He drummed his fingers impatiently against the arm rest. Well, short of marching her back into the bathroom and insisting that she put something decent on, there was little he could do.
He made a terse and impatient sound beneath his breath, feeling the uncharacteristic tug of frustration—and not solely sexual frustration, either. No, this was a frustration born out of the knowledge that he had finally met a woman who would not bend to his will! His match!
‘Wear what you like!’ he gritted.
‘I intend to!’
The rest of the journey was completed in a stony silence, while Rose fumed and wondered how she could ever have thought herself in love with such a tyrant of a man.
Then she stole a glance at that beautiful, dark profile and thought of his tenderness and his passion during the night, and once again her heart pained her as though someone had driven a stiletto into it, then slowly twisted it round.
By the time they had disembarked into the waiting limousine at Heathrow Airport, Khalim was in the rare quandary of not knowing what to do. Or, rather, of knowing exactly what he wanted to do—which was to rush Miss Rose Thomas straight back to his suite at the Granchester Hotel and ravish her to within an inch of her life. So that for ever after she would comply with every demand he ever made!
He sighed. The trouble was—that he did not want that at all. Her fire and her independence inspired him almost as much as it frustrated him. What a hollow victory it would be to have Rose in the compliant position he usually expected of his women!
The car slowed as it approached the busy thoroughfares of London and he forced himself to look at her.
Forced, indeed! As if looking at her could give him nothing but untold pleasure!
‘Would you like to come home with me?’ he murmured.
For Khalim, he sounded al
most biddable, Rose thought. But not quite.
‘You mean to the Granchester?’ she enquired coolly.
‘Of course!’
She shook her head. She had had enough of his surroundings and their influence. ‘Why don’t you come back with me?’ she questioned innocently.
To that flat she shared with the other girl? Unthinkable!
And then he thought of the alternative, which was even more unthinkable—that he went home without her!
‘Very well,’ he answered.
‘There’s no need to make it sound as though I’m leading you into the lion’s cage!’ said Rose crossly.
‘Not a lion, no,’ he agreed, a hint of humour lightening the night-dark eyes. ‘More some beautiful and graceful cat!’
She wasn’t sure whether it really was a compliment—but she found herself basking in it anyway.
But as the car began to approach her road, Rose began to wonder whether it had been such a good idea to invite him. What if Lara had a load of her out-of-work actor friends around, lying all over the place and drinking wine and smoking cigarettes?
Or what if Lara had had a heavy night, and had left the place in a state of disarray—a common enough occurrence when Rose wasn’t around to tidy up after her.
They left the bodyguard sitting in the car outside and went upstairs to the flat.
It was rather better than Rose had anticipated, but not much. There weren’t a crowd of Lara’s friends—just her on-off boyfriend, Giles, whom Rose always thought of as very off.
Giles had been born into a wealthy family, imagining that the world owed him a living. He had fluked his way into drama school and then coasted through the course—only just managing not to be asked to leave by the skin of his teeth.
Unfortunately he had the kind of blond-haired, blue-eyed looks and carved aristocratic cheekbones which meant that he could get any woman that he wanted—and Lara wanted him far more than he wanted her.
Which meant, thought Rose grimly, that she waited on him as if he were an invalid. Cooking up various little treats for him and pouring him glasses of wine at all hours of the day.
Like now.