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His mouth was curved, strong, yet immensely subtle, and it knew what she wanted it to do before she knew it herself. He lightly caressed her mouth before brushing his lips over her eyes, her jaw, her neck. With unerring precision he found the little spot beneath her ear where she was unbearably sensitive and drew a soft, whispering line down the length of her neck. Nothing could have made her repress the sigh of pleasure she gave.
Her head was cradled on his arm while he searched her face, seeking there the answer to some question that was beyond words.
‘Are you playing with me now?’ he growled.
‘Of course. A game that you don’t understand.’
He liked that. ‘When will I understand?’
‘When it is ended.’
‘When will it be ended?’
‘When I have won.’
‘Tell me your secret,’ he demanded.
A smile touched her lips. ‘You know the secret as well as I do.’
‘With you, there would always be a new secret,’ he said huskily, and covered her mouth again.
He half urged, half carried her the few steps to the couch by the window. She felt the cushions beneath her back and the moonlight on her face. He was caressing her with his lips while his hands began a gentle exploration of her body. She gasped at those soft touches. She hadn’t known that she had such a body until his reverent fingertips told her, and told her also what it was for.
It was for giving and taking in an ecstasy of pleasure, and she hadn’t suspected until this moment, when he made her understand what was possible beyond anything she could have imagined.
Her mouth moved feverishly against his, not receiving now but seeking and demanding with an urgency that astonished him—delighted him too, if his response was anything to go by. His insistence became fierce, and suddenly she could feel the hot breeze of the desert against her skin, see the dark red sun in its last moments before oblivion. He carried these things with him and no woman could lie in his arms without being aware of them as part of his soul.
All through the grey, chilly years this had been waiting for her, and now she had found it there was no turning back. He had said she was made for pleasure, and he was showing her that it was true.
She gave a long sigh, part acceptance, part apprehension. This was a very dangerous man. He could kiss, and kiss, until she no longer knew what was happening to her, or even who she was. And after that? Faintly, as if from a great distance, her pride was calling to her to save herself, because soon it would be too late…
But it was something else that saved her. A buzzer on the wall sounded faintly but persistently. Ali drew back with a small sound of annoyance, picked up a telephone nearby, and snapped something into it.
Almost at once his voice changed. Obviously the message was urgent, for he sighed and rose.
‘Forgive me,’ he said courteously. ‘Important business calls me away.’ He indicated the table. ‘Please, pour yourself some wine. I shall be with you as soon as possible.’
He hurried from the room.
Still in a daze, Fran couldn’t, at first, understand what had happened. At the height of a sensual experience such as she had never known before, he had simply brushed her aside. Business called and she had ceased to matter, or even to exist.
But when he returned he would expect her to be instantly available, she realised.
Well, now I know, she thought, seething. I came here to learn about Ali Ben Saleem, and I’ve already learned his priorities. Oil wells, one. Women, nil.
As her pulses slowed and she came out of the erotic dream he had induced with such infuriating ease, her anger grew.
‘Who does he think I am?’ she muttered.
No, not who? What? A doll to be put back on the shelf until he was ready to take her down again. And, as with a doll, he would expect to find her lying in the same position.
It would teach him a lesson not to find her at all.
She was on her feet in an instant, groping around for her sandals and trying to remember when and how she’d lost them. It brought home to her how far this man had lured her, how easily he’d made her lose control. She must escape.
She looked cautiously out into the hall.
A man, evidently a porter, sat by the front door. Fran wondered nervously if he had instructions to prevent her leaving. There was only one way to find out.
Taking a deep breath, she strolled across the marble floor, a picture of supreme confidence. The porter rose to his feet, uncertainty written all over his face. But, as Fran had hoped, none of his orders covered this unprecedented situation. Her heart thumping, she made an imperious gesture, and he bowed low as he opened the door for her to sail out into the night.
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU’RE crazy, going back into the lion’s den,’ Joey protested for the hundredth time.
‘That’s where it’s most fun,’ Fran said, putting the final touches to her immaculate appearance.
‘You were lucky I was there to rescue you the other night.’
‘Cut it out, Joey,’ Fran chuckled. ‘I walked out of his house under my own steam.’
‘And found me waiting outside, in my car. I’d been on your tail ever since you left the casino.’
‘But I won’t need rescuing today. He’s agreed to give me an interview.’
‘Only he doesn’t know it’s you. And when he finds out he’ll have a fit.’
Fran’s eyes gleamed. ‘That’s what I’m looking forward to.’
She was almost unrecognisable as the siren of the other night. Instead of the seductive dress she wore a plain white silk blouse and grey business suit, with silver buttons.
Her glorious hair was smoothed back against her head. Her appearance radiated businesslike chic and quiet elegance. This was Ms Frances Callam, financial journalist. Diamond, the gorgeous creature who’d briefly scorched across the horizon, had been a mirage. Looking in the mirror, Fran could see no trace of her.
Which was almost a pity, she mused. Diamond had had a lot of fun. True, she’d also got herself into a perilous situation, from which she’d only just escaped. But she had escaped, and the whole event now looked like a thrilling adventure.
She gave a little sigh that was almost regretful. Suddenly her life seemed very lacking in adventure.
She disapproved of Sheikh Ali with every fibre of her being. She must keep reminding herself of that to dispel the sensual dream he’d woven around her, and which still lingered disturbingly.
At the time she’d fancied herself in control, but looking back she could see how disgracefully quickly she’d succumbed to a little cheap magic and a practised line.
