Christmas Bride For The Sheikh. Carol Marinelli

and then, when it should have been over, he kissed her back.

      A kiss so soft and slow it tasted of the romance both had denied.

      It was like finding herself in the wrong dream.

      Scary almost to know him tender as well as urgent and passionate.

      And even scarier for Flo to reveal her other side.

      Flo opened her eyes and met his and there was a moment of utter connection. Her legs loosened their grip on him and he thrust slowly. So intimate and slow were they that she deep-kissed his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, as they locked into each other; tasting each other, and raining kisses as he took her to a place she had never been.

      It felt like the edge of something, like she had finally stumbled into the right dream as he called her name and reached his own moment of release. And when there was nothing left to give, her body found an untapped resource, for she beat to his tune, this utter giddying orgasm, that only he could evoke.

      His weight on her felt necessary and, oh, so right.

      She could lie there and not think for a moment, just enjoy the bliss of them both sated.

      He really was bliss, for there was no dark silence afterwards, just a light kiss and the warmth of his embrace.

      ‘I’m glad you were there tonight,’ Hazin said.

      So was she.

      * * *

      Flo awoke, of course, with regret.

      Please, she bargained with the powers that be, reverse this mistake and I will give up men for life.

      Then she felt the wetof his tongue and the warmth of his breath on her neck and the light dusting of his fingers on her stomach.

      And then the tearing of the condom foil lit her like a match as he pulled her against him.

      Tomorrow, she vowed as he slipped inside her.

      She would start being good tomorrow.

       CHAPTER THREE

      HAZIN SHOWERED AND thought of the woman who now lay in his bed.

      He liked her being there.

      Flo made him laugh and that in itself was unusual for there had been little laughter of late.

      As a rule, Hazin offered no breakfast with bed that might encourage an overnight guest to stay longer, but he came out and dried himself with a towel and found he had not changed his mind—he wanted her here.

      ‘Do you want breakfast?’

      ‘That would be lovely,’ Flo said, and sat up as he picked up the bedside phone and ordered breakfast for two.

      She did not know how to tell Hazin that she knew who he was and wished that she had got it out of the way last night.

      Now she stood watching him dry off. There was a bruise on his chest that her mouth had made and another on his neck. He was muscled and toned and his length was rising from his thigh. He watched her watching it.

      ‘Did I miss a bit?’ he said, holding the towel out to her. She wanted to take it, to dry his glistening skin and then wet him again with her mouth. Their want and desire was so matched, and her body so willing, but she had to clear things up first.

      ‘Hazin,’ Flo said, declining the towel, and she swallowed nervously as he resumed his leisurely drying off. ‘Last night, I came—’

      ‘I know.’

      ‘I mean I came to Dion’s in the hope...’ Her words were coming out wrong, Flo knew that, but she just didn’t know how best to tell him. So she simply did. ‘I knew that you’d be here.’

      The towel stopped in mid-stroke of his thigh.

      ‘Meaning?’ he said, and then gave a derisive laugh. ‘You know who I am.’

      ‘Yes, but—’

      ‘Did you get your photo of me?’

      ‘Hazin!’

      ‘Or are you off to sell your story now?’

      ‘Please listen—’

      ‘No, you listen.’ He pulled on his clothes with some difficulty for the angry words had fired him, and as he attempted to tuck himself in, words hissed out through his teeth. ‘Do what you want. I don’t care...’

      ‘I’m a friend of Maggie’s.’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘The woman you met on the yacht...’

      ‘You mean the one who bribed me?’

      ‘No.’ Flo knelt up on the bed, shaking her head, and then she pulled the sheet up to cover her for everything had vanished in a heartbeat—the intimacy, the carefree nakedness, the laughter, all that they had so recently found swept away by her careless words.

      ‘Hazin...’ She took a breath, and though her mouth was open she did not know what to say.

      Clearly Maggie had stayed away last night for a reason. Perhaps she had changed her mind about telling Ilyas that she was carrying his child?

      And now certainly wasn’t the time or place to tell Hazin!

      ‘Get out,’ he said, and his voice whipped the tense air.

      ‘Hazin, what happened last night had nothing to do with Maggie. I didn’t come to the bar intending to sleep with you.’

      He was too used to this, Hazin thought as he marched through to the lounge and retrieved her underwear and dress that they had so happily disposed of last night. He walked back to the bedroom and tossed them to her on the bed.

      ‘Get out!’ he said again.

      But then he changed his mind, for he could not wait however long it would take her to dress for Flo to be gone. ‘Actually, I’m going to go,’ he told her. ‘I want you out of here by the time I get back. If you’re not, I’ll ask Security to have you removed.’

      She knew how effective his security was.

      He grabbed his wallet and phone and pocketed his keys.

      ‘Stay for breakfast at least,’ he sneered. ‘You certainly earned it.’

      * * *

      Hazin kicked at the kerb as he walked down the street.

      It was grey, raining and cold.

      His phone kept ringing and he was in no mood to talk to anyone. It couldn’t be Flo because they hadn’t exchanged numbers yet pulled it out to check.

      It was Ilyas.

      Ilyas was persistent and Hazin was in just the mood for a row.

      ‘What the hell happened to you last night?’ Hazin shouted by way of greeting when he took the call.

      ‘We need to speak.’

      ‘Well, had you turned up as arranged we would have.’

      ‘Hazin, this is important.’

      * * *

      They met at a café and drank strong coffee.

      Hazin could feel his brother’s eyes sweep over his neck and the bite mark Flo had left. ‘I don’t need another lecture.’

      ‘I’m not here to lecture you,’ Ilyas said.

      ‘And I don’t need to be reminded that the yachts and jets will be pulled. I can afford to pay for my own.’

      Hazin was not idle.

      After Petra’s death he had returned to England with the intention to further his education and attend university,