he
censured. 'I want you here, within touching distance when I explain.'
But she didn't want to be
within touching distance when he said what she knew he had to say. 'You are
about to go home, aren't you?'
'Yes,' he confirmed.
It was all right
challenging someone to tell you the truth when you did not mind the answer, but
when you did mind it— 'So this is it,' she stated, finding a short laugh from
somewhere that was not really a laugh at all. 'Holiday over...'
Out there the sun
glistened on the blue water, casting a shimmering haze over the nearing land.
It was hot but she was cold. It was bright but she was standing in darkness.
The end, she thought. The finish.
'So, how are you going to
play it?' she asked him. 'Do you drop me off on the quay in the clothes I
arrived in and wave a poignant farewell as you sail away. Or have I earned my
passage back to San Esteban?'
'What are you talking
about?' Hassan frowned. 'You are my wife, yet you speak about yourself as a
mistress.'
Which was basically how
she had been behaving over the last two weeks, Leona admitted to herself. 'Inshallah,'
she
The small sarcasm brought
him back to his feet. As he strode towards her she felt her body quicken, felt
her breasts grow tight and despised herself for being so weak of the flesh that
she could be aroused by a man who was about to carry out his promise to free
her. But six feet two inches of pedigree male to her five feet seven was such
a lot to ignore when she added physical power into the equation, then included
mental power and sexual power. It really was no wonder she was such a weakling
where he was concerned.
And it didn't stop there,
because he came to brace his hands on the rail either side of her, then pushed
his dark face close up to hers. Now she could feel the heat of him, feel his
scented breath on her face. She even responded to the ever-present sexual glow
in his eyes though it had no right to be there—in either of them.
'A mistress knows when to
keep her beautiful mouth shut and just listen. A wife does her husband the
honour of hearing him out before she makes wildly inaccurate claims,' he said.
'You've just told me that
our time here is over,' she reminded him with a small tense shrug of one
slender shoulder. 'What else is there left for you to say?'
'What I said,' he
corrected, 'was that our time here alone.
The difference made her
frown. Hassan used the moment to shift his stance, grasp both of her hands and
pry them away from the death grip they had on her arms. Her ringers left marks
where they had been clinging. He frowned at the marks and sighed at her
pathetically defiant face. Then, dropping one of her hands, he turned and
pulled her over to the table, urged her down into the chair he had just vacated
and, still without letting go of her other hand, pulled out a second chair upon
which he sat down himself.
He drew the chair so
close to her own that he had to spread his thighs wide enough to enclose hers.
It was a very effective way to trap his audience, especially when he leaned forward
and said, 'Now, listen, because this is important and I will not have you
diverting me by tossing up insignificant.
It was automatic that she
should open her mouth to question that remark. It was predictable, she
supposed, that Hassan should stop her by placing his free hand across her
parted lips. 'Shh,' he commanded, 'for I refuse to be distracted yet again
because the anguish shows in your eyes each time we reach this moment, and your
words are only weapons you use to try and hide that from me.'
'Omniscient' was the word
that came to mind to describe him, she thought, as her eyes told him she would
be quiet. His hand slid away from her face, leaving its warm imprint on her
skin. He smiled a brief smile at her acquiescence, then went so very serious
that she found herself holding onto her breath.
'You know,' he began,
'that above all things my father has always been your strongest ally, and it is
for him that I
censured. 'I want you here, within touching distance when I explain.'
But she didn't want to be
within touching distance when he said what she knew he had to say. 'You are
about to go home, aren't you?'
'Yes,' he confirmed.
It was all right
challenging someone to tell you the truth when you did not mind the answer, but
when you did mind it— 'So this is it,' she stated, finding a short laugh from
somewhere that was not really a laugh at all. 'Holiday over...'
Out there the sun
glistened on the blue water, casting a shimmering haze over the nearing land.
It was hot but she was cold. It was bright but she was standing in darkness.
The end, she thought. The finish.
'So, how are you going to
play it?' she asked him. 'Do you drop me off on the quay in the clothes I
arrived in and wave a poignant farewell as you sail away. Or have I earned my
passage back to San Esteban?'
'What are you talking
about?' Hassan frowned. 'You are my wife, yet you speak about yourself as a
mistress.'
Which was basically how
she had been behaving over the last two weeks, Leona admitted to herself. 'Inshallah,'
she
The small sarcasm brought
him back to his feet. As he strode towards her she felt her body quicken, felt
her breasts grow tight and despised herself for being so weak of the flesh that
she could be aroused by a man who was about to carry out his promise to free
her. But six feet two inches of pedigree male to her five feet seven was such
a lot to ignore when she added physical power into the equation, then included
mental power and sexual power. It really was no wonder she was such a weakling
where he was concerned.
And it didn't stop there,
because he came to brace his hands on the rail either side of her, then pushed
his dark face close up to hers. Now she could feel the heat of him, feel his
scented breath on her face. She even responded to the ever-present sexual glow
in his eyes though it had no right to be there—in either of them.
'A mistress knows when to
keep her beautiful mouth shut and just listen. A wife does her husband the
honour of hearing him out before she makes wildly inaccurate claims,' he said.
'You've just told me that
our time here is over,' she reminded him with a small tense shrug of one
slender shoulder. 'What else is there left for you to say?'
'What I said,' he
corrected, 'was that our time here alone.
The difference made her
frown. Hassan used the moment to shift his stance, grasp both of her hands and
pry them away from the death grip they had on her arms. Her ringers left marks
where they had been clinging. He frowned at the marks and sighed at her
pathetically defiant face. Then, dropping one of her hands, he turned and
pulled her over to the table, urged her down into the chair he had just vacated
and, still without letting go of her other hand, pulled out a second chair upon
which he sat down himself.
He drew the chair so
close to her own that he had to spread his thighs wide enough to enclose hers.
It was a very effective way to trap his audience, especially when he leaned forward
and said, 'Now, listen, because this is important and I will not have you
diverting me by tossing up insignificant.
It was automatic that she
should open her mouth to question that remark. It was predictable, she
supposed, that Hassan should stop her by placing his free hand across her
parted lips. 'Shh,' he commanded, 'for I refuse to be distracted yet again
because the anguish shows in your eyes each time we reach this moment, and your
words are only weapons you use to try and hide that from me.'
'Omniscient' was the word
that came to mind to describe him, she thought, as her eyes told him she would
be quiet. His hand slid away from her face, leaving its warm imprint on her
skin. He smiled a brief smile at her acquiescence, then went so very serious
that she found herself holding onto her breath.
'You know,' he began,
'that above all things my father has always been your strongest ally, and it is
for him that I
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