callused fingers abrading the delicate fabric, the sound sending a faint shiver through her. His eyes were locked with hers, the dark intensity in them robbing her of the ability to breathe.
He slid his fingers down over the negligee, his thumb caressing the part that would have been covering her breasts had she been wearing it.
It was far too easy to imagine those rough fingers moving over her body, imagine how his fingers would feel against her soft, tender skin. Evidence of his strength, his hard work, his character.
Her breasts suddenly felt heavy, her nipples stinging as they tightened into hard points. She was absolutely, completely disturbed by what he was making her feel. But she was also captive to it, spellbound by the power he had over her body. He could make her feel more than any fantasy or real-life person ever had without even touching her.
Her breath was caught in her throat, every nerve, every cell in her body waiting to see what he would do next.
“I don’t know that it’s your color,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “You should try for something more daring.”
For a moment—one heady, wonderful moment—she thought he was going to lean in and capture her lips again. He was so close. It would have been the easiest thing to close the distance between them, for her to touch her lips to his.
“A brighter shade, I think,” he said, his voice rough. “Sheikh Hassan prefers women who wear vivid colors.”
He stepped away from her then, his eyes flat, all the heat gone. She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d dumped a bucket of ice water over her. He’d had herspellbound, unconscious of where she was, who she was. It was a shock to find out that she was still standing in Printemps, beneath the bright lights, with other shoppers milling around them as though they weren’t there.
And she was still wearing Hassan’s ring.
“I like this one,” she said, trying to inject authority into her voice. Difficult when she could hardly catch her breath.
She held the negligee tightly to her chest and clutched the panties in a bundled-up knot of fabric as she headed to the register to pay for her lingerie. He had been trying to put her off, but she wasn’t going to let him.
She imagined he’d also been trying to show her that
he
was in control, that she was out of her depth. And that he had succeeded in, she hated to admit.
She’d felt confident enough in her knowledge of men and sex to tease him, torment him a bit as he’d been doing to her. She’d gleaned enough knowledge from her time away at school, from late-night chatting sessions with her friends, and then, more recently, from her sister-in-law Alison. But with one searing look, with the effect he’d had on her body, Adham had proved to her that she knew nothing. Nothing real, anyway.
Romance novels and jokes with friends were one thing, but actual sexual attraction, need, desire was quite another. She’d never really realized just how different the two were until she’d watched him stroke his fingers over the silken material of the nightgown. As she’d imagined him touching her in the same manner.
The thought made her hot all over.
She handed the clerk her credit card—no point being discreet now that she’d been found—and waited while her sexy new nothings were packaged into two neat little boxes with
Adham’s face remained as coolly impassive as ever, a slight tightening of his jaw the only indication that he’d heard her. He began to walk toward her, the heat in his eyes causing an answering fire to ignite low in her belly.
He was so close, too close, his masculine scent teasing her, making her heart pound heavily. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt as if it was coated in sandpaper.
He extended his hand and ran his fingers along the edge of the nightie’s neckline, his callused fingers abrading the delicate fabric, the sound sending a faint shiver through her. His eyes were locked with hers, the dark intensity in them robbing her of the ability to breathe.
He slid his fingers down over the negligee, his thumb caressing the part that would have been covering her breasts had she been wearing it.
It was far too easy to imagine those rough fingers moving over her body, imagine how his fingers would feel against her soft, tender skin. Evidence of his strength, his hard work, his character.
Her breasts suddenly felt heavy, her nipples stinging as they tightened into hard points. She was absolutely, completely disturbed by what he was making her feel. But she was also captive to it, spellbound by the power he had over her body. He could make her feel more than any fantasy or real-life person ever had without even touching her.
Her breath was caught in her throat, every nerve, every cell in her body waiting to see what he would do next.
“I don’t know that it’s your color,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “You should try for something more daring.”
For a moment—one heady, wonderful moment—she thought he was going to lean in and capture her lips again. He was so close. It would have been the easiest thing to close the distance between them, for her to touch her lips to his.
“A brighter shade, I think,” he said, his voice rough. “Sheikh Hassan prefers women who wear vivid colors.”
He stepped away from her then, his eyes flat, all the heat gone. She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d dumped a bucket of ice water over her. He’d had herspellbound, unconscious of where she was, who she was. It was a shock to find out that she was still standing in Printemps, beneath the bright lights, with other shoppers milling around them as though they weren’t there.
And she was still wearing Hassan’s ring.
“I like this one,” she said, trying to inject authority into her voice. Difficult when she could hardly catch her breath.
She held the negligee tightly to her chest and clutched the panties in a bundled-up knot of fabric as she headed to the register to pay for her lingerie. He had been trying to put her off, but she wasn’t going to let him.
She imagined he’d also been trying to show her that
he
was in control, that she was out of her depth. And that he had succeeded in, she hated to admit.
She’d felt confident enough in her knowledge of men and sex to tease him, torment him a bit as he’d been doing to her. She’d gleaned enough knowledge from her time away at school, from late-night chatting sessions with her friends, and then, more recently, from her sister-in-law Alison. But with one searing look, with the effect he’d had on her body, Adham had proved to her that she knew nothing. Nothing real, anyway.
Romance novels and jokes with friends were one thing, but actual sexual attraction, need, desire was quite another. She’d never really realized just how different the two were until she’d watched him stroke his fingers over the silken material of the nightgown. As she’d imagined him touching her in the same manner.
The thought made her hot all over.
She handed the clerk her credit card—no point being discreet now that she’d been found—and waited while her sexy new nothings were packaged into two neat little boxes with
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