An Arabian Marriage. LYNNE GRAHAM

earth again. And nothing mattered, nothing mattered but that that connection with him remained. She was in a wonderland of sensual discovery, gasping at the plundering invasion of his tongue inside the tender interior of her mouth, shivering violently, desperately longing for him to pull her close and crush her up against him.

      She heard the doorbell buzz with a kind of delayed recognition only as he tensed and then pulled back from her.

      ‘Oh…crumbs…’she framed, blinking rapidly and then shooting into the cloakroom behind him like a scalded cat.

      Thrusting home the bolt on the door, Freddy flung herself back against it, shaking like a leaf in a gale. The mirror surrounded with lights opposite confronted her with her own image. Literally cringing with mortification, she studied her swollen mouth, her dilated pupils and the expression of shock and bewilderment still etched there. How are you ever going to go out there again and act as if nothing happened? screamed the first thought to emerge from her reawakening brain.

      He thought she had deliberately flaunted herself in the towel too. True brazen hussy stuff. At that realisation, she writhed in even greater embarrassment, but over and above that discomfiture lurked an entire new level of self-knowledge. She honestly hadn’t known that a man could make her feel like that. There was a sort of shameless fascination still gripping her: that one smouldering kiss could make her forget everything. Who she was, who he was, everything. It also seemed especially cruel that she should have made that discovery with Jaspar al-Husayn. In fact, could there be anything more infuriating? All this time she had wondered why most women’s magazines raved about sex as though it was a truly exciting pursuit when her own slender experience had taught her otherwise.

      And then this guy she hated like poison grabbed her and showed her that the excitement might actually not be a giant con practised on the female sex. How dared he have done that to her? What was the point of finding out that a Crown Prince had more than a fighting chance of persuading her out of celibacy? A blasted Crown Prince, she thought afresh, eyes scorching with sudden tears.

      He had come to talk about Ben, she reminded herself. Paling, she forced herself to move and unlocked the door sneakily and silently, before pressing down the handle equally quietly and peering out into the hall through a gap barely an inch wide. The coast seemed clear. Had he left? She crept out and then fled down the corridor to her bedroom faster than the speed of light to find some clothes.

      Pulling on an oversized T-shirt and a jersey skirt which fell almost to her ankles, she dug her feet into clumpy shoes. The whole time she was dressing, she was rationalising what had happened between them. He had taken her by surprise. She had been temporarily deprived of her wits by the simple fact that he was so gorgeous. But he only had to speak and his mythical attraction vanished, so really she was quite safe from making an even bigger ass of herself. So women were forever throwing themselves at him…oh, the poor love, how did he bear the torment of being so unbearably fanciable? He had the most gigantic ego and she would have done anything to puncture it.

      She trudged back down to the main reception rooms, very much hoping he wouldn’t be waiting for her. But the guy had no tact, no shame and the kind of self-assurance that would have ensured that the Titanic sank the iceberg instead of the other way round. There he was, large as life and twice as bold in the drawing-room, which she had barely entered since Erica’s death. But then he had found his natural milieu, hadn’t he? He looked more at home there against the elaborate furniture and the curtaining weighed down with excessive swagging, fringing and tassels.

      ‘Your pizza…’ Indicating the shallow box parked on the coffee-table, Jaspar al-Husayn sent her a slow, slashing smile that made her heart skip a beat and told her too many things that she didn’t want to know.

      ‘Look, I don’t fancy you!’ Freddy heard herself state with shocking baldness before she could think better of it. ‘So you can stop looking so pleased with yourself because what happened out in that hall was just one of those stupid things and there is not the smallest danger that I am going to be tempted to throw myself at you! Not unless I get a brain transplant.’

      He said nothing. In the silence that dragged even in the first second, and which was working like a shriek alarm on her nerves by the tenth second, Jaspar gazed back at her with measuring cool.

      Freddy could feel her face burning up like a bonfire. While those ten seconds limped past, she went from defensive defiance to shrinking chagrin. What on earth had come over her? Instead of ignoring what had happened, she had dredged it back up again and attacked him like a teenager desperate to save face.

      ‘Let’s discuss my nephew,’ he finally murmured in his rich, dark drawl. ‘Feel free to enjoy your pizza.’

      Freddy pictured an imaginary headline: ‘Crown Prince battered to death by pizza box’. She hated him, oh, boy, did she hate him. Every time he opened his mouth, he put her down, and only a minute ago he had proved that he didn’t even have to speak to achieve that feat. Freddy plonked herself down on an overstuffed sofa. Her tummy gurgled and she stiffened with embarrassment and stared a hole in the pizza box. She had a healthy appetite and she was starving, but she was convinced that if she started eating he would take one scornful look at her and think, No wonder she’s that size!

      Mind you, he had kissed her, hadn’t he? Her downbent head came up a notch. Obviously he hadn’t found her that unattractive. There must have been some spark on his side of the fence. Maybe he liked women who weren’t skin and bone. It was such a seductive thought that Freddy had an instant vision of herself lying in a desert tent being stuffed with sweets by an adoring male, who would die if she mentioned going on a diet. What was the matter with her? For goodness’ sake, this was probably the most important discussion she would ever hold in her whole life, for Ben was her life, and yet her mind was filled with nothing but nonsense!

      ‘I understood that you employed a nanny for my nephew,’ Jaspar remarked without warning. ‘Where is she?’

      Wondering how on earth he could seem to know so much about Erica’s life and yet not know that her cousin was no longer alive, Freddy stiffened and then forced herself to look at him. ‘She has a family emergency to deal with right now. Look… you said you wanted to take charge of Ben. I’d like to know why.’

      Jaspar al-Husayn surveyed her with narrowed golden eyes. ‘He is my nephew.’

      ‘But your brother wanted Ben’s existence kept a secret. He didn’t seem to want anything further to do with him either.’ Freddy was choosing her words carefully.

      ‘I will not comment on my late brother’s decisions,’ Jaspar murmured, his strong jawline clenching. ‘It would be inappropriate.’

      ‘But I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to ask why you have this sudden desire to give Ben a home,’ Freddy persisted.

      ‘I have in my possession a recent investigation report into your lifestyle.’

      Instinctively resenting that superior tone as much as she disliked the news that a private detective had been snooping into Erica’s life without her late cousin’s knowledge, Freddy tilted her chin and said with helpless defiance, ‘Bully for you!’

      Jaspar dealt her a grim appraisal. ‘The report made it clear that you are a neglectful mother. You have continually left my nephew to the sole care of an employee, sometimes for periods of six weeks at a time. When you are at home, you throw wild parties for your drunken friends. The police have been called on more than one occasion to settle violent disputes at this address.’

      Freddy reddened with sudden shame because it was all true and she turned her head away for a moment, no longer able to meet his challenging gaze. She could still recall lying nervously awake behind a locked door with Ben on the night that Erica had staged her first party since her son’s birth. Neighbours had complained to the police about the excessive noise and offensive behaviour of the guests. When, on a subsequent evening, someone had tried to force their way into the bedroom, Freddy had been really scared. After that experience, whenever Erica had decided to throw a party, Freddy had simply taken Ben over to Ruth’s and spent the night there with him in peace.

      ‘I…’