As she turned to walk towards the food trolley she managed to trail her fingers over that part of him that was already so hard it was almost an embarrassment. The little vixen. He released a soft laugh. She might appear subdued on the surface, but underneath she still possessed enough spirit to play the tease.
They ate poached salmon on a bed of spinach, and beef stroganoff laden with cream. Hassan kept her glass filled with the crisp dry white wine she liked, while he drank sparkling water. As the wine helped mellow her mood some more, Leona managed to completely convince herself that all she wanted was this one wonderful night and she was prepared to live on it for ever. By the time the meal was finished and he suggested a walk on the deck, she was happy to go with him.
Outside the air was warm and as silken as the darkness that surrounded them. Both in bare feet, dressed only in their robes, they strolled along the deck and could have been the only two people on board it was so quiet and deserted.
‘Rafiq is entertaining Ethan—up there,’ Hassan explained when she asked where everyone else was. Following his gaze, Leona could see lights were burning in the windows of the deck above.
‘Should we be joining them?’
‘I don’t think they would appreciate the interruption,’ he drawled. ‘They have a poker game planned with several members of the crew, and our presence would dampen their—enthusiasm.’
Which was really him saying he didn’t want to share her with anyone. ‘You have an answer for everything, don’t you?’ she murmured.
‘I try.’ He smiled.
It was a slaying smile that sent the heat of anticipation burning between the cradle of her hip-bones, forcing her to look away so he wouldn’t see just how susceptible she was even to his smile. Going to lean against the yacht’s rail, she looked down to watch the white horses chase along the dark blue hull of the boat. They were moving at speed, slicing through the water on slick silent power that made her wonder how far they were away from San Estéban by now.
She didn’t ask, though, because it was the kind of question that could start a war. ‘This is one very impressive toy, even for an oil-rich sheikh,’ she remarked.
‘One hundred and ninety feet in length,’ he announced, and came to lean beside her with his back against the rail. ‘Twenty-nine feet across the beam.’ His arm slid around her waist and twisted her to stand in front of him so she could follow his hand as he pointed. ‘The top deck belongs mainly to the control room, where my very efficient captain keeps a smoothly running ship,’ he said. ‘The next down belongs to the sun deck and main reception salons designed to suitably luxurious standards for entertaining purposes. We stand upon what is known as the shade deck, it being cast mostly in the shade of the deck above,’ he continued, so smoothly that she laughed because she knew he was really mocking the whole sumptuous thing. ‘One half is reserved for our own personal use, with our private staterooms, my private offices etcetera,’ he explained, ‘while the other half is split equally between outer sun deck, outer shade deck, plus some less formal living space.’
‘Gosh, you’re so lucky to be this rich.’ She sighed.
‘And I haven’t yet finished this glorious tour,’ he replied. ‘For below our feet lies the cabin deck, complete with six private suites easily fit for the occupation of kings. Then there is the engine room and crew’s quarters below that. We can also offer a plunge pool, gymnasium and an assortment of nautical toys to make our weary lot a happier one.’
‘Does it have a name, this sheikh’s floating palace?’ she enquired laughingly.
‘Mmm. Sexy Lady,’ he growled, and lowered his head so he could bury his teeth in the side of her neck where it met her shoulder.
‘You’re joking!’ she accused, turning round in his arms to stare at him.
‘Okay.’ He shrugged. ‘I am joking.’
‘Then what is she called?’ she demanded, as her heart skipped a beat then stopped altogether because he looked so wonderful standing here with his lean dark features relaxed and smiling naturally for the first time. She loved him quite desperately—how could she not? He was her—
The laughter suddenly died on her lips, his expression telling her something she didn’t want to believe. ‘No,’ she breathed in denial. He couldn’t have done—he wouldn’t…
‘Why not?’ he challenged softly.
‘Not in this case!’ she snapped at him, not knowing quite what it was that was upsetting her. But upset she was; her eyes felt too hot, her chest too tight, and she had a horrible feeling she was about to weep all over his big hard beautiful chest!
‘It is traditional to name a boat after your most cherished loved-one,’ he pointed out. ‘And why am I defending myself when I could not have paid you a better compliment than this?’
‘Because…’ she began shakily.
‘You don’t like it,’ he finished for her.
‘No!’ she confirmed, then almost instantly changed her mind and said. ‘Yes, I like it! But you shouldn’t have! Y-you—’
His mouth crushed the rest of her protest into absolute oblivion, which was where it belonged anyway, because she didn’t know what she was saying, only that a warm sweet wave of love was crashing over her and it was so dangerously seductive that—
She fell into it. She just let the wave close over her head and let him drown her in the heat of his passion, the power of his arms and the hunger of his kiss.
‘Bed?’ he suggested against her clinging mouth.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, then fed her fingers into his hair and her tongue between his ready lips. A groan broke low in his throat; it was husky and gorgeous; she tasted it greedily. A hand that knew her so very well curved over her thighs, slid up beneath her wrap, then cupped her bottom so he could bring her into closer contact with his desire. It was all very hot and very hungry. With a flick of a few scraps of silk they could be making love right here against the yacht’s rail and in front of however many unseen eyes that happened to be glancing this way.
Hassan must have been thinking similarly because he suddenly put her from him. ‘Bed,’ he repeated, two dark streaks of colour accentuating his cheekbones and the fevered glitter in his eyes. ‘Can you walk, or do I carry you?’