But the scorching intensity of his lips on hers wouldn’t be dismissed so easily. It haunted her night and day, filling her dreams so that she awoke wondering if she would ever know such sensations again. At work she tried to concentrate on figures, but they danced and turned into diamonds.
‘I just hope the cheque clears before he sees you,’ Joey said now.
With a start, Fran came out of her dream. ‘I didn’t take that money for myself,’ she said. ‘I made it out in favour of the International Children’s Fund and handed it over to them yesterday. They’ll be writing to thank him. I’d like to see his face when he gets that.’
Joey was pale. ‘You gave away all that money?’
‘Well, I couldn’t have kept it,’ she said, genuinely shocked.
‘I sure would have done.’
Fran chuckled. ‘I don’t think he’d have given it to you.’
‘I just can’t believe he agreed to this interview.’
‘I spoke to his secretary, and said that Frances Callam wanted to interview him for The Financial Review. I was given an appointment with no trouble.’
‘Your taxi’s here,’ Joey said, looking out of the window. ‘Sure you don’t want me to drive you?’
‘I think this time I should beard the lion completely alone.’
‘I think I should be there waiting when he throws you out.’
‘He isn’t going to throw me out.’
‘After the way you vanished and left him looking silly?’
‘That merely told him that I can’t be trifled with. Trust me, Joey. I’m right on top of it this time.’
Afterwards she was to remember the supreme self-confidence with which she got into the taxi and had herself taken back to the house of Ali Ben Saleem. It seemed so simple at the time.
At first nothing happened to change her mind. As soon as she rung the bell outside Ali’s house the door was pulled open by the porter, who inclined his head in a silent question.
‘Good morning,’ Fran said. ‘I have an appointment with Prince Ali Ben Saleem.’
She walked past him as she spoke, and into the centre of the tiled hallway. The porter hastened after her. He looked alarmed.
‘Will you please inform His Highness that Frances Callam is here?’
At that moment the door to the office opened and Ali walked out. The porter made a sign of relief and backed towards the door. Fran took a deep breath and faced Ali, smiling.
He frowned when he saw her, then his face lightened and he advanced towards her, both hands outstretched, smiling in welcome.
Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this. He should have been annoyed at the memory of her desertion. Perhaps he didn’t recognise her. But his first words dispelled that illusion.
‘Diamond! My beautiful Diamond. What a pleasure to see you again. Come.’
He gestured towards the dining room, and she followed him in.
‘I know why you’re here,’ he said when he’d closed the door behind them.
‘You—you do?’
‘You’re angry with me about the other night. My poor Diamond, it was so unchivalrous of me to leave you and not return. My only excuse is that I was overwhelmed with business. I sent my secretary to make sure you got home safely, but I would have liked to see you myself.’
Fran took a deep breath, struggling for words while various images flitted through her mind: kicking his shins was the best, but boiling him in oil wasn’t far behind.
He hadn’t come back at all.
All this time she’d been picturing his face when he found her gone, and he didn’t even know. He’d just forgotten about her.
His secretary had probably been too afraid of his wrath to admit that she wasn’t there, and had invented some story about having seen her home. The doorman, too, had probably kept very quiet.
Then she saw Ali’s eyes, glinting behind his smile, and a doubt crept into her mind. Did he really not know that she’d left? Or did he know, and had invented this story to turn the tables on her?
With this unpredictable man, anything was possible.
‘I hope that some day soon we’ll be able to enjoy the evening that was interrupted,’ Ali continued, ‘but just for the moment I’m afraid I’m very busy. In fact, you must leave at once, as I have an appointment with a journalist.’
‘I thought you never saw journalists,’ Fran said, getting ready to enjoy the next few minutes.
‘Normally I don’t, but Mr Callam is from a serious newspaper.’
‘Did—did you say Mr Callam?’
‘Mr Francis Callam. I’ve agreed to the interview because there are things it would suit me to make clear in his pages.’
Fran’s thoughts were in a whirl. When they settled she gazed with delight on the resulting pattern. He was about to get the shock of his life.
‘What kind of things?’ she asked innocently.
Ali’s smile was like a locked door. ‘I wouldn’t dream of boring you with such details.’
‘Well, I know I’m just a stupid woman,’ she said humbly, ‘but I know how to spell financial. F-E—no, it’s I, isn’t it?’
He laughed. ‘Your wit enchants me. Now, I’ve no more time for games. Mr Callam will be here at any moment.’
‘Don’t you want to know my name first?’
‘I’ve already taken my own steps to discover it. I’ll be in touch with you when I have time.’
‘I wouldn’t put you to so much trouble,’ Fran said, breathing hard. ‘My name is Frances Callam. Ms Frances Callam.’
She was fully revenged in the look that crossed his face. It was compounded of alarm, horror and anger.
‘Are you telling me…?’ he asked slowly.
‘That I am the journalist you’re waiting for. And I can not only spell financial, but I can add up. You know, one and one are two, two and two are four. I have a first-class economics degree, you see, and they insisted on it.’
His voice was very hard. ‘You deceived me.’
‘No, I didn’t. I spoke to your secretary, and said Frances Callam wanted to talk to you for an article in The Financial Review. You both took it for granted it was a man because it never occurred to you that a financial journalist could be a woman. You fell into the trap of your own prejudice.’
‘And the other night? Was it mere coincidence that you turned up at The Golden Chance?’
‘No, I was observing you.’
