Hot-Blooded Husbands. Michelle Reid

cool cotton sheets, sighed, punched the pillow, then attempted to fall asleep. She must have managed it, because the next thing she knew a warm body was curling itself in behind her.

      ‘I don’t recall our new deal involving having to share a bed,’ she said coldly.

      ‘I don’t recall offering to sleep elsewhere,’ Hassan coolly returned. ‘So go back to sleep.’ The arm he folded around her aimed to trap. ‘And, since I am as exhausted as you are, you did not need the silk pyjamas to keep my lecherous desires at bay…’

      ‘I really hate you sometimes.’ She wanted the last word.

      ‘Whereas I will love you with my dying breath. And when they lay us in our final resting place in our crypt of gold it will be like this, with the scent of your beautiful hair against my face and my hand covering your lying little heart. There,’ he concluded, ‘is that flowery enough to beat Samir’s one thousand deaths?’

      Despite not wanting to, she giggled. It was her biggest mistake. The exhausted man became an invigorated man. His lecherous desires took precedence.

      Did she try to stop him? No, she did not. Did she even want to? No, again. Did he know all of that before he started removing the pyjamas?’ Of course he did. And there was something needle-piercingly poignant in this man losing touch with everything but this kind of loving as he came inside her, cupped her face with his hands and held her gaze with his own, as he drove them towards that other resting place.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      MORNING came too soon, to Leona’s regret. Although here, shut inside this room and wrapped in the relative sanctuary of Hassan’s arms, she could let herself pretend for a little while longer that everything was perfect.

      He was perfect, she observed tenderly as she studied the lean smooth lines of his dark golden face. He slept quietly—he always had done—lips parted slightly, black lashes lying still against the silken line of his cheekbones. Her heart began to squeeze and her stomach muscles joined in. This deep-rooted attraction he had always inspired in her had never diminished no matter what else had come in between.

      She released a sigh that feathered his face and made his nose twitch. And it was such a nose, she thought with a smile, irresistibly reaching up to run a fingertip down its long silken length.

      ‘Life can have its perfect moments,’ a sleepy voice drawled.

      Since she had been thinking much the same herself, Leona moved that bit closer so she could brush a kiss on his mouth.

      Eyelashes drifted upward, revealing ebony irises packed with love. ‘Does the kiss mean you have forgiven me for dropping all of this on you?’

      ‘Shh,’ she whispered, ‘or you will spoil it.’

      ‘Kiss me again, then,’ he insisted. So she did. Why not? she asked herself. This was her man. Rightly or wrongly he was most definitely hers here and now.

      It was a shame the ring of the telephone beside the bed had to intrude, or one thing would have led to another before they should have needed to face reality again. As it was, Hassan released a sigh and reached out to hook up the receiver. A few seconds later he was replacing it again and reaching out to touch her kiss-warmed mouth with a look of regret.

      ‘Duty calls,’ he murmured.

      Ah, duty, Leona thought, and flopped heavily onto her back. Perfect moment over, pretence all gone. Stripped clean to his smooth dark golden skin, it was the prince who rose up from the bed and without saying another word disappeared into the bathroom.

      He came out again ten minutes later, wrapped in fluffy white cotton and looking as handsome as sin. Wishing his pull wasn’t as strong on her senses, she got up with a definite reluctance to face the day mirrored on her face, pulled on her wrap and went to take her turn in the bathroom.

      But Hassan stopped her as she walked past him, his hand gently cupping her chin. He smelt of soap and minted toothpaste as he bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Fifteen minutes, on the sun deck,’ he instructed as he straightened again. ‘For breakfast with an added surprise.’

      The ‘added surprise’ made Leona frown. ‘You promised me you had no more surprises waiting to jump out at me,’ she protested.

      ‘But this one does not count,’ he said with a distinctly worrying gleam in his eye. ‘So hurry up, wear something deliciously stylish that will wow everyone, and prepare yourself to fall on my neck.’

      ‘Fall on his neck,’ Leona muttered to herself as she showered. She had developed a distinct aversion to surprises since arriving on this wretched boat so she was more likely to strangle him.

      In a pale blue sundress made of a cool cotton, and with her red hair floating loose about her shoulders—because she felt like wearing it as a banner, which made a statement about…something, though she wasn’t absolutely sure what—Leona walked out onto the sun deck to find Rafiq there but no Hassan.

      He looked up, smiled, then stood to pull out a chair for her. He was back in what she called his off-duty clothes, loose-fitting black chinos and a white V-neck tee shirt that did things to his muscled shape no one saw when he was covered in Arab robes.

      ‘Was your mother an Amazon, by any chance?’ she enquired caustically, because his father was a fine boned little man and Rafiq had to have got his size from someone.

      The waspishness in her tone earned her a sharp glance. ‘Did you climb out of bed on the wrong side, by any chance?’ he threw back.

      ‘I hate surprises,’ she announced as she sat down.

      ‘Ah,’ Rafiq murmured. ‘So you have decided to take it out on me because I am unlikely to retaliate.’

      He was right, and she knew it, which didn’t help this terrible, restless tension she was suffering from. ‘Where is Hassan?’ She strove for a nicer tone and managed to half succeed. ‘He said he would be here.’

      ‘The pilot who will guide us through the Suez Canal has arrived,’ Rafiq explained. ‘It is an expected courtesy for Hassan to greet him personally.’

      Glancing outwards, Leona saw Port Said sprawling out in front of them like a vast industrial estate. It was not the prettiest of views to have with your breakfast, even though they seemed to have got the best of the berths, moored way off to one side in a separate harbour that looked as if it was reserved for the luxury private crafts.

      ‘And the rest of our guests?’ she enquired next, aware that she probably should have asked about them first.

      ‘Either still asleep or breakfasting in their suites.’

      Mentioning sleep had a knock-on effect on him, and in the next moment Rafiq was stifling a yawn. It was only then that Leona recalled his slick retreat from the fray the evening before.

      ‘Up all night?’ The spike was back in her voice.

      He didn’t reply, but the rueful way his mouth tilted suddenly made her think of Spanish dancers. ‘I hope she was good.’ She took a tart stab in the dark.

      ‘Delightful.’ He smiled. It was yet another blow to her fragile ego that her one solid ally had deserted her last night for another woman. ‘Here,’ he said gently, and began to pour her out a cup of tea. ‘Maybe this will help soothe your acid little tongue.’

      Something needed to, Leona silently admitted as she picked up the cup. She had never felt so uptight and anxious, and it all was down to Hassan and surprises she did not want and people she did not want to be with and a marriage she did not—

      The slightly sweet scent of Earl Grey suddenly turned her stomach. She must have gone pale because Rafiq began frowning. ‘What is the matter?’ he demanded.

      ‘I think the milk must be off,’ she explained, hastily putting the cup back on its saucer then pushing it away.

      The sickly sensation left her almost as suddenly as it had hit.