Then realization hit her. He was a man of state, in a conservative country. She was compromising him, hugging him in a hotel corridor that had to have prying eyes, no matter how deserted it felt to her oblivious senses.
Fear won over her greed to give him more solace, made her tear her arms off him. A rumbling moan of loss and reproach reverberated like distant thunder in his chest.
It made up her mind for her.
And she stammered, “Would you like to come in?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
MALEK FELT JANAAN’S words spearing through him, unraveling what her arms hadn’t undone of his sanity.
He’d been feeling her withdrawing from him, had been steeling himself for the end that was advancing like a tidal wave of despondency. Then it had been the last seconds, the last glimpse, and she’d surged back into his existence, contained him in her arms, her haven. Then she’d made her offer.
He had no idea what it was exactly but, whatever it was, he couldn’t take anything. Not when he wanted everything. Not when he had nothing to offer in return.
“Come in, Malek.”
This time she wasn’t giving him a choice but demanding he comply. He did, surrendered, let her take his hand and lead him inside. He could withstand almost anything, but he couldn’t bear letting her fade out of his life.
But she was still there, drawing him deeper into hers, resolve and shyness in her eyes like at their first meeting. There was more now. Gentleness. Generosity. Solicitude.
Then a sudden burst of anxiety wiped away everything. She dropped his hand, swung away.
What had happened? What had gone wrong?
Now she’d ask him to get out. Or he’d wake up.
“I’m sorry, Malek. It’s just—just …” She paused, her throat working in agitation. “I’ve seen you do so much for others—and I wanted to—to do something for you—to show you, beyond words, how much I appreciate.” She paused again before blurting out, “But your … family must be waiting for you.”
So that was it. What so troubled her.
“You think I would have kissed you the first day we met if I had a … family?”
“You didn’t … well, you almost, but you didn’t.”
“Oh, I did.” He huffed a harsh laugh. “The almost was all the phone’s fault. Now I let you hug me, came into your room. I’d have to be a dishonorable, unfaithful wretch if I did all that with a … family waiting for me. Is that what you think I am?”
“No.” Her denial was ready, vehement. It validated him, made him proud. Her next words made him ashamed. “It’s just I don’t know … anything about you …”
And as long as he didn’t tell her anything, he could delude himself he had a right to feel for her.
“You have nothing to worry about in that area,” he rasped, feeling as if he was lying, heard his voice alien in his ears, thick with hunger, rough with agitation. He shouldn’t be doing this. He could do nothing else. He had to have more of her. Just a little bit more. “So—what did you have in mind?”
Her heavenly eyes melted with that look that hurt him with its magnanimity, its uniqueness. “You look finished …”
He hadn’t seen that coming. He barked a laugh. “Shokrun.”
“You know what I mean! And I know you’re a prime specimen of the exasperating species who accept help from no one.”
“Takes one to know one, eh?”
She giggled. “Well, yeah. But I was hoping you’d let me …” She stopped, looked as if she was getting ready to jump off a cliff. Then she did. “Pamper you!”
He choked. She was out to give him a stroke today!
He staggered, leaned back on the door they’d just closed, coughed, felt the air disappearing, the world receding.
So this was temptation. Unstoppable, disempowering, to die for. This golden virago who’d invaded his life, occupied his being, conquered his reason and priorities.
She planted her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing into slits of blue fire. “Are you laughing?”
He did laugh now, at the sheer inaccuracy of her suspicion. “No, but I may be dying.”
“Ooh!” She stormed around, threw her bag on her bed, took off the jacket he’d given her, came back to him, thrust it at him. “I take it back. Now, take your jacket back and go laugh yourself to death somewhere else where you have access to emergency medical services. This emergency doctor isn’t equipped for intubation and ventilation at the moment.”
And he could only do one thing. Give up. All of himself, to her, to do with what she would. He only hoped he’d survive whatever she had in mind. He was already half-disintegrated from a hug and a statement of intent.
He blocked her path when she headed for the bathroom. She evaded him and he intercepted her again, spread his arms.
“Ana kol’ly elek.” And he was, all hers.
She probably thought he meant he was all hers to pamper. A last flicker of sanity stopped him from elaborating.
After a hesitant moment, she beamed up at him, let out a carefree trill and dragged him behind her.
Once inside the bathroom she said, “Shower or shave first?”
“You’re offering …”
“A shave. The shower you’ll take on your own.”
He grimaced in not-so-mock disappointment. “Spoilsport. But if I’m to prioritize, a shave has become an emergency by now.”
“A shave it is.” She ran out, returned with the dressing-table’s chair, placed it in front of the mirror and patted it.
He sank on it, watched her hungrily as she strode out again and picked up the phone. She made three phone calls in all, her voice low. Preparing a surprise? Could he stand another one?
Two minutes later he heard a knock on the door. She came back from opening it triumphantly waving a zipped shaving kit.
She started lining up the products on the sink. “I decided to make use of your clout here, as it is for you after all.”
He returned her smile, tried to convince his senses not to riot as her heat and softness pressed closer while she tucked his hair out of the way.
“About your shaving qualifications.”
She tossed her hair, looked down on him in mock disdain. “You’ll have to trust me, sir. I’m a doctor.”
He chuckled, surrendered to the soothing, distressing experience of having her capable fingers gliding over his face in the smoothness of foam, her intoxicating breath filling his lungs as she concentrated on details, her face inches from his.