A Secret Birthright. Оливия Гейтс

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      Two

      Gwen McNeal heard the choking accusations as if they came from a disembodied voice. One that sounded like hers.

      It seemed the past weeks had damaged what had been left of her sanity. She’d made her initial request for a meeting with it already strained. But as time had ticked by and her chances of meeting him had diminished, her stamina had dwindled right along.

      She’d thought she’d be a mass of incoherence when she was finally in his presence.

      Then she was there, and the sight of him had jolted through her like a lightning bolt. The intensity of his gaze, of his impact, had slashed the last tethers of her restraint.

      She’d just accused him of being an over-endowed sadist who lived to make lesser beings beg for his intervention.

      At least the unchecked flow had stopped. All she could do now was stare in horror at him as he stared back at her in stupefaction. And realize.

      He was what she remembered. Description-defying. Or there had to be new adjectives coined to describe his brand of virility and grandeur. Seeing him felt like being catapulted into the past. A past when she’d known where her life was heading. A life that had been derailed since she’d laid eyes on him.

      Ever since, she’d told herself she’d exaggerated her memories of him, had built him up into what no one could possibly be.

      But he was all that. It was all there, and more. The imposing physicality, the inborn grace and power, the sheer influence. She had no doubt time would continue to magnify his assets until he did become godlike.

      One thing time hadn’t enhanced, though. His effect on her. How could it when that had been shattering to start with?

      Then he moved. The move itself was almost imperceptible, but the intention behind it, to come closer, when that would engulf her even deeper into his aura, intensify his effect, went off inside her like a clap of thunder.

      Desperation burst from her in a new rush of resentment. “Five minutes? That’s what you allow people in your presence? Then you walk away without looking back? Do you smirk in satisfaction as they run after you begging for a few more moments of your priceless time? Do you enjoy making them grovel? That’s how much regard the world’s leading philanthropist surgeon really has for others?”

      A slow blink swept his sinful lashes down, before they lifted to level his smoldering gaze on her.

      “I actually said ten minutes.”

      She’d thought his voice had been hard-hitting in the videos she’d seen of his interviews, lectures and educational surgeries. In reality, the depth and richness of his tones, the potency of his accent, the beauty of his every inflection made the words he uttered an invocation.

      “And when I said that …”

      She cut him off, unable to hear more of that spell. “So you granted me ten minutes instead of five. I can see how your reputation was founded, on such magnanimous offers. But I’ve already wasted most of those ten minutes. Do I start counting down the rest before you walk away as if I’m not here?”

      He shook his head as if it would help him make sense of her words, and L.A.’s winter afternoon sun slanting through the windows glinted off his raven mane. “I won’t do any such thing, Ms. McNeal.”

      Her heart gave one detonation. He … he … he remembered her?

      The world receded into a gray vortex. A terrible whoosh yawned in her ears. Everything faded away as she plunged in a freefall of nothingness.

      Something immovable broke her plummet, and she found herself struggling within the living cables that encompassed her, reaching back to the reprieve that oblivion offered.

      “B’Ellahi … don’t fight me.”

      The dark melody poured into her brain as she lost all connection with gravity, was swathed in hot hardness and dizzying fragrance. She opened her eyes at the sensation and that face she’d long told herself she’d forgotten filled her vision. She hadn’t forgotten one line of symmetry or strength, one angle or slash or groove of nobility and character and uniqueness. Sheikh Fareed Aal Zaafer would be unforgettable after one fleeting look. Secondhand exposure would have been enough. But that firsthand encounter had been indelible.

      But if she’d thought his effect from a distance the most disruptive force she’d ever encountered, now that she filled his arms, he filled her senses, conquered what remained of her resistance.

      A violent shudder shook her. He gathered her tighter.

      “Put me down, please.” Her voice broke on the last word.

      His eyes moved to her lips as soon as she spoke, following their movements. Blood thundered in her head at his fascination. His hands only tightened their hold, branding her through her clothing.

      “You fainted.” His gaze dragged from her lips, raking every raw nerve in her face on its way back up to her eyes.

      She fidgeted, trying to recoup her scattered coordination. “I just got dizzy for a second.”

      “You fainted.” His insistence was soft like gossamer, unbending as steel. “A dead faint. I had to vault over the desk to catch you before you fell face down over that table.”

      Her eyes panned to where she’d been standing by a large, square, steel-and-glass table. Articles were flung all over the floor around it.

      Even though she’d never fainted in her life, no doubt formed in her mind. She had. And he’d saved her.

      The bitterness that had united with tension to hold her together disintegrated in the heat of shame at her behavior so far. All she wanted was to burrow into his power and weep.

      She couldn’t. For every reason there was. She had to keep her distance at all costs.

      He was walking to the sitting area by the windows as if afraid she’d come apart if he jarred her. What did was the solicitude radiating from him.

      She pulled herself rigid in his hold. “I’m fine now … please.”

      He stopped. She raised a wavering gaze to his, found it filled with something … turbulent. Then it grew assessing, as if weighing the pros and cons of granting her plea.

      Then he loosened his arms by degrees, let her slide in nerve-abrading slowness down his body. She swayed back a step as soon as her feet found the ground, and her legs wobbled under her weight, as if she’d long depended on him to support it. His hand shot out to steady her. She shook her head. He took his hand away, gestured for her to sit down, command and courtesy made flesh and bone.

      She almost fell onto the couch, shot him a wary glance as soon as she’d sought its far end. “Thank you.”

      He came to tower over her. “Nothing to thank me for.”

      “Just for saving me from being rushed to the E.R., probably with severe facial fractures, or worse.”

      His spectacular eyebrows snapped together as if in pain, the smoldering coals СКАЧАТЬ