want to work for you,’ she said boldly. ‘I want to help you with your campaign.’
He raised his eyebrows in arrogant query. ‘I don’t recall advertising for any new staff,’ he said drily.
‘I realise that—but can’t you see that it would make perfect sense?’ Leaning forward, Leila injected real passion into her voice. ‘I know Qurhah in a way you never can, because I grew up here and the desert is in my blood. I can point you in the direction of the best locations to show the world that our country is a particular kind of paradise. I’ve done plenty of research on what a campaign like yours would involve and I know there’s room on this project for someone like me.’
She stared at him hopefully.
There was silence for a moment and then he gave a short laugh. ‘You think I’d hire some unknown for a major and very lucrative campaign, just on the strength of a pretty face?’
Leila felt the sharp stab of injustice. ‘But surely my “pretty face” has nothing to do with the quality of my work?’
‘You don’t think so?’ He shot her a sardonic look. ‘Well, I hate to disillusion you, sweetheart—but without the raven hair and killer figure I’d have kicked you out of here just as soon as those goons had gone.’
Leila tried to keep the sulk from her voice, because this was not what was supposed to happen. She couldn’t let it happen. She narrowed her eyes in a way which would have made her servants grow wary if they had seen her. ‘So you won’t even consider me?’
‘I won’t consider anything until you satisfy my curiosity, and I am growing bored by your evasion. I’m still waiting for you to tell me who those men were.’
‘My bodyguards,’ she said reluctantly.
‘Your bodyguards?’
She had surprised him now. She could see it in his face. She wondered how he would react if she told him the whole truth. That she had been born to be guarded. That people were always watching her. Stifling her. Making it impossible for her to breathe.
‘I’m rich,’ she said, by way of an explanation. ‘In fact, I’m very rich.’
His grey eyes were speculative. ‘So you don’t need the work?’
‘What kind of a question is that?’ she questioned heatedly. ‘I want to work! There’s a difference, you know. I thought a man like you would appreciate that.’
Gabe acknowledged the reprimand in her voice. Yes, he knew there was a difference—it was just one which had never applied to him because he had always needed to work. There had been no wealth or legacy for him. No cushion waiting to bolster him if ever he fell. He had known only hunger and poverty. He had known what it was like to live beneath the radar and have your life subsumed by fear. He had needed to work for reasons of survival and for the peace of mind which always seemed determined to elude him. Even now.
‘Oh, I appreciate it all right,’ he agreed slowly.
‘So you’ll think about it? About hiring me?’
He looked down into her beautiful eyes and felt his heart twist with something like regret. He saw hope written in their azure depths—just as he saw all kinds of passionate possibilities written in her sensual lips. What would happen if he kissed this beautiful little rich girl who had marched into his hotel suite with such a sense of entitlement? Would she taste as good as she looked? He could feel the savage ache at his groin as he realised how badly he wanted to kiss her and for a moment temptation washed over him again.
But his innate cool professionalism reasserted itself and, regretfully, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t work that way. I run my organisation on rather more formal lines. If you really want to work for me, then I suggest you apply to my London office in the usual way. But I suspect that you’ve blown your chances anyway.’ His eyes sent out a mocking challenge. ‘You see, a long time ago I made a decision never to mix business with pleasure.’
She was staring at him, her nose wrinkling as if she was perplexed by his words. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t you?’ He gave an unconvincing replica of a smile. ‘Are you trying to tell me you haven’t noticed the chemistry between us?’
‘I—’
‘Look, just take your photos and go,’ he interrupted roughly. ‘Before I do something I might live to regret.’
Leila heard his impatient words and some deep-rooted instinct urged her to heed them. To make her escape back to the palace while she still could and forget all about this crazy rebellion. Forget the fairy-tale ending of a legitimate job with the hotshot English tycoon. Forget the film-script scenario and get real. She needed to accept her life the way it was and accept that she couldn’t just break out and change her entire existence.
But her thoughts were being confused by the powerful signals her body was sending out. She could feel the honeyed rush of heat between her thighs, where the thick seam of her jeans was rubbing against the most secret place of her body. She wanted to wrap her arms around her chest to try to quell the terrible aching in her breasts, yet she knew that would only draw attention to them.
Leila had read plenty of books and seen most of the current crop of films which had got past the palace censors. She might have been sheltered, but she wasn’t stupid. This was sexual attraction she was experiencing for the first time and she knew it was wrong. Yet even as she silently urged herself to get out before she made even more of a fool of herself, those rebellious thoughts came back to plague her.
She thought about how her brother behaved. How her own father had behaved. She’d heard the rumours about their sexual conquests often enough. She knew that men often acted on the kind of attraction she was experiencing right now, if the circumstances were right. People sometimes got intimate after nothing more than a short acquaintanceship, and nobody thought the worst of them for doing so. Because physical love wasn’t a crime, was it?
Was it?
‘What might you regret?’ she asked, but she knew the answer to her question as soon as the words had left her lips. Because you wouldn’t need to be experienced to realise why Gabe Steel’s face had darkened like that. Or why he was staring at her with a hot, hard look which was making her feel weak.
‘Does your mother know you’re out?’ he questioned roughly.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t have a mother. Or a father.’ She kept her voice light, the way she’d learned to do. ‘I’m just an orphan girl.’
His eyes narrowed. Darkened. He winced, as if she’d said something which had caused him pain.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly and reached out to brush the tip of his thumb over her lips. ‘So sorry.’
The weirdest thing was that Leila wasn’t sure if he was talking to her, or talking to himself. But suddenly she didn’t care because it was happening—just like in all the films she’d seen. He was reaching out and pulling her into his arms and she could feel the heat of his body as he moulded it against her. He framed her face with the palms of his hands and now his mouth was coming down towards hers. He seemed to be moving in slow motion, and Leila felt weak with excitement as her lips parted eagerly to meet his.
Because for the first time in her life, a man was going to kiss her.
GABE FELT THE thunder of his heart as their mouths made that first contact. The warmth of her flesh collided with his and her skin smelt of flowers and spice. Desire flooded through him like fire but his hot lust was tempered by the cool voice of reason.
This was insane.
Insane.
He thought about the way she’d burst into his suite and the surly-faced bodyguards