‘Ms Nilsson?’
His manner was friendly, but there was no mistaking his curiosity. She resisted the urge to check her hair or straighten her collar. She’d learned never to fidget in public. Her father hated it because it spoiled the perfect press shot.
‘Yes. I understand I’m wanted in the boardroom?’ She let her voice rise at the end of the sentence, hinting at a question. But he didn’t offer an explanation.
‘That’s right. This way, please.’
He led the way past a beautifully appointed lounge with panoramic windows. As they approached a set of double doors Tori noticed a man in a dark suit nearby. His feet were planted wide and his hands clasped.
A bodyguard. She’d seen enough of them to recognise the demeanour.
This one met her eyes calmly, no doubt sizing her up. He looked sturdy and, despite his impassive expression, intimidating.
Tori gripped her belongings tighter. Unusual that one of the company’s executives should bring a bodyguard into the building. Then she remembered Steve’s snide challenge. ‘It’s always who you know.’
Which meant it was her father in the boardroom. Though why he’d brought a bodyguard... And why he’d chosen to meet her at work... He hadn’t mentioned coming to Western Australia and he never made paternal visits.
‘Here you are, Ms Nilsson.’ Her guide pushed open one of the doors.
She stepped in to find the room empty. There was no meeting. The long polished table was bare.
Tori blinked and hesitated. She was about to go out again and ask what was going on when a shadow at the far end of the room detached itself from the wall.
A man. A tall man, spine straight and shoulders wide. He was silhouetted against a wall of glass. For an instant all she had was an impression of strength and the loose-limbed saunter of an athlete as he approached. She didn’t recognise the walk, but there was something familiar about him.
Tori’s skin tightened as premonition swept through her. A split-second certainty that she knew him.
She opened her mouth to say hello, but then he drew close enough that she could make out his features instead of just the shape of his head.
Tori heard a hissed breath. Her hands slackened. Something hard grazed her shin as it dropped with a thud onto the carpeted floor. But her gaze was glued to the man who had stopped just an arm’s length away.
Bronzed skin pulled tight over a bone structure that would have made Michelangelo weep. A sensual mouth set above a determined jaw. Eyes that even from here looked black rather than dark brown. Black eyebrows. A forceful nose that transformed his face from an ideal of masculine beauty to one of power. Black hair that Tori knew was soft to the touch.
Her nerveless hands twitched as memory flooded through her. Of channelling her fingers through hair so soft and thick it felt like a pelt. Of being careful to avoid the clotted blood of his head injury.
The twitch in her hands became a tremor. A shudder thundered through her as her heart crashed into her ribs.
Heat suffused her as she met gleaming eyes. Then a wash of icy cold as other memories battered her brain.
Kidnappers. Gunfire.
Her eyes prickled and she blinked rapidly. Tears came easily now—another thing her counsellor said was normal. Yet instinctively Tori tried to dam them.
She swayed. The floor seemed to ripple and the walls appeared to close around the man watching her so intently. Tori grabbed the back of a leather conference chair for support, fingers clawing.
There was no scarring on his face. Nothing to indicate he’d ever been brutalised or shot at. He wore a dark grey suit tailored by an expert. It rivalled anything in her father’s expensive wardrobe, and on this man’s rangy, powerful frame looked spectacular. A white shirt complemented his burnished skin and a perfectly knotted silk tie completed the image of urbane sophistication.
It couldn’t be. It was impossible. And yet...
‘I thought you were dead.’
It didn’t sound like her voice, so husky and uneven. Yet he understood. His eyes widened and something passed across his face.
‘Ah, that explains a lot.’
That voice! That deep, rich voice. She’d only heard him whisper before. They’d both kept their voices low so as not to attract the guards’ attention. His whispers had threaded through her dreams for over a year. How often had she woken from a nightmare or the occasional erotic dream with the sound of his voice in her head?
‘It is you?’
Tori wanted to touch him, to check for herself he was no mirage. But her limbs felt like blocks of basalt. All she could do was stand and stare.
‘It’s me, Tori.’
* * *
Ashraf stared down into her oval face and felt a wave of emotion tumble through him.
He’d searched for her so long, against impossible odds, when even the best investigators had advised him to give up. He recalled the moment he’d received news that she was alive. Alive and safe. Relief had been so intense, so powerful, that for a moment he’d found it difficult to breathe.
He’d been fully prepared for this meeting, and still reality was nothing like his expectation.
Seeing Tori in the flesh unsettled him profoundly.
Maybe it was her eyes. He’d wondered about their colour. Now he knew. Soft blue. The colour of the dainty yet hardy forget-me-nots that grew in Za’daq’s mountain valleys. Her gaze held his and he felt the bite of need, of hunger, of regret and a hundred emotions he wasn’t in the habit of feeling. Those lovely eyes shone over-bright and her lip quivered.
Deep inside something responded with an intensity that rocked him back on his heels. As if his feelings were engaged in a way that was totally unfamiliar.
He’d admired her in Za’daq. She’d been courageous and strong, hiding her fears. He’d found comfort and welcome oblivion in her lithe body.
But he hadn’t expected such a visceral reaction after all this time. He’d told himself danger had heightened their responses.
Ashraf registered the thunder of his pulse and the tingling in his blood that betrayed a surge of adrenaline. He wanted to touch her. More than touch her. He wanted—
He slammed a door on such thoughts. His reason for being here was too important for distraction. Despite other unexpected urges. To comfort and assure her. To protect her as he hadn’t been able to fifteen months ago.
Guilt sliced at the memory. But it was blunted by other emotions. Desire. Possessiveness, rampant and untrammelled.
Ashraf tunnelled his fists into his pockets and forced himself to stand his ground rather than close the space between them.
‘You need to sit. You’ve had a shock.’
She blinked up, eyes round and lips open as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen.
He knew the feeling. His lungs were labouring as if he were the one surprised. He hadn’t expected to feel—
Ashraf leaned past her, pulling out a high-backed chair from the table, and gestured for her to sit. She did, and he saw that even in extremity there was a familiar grace about her movements. He’d thought he’d imagined that, embellished his recollections of this woman with qualities she hadn’t actually possessed. He’d told himself guilt and regret had turned her in his mind into someone more remarkable than she really was.
Striving for emotional distance, he catalogued what he saw. She was the same as in the photos his investigators had sent. Yet she was more.