Step behind the hotel room doors of The Chatsfield, London, for five fabulous novellas full of style, sensation…and scandal!

In The Soldier in Room 286 by Abby Green, soldier turned international actor, Salim Segal, has one night at The Chatsfield to convince beautiful Natalja Jordan that, despite the pains of the past, they have a future worth fighting for.

Ben treats girlfriend Joely to a luxurious birthday night at The Chatsfield, intending to propose, in Proposal in Room 309 by Joss Wood. But nothing’s going according to plan…. Who’d have thought being walked in on by a stranger—while naked!—would lead to happy ever after?

For The Couple in the Dream Suite by Marguerite Kaye, it’s 1921 at The Chatsfield—London’s glamorous new hotel—and disillusioned soldier Justin York is unexpectedly entranced by a socialite, Miss Vera Milton-Kerr. Can Justin’s dark-eyed gaze melt the ice running through Vera’s veins?

Libby Lancaster finds herself roomless at The Chatsfield and decides that one night of not being good-girl Libby with sexy Prince Lucaj might be just what she needs! But will her one-night fantasy end when the clock strikes twelve? Find out in The Prince in the Royal Suite by Susan Stephens.

In The Doctor in the Executive Suite by Tina Beckett, Doctor Chelsea Serrano is called upon to save the life of a guest while dining at The Chatsfield’s fabulous restaurant—a great excuse to escape her less-than-fabulous date. And who needs dessert when you can have a mouth-watering bodyguard to help instead?

Will they find love in London? Find out in volume one of The Chatsfield novellas!

The Chatsfield Short Romances 1-5

The Soldier in Room 286

Abby Green

Proposal in Room 309

Joss Wood

The Couple in the Dream Suite

Marguerite Kaye

The Prince in the Royal Suite

Susan Stephens

The Doctor in the Executive Suite

Tina Beckett

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

The Soldier in Room 286

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Proposal in Room 309

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Epilogue

The Couple in the Dream Suite

Historical Note

Chatsfield Chatter

How Justin Met Vera

Reflections

Dream a Little Dream

Revelation and Unravellings

Wet Dreams

Dare to Dream

Chatsfield, The Next Chapter

The Prince in the Royal Suite

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

The Doctor in the Executive Suite

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Copyright

The Soldier in Room 286

Abby Green

The Soldier in Room 286—Abby Green

In this fabulous novella by Mills & Boon Modern® author Abby Green, the gorgeous but brooding Salim Segal promises to give Natalja Jordan a night to remember at The Chatsfield Hotel, London! Read on for this USA TODAY bestselling author’s wonderful story.…

Step behind the hotel room doors of The Chatsfield, London…

Salim Segal has turned his back on his legionnaire soldier life and made a new one for himself as an international actor. He’s seen much in his life, but nothing that captures him like the beauty of Natalja Jordan. Now he has one night at The Chatsfield to convince her that, despite the pains of the past, they might just have a future worth fighting for.

Chapter One

‘I thought you must be one of the models when I first saw you.’

Natalja Jordan rolled her eyes inwardly at the shameless flattery and surmised that perhaps the hulking great camera around her neck hadn’t been as much of a giveaway as she might have expected.

She knew she wasn’t completely unattractive with her slimly curvaceous figure and long dark blonde hair, which was currently scraped up into a high bun for practicality. But she came nowhere near the gazelle-like golden goddess who was her model for the day and who was blithely stripping down to skimpy underwear to change behind a clothes rail on the other side of the room.

A fact that Mr Matthias Cavello, manager of the exclusive Chatsfield hotel, seemed to have just picked up on, his dark eyes bugging out on stalks now.

Dryly Nat remarked, ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence but as I’m only five foot six I hardly qualify for the modeling world.’

The manager dragged his gaze away from the gorgeous Russian model and blinked at Nat. She could have laughed and curbed a wry smile. She’d witnessed the effect supermodels had on poor hapless men for at least three years now and it never failed to amuse her.

Mr Cavello, an attractive Italian, cleared his throat. ‘Like I said, if there’s anything you need at all, we’ll look after you. It’s an honour to have F magazine shooting here at the hotel.’

Nat smiled but there was something about him that she didn’t quite trust. An element of pseudo politeness that made her uneasy. To her relief he seemed to take the hint and left, but not before his dark eyes devoured the model who was now being zipped into a haute couture creation.

