“At waking up to find last night’s lover still here?” He asked, his acceptance of her reputation implied by the question.
She opened her mouth to refute it but then some instinct, some important shred of self-protection, held her silent. To admit she didn’t ever have one night stands somehow made it feel as though she would be imbuing this with more importance than was appropriate. So she smiled instead, not agreeing with him, but not disputing it, either.
“We said one night,” she said after a pause.
His eyes examined hers for several seconds, studying her, reading her, so she felt as though he could see parts of her she didn’t even know existed. “I am going to need a strong coffee and then, I shall leave you in peace.”
She smiled, even when something strange lurched inside her chest, an unfamiliar clutching feeling that made it seem, for a fraction of time, as though the ground had opened up right beneath her and was swallowing her whole.
* * *
HE HADN’T MEANTTO google her. It was a stupid impulse, one that Samir found beneath him in every way, and yet no sooner had his limousine pulled away from her apartment than he was typing her name into a browser and pouring over images. So many images—Cora’s was a life lived in the public eye and had been for a long time. As a teenager, she was evidently given much freedom. There were photographs of her as a sixteen year old at the Chateau Marmont, sandwiched between Hollywood Royalty, martini in hand despite her age; photos of her in a skimpy dress, provocatively draped over the guitarist from one of the world’s most notorious rock bands, his hand on her hip in a way that made something ancient and hyper masculine clutch low down inside Samir.
Photos of her wedding—not a typical wedding, but a rave in Ibiza, Cora wearing a bikini, hair piled on her head in a messy bun. Then, a thousand photos of her in the streets, avoiding paparazzi, hand over her eyes, dark sunglasses, head bent. He studied the images and lifted his head, frowning, as the limo pulled into the underground carpark of his hotel.
There was nothing wrong with her lifestyle.
He might have grown up in a conservative country, but he’d been educated between his own capital and New York. Besides which, he enjoyed letting his hair down and indulging his baser needs as much as the next person—he was just more adept at ensuring his own exploits never made it into the papers. It had been drummed into him from an early age, the need for discretion. Privacy. The importance of avoiding scandal. They were traits that came naturally to Samir, in any event. He had chosen his friends with care, he knew he could trust his inner circle. Those were the people he confided in and relaxed around.
Looking at his phone again, he recognised that Cora had obviously learned more discretion as she’d grown older. Where there were thousands of pictures of her online, the partying ones were older, starting as a teenager and progressing to her wedding and a little beyond. Around the time of her divorce, she pulled back—at least publicly. Last night showed that she enjoyed a good time just as much as ever, but she knew how to ensure her activities didn’t wind up on gossip blogs. That was why she’d avoided the hotel, he realised with a small smile. She didn’t want to be photographed.
Good.
It had been the right choice. He’d been driven mad by desire last night but if word were to get out that he was involved with Cora Xenakis, his government would take no time to express their disapproval. Not that Samir generally gave a rat’s ass what people thought of him, but his reverence for the institution of the throne ran deep.
If he were to see her again, they would have to be just as careful.
If.
He stepped out of the car as the door opened, striding towards the lift, finger jabbing the button.
Don’t get obsessed with me, Samir.
He grinned as the doors opened and he stepped inside. Too late, Cora. Too late.
* * *
It was impossible to concentrate.Cora skimmed the report, picking up all the usual words, drawing across them with a highlighter, but nothing was committing to memory, nothing was forming pathways that would allow her to do her job. Despite the five strong coffees she’d had since Samir had left that morning, she couldn’t focus.
No, that wasn’t true.
She couldfocusjust fine. On his eyes. His smile. The feeling of his fingertips on her skin. The moment he’d thrust into her and her body had exploded with awareness and recognition, as if something she’d been waiting for her entire adult life had come to pass.
She’d been able to focus on Samir brilliantly.
But everything else? Forget about it.
She’d known they had chemistry. From the moment their eyes had met, she’d felt it zing through her body, like an uncontrolled charge of electricity. But chemistry didn’t even explain the way he’d made her feel.
With Samir, Cora was more fully alive than ever before. It was as though every single cell in her body had fired to life with one hundred percent of its intensity.
If that was what really great sex was like, maybe she should reconsider her stance as a dedicated singleton after all? But the thought, even when so flippantly considered, made her heart clutch in fear and her stomach drop to her toes. It was immediately accompanied by a harsh reminder of heartbreak and betrayal, of having blindly trusted and cared for someone, of having genuinely offered to love them for the rest of your life, and then having them treat you as Alf had her. The pain was visceral. Not because she’d loved him so much—she was older and wiser now and knew love had very little to do with it—but because she’dtrustedhim. She’dwantedto love him, and for him to love her, for them to be a family together. She’d pinned so many dreams on that, and he’d harpooned them almost for sport.
Or out of selfishness. She’d never really understood, but even before she’d insisted on a divorce, Cora had known she’d never trust anyone ever again. And she hadn’t. Four years on from her divorce and she’d assiduously kept to herself, carefully guarding her heart while being even more careful not to let anyone, least of all her well-intentioned but far too protective family understand the depths of her shattered heart—and confidence.
Last night had been an aberration. A one off. The problem Cora faced was in accepting that.
One night hadn’t been enough. She wanted more. She was hungry, no, starving, for Samir. For more of his touch, his kisses, his laugh, his ironic half-smile. She was hungry to know everything about him, to understand him fully.