The Sheikh's Undoing (8 page)

He stared at her, genuinely confused. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘I was prescribed the pill because my periods are
heavy, and that’s the only reason. I’ve … Well, I’ve never had any other reason to take it.’

This commonplace and unexpected disclosure highlighted the unusual degree of intimacy between them, and Tariq frowned. He brushed a corkscrew lock of hair away from her forehead, trying to make sense of her words. ‘You’re trying to tell me you’re—?’

‘Yes, I’m a virgin,’ she said, as if it didn’t matter.

Because surely it didn’t? What mattered was Tariq kissing her and transporting her back to that heavenly place he’d taken her to before. Just because she had waited a long time for a man to turn her on as much as this, it didn’t mean that she should be treated as some kind of leper, did it?

Sliding her arms around his neck, she lifted her face to his, hungry for him. ‘Now, kiss me again,’ she whispered.

How could he refuse her soft entreaty? Tariq groaned as he tasted her trembling lips and a shaft of pure desire shot through him. He could feel the softness of her breasts yielding against his bare chest, their taut tips firing at him like little arrows towards his heart. Irresistibly, his fingers slipped inside the waistband of her pyjama trousers again, and he heard her little gurgle of anticipation.

For one moment he was about to peel them right off. Then his hand paused, mid-motion, as he forced himself to recall the unbelievable facts.

She was a virgin!

And more importantly …

She was his assistant!

‘No!’ he thundered, dragging his lips away from hers. ‘I will not do this!’

Her body screaming out its protest, Isobel looked up at him in confusion. ‘Will not do what?’

‘I will not rob you of your innocence!’

She stared at him, still not understanding. ‘Why not?’

‘Are you crazy? Because a woman’s purity is her greatest gift. And it’s a one-off—you don’t get to use it again. So save it for a man who will give you more than I ever can, Izzy. Don’t throw it away on someone like me.’

For a moment he cupped her chin between his palms, looking down at her with a regret which only compounded her intense feeling of rejection. She jerked her face away—as if to allow him continued contact might in some way contaminate her.

‘Then w-would you mind moving away from me and letting me get up?’ she said, trembling hurt distorting her words.

‘I can try.’ With a grimace, he rose to his feet, the heavy throb at his groin making movement both difficult and uncomfortable.

Despite the scene he now rather grimly anticipated he couldn’t help a flicker of admiration as he looked at Isobel clambering to her feet, tugging furiously at the jacket of her pyjamas. Passion always changed a woman, he mused, but in Izzy’s case it had practically
transformed
her. Her hair was falling in snake-like tendrils all around her slender shoulders and she stood before him like some bright and unrecognisable sorceress. For a moment he experienced a deep sense of regret and frustration—and then he steeled his heart against his foolishness and turned his back on her.

With shaking fingers Isobel began to do up her pyjamas, realising that she had let herself down—and in so
many ways. She had shown Tariq how much she wanted him and he had pushed her away, leaving her feeling guilty that she’d been prepared to ‘throw away’ her virginity on someone like him. How did you ever get back from something like that? The dull truth washed over her. The answer was that you didn’t.

Biting her lip, she watched as he turned away to adjust his jeans, trying to ignore the sense of having missed out on something wonderful. Of having been on the brink of some amazing discovery. Inevitably she was now going to lose her job, and she didn’t even have the compensation of having known him as a lover. But surely it was better to face up to the consequences of her behaviour than to wait for him to put the knife in?

‘You want me to hand my notice in?’ she asked quietly.

This was enough to make Tariq turn back and scrutinise her, steeling himself against the enduring kissability of her darkened lips, knowing that if he didn’t get out of there soon he’d go back on everything he’d just said and thrust deep and hard inside her, tear her precious membrane and leave his mark on her for ever. He shook his head. ‘Actually, that’s precisely what I
don’t
want. That’s one of the reasons I pulled back. I value you far too much to want to lose you, Izzy.’

In spite of everything, his words took Isobel aback. In five years of working for him it was the first time he’d ever said anything remotely like that. She screwed her face up, wondering how to react to the unfamiliar compliment. ‘You do?’

