The Sheikh's Son. KRISTI GOLD

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ sudden image of sitting with him on a beach—sans swimwear—assaulted her. “I do when I find the time to actually go to the beach. I’m not home that often.”

      “And where is home?” he asked.

      “South Carolina. Charleston, actually.” She refused to reveal that she currently resided in the guesthouse behind her grandparents’ Greek Revival mansion.

      He hesitated a moment as if mulling over the information. “Yet you have no Southern accent.”

      “It disappeared when I attended an all-female boarding school on the East Coast.”

      He leaned forward with obvious interest. “Really? I attended military academy in England.”

      That certainly explained his accent. “How long were you there?”

      His expression turned suddenly serious. “A bloody lot longer than I should have been.”

      She suspected a story existed behind his obvious disdain. “An all-male academy, I take it.”

      “Unfortunately, yes. However, the campus was situated not far from a parochial school populated with curious females. We were more than happy to answer that curiosity.”

      No real surprise there. “Did you lead the panty raids?”

      His smile reappeared as bright as the illuminated beer sign over the bar. “I confess I attempted to raid a few panties in my youth, and received several slaps for my efforts.”

      She was consumed by pleasant shivers when she should be shocked. “I highly doubt that was always the case.”

      “Not always.” He leaned back again, his grin expanding, his dimples deepening. “Did you fall victim to the questionable antics of boarding-school boys?”

      She’d fallen victim to playing the wallflower, though she hadn’t exactly been playing. “My school was located in a fairly remote area, and the rules were extremely strict. The headmistress would probably have shot first and asked questions later if a boy ever dared darken our doorstep.”

      His eyes held a hint of amusement. “I’m certain a woman with your looks had no difficulty making up for lost time once you escaped the confines of convention.”

      If he only knew how far off the mark he was with that assumption, he’d probably run for the nearest exit. “Let’s just say I’ve had my share of boys darkening my doorstep. Most had last names for first names and more money than sexual prowess, thanks to my grandfather’s insistence I marry within his social circles.”

      “Not a decent lover among them?”

      Only one, and he’d been far from decent. She imagined A.J. would be a seriously good lover. She’d seriously like to find out. “Since I’m not into kissing and telling, let’s move off that subject. Do you have a significant other?”

      “I did have an ‘other’ almost a year ago, but she is no longer significant.”

      “Bad breakup?”

      “Let’s just say it took a while to convince her we did break up.”

      His sour tone told Piper that topic was also off-limits. On to more generic questions. “When I first spotted you at the bar, I was sure you’re Italian. Am I right?”

      Luckily his pleasant demeanor returned. “No, but I am quite fond of Italy, and I do know Italian, courtesy of a former teacher.”

      “My second guess would be you’re of French descent.”

      “Je ne suis pas français, mais je peux bien embrasser à la francaise.”

      A sexy devil with devastating dimples and a wry sense of humor—a deadly combination. “I’m sure the parochial girls appreciated your French-kissing expertise. But you didn’t exactly answer my question about your heritage.”

      “I am not of French, but I am impressed you speak the language.”

      She laid a dramatic palm over her breast and pulled out her best Southern speak. “Why, sugar, we’re not all dumb belles. I know French and German and even a little Japanese.”

      “Should you find yourself in need of an Italian translator, I would be happy to accommodate you.”

      She would be thrilled if he did more than that. “I’ve never been to Italy but I’ve always wanted to see Rome.”

      “You should make that a priority. I personally prefer Naples and the coast....”

      As he continued, Piper became completely mesmerized by his mouth, and began to ridiculously fantasize about kissing him. Then her fantasies took major flight as she entertained thoughts of his mouth moving down her body. Slow and warm and, oh, so...

      “...large pink salmon walk down the streets texting on their smartphones.”

      She rejoined reality following the odd declaration. “I beg your pardon?”

      “Clearly I bored you into a near coma while playing the travel guide.”

      He’d inadvertently drawn her into a waking sex dream. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “It must be the booze.”

      He reached over and without an invitation took a drink from her glass, then set it down with a thud. “That is bloody awful,” he said. “What is in this unpalatable concoction?”

      Piper turned her attention to the drink and momentarily became preoccupied with the fact his lips had caressed the glass. And that was probably as close to his lips she would get...unless she took the plunge and turned the good girl to bad. “Basically vodka and cranberry juice, but the bartender made it fairly strong. It’s gone straight to my head.” And so had he.

      He pushed his half-full glass toward her. “Try this.”

      She picked up the tumbler and studied the amber liquid. “What is it?”

      “Twenty-year-old Scotch. Once you’ve sampled it, no other drink will do.”

      She would really like to sample him, and if she didn’t stop those thoughts in their tracks, she might derail her common sense. “I’m not sure I should. I don’t want to have to crawl to the hotel room.”

      “If you need assistance, I’ll make certain you arrive safely.”

      Piper returned his wily smile. “Well, in that case, I suppose I could have a small sip.”

      The minute the straight liquor hit her throat, she truly wanted to spit it out. Instead, she swallowed hard and handed the tumbler back to him.

      “You don’t like it?” he asked, sounding somewhat insulted.

      “Sorry, but it’s just not my cup of tea. Or cup of alcohol, I should say. But then, I can’t claim to have good drinking skills.”

      “How are your kissing skills?” Right when she was about to suggest they find out, he straightened, looked away and cleared his throat again. “My СКАЧАТЬ