‘See you…’
At last she was turning away. Just as he thought he was home and free, just as he foolishly let his guard down a second too early, she suddenly swung back. He saw what was coming and was powerless to prevent it.
Her lips were on his cheek, warm and soft and delicately caressing. The soft curves of her body were pressed against his, her breasts against the wall of his chest, his pelvis cradling the finer bones of hers. A delicate perfume of lily and rose seemed to envelop him in a cloud, and underneath it was the clean, subtle scent of her skin, sweet and potent in a way that made his head spin dangerously.
‘Lydia…’ he tried to protest, but his voice failed him.
And then as he turned his head her lips touched his and he knew that he was lost.
With a groan he gave up the fight that he had been losing anyway and hauled her up against him, crushing her hard, imprisoning her in the strength of his arms.
‘Don’t go, Lydia,’ he muttered, the words rough and thick and raw. ‘Don’t go to the hotel. Come back with me to my apartment. Stay with me tonight.’
She should never have kissed him.
Lydia recognised her mistake in the second that she made it, but she was powerless to stop herself, incapable of resisting the impulse. She had meant it to be just a quick peck on his cheek, the briefest touch, there and gone again in a moment, but it didn’t quite work out like that.
The second she felt the warmth of his skin, tasted it against her mouth, she knew she was lost. Heat flooded her body, turning her brain to molten liquid and leaving her incapable of thought. Her breasts were crushed against the hardness of his chest, her hips clamped tight against his so that she could feel the hard, heated force of his desire for her before she heard the echo of it in his voice.
And when he turned his head and his lips took hers in hungry demand she knew she didn’t have a prayer.
‘Don’t go, Lydia…’ he said, but really they both knew she wasn’t going anywhere at all.
There was no way she could stay in a hotel room tonight. No way she could endure the soulless emptiness of even the best five-star accommodation. Not without him.
‘Stay with me tonight,’ Amir muttered rawly against her mouth and on a deep, aching sigh of surrender she gave him the only answer she could think of.
‘Yes,’ she muttered, her voice every bit as rough and uneven as his had been. ‘Yes, yes, yes! Of course I’ll stay with you.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘OH, WOW!’
Lydia didn’t even try to hide her amazement as she turned in a slow, stunned circle, staring unreservedly at everything around her.
‘This is just amazing! Is it really all yours?’
When Amir had spoken of his apartment, she had known from his clothes and the fact that he had been in the VIP lounge that he wouldn’t live in a small, shabby couple of rooms like those she had just left behind in Leicester. And the sight of his car and the waiting uniformed driver who had leapt from his seat to open the door for them had increased that certainty one hundredfold. But she had never anticipated anything like this.
The huge penthouse apartment would have swallowed up her small flat twenty times or more and still had room to spare. The high ceilings and huge windows gave an impression of air and space, and beyond the plate glass the brilliant night skyline of London glittered even through the raging snowstorm. Rich furnishings, heavy silk brocaded curtains and thick, thick carpets in all the tones of gold from the palest clotted cream to a deep dark bronze meant that the room appeared warm and welcoming in spite of the unpleasantness of the night. And to add to the sense of comfort, a bright fire burned in the wide hearth.
‘Actually it’s my father’s. His taste is rather more ornate than mine.’
The sweep of his hand indicated the enormous, brilliantly sparkling chandeliers, the marble fireplace.
‘But I have the use of it when I’m in London.’
‘And who is your father?’ Lydia was intrigued.
The sudden change in his face told her that once more she’d overstepped those invisible barriers, an unnerving glint in his dark eyes warning her to back off—fast.
Behind them, a small, discreet cough alerted them to the silent, stocky figure of the chauffeur standing just inside the doorway, still holding Lydia’s hand luggage, which he had carried up in the lift with them.
‘Oh, thank you!’ she said impulsively, moving to take it from him, but the man’s attention was fixed on Amir.
‘Will that be all, Highness?’ he asked. ‘Or is there anything more you will want tonight.’
‘Nothing.’ Amir’s tone was dismissive. ‘If the weather clears, I will need you to drive Miss Ashton back to the airport tomorrow, but I’ll let you know about that. You can take the rest of the night off.’
Lydia watched in bemused disbelief as Nabil swept a low bow before backing towards the door. He had almost reached it when she suddenly thought of something.
‘Oh, wait a moment, please…’
Hunting in her handbag, she pulled out her purse. But before she could open it, Amir’s hand, swift and firm, had clamped down hard on hers, stilling her movement.
‘You can leave, Nabil.’
Another bow and the man was gone. As the door swung to behind him, she turned to Amir, annoyance sparking in her sapphire eyes.
‘I wanted to give him a tip!’ she protested. ‘He drove us here safely in the most appalling conditions. And he carried my bag up…’
The impetuous words faded from her lips as she saw Amir’s dark, reproving frown, the obvious disapproval in his face.
‘It is not appropriate,’ he snapped, releasing her at last.
‘Not appropriate…But why? Highness!’ she recalled shakenly. ‘He called you Highness!’
It sounded even more unbelievable spoken aloud in her own voice.
‘And you…just who is your father? Who are you?’
Amir had moved to the opposite side of the room where an opened bottle of wine stood on a tray alongside a pair of the finest crystal wineglasses. Ignoring her questions, he poured a little into one of the goblets and tasted it carefully. Evidently it met with his approval because he swiftly filled both glasses and held one out to her, the ruby-coloured liquid glowing fiercely in the light of the fire.
‘Would you like a drink?’
‘What I’d like is an answer—preferably several!’
His irritated frown told her that her voice had been pitched too high. It had needed to be for her to hear it over the fearful pounding of her own heart. Her pulse was beating far too fast, making the blood sound like thunder inside her head.
‘I want an explanation. For a start, just who is your father?’
His shrug dismissed her question as a minor irritation, much as he might have flicked away an annoyingly buzzing fly.
‘My father’s identity is not relevant to this situation.’
‘Your father’s identity is supremely relevant!’ Lydia countered, her breath hissing in furiously through her teeth. ‘Because, Your Highness…’ she emphasised the word