They’d already done some shots and this was the first of many changes. Knowing that hair and make-up would be touching up Lenka’s look for a few minutes, Nat took advantage and slipped outside through the open french doors of the huge hotel ballroom to suck in a deep breath of fresh London spring air.

The view over the surrounding gardens was spectacular, the low rumble of traffic muted in this rare quiet city space. This was Nat’s favourite time of the year to be in London, when everything was blooming. Fresh. Starting over.

Just as she had herself in the past few years. She sighed and leant against the stone balustrade on the grand terrace. It was during peaceful civilised moments like this that the past rushed back to meet her, reminding her forcibly of the chaos and destruction she’d left behind. She could almost taste the thrill of adrenalin and danger on her tongue now, tart and strong. Just how her father must have felt. The thought made a familiar ache of grief form in her chest. Yet she knew she didn’t miss that danger and chaos.

She was slightly shocked by how close the past felt to her when she was a million miles away from it, and when she was fifteen years on from the death of her father, and her mother. An uncharacteristic sense of vulnerability washed over her and for the first time she felt a keen sense of loneliness.

She thought of the mesmerised, almost dazed look in the manager’s eyes just now when he’d stared at the model. Nat couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her like that, if ever. She almost couldn’t remember the last time a man had transported her with his touch, his mouth.

When he had, it had been a fellow photographer, amidst the tumult of a war-zone when life and death hung in the balance every second. It had heightened the love-making but Nat knew now that under normal circumstances her last lover would have left little or no impression at all. She could hardly recall his face.

Irritated to be thinking like this, she made a disgusted sound and turned to go back into the ballroom when her gaze snagged on a lone figure at the other end of the terrace, over the dividing wall.

It was a man, dressed in dark clothing. Something about his intense stillness caught at her. He was dark, dark enough to stand out against the lush city garden, his short thick black hair making her think bizarrely of military precision. His hands rested on the stone wall, just like hers had been, and he was looking out over the garden broodingly, much as she must have been.

A tug of something made her breath shorten. Crazy. Just because he too was looking out at the garden—to imagine he was thinking of similar things? And even though quite a distance separated them, she was aware that he was big. Well over six feet tall, broad and powerful. Instantly something sizzled to life in her belly. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Lust.

Without even realising she was doing it, because the camera around her neck was as familiar as an extra limb, Nat lifted it to her eye and looked through the lens, adjusting it for focus. When his face sharpened into view, she sucked in a breath. He was in profile to her but it was possibly the most beautiful male profile she’d ever seen.

Proud. Haughty. Strong. Flawed, with a bump in his nose, but still perfect. His skin was deeply olive making her wonder if he was middle-eastern. High cheekbones and a full mouth was almost ridiculously sensual in such a masculine face, but then his jaw provided a hard uncompromising line of strength and power.

And then as if sensing her intense focus, he turned to look right at her and on a shocked reflex to see him revealed face on, Nat’s finger depressed the button and a loud whirring click broke the silence, along with a flare of light that jarred her.

He moved so quickly—vaulting over the dividing wall with all the lithe grace of an animal—that he was almost upon her before Nat had lowered the camera. Suddenly she found the wall pressing into her back, breath strangled in her throat.

Nothing could have prepared her for such close proximity. He towered over her, dark, menacing. Formidably masculine. And yet, she didn’t feel scared. She felt excited, heart racing.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ His voice was low and deep, accented. And then, still struck dumb by some strange paralysis, she didn’t stop him when he reached out and lifted her camera over her head in one swoop of a big hand.

As soon as she saw it in his hands Nat came back to life, reaching for it instinctively. ‘Hey, wait a second.’

She made a grab for it but he held it out of her grasp easily. He turned her camera around, clearly looking to find the images. Eyes as black as obsidian narrowed on her. ‘How did paparazzi get in here?’

It took a second for what he said to sink in and then she said hotly, ‘I’m not paparazzi, I’m a photographer.’

He made a snorting noise. ‘That’s what they all say.’

She could see him clicking the buttons now and panic made her throat dry, as she registered the latent sense of danger that clung to him. A kind of danger she recognised but which was incongruous in this setting.

‘Give that back now,’ she demanded, ‘I’ve got at least an hour’s work on the memory card.’

He seared her with a scathing glance. ‘Work? What you do isn’t work, it’s the equivalent of a parasite sucking the life out of its host’s body.’

Just then a female voice called from the other end of the patio, something indistinct that Nat couldn’t make out. The man turned his head and then looked back to Nat. He backed away and anger flashed up Nat’s spine; she started after him. ‘Wait, you can’t take my camera. It’s worth a lot of money, it’s my work.’

