‘Raffa, this is beautiful …’
The scent of strawberry sheesha smoke was in the air, and fountains played tinkling background music. Even he, who had seen this many times before, paused to appreciate the elaborate mosaics and lush green planting. The architects he had employed to make his vision a reality had exceeded his wildest dreams. As had Casey, he reflected wryly.
Taking her hands, he said, ‘I want to add my personal thanks to the guests’ for what you did tonight. You can’t imagine how many people will benefit from the money you raised.’
‘Then I’m pleased …’ Her voice faded and her gaze dropped as she remembered her disappointment.
He drew her closer.
‘Raffa …’ She placed a hand against his chest, but she didn’t press very hard, and then her fingers curled around the edges of his robe. ‘I wish …’
He didn’t let her get any further. Perhaps it was the tears in her eyes, or the trembling of her lips, but he was overwhelmed by the need to reassure her.
Tasting her was tasting heaven. Holding her against him was an education in everything he’d been missing. He deepened the kiss and felt a surge of desire when she responded, and he went on kissing her until Casey’s reluctance was transformed into whimpering sighs.
But then his sane side took over. What was he doing? Where was this going? There was only one possible destination, and he would never take advantage of Casey while she was tired and confused and so vulnerable. Kissing the corner of her mouth, he pulled back. Bringing out his phone, he summoned his limousine, and then, taking her by the hand, he led her back through the doors.
The limousine was at the kerb. Knowing she was tired, he supported her arm so she wouldn’t stumble. ‘My driver will take you home.’
Her eyes cleared and she stared at him in bewilderment. Gradually the realisation came to her that the kiss had been a kiss, and nothing more.
‘Goodnight, Casey,’ he murmured, handing her safely into the car.
She turned to stare back at him through the rear window. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see the anger and confusion in her eyes, but whatever he had chosen to do for the auction, whatever his reasons for drawing back from wanting to make love to Casey, wasn’t anyone’s business but his own.
As soon as breakfast had been delivered the following morning she went back to bed and hid her head under the pillow. What she thought that would achieve Casey had no idea. The day had to be faced, even if the night before had been the utmost in humiliation. Tossing her pillow to the floor, she sat up cross-legged on the bed. Touching her fingertips to her mouth, where Raffa’s sharp black stubble had abraded her, she realised her lips were still tender and swollen from his kiss.
His kiss …
Closing her eyes, she relived every moment of the embrace, quivering with arousal. And quickly jerked herself round. Sometimes her body frightened her. The way it reacted so violently to thoughts of Raffa—as if it knew something she didn’t—was truly alarming.
With a sigh, she shook her head, forced to accept that nothing, not even her own fear of intimacy, could stop her wanting him.
Leaping out of bed, she stood hugging herself as she thought things through. How bad did Raffa have to be for this longing to go away? He was no good for her. He lived his life behind a guarded façade, thinking money was the answer to everything. But when the chips were down …
She didn’t want to think about the auction. And she had to eat to get through the day. She looked at the delicious food and juices waiting on the table. Maybe if she ate breakfast … maybe if she went through the motions of a normal day … her heart wouldn’t ache so much and she could screw her business head back on.
She was so tense by the time she sat down at the table she didn’t even notice the fabulous view over the marina and the pearlescent ocean beyond. Having poured a cup of fresh mint tea, she unfurled a copy of that morning’s A’Qaban Times—and got no further than the headline.
Last bid opened is from ruling Sheikh, who promises to double record-breaking auction proceeds.
A groan escaped Casey’s throat. Putting the paper down, she pushed her plate away and stood up. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry any more.
Raffa was on the polo field, his office told her.
She didn’t have an outfit for polo, but she did have her various purchases stowed in the wardrobe. Selecting the modest skirt and cardigan she had bought for work, along with her low heeled office shoes, she decided on no make-up and hair tied back. This was not an outing but a penance, and perhaps the last appointment she would ever have with Raffa. She had been far too quick to jump to conclusions.
But he had thrown money at the auction rather than taking part, Casey reflected in the hotel limousine on the way to the polo field. That being the case, once she had made this apology she wasn’t sure they had much left to say to each other. How Raffa lived his life was no business of hers, but somehow she had imagined them being close in a place where all the jewels and couture clothes in the world made no difference. And now she had to face the fact that wasn’t so.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CASEY wasn’t sure quite what to do when she arrived at the polo field. Seeing as the hotel driver was instantly recognised by the security guards, she decided it was best to ask him to take her as far as he could to avoid any run-ins with Raffa’s bodyguards.
Having thanked the driver, Casey left the car and walked up to the fence bordering the field of play, where she stood leaning over it. The match had already started, and her gaze was immediately drawn to Raffa. Wearing pale breeches and a dark shirt, he had a ferocious-looking face-guard in place and was altogether a formidable sight. She remembered reading somewhere that a polo ball could travel at up to a hundred miles an hour—which explained the guard, as well as the chunky leather knee protectors strapped to his legs.
Legs which were currently wrapped around the quivering flanks of a sweating mare. She was transfixed by his strength and control. If she hadn’t been half in love with him already, Raffa at full gallop, wielding a mallet with such remarkable skill, would have been enough. She moved closer, drawn in by the speed and power of the game and wanting to speak to him when he dismounted in the paddock at the end of the chukka.
As he pulled off his helmet and ruffled his thick black hair, he confirmed her opinion that in close-fitting breeches Raffa was prodigious in every sense of the word. She blushed selfconsciously when he glanced her way. Having weighed up the leggy blondes hanging round him, though, she decided her apology must wait.
‘Excuse me, Ms Michaels?’
She started guiltily, finding a security guard standing at her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have a pass,’ she hurried to explain. ‘But I do work for His Majesty.’
The man waited until she had finished before politely informing her that His Majesty had asked him to escort her to the pavilion, where she could sit in the shade.
‘Oh, I see …’ Casey smiled and relaxed, and then glanced anxiously towards Raffa, who was busy checking on his polo pony and didn’t see her looking.
A shady pavilion would be just the place for him to fire her, Casey reflected.
Or he might just be being considerate, her sensible inner voice suggested, as the sun was blazing down.
Thanking the messenger, she followed the man towards the large marquee. She paused on the threshold, seeing it was full of noisy, confident people—the sort of people she designed campaigns