He gave a ragged sigh, knowing all too well what lay at the heart of his irritation yet strangely reluctant to acknowledge its source. Its sweet and unexpected source…
Izzy.
His rescuer and tormentor. His calm and efficient assistant, with all her contradictory qualities, who had somehow—against all the odds—managed to capture his imagination.
Had it been pure arrogance which had made him so certain that his lust for her would dissolve the moment they were back in the office? He’d decided that the crash had weakened him in all ways—mentally, physically and emotionally. He’d thought that was why he had been so curiously susceptible to a woman he had never found in the least bit attractive. An insanity, yes—but a temporary one.
But he had been wrong.
Since being back at work he’d been unable to stop fantasising about her. Or to stop thinking about those prudish pyjamas which had covered up the red-hot body beneath. His mind kept taking him back to their tangled bodies on the floor of her cottage, reminding him of just how close they’d got. If common sense hadn’t forced him to call a halt to what was happening he would have…would have…
But it was more than just frustrated lust which was sending his blood pressure soaring. His desire was compounded by knowing that she was a virgin. That she had never known a man’s lovemaking before and she had wanted him. Just as he had wanted her.
He swallowed. The fact that she worked for him and that it was entirely inappropriate did little to lessen his appetite. On the contrary, the thought of making love to her excited him beyond belief—perhaps because it was his first ever taste of the forbidden. And for a man like Tariq very few things in life were forbidden…
His erotic thoughts were interrupted by the cause of his frustration as Izzy walked in, bearing a tiny cup of inky coffee which she deposited in front of him with a smile. Not the kind of smile he would have expected, in the circumstances. It was not tinged with longing, nor was it edged with a frustration similar to the one he was experiencing. No, it was a bright and infuriatingly sunny smile—a sort of pre-weekend kind of smile. As if she had forgotten all about those passion-fuelled moments back in her country cottage.
Had she?
‘You aren’t changing?’ she questioned.
Tariq blinked at her, her question arrowing into the confusing swirl of his thoughts. ‘Changing?’ he growled. ‘What’s wrong with the way I am?’
Isobel felt her heart hammer in response. Oh, but he was edgy this evening! Even edgier than he’d been all week. Mind you, she’d been feeling similarly jumpy—just determined not to show it. Her pride had been shattered by his rejection, and she was determined to salvage what was left of it by maintaining a cool air of composure. But it was difficult trying to pretend that nothing had happened when your boss had fondled your naked breasts and part of you was longing for him to do it all over again.
She tipped her head to one side and pretended to consider his question. ‘How long have you got?’
‘Izzy—’
‘I meant changing in a literal sense,’ she clarified, with a quick glance at her watch. ‘Aren’t you due for a party at the Maraban Embassy at seven? And don’t you usually wear something dark and tailored instead of…?’ Her bravado suddenly evaporated, her voice tailing off as she was momentarily distracted by his physical presence. Why had she allowed her eyes to linger on his physique, when she had determinedly been avoiding it all week?
‘Instead of what, Izzy?’ he questioned silkily, for he had noticed the sudden. rapid blinking of her eyes.
‘Instead of…’ She realised that he must have removed his tie at some point during the afternoon, and loosened at least two buttons of his shirt. Because rather more of his chest was on show than usual—and it reminded her of his warm, bare flesh beneath her fingertips on the floor of her cottage.
She could see the lush, dark whorls of hair growing there—which added texture to the olive glow of his skin and invited the eye on an inevitable path downwards…
Keep your mind on the job, she urged herself fiercely. You’re not supposed to be lusting after him—remember?
‘It’s…it’s a formal event, isn’t it?’ she finished helplessly.
Tariq felt a brief moment of triumph as he saw her eyes darken. So she was not completely immune to him—despite the way she’d been behaving all week. His mouth hardened with grudging respect—for Izzy had shown herself to be made of sterner stuff than he would have thought. Since they’d been back in the office she had treated him with exactly the same blend of roguish yet respectful attitude as she’d done all through their professional relationship. As if his being moments away from penetrating her body had left her completely cold. So was that true? Or was it all some kind of act?
He let his eyes drift over her, wondering if she had decided to showcase the dullest items in her wardrobe. Maybe he’d seen that skirt before—and her pale sweater certainly wasn’t new—but she looked dowdier than he could ever remember. Was that deliberate? Or was it because now he knew more about her he was looking at her more closely? Comparing how she looked now to how she’d looked when she had been writhing around beneath him? And he couldn’t rid himself of the unsettling knowledge of the magnificent rose-tipped and creamy breasts which lay beneath her insipid armour.
‘Yes, it’s a formal event,’ he drawled. ‘And, to be truthful, I don’t feel like going.’
‘But you have to go, Tariq.’
‘Have to?’ He raised his brows. ‘Is that an order?’
‘No, of course it isn’t.’
He began to walk towards her, noticing the tip of her tongue as it snaked out to moisten her lips ‘Why do I have to?’ he queried softly.
‘Well, your two countries are neighbours, and you’ve just signed that big trade agreement, and it will look very b-bad if…if…’
He heard her stumbled words with a triumphant kick of pleasure. ‘If what?’
Isobel swallowed. What was going on? What was he doing? The gap between them was closing, and instinct made her step backwards—away from his inexorable path towards her. But there was no escaping him despite the massive dimensions of his office. Nowhere to go until she reached a wall and felt its smooth, cool surface at her back. She stared up at him with widened eyes. Wasn’t he breaking the agreement they’d made?
‘T-Tariq! What do you think you’re doing?’
Pushing one hand against the wall right beside her head, he leaned forward and looked deep into her tawny eyes. ‘I’m wondering why you’re trying to give me lessons in protocol I neither want nor need. But mostly I’m wondering whether you’re feeling as frustrated as I am.’
Perhaps if he’d put it any other way than that Isobel might have given his question some consideration—or allowed her feelings to sway her. Because hadn’t she been teetering on a knife-edge of wanting him and yet terrified of letting him know that? Hadn’t it been as much as she could do each morning not to gaze wistfully at the sensual curve of his cynical lips? Not to wish that they were subjecting her to another of those hard and passionate kisses?
But his question had been more mechanical than emotional. No woman wanted to feel like an itch which a man needed to scratch, did she? And hadn’t she told herself over and over again that no matter how much she wanted him no good would come of any kind of liaison? She knew about his track record with women. And only someone who was completely insane would lay herself open to an inevitable hurt like that.
‘We aren’t supposed to be