The man was grim, that beautiful face etched in stark disapproving lines. She wanted to slap it.

‘We’ll see what security says.’ With that he turned away and walked back down the terrace, examining the camera, clearly busy trying to find incriminating evidence. She saw a woman in a suit waiting for him anxiously. His lover? An assistant? To Nat’s utter chagrin, something dark lanced through her to think it might be a lover.

Just who the hell was he anyway? She watched him vault easily over the dividing wall again and was about to start after him when her assistant popped out. ‘Nat? They’re ready to go again.’

Rage caught in her throat. What was wrong with her reflexes? She’d just let an arrogant stranger walk away with one of her most prized possessions—one of her father’s cameras. The stranger had thought she was paparazzi. Her skin crawled.

Torn, but knowing that the exacting fashion editor of the magazine was inside and waiting, Nat had no choice but to go back. She had another camera with her and she’d downloaded the morning’s first shots onto her laptop, a lucky force of habit from her years of knowing how useless the images were unless they were backed up.

But whoever the mysterious stranger was, she was going to find him and let him know exactly who she was and leave him in no doubt that his judge and jury act had been completely over the top and unnecessary.

* * *

Salim Segal watched the woman work with mesmeric grace. The fact that he’d been mistaken about her didn’t sit easy within him. He didn’t usually read situations wrong, but when he’d felt that prickle of awareness of someone’s eyes on him and had turned and seen the slim woman, he’d only registered the camera when the flash had gone off.

He would have thought he’d be used to that by now—the thousand flashes of light a second as his image was captured a million different ways. But for the first time, he’d understood what it was to feel as if a secret part of your soul was taken when someone took a picture.

He’d been thinking…about things that he hadn’t thought of in a long time. Dark things that he thought he’d left behind amidst the rubble of so many ruined cities he’d lost count. Under a million twisted and torn bodies. And then he’d looked and seen her, and she’d caught that feeling of rawness. He’d seen it for himself in the image she’d taken, unwittingly.

She stood up now from her crouched position on the floor in front of the blonde model who had been pouting moodily, and said something in Russian to her and the girl smiled in response, looking like a teenager again. Salim caught the gist of it, something like, good job, we’re done.

His gaze skated over the model, dismissing her. She was beautiful, yes, but too young, too skinny. Still a person who was forming.

Her on the other hand…he’d been able to tell from his first glance at her earlier, that she was a fully formed woman with all her mysteries and allure. His gaze traveled up over slim legs encased in soft leather, cupping a curvy backside. As he watched from where he stood in the shadows near the door she stretched to ease out kinks, arms over her head, lifting her loose top up to reveal the naked indentation of a small waist and just like that, blood throbbed in his veins, like it had earlier when he’d noticed how huge her eyes were and that they were the most unusual shade of gold and green. Tawny. Like a lioness.

She pulled something out of her hair and it tumbled down now, thick and messy around her shoulders, golden lights glinting among darker strands. She massaged her skull and Salim wanted to replace her hands with his. Lust was so urgent within him that he almost turned and walked out, not liking to be in the grip of anything out of his control.

But then someone said something to her and she turned and looked. He’d been spotted. And now he couldn’t move, as she walked towards him. For a man whose reflexes were honed enough to melt out of sight in an instant, this was not welcome.

The crew behind her were packing things away, the model had disappeared, presumably to change.

She stopped in front of him and those stunningly unusual eyes caught him again. Her gaze fell on the camera in his hand, against his chest. Relief was visible in her expression and then it hardened again and she looked at him, holding out a small hand. ‘My camera, please.’

She had an American accent, with a touch of something more foreign. Intriguing.

Salim held on to the camera. ‘I owe you an apology.’

Her eyes flared, as if she was surprised. He could see the pulse point in her neck beating hectically and his arousal wound tighter in his body.

She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing up the swells of her breasts. He could see the voluptuous curves just under the V of her top.

‘You do,’ she agreed. ‘I told you I wasn’t paparazzi.’

Salim dragged his gaze back up and was quickly sucked deep into those golden depths. ‘So why were you taking a picture of me?’

She blushed, looked away, tension oozing from every line of her body. When she looked back her eyes glowed. Hesitantly she said, ‘I don’t know. I was looking through the lens before I even realised…I hadn’t intended to take a picture.’

He remembered turning to look and then the flash. Had it been a reflex? Something in him loosened a bit.

