‘I didn’t tip off the press,’ she told him afresh.
‘So you say.’ His audible indifference to such a plea incensed her.
‘And five years ago, I didn’t sleep with anyone else.’
Rashad expelled his breath in a long-suffering hiss. Why did she keep on reminding him of her infidelity? He did not want to be reminded. Why did she not appreciate that every denial merely acted as a prompt to unsavoury memories?
Mounting a vast stone staircase by his side and determined to ignore the discouraging silence that had met her valiant claim, Tilda swallowed hard. ‘I’d like to see the proof you said you had of my so-called misdemeanours.’
‘Some day I will let you see it.’ Rashad flashed her an impatient look. As she could have no idea how conclusive his proof was she was probably hoping to argue her way out of the evidence of her deceit. Unhappily for her, he had complete faith in the source of the information he had received.
‘Why not now?’
‘I have heard enough of your lies. Silence is preferable.’ His lean, darkly handsome face was resolute. ‘In time, I expect you to accept the futility of lying to me.’
Tilda yanked her hand forcibly free of his. ‘So you intend to make it impossible for me to defend myself. I’m damned if I do speak up and damned if I don’t. But why would any man want a lying, cheating gold-digger?’
Rashad made no answer. He refused to rise to the bait. He was beginning to appreciate that whenever she was most desperate to keep him at a distance she started fighting with him.
Aggrieved by his lack of response, Tilda murmured dulcetly, ‘Maybe you only like bad girls.’
At that crack, Rashad surveyed her with pure predatory appreciation. Where she was concerned that was true. When he looked at her, when he thought about her, her sins were never at the forefront of his mind. His desire ran too hot and strong to be denied. With her turquoise eyes as vivid as polar stars, she glowed with beauty and quicksilver energy. The ache at his groin came close to pain. Never had he felt such powerful need to possess a woman. Suddenly all his patience just vanished. He strode forward and swept her up off her feet and headed for his bedroom.
‘What the heck are you doing?’ Tilda launched at him in astonishment.
‘We’ve waited long enough to be together.’ Rashad thrust at a door with a broad shoulder to force it wider and kicked it shut in his wake.
Tilda spread a decidedly panicky glance round the echoing bedroom, which seemed to her to have very little else in it beyond the highly ornate four-poster bed that sat on a dais. ‘I thought I was going to get a tour of the harem!’
‘Some other day, when I have the strength to resist you.’ Rashad lowered her to the floor and stripped off her coat, an imprisoning hand splaying across the soft swell of her hips in case she dared to stray anywhere out of his reach. He bent his arrogant dark head, golden eyes smouldering over her like tiny flames, and tasted her soft full mouth.
It was as though every time he touched her he sent another brick flying out of her wall of defence, leaving her more at risk and less able to hold out against him the next time. His insistent kiss jolted her like a bolt of lightning shooting down her spine and made her go back for more. Her heart raced and her body quivered against the hard, masculine promise of his. He pried her lips apart for the erotic plunge of his tongue. Her tummy flipped with sheer excitement. She could not withstand her need to touch him. Her hands slid beneath his jacket to trace the warm, hard contours of his powerful chest beneath the fine shirt.
Rashad raised his head, luxuriant ebony lashes lifting to frame golden eyes alight with hunger. He eased her dress off her narrow shoulders and let it slide down to her feet in a heap. She was startled, for she had not realised that he had already unzipped the garment. Suddenly feeling very exposed in her flimsy bra and briefs, she wrapped her arms round herself.
‘Don’t embarrass me by acting as though you are shy,’ Rashad derided, long brown fingers enclosing her wrists to uncross her arms again. Such pretence from her hit the rawest of nerves and his annoyance with her was intense. ‘I hate anything false. Fake modesty leaves me cold. Why would I even want you to be a virgin?’
Tilda jerked back from him in a defensive movement. Why would I even want you to be a virgin? That scornful demand faded the pink from her cheeks. He recognised the hollow light in her clear eyes and, disturbed by that awareness, he reached for her again, determined to break through her resistance.
‘Did you think that pretence is what I want from you?’ Rashad demanded in a roughened undertone. ‘It was not my intention to cause you pain. But this time I want only what is real from you.’
Tilda was shaken that he had noticed that he had hurt her feelings, because she had believed she was better at hiding her feelings. He framed her face with his lean hands and took her mouth with ravishing sweetness and spellbinding sensuality. She stopped thinking and let her response take over. He curved her slender, unresisting body to his, drinking in the scent of her creamy white skin and the telling unsteadiness of her breathing. Lifting her onto the bed, he stood back to discard his tie and unbutton his shirt.
Her limbs felt heavy where they lay on the crimson silk spread and there was a liquid heat burning low in her belly. She could not take her eyes off the light golden slice of male torso he had revealed: muscle rippled across the solid wall of his chest as he took off the shirt, and black whorls of hair dusted his pectorals and arrowed down in a silken furrow across the flat slab of his stomach. Her mouth ran dry.
Rashad surveyed her with smouldering appreciation and the mattress gave under his weight. Tilda rolled away. Rashad laughed and hauled her back to him with easy strength. ‘You are so beautiful,’ he told her thickly, tasting her luscious mouth again, dipping his tongue between her parted lips with a dark sensuality that left her trembling. ‘You want me, too.’
She shut her eyes for fear that he could read that truth there. The tiny moments when he wasn’t touching her were already a torment. Like a doll, she was incapable of independent action and it was the very strength of her desire for him that kept her trapped. He pressed his hard, sensual mouth against the tiny pulse going crazy below her collar-bone and she gasped and arched her narrow spine. He pulled her back against him to unclasp her bra. A groan of male satisfaction sounded in his throat when her small, high breasts tumbled free. He teased the swollen pink peaks with skilful fingers, before he bent over her and used his mouth to toy with the straining buds. Every bitter-sweet sensation darted straight as an arrow to the hot damp pulse between her thighs and increased the ache there.
‘Rashad…oh, please…’
Rashad looked down at her with heavily lidded eyes, lashes so long they almost hit his superb cheekbones. Somewhere outside he heard the sharp crack of rifles releasing a hail of bullets and he frowned.
‘What’s that?’ she mumbled breathlessly, her fingers delving into the luxuriant depths of his black hair.
‘Someone has probably got married and the guards are showing their appreciation.’ Although that was the most likely explanation, Rashad was tense as only a former soldier could be in such circumstances. Then he heard the drone of aircraft. As he leapt off the bed and snatched up his shirt a jet flew overhead. Barely twenty seconds later, he heard the heavy whop-whop of more than one helicopter approaching.
‘Rashad? What’s happening?’ Tilda prompted apprehensively.