‘Of course I do—and this week has shown me just how much. I have a lot to thank you for. You’re a hardworking, loyal member of my staff, and I’ve come to
rely on you a great deal. And believe me—I’d have a lot of trouble replacing you.’

Isobel kept her face expressionless as something inside her withered and died. ‘I see.’

‘And just because of this one uncharacteristic lapse …’

She grimaced as his voice tailed off. Now he was making her sound like a docile family dog which had unexpectedly jumped up and bitten the postman.

‘I don’t see why it should have to change anything,’ he continued.

‘So you want that we should just forget what has happened and carry on as normal?’

‘In theory, yes.’ His black eyes bored into her. ‘Do you think you can do that?’

It was the patronising tone of the question which swung it. Isobel had been on the verge of telling him that she didn’t think there was any going back—or forward—but his arrogant assumption that she might struggle with resuming their professional relationship made her blood boil.

‘Oh, I don’t think
I’d
have a problem with it,’ she answered sweetly. ‘How about you?’

Tariq’s eyes narrowed as she tossed him the throwaway question. Was she now implying that she was some sort of irresistible little sex-bomb who was going to test his formidable powers of self-control once they were back in the office? He gave a slow smile. He thought she might be forgetting herself.

Once she was back in her usual environment, with her hair scraped back and her rather frumpy clothes in place, there would be no reoccurrence of that inexplicable burst of lust. There would be no flower-sprigged pyjamas
and soft curves to send out such sizzling and mixed messages, threatening to make a man lose his head.

‘I wouldn’t over-estimate your appeal, if I were you,’ he said coolly. ‘Because that would be a big mistake. I can resist you any time I like.’

H
OW
could he have been so damned
stupid?

Tariq stared out of the window at the darkening London skyscape which gave his office its magnificent views. Stars were twinkling in the indigo sky, and in the distance he could see the stately dome of St Paul’s cathedral.

He should have been on top of the world.

The doctor had given him the all-clear, his car was in the garage being painstakingly mended, and his acquisition of the Premiership team looked almost certain. Khayarzah oil revenues were at an all-time high, and he had received an unexpected windfall from some media shares he’d scooped up last year. It seemed that everything he turned his hand to in the world of commerce flourished. In short, business was booming.

He turned away from the magnificent view, trying to put his finger on what was wrong. Wondering why this infuriating air of discontentment simply would not leave him—no matter how hard he tried to alleviate it.

He gave a ragged sigh, knowing all too well what lay at the heart of his irritation yet strangely reluctant to acknowledge its source. Its sweet and unexpected source …

Izzy.

His rescuer and tormentor. His calm and efficient assistant, with all her contradictory qualities, who had somehow—against all the odds—managed to capture his imagination.

Had it been pure arrogance which had made him so certain that his lust for her would dissolve the moment they were back in the office? He’d decided that the crash had weakened him in all ways—mentally, physically
and
emotionally. He’d thought that was why he had been so curiously susceptible to a woman he had never found in the least bit attractive. An insanity, yes—but a temporary one.

But he had been wrong.

Since being back at work he’d been unable to stop fantasising about her. Or to stop thinking about those prudish pyjamas which had covered up the red-hot body beneath. His mind kept taking him back to their tangled bodies on the floor of her cottage, reminding him of just how close they’d got. If common sense hadn’t forced him to call a halt to what was happening he would have … would have …

But it was more than just frustrated lust which was sending his blood pressure soaring. His desire was compounded by knowing that she was a virgin. That she had never known a man’s lovemaking before and she had wanted
him
. Just as he had wanted
her
.

He swallowed. The fact that she worked for him and that it was entirely inappropriate did little to lessen his appetite. On the contrary, the thought of making love to her excited him beyond belief—perhaps because it was his first ever taste of the forbidden. And for a man like Tariq very few things in life were forbidden …

His erotic thoughts were interrupted by the cause of
his frustration as Izzy walked in, bearing a tiny cup of inky coffee which she deposited in front of him with a smile. Not the kind of smile he would have expected, in the circumstances. It was not tinged with longing, nor was it edged with a frustration similar to the one he was experiencing. No, it was a bright and infuriatingly sunny smile—a sort of pre-weekend kind of smile. As if she had forgotten all about those passion-fuelled moments back in her country cottage.