‘Please,’ she said now, undoing her arms, holding out her hand again, her voice husky, ‘Can I have my camera back? It’s got sentimental value for me.’

He could tell she hated the admission, as if it might be a weakness. He could understand that. Instantly he felt remorse, but asked as he handed it over, ‘Why?’

He noted how she relaxed and cradled it to her chest, avoided his eye. ‘It was my father’s. He was a well-known photojournalist who covered conflicts all over the world.’

Salim tensed as unwelcome images automatically came to mind. ‘Who was he?’

She looked at him. ‘Bruce Jordan.’

Salim’s body went still. ‘Bruce Jordan?’

She nodded. Salim reeled. He knew of her father. He shook his head, ‘Incroyable.’

She frowned, ‘What is?’

Salim felt as if he was losing his footing. ‘You…here. This.’ He could see that she got what he meant. This bizarre and palpable chemistry between them. ‘How long are you staying here?’

Her face flushed again, eyes widening imperceptibly. ‘I leave tomorrow to go home to New York.’

Someone pushed past them at the door to take equipment out and Salim could see her look around, distracted. A kind of panic lanced him. He reached out and took her arm, she looked at him. Her scent tickled his nostrils; earthy and musky.

‘I’m sorry about earlier, you caught me…off-guard. Please, let me make it up to you. Have dinner with me this evening?’

Her pupils dilated, drowning out some of the gold in her irises, but after a long moment she shook her head, hesitant. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

Salim’s hand tightened around her arm as if he could drag her bodily from the room. He wanted to. So badly it scared him. So he let her go, because he wasn’t sure it was a good idea either. But still, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, ‘If you change your mind I’ll be in the bar at seven. I won’t wait for long.’

Chapter Two

Later that evening Nat stood on the small terrace balcony outside her bedroom, taking in the distinctive skyline of London against the dusky clear sky. She still felt jittery after that encounter with the man. Except he wasn’t just a man. She knew who he was now. The stylist had pulled her aside after he’d left and said with huge impressed eyes, ‘How on earth do you know Salim Segal?’

Nat had looked at her, ‘Salim who?’

The stylist’s face had contorted comically into shock, ‘You’re seriously telling me you don’t know who he is? He’s only the most famous man in France right now, the highest paid male model ever, whose debut film is coming out—apparently they’re already talking about a best foreign film Oscar…’

So that’s why he’d believed her to be paparazzi. Nat figured she hadn’t heard of him because she’d been commuting mainly between England and New York. Working in the ephemeral and sometimes flaky fashion world with quite a number of narcissistic people had been a serious adjustment to make for Nat. And while she wasn’t complaining, this work was only a means to an end to funding her own future projects. She found the egos and histrionics a little hard to take and was already becoming known for not tolerating unnecessary dramas.

And now, the thought that the most charismatic man she could ever remember meeting was an integral part of that wheel—that most clichéd of things, a model turned actor—made her feel somehow…crazily disappointed. Everything in her balked at that glitzy, showy, superficial world. He’d seemed more than that. And he was certainly no ingenue.

Learning who he was and that he was at the hotel for press surrounding this film he was in had quashed the flutters in Nat’s belly at the thought that she just might take him up on his offer, even though she’d said no.

And yet now…those flutters were back and she felt a ridiculous sense of urgency. The rest of the crew lived in London as the magazine was based here, and had gone home. Normally this wouldn’t bother Nat, but that feeling of loneliness she’d had earlier surged back, irritating in the extreme. The whole evening stretched ahead of her and it seemed to mock her for her lofty bias against the world she currently inhabited.

A small voice teased her—would it be so bad to indulge in a drink with a stunningly handsome man? Heat sizzled down low when she thought of how dark his eyes were, how they’d felt on her. And her curiosity was piqued in spite of herself. She looked at her watch and saw that it was already 7.15pm. A kind of urgency gripped her again and she told herself that even if she did go down now, he’d surely be gone.

* * *

Salim sat in the dark and decadent Chatsfield bar, his back to the velvet-covered wall out of habit to be able to observe all around him. The decor suited his mood perfectly, which was getting darker and darker as the clock ticked and there was still no sign of her. He’d realised far too late that he didn’t even know her name, only that she was Bruce Jordan’s daughter.

He checked his watch and saw that he’d been sitting there for almost an hour. Disgusted with himself forwaiting for a woman like some cow-eyed youth, Salim threw back the rest of his whiskey and put the glass down. He’d been aware of a lone woman at a nearby table sending him sultry looks and what irked him now was that he wasn’t even interested in checking her out.

