‘I have seated you next to the Ambassador of Maraban, who is one of the most influential men in the region,’ said the Sultan. ‘With my sister on the other side. Her English is excellent and she is eager to meet with you, for she meets few Westerners. Ah, here she comes now. Leila!’
But Gabe didn’t need to hear his host say her name to know the woman’s identity. He knew that from the moment she entered the banqueting hall. Even though her body was swathed in flowing silk and even though a matching veil of palest silver was covering half her face, there could be no mistaking her. No amount of camouflage could disguise that sexy sway of her body—or maybe it was because in some primeval and physical way, he still felt connected to her.
He could still smell her on his skin.
He could still taste her in his mouth.
He could still remember the exact moment when he had broken through her tightness and claimed her for his own.
Why the hell had she kept her identity hidden from him?
The Sultan was saying something, and Gabe had to force himself to listen and to pray that the sudden clamour of his senses would settle.
‘Leila.’ The hawk-faced leader smiled. ‘This is Gabe Steel—the advertising genius from London of whom you have heard me speak. Gabe, I’d like you to meet Princess Leila Scheherazade of Qurhah—my only sister.’
For a moment Gabe was so angry he could barely get a word out in response, but he quickly asserted the self-possession which was second nature to him. He had worked all his life in an industry which traded on illusion and knew only too well how to wear whichever mask the occasion demanded. And so he produced the slightly deferential smile he knew was expected of him on meeting the royal princess. He even inclined his head towards her, before catching a peep of a crystal-encrusted sandal which was poking out from beneath the folds of her gown. And the sight of those beautiful toes sent a surge of anger and lust shooting through him.
‘I am honoured to meet you, Your Royal Highness,’ he said, but as he straightened up he saw the sudden colour which flushed over the upper part of her face. He saw the brief flicker of distress which flared in the depths of her blue eyes. And that distress pleased him. His mouth hardened. It pleased him very much.
‘The pleasure is also mine, Mr Steel,’ she said softly.
‘Leila, please show our guest to his place.’ The Sultan clapped his hands loudly, and once again the room grew silent. ‘And let us all be seated.’
Silently, Gabe followed Leila across the dining room and took his place beside her. In the murmured moments as two hundred guests sat down, he seized the opportunity to move his head close to hers. ‘So. Are you going to give me some kind of explanation?’
‘Not now,’ she said calmly.
‘I want some sort of explanation, Your Royal Highness.’
‘Not now,’ she repeated, and then she lifted her fingers and began to remove her veil.
And despite the anger still simmering away inside him, Gabe held his breath as her features were slowly revealed to him. Because in a world where nudity was as ubiquitous as the cell phone, this was the most erotic striptease he had ever witnessed.
First he saw the curve of her chin and, above that, those sensual lips, which looked so startlingly pink against her luminous skin. He remembered how those lips had felt beneath the hard crush of his own and he felt himself harden instantly. He tried to tell himself that her nose was too strong and aquiline for conventional beauty and that there were women far more lovely than her. But he was lying—because in that moment she looked like the most exquisite creature he had ever seen.
And she had deceived him. She had lied to him as women always lied.
Taking a long draught of wine in an effort to steady his nerves, somehow he hung on to his temper for as long as it took to charm the ambassador during the first course, which he had no desire to eat.
He wondered if it was rude to completely ignore Leila, but he didn’t care—because he still didn’t trust himself to speak to her again. It wouldn’t look good if he exploded with anger at the exalted banqueting table of the Sultan, would it? Yet he found his gaze drawn inexorably to the way her fingers toyed with the heavy golden cutlery as she pushed food around her plate.
The ambassador had turned away to talk to the person on his left and Gabe took the opportunity to lean towards her, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. ‘So is there some kind of power game going on that I should know about, Leila?’ he said. ‘Some political intrigue which will slowly be revealed to me as the evening progresses?’
Her heavy golden fork clattered to her plate and he saw the apprehension on her face as she turned to face him.
‘There’s no intrigue,’ she answered, her voice as low as his.
‘No? Then why all the mystery? Why not just tell your brother that we’ve already met. Unless he doesn’t know, of course.’
‘I—’
‘Maybe he has no idea that his sister came to my hotel today,’ he continued remorselessly. ‘And let me—’
‘Please.’ Her interruption sounded anguished. ‘We can’t talk here.’
‘Then where do you suggest?’ he questioned. ‘Same time, same place tomorrow? Maybe you’d already planned to return for a repeat performance, wearing a different kind of disguise. Maybe the masquerade aspect turns you on. I don’t know.’ His eyes bored into her. ‘Had you?’
‘Mr Steel—’
‘It’s Gabe,’ he said with icy pleasantry. ‘You remember how to say my name, don’t you, Leila?’
Briefly, Leila closed her eyes. She certainly did. And she hadn’t just said it, had she? She’d gasped it as he had entered her. She had whispered it as he’d moved deep inside her. She had shuddered it out in a long, keening moan as her orgasm had taken hold of her and almost torn her apart with pleasure.
And now all those amazing memories were being swept away by the angry wash from his eyes.
She wished she could spirit herself away. That she could excuse herself by saying she felt sick—which was actually true, because right at that moment she did feel sick.
But Murat would never forgive her if she interrupted the banquet—why, it might even alert his suspicions if he suspected that she found the Englishman’s presence uncomfortable. He might begin to ask himself why. And surely the man beside her—the man who had made such incredible love to her—couldn’t keep up this simmering hostility for the entire meal?
‘Look, I can understand why you’re angry,’ she said, trying to keep her tone conciliatory.
‘Can you?’ His pewter eyes glittered out a hostile light. ‘And why might that be? Because you failed to reveal your true identity to me?’
‘I wasn’t—’
‘Or because it’s only just occurred to you that you might have compromised my working relationship with your brother?’ His voice was soft but his words were deadly. ‘Because no man likes to discover that his sister has behaved like a whore.’
He leaned back in his chair to study her, as if they were having a perfectly amicable discussion, and Leila thought how looks could deceive. The casual observer would never have noticed that the polite smile on his lips was completely at odds with the angry glitter in his grey eyes.
‘I was behaving as other women sometimes behave,’ she protested. ‘Spontaneously.’
‘But most women aren’t being pursued by bodyguards at the time,’ he continued. His voice lowered, and she could hear the angry edge to his words. ‘What would have happened