driving him crazy. He couldn’t be distracted now. He was here to do a job. He had to get her out of his blood.
“Abby?” He took another step toward her. “Mmm?” She was looking at the fruit basket on the octagonal handpainted table by the door. “Are you attracted to me at all?”
Her gaze snapped back to him. “Not really,” she said without breathing.
She was lying like a rug. He could tell from the way she fidgeted.
It was simple. He had a mission and she was distracting him from it. He had no choice but to neutralize his attraction. She was like a glass of ice water dangled in front of a thirsty man. All he had to do was to take a sip and be done with it, release himself from her strange hold and move on to what he was here to do.
“You owe me a wedding kiss,” he said in his best seductive voice.
She was staring at him, alarmed. “It was a pretend wedding.”
“A pretend kiss, then.” He moved closer and lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers. And embarrassed himself by groaning. Her lips were as soft as silk. One touch was not enough. Just a little more and he could say, “Been there, done that” and walk away.
He nibbled on her lower lip playfully, holding back the urgency that rushed through his veins. When he licked the seam of her lips, she parted them in surprise. He wouldn’t have been a good soldier if he didn’t press forward when given an advantage.
She tasted.like mint. His hands sought her, brought her closer; his fingers were lost in her lustrous hair, getting tangled just as he was getting tangled in the force of unexpected sensations. He was going too far. He had to stop.
But it was she who pulled away. “That was pretend?” Her voice sounded weak.
He took a deep breath. “Absolutely.” He was pretending like hell that she hadn’t just rocked his world.
She searched his face. “Gerald, I—”
“Call me Spike,” he said, and kissed her again.
He’d made a mistake thinking one kiss would be enough. Her body fitted his perfectly, and there was no hiding how much he wanted her. And yet, this was neither the time nor the place. Even if it was, Abigail was not the right type of woman. Maybe he could seduce her—God knew, he wanted to—but she deserved more.
And what if he did seduce her and found even that was not enough?
“Mr. Hareb would like to request the pleasure of your company at dinner, if you would join him at your earliest convenience. ” A disembodied voice spoke from the room’s intercom.
Spike pulled away, his head reeling. “We better go.”
“Yeah,” she said, slightly dazed, her eyes swirling with confusion, her lips swollen with his kiss.
He walked to the door and opened it for her, knowing it was best that they got out of there right now.
They walked down the opulent hallway—enemy territory, he reminded himself, on alert again. He forced his mind to the task and counted the doors on each side, hoping to get some sense of the layout of the house. The front door where they had come in was farther from their room than he would have liked. Maybe there was a nearer point of exit. Finding that out was one of the first things on his list just in case. But he didn’t get the chance to nose around much. A servant waited at the end of the hall to escort them to dinner.
They followed him to a large room where about a dozen people sat around a western-style dining room set. Their host had money and good taste, a rare combination. Spike’s glance slid from one oil painting on the wall to another.
“Ahlan wa sahlan.” Jamal welcomed them as he rose to introduce his family: his mother, his wife, two brothers and their wives, who were visiting. The women looked slightly uncomfortable, some of the men suspicious. Clearly, Jamal’s family was not as accustomed to western ways as he was.
“Shukran.” Spike thanked him for his hospitality and exchanged the customary pleasantries, while trying to take the measure of the man. Just how
“Abby?” He took another step toward her. “Mmm?” She was looking at the fruit basket on the octagonal handpainted table by the door. “Are you attracted to me at all?”
Her gaze snapped back to him. “Not really,” she said without breathing.
She was lying like a rug. He could tell from the way she fidgeted.
It was simple. He had a mission and she was distracting him from it. He had no choice but to neutralize his attraction. She was like a glass of ice water dangled in front of a thirsty man. All he had to do was to take a sip and be done with it, release himself from her strange hold and move on to what he was here to do.
“You owe me a wedding kiss,” he said in his best seductive voice.
She was staring at him, alarmed. “It was a pretend wedding.”
“A pretend kiss, then.” He moved closer and lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers. And embarrassed himself by groaning. Her lips were as soft as silk. One touch was not enough. Just a little more and he could say, “Been there, done that” and walk away.
He nibbled on her lower lip playfully, holding back the urgency that rushed through his veins. When he licked the seam of her lips, she parted them in surprise. He wouldn’t have been a good soldier if he didn’t press forward when given an advantage.
She tasted.like mint. His hands sought her, brought her closer; his fingers were lost in her lustrous hair, getting tangled just as he was getting tangled in the force of unexpected sensations. He was going too far. He had to stop.
But it was she who pulled away. “That was pretend?” Her voice sounded weak.
He took a deep breath. “Absolutely.” He was pretending like hell that she hadn’t just rocked his world.
She searched his face. “Gerald, I—”
“Call me Spike,” he said, and kissed her again.
He’d made a mistake thinking one kiss would be enough. Her body fitted his perfectly, and there was no hiding how much he wanted her. And yet, this was neither the time nor the place. Even if it was, Abigail was not the right type of woman. Maybe he could seduce her—God knew, he wanted to—but she deserved more.
And what if he did seduce her and found even that was not enough?
“Mr. Hareb would like to request the pleasure of your company at dinner, if you would join him at your earliest convenience. ” A disembodied voice spoke from the room’s intercom.
Spike pulled away, his head reeling. “We better go.”
“Yeah,” she said, slightly dazed, her eyes swirling with confusion, her lips swollen with his kiss.
He walked to the door and opened it for her, knowing it was best that they got out of there right now.
They walked down the opulent hallway—enemy territory, he reminded himself, on alert again. He forced his mind to the task and counted the doors on each side, hoping to get some sense of the layout of the house. The front door where they had come in was farther from their room than he would have liked. Maybe there was a nearer point of exit. Finding that out was one of the first things on his list just in case. But he didn’t get the chance to nose around much. A servant waited at the end of the hall to escort them to dinner.
They followed him to a large room where about a dozen people sat around a western-style dining room set. Their host had money and good taste, a rare combination. Spike’s glance slid from one oil painting on the wall to another.
“Ahlan wa sahlan.” Jamal welcomed them as he rose to introduce his family: his mother, his wife, two brothers and their wives, who were visiting. The women looked slightly uncomfortable, some of the men suspicious. Clearly, Jamal’s family was not as accustomed to western ways as he was.
“Shukran.” Spike thanked him for his hospitality and exchanged the customary pleasantries, while trying to take the measure of the man. Just how
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