He wanted her. The golden-eyed stranger who had relaxed so visibly when he’d handed her camera back, almost as if it were a child. The women who’d moved with supple grace as she’d drawn a young girl out of herself to act the role of a woman beyond her years.

Salim stood up, a sense of disappointment acrid in his gut. He was about to put down money for the drink when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he looked to the door.

And there she was. Relief mixed with triumph was a heady rush along with a spiking of arousal, sharp and intense. Merde. He hadn’t had it this bad in a long time, if ever.

As if sensing his look from across the bar, her head turned towards him and he couldn’t breathe. Her hair was down, long and wild. Her dress was gold, silk, wrapped around her body showing the curve of her hips and breasts. Those slim legs were bare all the way down to nude high-heels. Her hands clutched a bag.

Salim stood still as he tracked her slightly hesitant walk towards him. She was a complete stranger—but he knew that if he didn’t have her before the night was out, he might die.

* * *

He was still here. Nat refused to acknowledge that the feeling rushing through her was relief. She forced her legs to move and made her way to where he was, in a corner of the bar. He wasn’t moving. Again that preternatural stillness caught at her forcibly. Along with the sheer reality of how gorgeous he was.

When she came close he put out a hand and Nat looked at it. It was big, long fingers. The heat in her lower body sizzled even more. She put out her hand too, but instead of shaking it, he took it and lifted it up and lowered his head.

His face lowered closer and his eyes locked on hers. Nat’s heart was thumping so hard now she felt light-headed. For a long moment he did nothing and it was as if he was sending her some kind of silent subliminal message. And then his mouth brushed the back of her hand, fleeting and yet hot enough to send a shard of pure sensation right to the pulse between her legs. Lord.

He let her go and straightened up, indicating for her to take a seat. ‘Thank you for joining me.’

Nat sat down, aware that her legs were wobbly, and watched him take a seat on the other side of the small, intimate table.

She admitted a little sheepishly, ‘I thought you might be gone.’

His mouth tipped up in a wry smile, ‘I almost was.’

The hint of a smile made him look younger, less brooding. A waiter interrupted them and Nat took a breath, ordering a white wine. As he conversed with the waiter, Nat took him in. He wore a black suit, which even her eye could tell was bespoke as it lovingly hugged powerful muscles. A crisp white shirt emphasised how dark he was.

And then the waiter was gone and he was looking at her again.

She put down her bag, aware she was clutching it like some kind of terrified virgin. A spurt of panic as to what he might think of her capitulation made her say, ‘Look, I’m just here for a drink, ok? I’m not…up for anything else.’

He arched a brow and that smile played around his mouth again. ‘I believe I just asked you for dinner, and as much as I can’t deny that I haven’t thought about taking you to bed…I will respect your boundaries, of course.’

Nat’s face burned. What he said was all at once so blatantly honest and yet courteous. As if he was from another time. He wanted her. The flames licked higher.

‘And,’ he was adding now, ‘As I don’t even know your name, maybe we should start there, hm?’

Nat got the distinct impression that he was no mere model turned actor. She smiled, a part of her relaxing for the first time since she’d walked in. ‘I’m Nat. Nat Jordan.’

‘And I’m Salim Segal.’

The waiter arrived and put down their drinks. When he was gone Salim raised his glass, ‘To meeting you, Nat Jordan.’

She lightly tipped her glass off his. ‘You too.’

Sipping at the cool fresh wine, she put down the glass and had to admit, ‘Someone told me who you were, earlier. After you’d left.’

‘Ah.’

Once again, not the self-involved response of a person in the media glare. It was as if he was waiting for her reaction. Interesting.

Feeling awkward now she said, ‘I believe you have a film coming out? And you’re a model?’

His face seemed to harden as he admitted with clear irritation, ‘I’ve been answering those questions all day in a million different ways. Would you mind if we didn’t talk about it?’

Nat’s mouth opened and shut again. And her eyes must have widened because he drawled, ‘What? You’d heard I was a model and an actor and you expected to find me either gazing at my own reflection or asking you out so I could talk about myself ad nauseum?’

She flushed and lifted her glass to hide behind. When she looked at him again he was staring at her and she had to shrug a little and admit, ‘I wasn’t sure what to expect…but I know what my experience of models has been and they’re usually—’

‘A bunch of vacuous clothes-horses?’

