Six Sizzling Sheikhs. Оливия Гейтс

had to have forgotten her, for nothing else made sense.

      ‘Khaled…’

      ‘Say my name,’ Khaled commanded, his voice ragged. ‘Say it again. I love it when you say my name.’

      ‘Khaled…’ she said again, desperately, for they had to stop this madness before it got too far.

      Then his fingers slipped from her hair to her face, cradling her cheek, using the motion to draw her towards him. And Lucy went, drawn by her own need and desire, until she was half on her knees next to him on the sofa, every nerve, sense and sinew straining towards him.

      ‘Lucy.’ He spoke with a needy desperation that surprised her, for she’d never thought of him needing anything. Needing her. Yet at that moment, seeing his eyes clenched shut as he drew her to him, she felt as if he needed her very much.

      And she needed him.

      His other hand came up to cradle her face and draw her towards him, her hands braced against his shoulders as his lips hovered over hers. ‘Lucy.’

      Her lips parted, waiting, wanting—and then he kissed her.

      It was softly at first, little more than a brush, a kiss that said, ‘hello, do you remember me?’

      And she did. Her lips parted under his, her mouth opening in invitation and acceptance.

      Khaled deepened the kiss until the sensation of his touching her, tasting her, flooded her whole body; she melted towards him, his arms coming round to draw her in closer, fitting her so neatly, so perfectly, against him. Her head fell back and he kissed her lips, her cheek, her throat, behind her ear, as she moaned, remembering how he’d known that place turned her helpless.

      Her hands drove into his hair, caressed the nape of his neck, the curve of his shoulder, before resting against the hard plane of his chest. Her hands remembered how he felt, all the hidden places, the way she’d touched him with such pleasurable abandon.

      Somehow they’d both moved and were now stretched out along the sofa, Khaled half on top of her, his body braced on one forearm. It was a position that allowed Lucy to feel his whole body against hers, and one leg almost of its own accord twined around his.

      Khaled groaned against her lips and captured her mouth once more in a kiss as his hands drifted down, leaving fire wherever they touched.

      Stop. They had to stop. Her mind kept repeating this litany even as the rest of her resolutely ignored it. She wanted this. She wanted it more than she’d ever realised. So now that it was happening she wondered how she’d existed for so long without Khaled, without his touch, his love.

      But he doesn’t love you.

      And suddenly her body was recalling another memory, the pain and shame she’d felt wash through her when the doorman at his building had told her he’d left.

       Is he coming back?

      No, miss. He has left the flat. There’s no forwarding address.

      There must be a letter…

      No, miss. I’m sorry.

      Lucy flattened her hands against Khaled’s chest and pushed. ‘We can’t do this.’

      He stilled above her, and she was afraid that he would try to seduce her—afraid because she didn’t think she could resist.

      A long, taut moment passed and then Khaled rolled off her into a sitting position. His hair was mussed, and a faint flush stained his cheekbones. Both of their breathing was ragged.

      ‘You’re right.’

      Disappointment and, worse, rejection sliced through her, mingling with the unfulfilled desire coursing through her. She pushed the feelings away. ‘We can’t have a physical relationship, Khaled,’ she said, and was amazed at how strong and sure her voice sounded. Inside she felt a mess. Her lips were swollen, and her body tingled where he’d touched her. ‘For Sam’s sake we need to stay…professional.’

      ‘Professional?’ Khaled arched one eyebrow. He looked remarkably recovered from their kiss, and Lucy saw a new hardness in his eyes that she didn’t like. ‘Is that really possible, Lucy?’

      ‘Friends, then,’ she said with an edge of sharpness. ‘Acquaintances, colleagues—use whatever term you prefer, Khaled. But I can’t have a physical relationship with you again. I won’t.’

      ‘Just for Sam’s sake?’ Khaled asked softly. ‘Or for your own?’

      ‘Both,’ Lucy replied flatly. She could be honest, even if it humiliated her. ‘You hurt me four years ago, Khaled. I thought I loved you, and when you left it damn near destroyed me.’ She felt a blush staining her cheeks, and tears stinging her eyes. Memories could hold such power; they could hurt so much. She blinked back the tears and willed the blush to recede.

      ‘You thought you loved me?’ Khaled queried. His voice was soft, yet it still held a dangerous thread of steel.

      ‘Yes, thought. I realise now that what I believed was love was no more than a girlish infatuation. A crush, pure and simple.’

      ‘A crush,’ Khaled repeated neutrally, and Lucy found herself compelled to explain.

      ‘I was dazzled by you. You were England’s rugby star, adored by the press, surrounded by fans—many of them women. I never thought you’d even look once at me.’

      ‘I see,’ Khaled replied after a moment, and Lucy thought she heard a bleakness in his voice that she didn’t understand. ‘I see,’ he repeated, almost to himself, ‘what kind of man you loved.’

      ‘Thought I loved,’ Lucy corrected.

      Khaled’s answering smile was hard and cold. ‘Right.’

      For a moment Lucy felt like apologising, feeling almost as if she’d hurt him somehow. Yet she couldn’t have hurt him, because he’d never cared. Not like she had. Perhaps his ego was dented, she thought cynically. Perhaps he didn’t like the fact that she was no longer the woman she’d once been…even if he was still the same man.

      For he was the same man, she realised. His hair was shorter, his face harder, and he’d clearly had some tough experiences in the last four years—but underneath? Lucy shook her head. Still the same arrogant charmer who thought he had the world and all of its women at his feet.

      ‘Well.’ Khaled stretched, running his fingers through his hair, and gave a little shrug and a smile. ‘Well, it’s all past history now, isn’t it?’ he said in a tone that relegated their relationship to some kind of trivial anecdote.

      Lucy forced herself to smile back. ‘Yes. Past history.’ Although it hadn’t felt all that ‘past’ a few moments ago when she’d been lying under him.

      A momentary lapse. A blip. Something they had to get out of their systems. That was all it had been, all it could be.

      ‘You mentioned you have to work tomorrow,’ Khaled said, his voice turning brisk and businesslike. ‘What were you planning to do with Sam?’

      ‘He has nursery in the morning, and my mother can pick him up—’

      ‘I’ll do that. Sam and I can spend the afternoon together.’

      Lucy hesitated. She wanted to resist, yet she also knew Sam would love spending the afternoon with Khaled. And wouldn’t it be better for him to get used to Khaled sooner rather than later?

      ‘Trying to think of an excuse to say no?’ Khaled mocked gently. ‘Get used to it, Lucy. I’m staying in Sam’s life.’

      ‘Are you?’ The question slipped out involuntarily and Khaled’s face darkened. ‘Why?’ she pressed. ‘I mean, why do you want him so much? I never thought you’d—’

      ‘Care?’ Khaled finished for her. ‘Yes,