Sabrina Philips – The Desert King's Bejewelled Bride (страница 4)

He did not rise to the bait. ‘What do you think?’ He looked at her with arrogant self-assurance. ‘I will pay what he pays you in a year for this one job. Turn me down and you lose both.’

Tamara knew that Kaliq’s fortune totalled more figures than would fit on the screen of most calculators, but she also knew that he didn’t make excessive offers just for the sake of it. He wanted this badly, and he had planned it like a chess player manoeuvring pieces on a board involving Henry to trap her. But the truth was that Henry and Kaliq were no more alike than a sewer rat and a mountain lion, and part of her, though she loathed the thought of the blackmail he proposed, wanted to look into his eyes and say yes. Because she and Mike could do so much good with that money. Because, if she took her personal feelings out of it, professionally, it was an incredible opportunity. And mostly because, even though it went against every word she had repeated like a mantra since walking away from this man, she had felt more alive these last ten minutes than she had done in years.

Tamara tore her eyes away from him and began to busy her hands tidying some of the clothes on the chair beside her. Looking at him was too dangerous. His smooth skin was as tempting as her favorite decadent chocolate dessert, his long lean hands reminded her of how he had once held her before him with so much tenderness and power. What would coming back from the dizzying heights of being a part of his world for a second time in her life do to her when he was so blatantly setting out to wound her?

‘You already have my answer. I am sure you will have no trouble finding someone else.’

‘I do not want anyone else.’

Tamara almost dropped the skirt she was folding and had to blink to stop her imagination running away with her, but he continued.

‘My father is unwell.’ His voice was uncharacteristically strained as he began to pace the floor. ‘The world’s press is full of the King’s impending demise, and the people of my country are ill at ease. I wish to distract them from his deteriorating health by showcasing Qwasir’s oldest and most precious treasure at a royal gala.’ She watched his face, like a poker player about to reveal his ace, and the cynicism in his tone returned. ‘Who better for the task than the model whose name is on everyone’s lips, who also happens to be the daughter of a former Qwasirian ambassador? The headlines will write themselves.’

Fighting against a pang of empathy which she could not give room to, Tamara drew in a ragged breath, heavy with new understanding. So that was it. She had read about King Rashid’s poor health and she understood just why his people would be unsettled, understood much more than she wished. Because the crown prince had to marry in order to inherit. Parading the jewels would convince them that he planned to take a bride, and soon.

So she was to be used as a pawn. How foolish to think he had enough of a heart for this to be personal. He wanted her as nothing more than a political diversion, like a magician’s assistant used to captivate his audience’s attention. She watched as he wandered over to the window, looking out at the busy London traffic. For an instant it surprised her that the outside world was still turning. It felt as if nothing existed outside this room, but this wasn’t about them—it was just a tactical manoeuvre. For some reason, acknowledging that seemed to allow her to push her emotions aside. This really was business, so why should she toss away her modelling contract because of him? Wouldn’t that be surrendering the freedom to live her life however she chose, when that was the one thing she had always fought for? Much worse, wouldn’t refusing make him think that a part of her, however small, regretted the past?

No, she wouldn’t let that happen. It was just a business trip like any other, and afterwards, aside from keeping her job, maybe she would finally be able to lay the shadow of the past behind her, to stop wondering if she’d made the right decision and know she had. For hadn’t the last fifteen minutes gone some way to proving it?

‘Model the jewels for one evening, for the sum of my annual Jezebel contract?’ she repeated, her tone as matter-of-fact as she could muster.

Kaliq turned from the window, his mouth a thin, hard line. So, contrary to whatever she had made him believe back then, she was no different. She could be manipulated by the promise of money and fame as easily as every other woman he knew. It just hadn’t been quite tempting enough to tie herself to only one man. But then she hadn’t been tied to him yet, had she?

‘Five days from today.’

For a minute she looked at him as if he was mad, convinced that not even he was capable of organising an event of such scope in less than a week, but then she realised. It was already all arranged, wasn’t it? He was just waiting for her to slot into place. Again. That annoyed her more than everything else about this whole set-up put together.

‘What if I refuse? You’ll just cancel the whole thing?’

He gave her a withering smile. ‘If I was not present, there would be no event. If you decide you would rather throw away your career than do a few hours’ work, I can assure you I will have no trouble finding a willing replacement.’

She looked at him stonily. Knowing he was right. Hating him for it.

He continued as if her agreement had never been in question. ‘Naturally, in the interim you will be required for a few other tasks—’ he ran his eyes over her in blatant sensual appraisal ‘—rehearsals for the event, et cetera. Aside from that, you may spend your time however you wish.’

Wishing myself anywhere else, no doubt, she thought, wondering what choice she had and attempting to loosen her shoulders. But she failed; every muscle in her body was too taut from the sheer thrill of being near him. No, five days in his company might not cure that, but at least now she was old enough now not to mistake his favourable blend of genes for something else entirely.

‘I will collect you from your apartment tomorrow, at eleven.’

Kaliq flexed his broad shoulders and moved towards the door. Tamara was not sure why she was surprised that he already knew where she lived, let alone why she had supposed he might stick around, if only to gloat. Of course not. To talk, to chat over dinner, perhaps, was far beyond the realms of what a future king would bestow upon her, for she was not to be treated as anything other than a portable window display. No, he was too cold, too ruthlessly efficient for that. Her submission today was just another detail he had executed with the same cool rationality he had used to discover where she was. Evidently she had already taken up too much of his precious time.

‘The sooner this is over, the better,’ she muttered under her breath, seeing no point in making herself heard.

His fingers were on the handle when she said it, but hear it he did. In a flash he had turned, his jacket flaring out behind him like some outlaw provoked, and suddenly his face was level with her own and far, far too close.

She could feel his warm breath with startling awareness on her lips. It sent a prickle of excitement down her neck, across her skin and to the straining tips of her breasts. He reached out one finger to touch her jaw, the softness of the gesture mocking as he tilted her chin upwards, his eyes dropping to her mouth.

‘Oh, I will make it better, Tamara,’ he drawled, as if he could sense the sexual frustration teeming beneath her skin. ‘Better than anything you’ve ever experienced before, and it will be soon.’

He moved his head a fraction closer, too close to think about anything but kissing him. Tamara closed her eyes and leaned in instinctively. But in one swift movement he dropped his finger from her chin and reached for her hand with his and, tantalisingly slowly, he raised it to his mouth.

Somehow, the gesture—masquerading as modest etiquette— felt so intimate that it had her legs almost buckling beneath her. The feel of his lips on her bare skin was far hotter than the studio lights had been, igniting a desire within her so unchecked it left her scared of what she might do next. He looked at her from beneath hooded lids with such intensity that she had to remind herself to breathe. She tore her gaze away from him.

‘Kaliq, this is business, nothing more.’ Her voice was husky, breathless.

He didn’t answer, but released the hand he had kissed, before running his fingers up her arm and resting his hand in her hair, his thumb reaching out to gently stroke her bottom lip. It took all the willpower she had not to taste it with the tip of her tongue. As he watched her eyes widen he raised the corner of his mouth in a wry smile.

‘I’m glad we agree. Unfinished business. But not for much longer.’

With that, he broke away from her and flung open the door, Henry scuttling in his wake and Tamara reeling.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS the kiss that did it. The kiss that she couldn’t drive from her mind. And for goodness’ sake it had only been his lips pressed to her hand! What the hell would she have been like if he had kissed any other part of her body?