Raoul spluttered as he was shouldered aside. Soraya felt the tensile strength in the intruder’s big body as he clasped her in a waltz hold and swung her away.
Torn between relief at being rid of Raoul’s octopus hands and stomach-dipping shock at the newcomer’s actions, protest froze in Soraya’s throat.
It was him, the man who’d watched her all evening.
Suddenly he was so near, his breath feathered her forehead, the heat of his body warmed hers and his big hands grasped her so easily it was obvious he was used to being close to a woman.
Soraya shivered as an unfamiliar sensation swirled deep. Not trepidation. Not indignation. But something that tied her thoughts in knots and prompted her to fall in step unthinkingly as he moved to the slow tune.
‘Now just you wait—’ Over the stranger’s shoulder she saw Raoul’s face, red with indignation, his fist raised. Soraya’s eyes widened. Could he be violent?
‘Raoul! No! That’s enough.’
‘Excuse me a moment.’ The stranger released her, swung round to confront Raoul and said something under his breath that made the graduate student pale and falter back a pace.
Then, before she had time to question, he turned back, gathered her to him and swung her across the dance floor.
It was an impressive example of a male staking his territory. But Soraya didn’t appreciate being swept away without so much as a by-your-leave.
Even if he had rescued her from Raoul’s pawing.
‘There’s no need for this.’ She’d rather just get off the dance floor. But he gave no indication he’d heard.
It chagrined her that her feet automatically followed his lead. She’d never followed any man, except her beloved father!
She could wrench herself from his arms and off the dance floor, but she shied from making more of a scene unless absolutely necessary.
Besides, she was curious.
‘What makes you think I want to dance with you?’ She jutted her chin defiantly to counteract the strange, breathy quality of her voice.
The movement was a mistake. With her face tilted, her gaze collided with sizzling dark-emerald fire. Shock jolted her and only quick reflexes kept her from stumbling.
His eyes were heavy-lidded, almost lazy. Yet there was nothing lazy about his rapier-sharp scrutiny. She sucked in a breath as it roved her face.
His features were compelling. Strong, with an earthy stamp of male sexuality that melded with sharp cheekbones, a determined jaw and a long blade of a nose to create a breathtaking whole. His skin was dark gold, eyes rayed with the tiny lines that spoke of hours spent outdoors. She couldn’t believe they were smile lines. Not on this man who surveyed her so grimly.
Soraya blinked and tore her gaze away, disturbed to find her pulse skittering faster.
‘You weren’t enjoying your dance with him?’ He shrugged and she knew in that moment that, despite his perfect French, he wasn’t local. There was none of the Gallic insouciance in that movement. Instead she read the fluid yet deliberate action of a man who had more on his mind than a little light flirtation.
He moved with a lithe grace yet every action, from the way he held her hand to the light clasp of his other palm at her waist, was carefully controlled.
For all his agility he was a big man, all hard-packed muscle, iron-hard sinew and bone. Formidable.
Suddenly she felt … trapped, at risk. Ridiculous, since she was in full public view with her friends close by.
Desperately she sucked in a deep breath and sought out her companions. They watched, rapt, elbows on the table and mouths moving as if they’d never seen anything more fascinating than Soraya dancing, and with a stranger. As her eyes met Raoul’s, he flushed and moved closer to Marie.
‘That’s not the point.’
‘So you don’t disagree. He was annoying you.’ His voice was low yet she had an inkling he worked to keep his tone easy.
‘I don’t need a protector!’ Soraya prided herself on her independence.
‘Then why didn’t you stop him grabbing at you?’ There was no mistaking the thread of anger in that deep voice, or the quiver of repressed power that rippled through him in a rolling tide.
It was her turn to shrug.
What was there to say? That despite the freedom of studying abroad she wasn’t used to dealing with groping hands? She usually kept a discreet distance from male colleagues. Soraya had perfected the art of blending into a crowd and avoiding individual male attention. Tonight was the first time she’d ever danced with a man.
No way was she confessing that! It was the norm for a well-brought-up girl in Bakhara. Here it would make her seem like a freak.
As would the fact she preferred it that way. She had no interest in a love affair.
‘Nothing to say?’
‘What I do is none of your business.’
At her words his lips firmed, deep lines bracketing a mobile mouth that revealed tension despite his air of command. One sleek black eyebrow climbed towards close-cropped dark hair.
That superior look would goad any woman’s patience.
The music finished and they slowed to a stop.
‘Thank you for the dance.’ Formal politeness barely masked her annoyance. How dared he suggest she should be thankful to him?
She turned and took a step away, only to find his hold tightening at her waist. Long fingers and a broad palm seared through the soft fabric of her dress, warming her in a way that suddenly seemed too intimate.
The music resumed and with a swift movement he tugged her close so she stumbled against a hard wall of hot muscle.
‘What the—?’
‘What if I choose to make it my business?’ His breath was warm on her face. Those straight eyebrows arrowed down in a scowl that accentuated the intensity of his blazing green stare.
It was as if he memorised everything, from her too-short nose and plain brown eyes to the wisps of hair escaping her once-neat chignon.
The intensity of that look dazed her. ‘Sorry?’
‘You heard me, princess. Don’t play games.’
‘Play games?’ She shook her head, her jaw clenching in indignation. She planted her hands against his upper arms, trying to prise herself free, and felt only unyielding steel. ‘I’ve done nothing! It’s you playing games. Sitting there all night, just watching me.’
Her eyes met his again and her chest tightened at the simmering heat she saw there. Her skin tingled all over.
‘You wanted me to do more than watch?’ His words were a whispered thread of frayed velvet. ‘Is that why you cosied up to your friend over there—to trigger a response?’
‘No!’ Soraya rocked back on her heels, but his arm at her waist, like a rope of steel, lashed her to him.
For an instant she read something in his gaze, something half-hidden that both disturbed and fascinated.
Then she came to her senses. With a swift, well-executed movement she ground her stiletto heel onto his instep with all her weight.
A moment later she was free. His hand fell away and with it the warmth at her waist she’d almost grown used to.
She strode from the dance floor, head up and shoulders back. A woman in control.