Had she?

‘You aren’t changing?’ she questioned.

Tariq blinked at her, her question arrowing into the confusing swirl of his thoughts. ‘Changing?’ he growled. ‘What’s wrong with the way I am?’

Isobel felt her heart hammer in response. Oh, but he was edgy this evening! Even edgier than he’d been all week. Mind you, she’d been feeling similarly jumpy—just determined not to show it. Her pride had been shattered by his rejection, and she was determined to salvage what was left of it by maintaining a cool air of composure. But it was difficult trying to pretend that nothing had happened when your boss had fondled your naked breasts and part of you was longing for him to do it all over again.

She tipped her head to one side and pretended to consider his question. ‘How long have you got?’

‘Izzy—’

‘I meant
changing
in a literal sense,’ she clarified, with a quick glance at her watch. ‘Aren’t you due for a party at the Maraban Embassy at seven? And don’t you usually wear something dark and tailored instead of … ?’ Her bravado suddenly evaporated, her voice tailing off as she was momentarily distracted by his physical presence.
Why
had she allowed her eyes to linger on his physique, when she had determinedly been avoiding it all week?

‘Instead of what, Izzy?’ he questioned silkily, for he had noticed the sudden. rapid blinking of her eyes.

‘Instead of …’ She realised that he must have removed his tie at some point during the afternoon, and loosened at least two buttons of his shirt. Because rather more of his chest was on show than usual—and it reminded her of his warm, bare flesh beneath her fingertips on the floor of her cottage.

She could see the lush, dark whorls of hair growing there—which added texture to the olive glow of his skin and invited the eye on an inevitable path downwards …

Keep your mind on the job
, she urged herself fiercely.
You’re not supposed to be lusting after him—remember?

‘It’s … it’s a formal event, isn’t it?’ she finished helplessly.

Tariq felt a brief moment of triumph as he saw her eyes darken. So she was
not
completely immune to him—despite the way she’d been behaving all week. His mouth hardened with grudging respect—for Izzy had shown herself to be made of sterner stuff than he would have thought. Since they’d been back in the office she had treated him with exactly the same blend of roguish yet respectful attitude as she’d done all through their professional relationship. As if his being moments away from penetrating her body had left her completely cold. So was that true? Or was it all some kind of act?

He let his eyes drift over her, wondering if she had decided to showcase the dullest items in her wardrobe. Maybe he’d seen that skirt before—and her pale sweater certainly wasn’t new—but she looked dowdier than he
could ever remember. Was that deliberate? Or was it because now he knew more about her he was looking at her more closely? Comparing how she looked now to how she’d looked when she had been writhing around beneath him? And he couldn’t rid himself of the unsettling knowledge of the magnificent rose-tipped and creamy breasts which lay beneath her insipid armour.

‘Yes, it’s a formal event,’ he drawled. ‘And, to be truthful, I don’t feel like going.’

‘But you have to go, Tariq.’

‘Have to?’ He raised his brows. ‘Is that an order?’

‘No, of course it isn’t.’

He began to walk towards her, noticing the tip of her tongue as it snaked out to moisten her lips ‘Why do I have to?’ he queried softly.

‘Well, your two countries are neighbours, and you’ve just signed that big trade agreement, and it will look very b-bad if … if …’

He heard her stumbled words with a triumphant kick of pleasure. ‘If what?’

Isobel swallowed. What was going on? What was he doing? The gap between them was closing, and instinct made her step backwards—away from his inexorable path towards her. But there was no escaping him despite the massive dimensions of his office. Nowhere to go until she reached a wall and felt its smooth, cool surface at her back. She stared up at him with widened eyes. Wasn’t he breaking the agreement they’d made?

‘T-Tariq! What do you think you’re doing?’