powerful body lounging indolently on a cream sofa. Instantly her pulse quickened and that heat coiled low in her belly. She was teetering in sky-high heels and felt as unstable as a new foal on spindly legs.
Sadiq saw Samia emerge from behind a luxurious velvet curtain. He automatically raked her up and down with his eyes, as he had done with numerous women in the past—a reflex. This was usually an erotic prequel for their mutual pleasures later on. But never in his life had any of those women had this immediate an effect on him. So immediate and forcible that he had to angle his body in such a way as to disguise its rampant response.
Samia’s hair was still tied back in a bun at the nape of her neck. He’d had to curb his urge to ask her to take it down earlier, as if she were his mistress and she wasn’t pleasing him. Now she was avoiding his eye, and she was obviously excruciatingly embarrassed. He could see the telling red flush creep over her chest and up her neck and something inside him twisted.
But she was simply the most erotic vision he’d ever seen in his life. Far from his first impression of no curves, an almost boyish figure, she actually possessed the body of a houri. Without the boxy suits, jeans and unflattering top, she was all slender limbs and curves. He couldn’t take his eyes off the full line of her bosom, like some kind of out-of-control teenager. Her skin looked silky-soft and pale golden, and he could imagine the contrast between his skin and hers as their limbs entwined. The acute ache in his groin intensified.
His voice came, low and authoratitive. ‘Leave us for a moment, please.’
To his relief the stylist and her assistants melted away.
Privacy was something he’d never had to worry about before, having always managed to stay in control. It was as if some invisible barrier had existed between him and women before, keeping them at some kind of a distance, but here with Samia … there was no barrier … just heat.
The dress was totally inappropriate, but it revealed the intoxicating combination of Samia’s innocence and an earthy sexuality that she clearly had no clue she possessed. He didn’t expect for a moment that she wasn’t experienced, but he would bet right then that any lover she’d had hadn’t awoken her sensuality, and a fiercely primitive feeling swept through him.
And then he realised that Samia was still resolutely avoiding his gaze. Her reluctance for this scenario was palpable. He had an uncomfortable flashback to the way his father had used to insist on his mother parading the latest fashions from Paris he’d bought for her. He knew this was nothing like that, but his desire was doused as effectively as if he’d stepped into a freezing cold shower.
His voice was arctic. ‘That dress is entirely unsuitable. Clearly we’ve come to the wrong place. Go and change. We’re leaving.’
Sadiq saw Samia’s jaw tense, and the set of her shoulders as she turned and walked stiffly back through the curtain, and had to restrain himself from stopping her and explaining … what? That for a second he’d been afraid that he’d turned into his father? His overweight, overbearing father, who had flaunted his women in front of his only son as if it was something to be proud of, and in front of his stoic wife like a punishment for as long as Sadiq could remember?
Distaste curdled his insides, and he got up and paced impatiently while he waited for Samia.
At least he would never subject her to what his mother had had to endure for years, despite whatever justification hisfather might have believed he had. Sadiq had always vowed he would do things differently. He would have nothing but respect for his wife and would treat his heirs like human beings, not pawns.
Samia took a breath and stepped back into the main suite. She was still stinging inside at Sadiq’s cold condemnation of the outfit—and
her.
She hadn’t looked at him once but she hadn’t had to to know
Sadiq saw Samia emerge from behind a luxurious velvet curtain. He automatically raked her up and down with his eyes, as he had done with numerous women in the past—a reflex. This was usually an erotic prequel for their mutual pleasures later on. But never in his life had any of those women had this immediate an effect on him. So immediate and forcible that he had to angle his body in such a way as to disguise its rampant response.
Samia’s hair was still tied back in a bun at the nape of her neck. He’d had to curb his urge to ask her to take it down earlier, as if she were his mistress and she wasn’t pleasing him. Now she was avoiding his eye, and she was obviously excruciatingly embarrassed. He could see the telling red flush creep over her chest and up her neck and something inside him twisted.
But she was simply the most erotic vision he’d ever seen in his life. Far from his first impression of no curves, an almost boyish figure, she actually possessed the body of a houri. Without the boxy suits, jeans and unflattering top, she was all slender limbs and curves. He couldn’t take his eyes off the full line of her bosom, like some kind of out-of-control teenager. Her skin looked silky-soft and pale golden, and he could imagine the contrast between his skin and hers as their limbs entwined. The acute ache in his groin intensified.
His voice came, low and authoratitive. ‘Leave us for a moment, please.’
To his relief the stylist and her assistants melted away.
Privacy was something he’d never had to worry about before, having always managed to stay in control. It was as if some invisible barrier had existed between him and women before, keeping them at some kind of a distance, but here with Samia … there was no barrier … just heat.
The dress was totally inappropriate, but it revealed the intoxicating combination of Samia’s innocence and an earthy sexuality that she clearly had no clue she possessed. He didn’t expect for a moment that she wasn’t experienced, but he would bet right then that any lover she’d had hadn’t awoken her sensuality, and a fiercely primitive feeling swept through him.
And then he realised that Samia was still resolutely avoiding his gaze. Her reluctance for this scenario was palpable. He had an uncomfortable flashback to the way his father had used to insist on his mother parading the latest fashions from Paris he’d bought for her. He knew this was nothing like that, but his desire was doused as effectively as if he’d stepped into a freezing cold shower.
His voice was arctic. ‘That dress is entirely unsuitable. Clearly we’ve come to the wrong place. Go and change. We’re leaving.’
Sadiq saw Samia’s jaw tense, and the set of her shoulders as she turned and walked stiffly back through the curtain, and had to restrain himself from stopping her and explaining … what? That for a second he’d been afraid that he’d turned into his father? His overweight, overbearing father, who had flaunted his women in front of his only son as if it was something to be proud of, and in front of his stoic wife like a punishment for as long as Sadiq could remember?
Distaste curdled his insides, and he got up and paced impatiently while he waited for Samia.
At least he would never subject her to what his mother had had to endure for years, despite whatever justification hisfather might have believed he had. Sadiq had always vowed he would do things differently. He would have nothing but respect for his wife and would treat his heirs like human beings, not pawns.
Samia took a breath and stepped back into the main suite. She was still stinging inside at Sadiq’s cold condemnation of the outfit—and
her.
She hadn’t looked at him once but she hadn’t had to to know
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