A Mediterranean Marriage. Lynne Graham

little tart.

      As Lily headed in the direction that the desk clerk had indicated her heart started to beat very, very fast, indeed so fast that she could hardly catch her breath. She still could not believe that she was about to see Rauf Kasabian again. But then across the wide empty space that separated them she actually saw Rauf rise from his table. Her whole body leapt with almost painful tension and she froze, paralysed to the spot by that first glimpse of him.

      He was so very tall. He stood six feet four inches with the wide shoulders, narrow hips and lithe, muscular build of a male in the peak of physical condition. And gorgeous did not begin to describe that lean, bronzed face, Lily conceded in dazed acknowledgement. Rauf was so startlingly handsome that even on the crowded streets of London women had noticed him and turned their heads to stare. Lustrous, luxuriant black hair was cropped to his proud head. He had a riveting bone structure overlaid with vibrant skin and tawny eyes that could be dark as bitter chocolate or as pure a gold as the sinking sun.

      Her legs behaved like sticks without the ability to bend as she forced herself to move towards him. Her colour was high at the lowering awareness that she had stopped dead to look at him like an impressionable schoolgirl. He did not make the moment easier for her by striding forward to meet her halfway. Instead he stayed where he was, making her come to him. How had she forgotten how he dominated everything around him? How he could entrap her with one mesmerising look from those thick-lashed, brilliant eyes?

      Rauf watched her approach. She was a perfect doll, dainty and exquisite as a Meissen ornament. On even that very basic level she had once appealed to every masculine protective instinct he possessed. Rauf drew in a stark short breath. Memory hadn’t lied, memory had only dimmed his recollection of her wonderful skin, not to mention those deep blue eyes wide as a child’s and fringed by soft brown lashes a baby deer would have envied. The cool intellect that outright rejected the temptation she presented warred with the much more primitive urges of his all-too-male body. When lust triumphed, stirring him into aching sexual tension, Rauf was infuriated by his own weakness.

      Lily hovered several feet away, alarmed by the jangling state of her nerves, the terrifying blankness of her mind and the even more demeaning truth that she could not drag her attention from him. ‘It’s been a long time,’ she said breathlessly, almost wincing at the nervous sound of her own voice.

      ‘Yes. Would you like something to drink?’

      ‘Er…pure orange, please.’

      Rauf passed on the order to the waiter nearby and turned back to her. ‘Let’s get down to business, then,’ he drawled with intimidating cool. ‘I don’t have much time to spare.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      TAKEN aback by the coldness of that greeting, Lily was grateful for the small hiatus created by the waiter, who stepped forward to swing out a high-backed armchair for her occupation. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘My pleasure, hanim,’ the young man asserted with an admiring smile until a cool word of Turkish uttered by Rauf sent him into hasty retreat.

      ‘You may have noticed that my countrymen go for English blondes in a big way,’ Rauf remarked in his dark, deep drawl.

      ‘Yes,’ Lily confided ruefully, thinking of the taxi driver who had tried to chat her up and all the discomfiting male attention that she had attracted since her recent arrival.

      Yet she was conscious of Rauf’s masculine proximity with every fibre of her being and even more aware of the weird tight little knot low in her pelvis of something that felt dangerously like suppressed excitement. Her tension increased for she was as unsettled by her own reactions as she had been at twenty-one, because no other man had ever had that effect on her.

      Rauf lifted a broad shoulder in a casual shrug. ‘Here, I’m afraid, and in certain other resorts, British female tourists have the reputation of being the easiest to bed in the shortest possible space of time.’

      Lily’s face flamed. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      Rauf dealt her a cool golden glance laden with mockery. Being downright offensive was not the norm for him but he was determined to blow her I’m-so-sweet-and-shockable front right out of the water. ‘Some Englishwomen go mad for Turkish men, so don’t blame the guys for hassling you.’

      ‘I wasn’t aware that I was blaming anybody.’ Lily’s fingers tightened round the document case on her lap. She just could not credit that he was talking to her in such a way and, bewildered by the antagonism she sensed, she allowed her scrutiny to linger on the scornful slant to his beautifully shaped mouth.

      Without the slightest warning, she found herself remembering the wicked, unforgettable excitement of those firm, hard male lips on her own. A deep inner quiver slivered through her slight frame and her skin heated. Mortified by the intimate nature of her wandering thoughts, she could not even recall what they had been talking about. Forcing her head up, she encountered intent tawny eyes and stopped breathing altogether.

      His lush black lashes dipped to a slumbrous level over his stunning gaze and she shifted on her seat, every muscle tightening, every nerve-ending flaring with agonising immediacy into sensitised awareness. Desperate to break free of the raw magnetic power he exerted over her and shattered that she could still be susceptible to a male who had once rejected her, she tore her eyes from him and muttered with an abruptness that only increased her discomfiture, ‘You said that you didn’t have much time…so can we discuss this misunderstanding over the contract that you agreed with my father?’

      Rauf’s shimmering golden scrutiny rested on her evasive gaze with grim amusement and no small amount of satisfaction. So she did want him and that, at least, had not been a total lie like all the rest. He elevated a challenging black brow. ‘There is no misunderstanding.’

      ‘There has to be.’ With hands that were betraying a dismaying tendency to tremble, Lily dug into the document case and dragged out the sheaf of papers that Hilary had put together.

      Wondering what on earth she could hope to achieve by going to such pointless lengths in an effort to convince him that his highly qualified investment consultant was incapable of spotting a rip-off when he came across one, Rauf released his breath in an impatient hiss. ‘I have no intention of studying those documents. By failing to make the agreed sharing of annual profits your father has been in breach of our contract for more than two years. That’s the base line and the only one that counts.’

      ‘Dad would never default on any contract.’ Alarm gripping her at Rauf’s stubborn refusal even to direct his attention at the papers that she had set on the table, Lily leant forward, frantically swept up the first sheet and extended it herself. ‘This is last year’s account-book entry. A sizeable sum of money was wire-transferred to an account known as Marmaris Media Incorporated at your Turkish bank in London. I have every identifying detail of that transfer. For goodness’ sake, if that’s not proof that a major misunderstanding has occurred, what is?’

      His interest now fully engaged by what she had said, for he did not use a Turkish bank in London, but making no attempt to accept the proffered document, Rauf gazed at her flushed and anxious face. ‘This sounds remarkably like a misunderstanding destined to end up in the hands of an international fraud squad.’

      Her natural colour draining away, her blue eyes rounding, Lily let the sheet of paper drop back on the pile and gasped, ‘What on earth are you trying to suggest?’

      ‘That it seems very suspicious that the trading name Marmaris Media Incorporated should bear such a very close resemblance to the name under which my own companies operate—’

      ‘Which is MMI…Marmaris Media Incorporated!’ Lily argued in bewilderment.

      ‘No, I rather think that you must know that that is untrue,’ Rauf countered with sardonic cool, for he was now convinced that she was attempting to mount some kind of clumsy belated cover-up. ‘MMI stands for Marmaris Media International and no part of my holdings trades under any similar name. Any cash paid into an account in the name of Marmaris Media Incorporated has nothing