Desert Mistress. HELEN BIANCHIN

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СКАЧАТЬ Red-tipped fingers fluttered in an aimless gesture, matching in colour the red-glossed mouth, and in perfection the expensive orthodontic work, and the considerable skill of cosmetic surgery.

      Thirty, going on forty-five, married to a wealthy member of the aristocracy, and born to shop, Kristi summarised, endeavouring not to be uncharitable.

      ‘Sir Alexander.’

      Awareness arrowed through her body at the sound of that smooth, well-educated drawl, and she turned slowly to greet their host.

      His shirt was of the finest cotton, his dinner suit immaculately tailored to fit his broad frame, and this close she could sense the clean smell of soap mingling with the exclusive tones of his cologne.

      Unbidden, her eyes were drawn to his mouth, and she briefly examined its curve and texture, stifling the involuntary query as to what it would be like to have that mouth possess her own. Heaven and hell, a silent voice taunted, dependent on his mood. There was a hint of cruelty apparent, a ruthlessness that both threatened and enticed. A man who held an undeniable attraction for women, she perceived, yet willing to be tamed by very few.

      It was almost as if he was able to read her thoughts, for she glimpsed musing mockery in those slate-grey eyes—a colour that was in direct defiance of nature’s genetics, and the only visible feature that gave evidence of his maternal ancestry.

      ‘Miss Dalton.’

      ‘Sheikh bin Al-Sayed,’ Kristi acknowledged formally, aware that his gaze rested fractionally long on her hair before lowering to conduct a leisurely appraisal of her features.

      It was crazy to feel intensely conscious of every single breath, every beat of her pulse. Silent anger lent her eyes a fiery sparkle, and it took considerable effort to mask it. An effort made all the more difficult as she glimpsed his amusement before he turned his attention to Sir Alexander.

      ‘Georgina is unwell, I understand?’

      ‘She asks me to convey her apologies,’ Sir Alexander offered. ‘She is most disappointed not to be able to attend this evening.’

      Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed inclined his head. ‘It is to be hoped she recovers soon: He moved forward to speak to a woman who showed no reticence in greeting him with obvious affection.

      ‘Would you care for another drink?’

      Kristi felt as if she’d been running a marathon, and she forced herself to breathe evenly as everything in the room slid into focus. The unobtrusive presence of the waiter was a welcome distraction, and she placed her empty glass on the tray. ‘Mineral water, no ice.’ She didn’t need the complication of a mind dulled by the effects of alcohol.

      ‘Would you like me to get you something to eat, my dear?’ Sir Alexander queried. ‘Several of the guests seem to be converging on the buffet.’

      Kristi summoned a warm smile as she linked her hand through his arm. ‘Shall we join them? I’m feeling quite hungry.’ It was a downright lie, but Sir Alexander wasn’t to know that.

      There was so much to choose from, she decided minutes later: hot and cold dishes, salads, hot vegetables, delicate slices of smoked salmon, seafood, chicken, turkey, roast lamb, slender cuts of beef. The selection of desserts would have put any of the finest London restaurants to shame, and the delicate ice sculptures were a visual confirmation of the chef’s artistic skill.

      Kristi took two slices of smoked salmon, added a small serving of three different salads, a scoop of caviare, then drifted to one side of the room.

      How many guests were present tonight? she pondered idly. Fifty, possibly more? It was impossible to attempt a counting of heads, so she didn’t even try.

      Sir Alexander appeared to have been trapped by a society matron who seemed intent on discussing something of great importance, given the intensity of her expression.

      ‘All alone, chérie? Such a crime.’

      The accent was unmistakably French, and she moved slightly to allow her view to encompass the tall frame of a man whose smiling features bore a tinge of practised mockery.

      ‘You will permit me to share a few minutes with you as we eat?’

      She effected a faint shrug. ‘Why not? We’re fellow guests.’

      ‘You are someone I would like to get to know—very well.’ The pause was calculated, the delicate emphasis unmistakable.

      Kristi’s French was flawless, thanks to a degree in Italian and French, her knowledge and accent honed by a year spent in each country. ‘I am selective when it comes to choosing a friend—or a lover, monsieur.’ Her smile was singularly sweet. ‘It is, perhaps, unfortunate that I do not intend to remain in London long enough to devote time to acquiring one or the other.’

      ‘I travel extensively. We could easily meet.’

      His persistence amused her. ‘I think not.’

      ‘You do not know who I am?’

      ‘That is impossible, as we have yet to be introduced,’ she managed lightly. Perhaps she presented a challenge.

      ‘Enchanté, chérie.’ His eyes gleamed darkly as he reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Jean-Claude Longchamp d’Elseve.’ He paused, head tilted slightly as he waited for an expected reaction. When she failed to comply, his mouth assumed a quizzical slant. ‘I cannot believe you lack the knowledge or the intelligence to be aware of the importance my family hold in France.’

      ‘Really?’

      He was an amusing diversion, and he was sufficiently astute to appreciate it. ‘I am quite serious.’

      ‘So am I, Jean-Claude,’ she declared solemnly.

      ‘You make no attempt to acquaint me with your name. Does this mean I am to be rejected?’ The musing gleam in his eyes belied the wounded tone.

      ‘Do you not handle rejection well?’

      His mouth parted in subdued laughter. ‘I am so rarely in such a position, it is something of a novelty.’

      ‘I’m relieved. I would hate to provide you with an emotional scar.’

      He still held her hand, and his thumb traced a light pattern over the veins of her wrist. ‘Perhaps we could begin again. Will you have dinner with me?’

      ‘The answer is still the same.’

      ‘It will be relatively easy for me to discover where you are staying.’

      ‘Please don’t,’ Kristi advised seriously.

      ‘Why not?’ His shrug was eloquent. ‘Am I such objectionable company?’

      She pulled her hand free. ‘Not at all.’ She cast him a slight smile. ‘I simply have a tight business schedule and a full social calendar.’

      The edge of his mouth curved in pensive humour. ‘You mean to leave me to another woman’s mercy?’

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