Nat’s mouth twitched. ‘Now that’s not fair, they’re not all like that. For instance our model today, Lenka, she’s studying to be a neuroscientist in Moscow.’

He leaned forward and growled softly, ‘I don’t want to talk about Lenka, or models, or films.’

He sat back and took a sip from his glass. He held it in his hand and something about the delicacy of the glass in his big hand made a light sweat break out all over her skin. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her wrap dress. Aware of how it could gape slightly at the front, showing more than she liked. She resisted the urge to tug it together.

Was it her imagination or was his gaze on her there? Hot.

But then he was asking, ‘Nat…what’s it short for?’

Her name on his tongue made little sparks skate across her skin, raising it to goosebumps. She’d never thought of herself as a particularly sexual person but right now it seemed to be all she could think about. What it would be like to feel his mouth on hers, his tongue…that body pressing her down, spreading her legs to take him-she blurted out before she lost it completely, ‘It’s short for Natalja. My mother was Russian, my parents met when my father was covering elections there.’

‘I heard you talking Russian today.’

Nat felt hot to think of him observing her work. ‘I used to speak it with my mother. My father would be away…for long periods of time.’

He leant forward again. ‘I came across your father’s work when I was twenty, in a gallery in Paris. It was seeing his images that inspired me to join the army. He died not long after I joined, I was sorry to hear of his death.’

Nat struggled to take this in, not liking how her chest got tight to hear him mention her father as a personal influence. It…bound them in a way that made her wish he was just some dizzy model interested only in talking about fashion. And then she thought about what he said. ‘You were in the army?’

He nodded. But just then someone coughed discreetly nearby and Nat looked up, a little dazed, to see the hotel manager, Cavello. He glanced at her with not a little surprise and bowed deferentially towards Salim. ‘Mr Segal, your table is ready in the restaurant, would you like us to hold it, or…?’

Nat looked at Salim. His name conjured up dark exotic things. Like him. He spoke to her, ‘I’d very much like it if you’d accompany me to dinner.’ He smiled, ‘If those boundaries of yours will allow.’

Those treacherous boundaries were disappearing like ice melting into water. She could no more walk away from this man now, than she could stop breathing.

‘Ok, I’d like that.’

Chapter Three

‘So, tell me more about yourself, Natalja. Have you always worked in fashion?’

Nat shook her head, hiding a frisson of pleasure to hear him call her that. Only her mother had ever used her full name. She felt drunk on the sumptuous surroundings, delicious food and wine. And on the man who lounged as indolently as a jungle cat on the other side of the table. Almost as if mere solid furniture couldn’t contain him. Her hands played semi-nervously with the stem of her wine glass. ‘No. I’ve only been working in fashion for the last three years or so. Before that…I’d followed in my father’s footsteps.’ She grimaced self-deprecatingly, ‘Without half of his talent or acclaim I’m afraid.’

Salim’s eyebrows snapped together and she could feel him tense. It had an effect on her body, making awareness skitter over her skin. Awareness? She mocked herself, awareness was too ineffectual a word for what she was feeling. Down and dirty lust. That was more appropriate.

‘You worked in war zones?’

She nodded and forced herself to look at him, dimly aware that there were only a few people left in the restaurant. ‘Yes. I worked in Eastern Europe, Afghanistan and most recently in the Middle East.’

‘Why did you leave it behind?’

Nat fought back the reflex of pain whenever she thought of that time and looked at him. ‘I got injured…I was shot.’

She heard his intake of breath, a hiss between his teeth and it made her heart flip-flop unsteadily. As if he cared?! Quickly, to cover up how his reaction made her feel, she said, ‘I was incredibly lucky, it was just a flesh wound, my thigh. But it was a wake-up call. My father had died in similar circumstances and I think I realised in that moment that I was somehow searching for him, trying to maintain a connection. The truth is that I never loved that world as much as he did. It terrified me.’

‘You were close to him?’ Salim’s voice was hypnotic.

Nat nodded, battling down the surge of emotion to think of her tall gorgeous father, lifting her high in the air and hugging her close enough to hurt. No wonder he’d hugged her close, he’d known the risks he took.

‘Very close. And my mother…she fell apart when he died. She couldn’t cope. He’d taken her out of a small town in Russia and he was her world. Six months after he died, she killed herself.’

Salim just looked at her, those dark dark eyes like bottomless wells. Simply but with obvious empathy he said, ‘I’m sorry.’

And she knew that he knew, because she sensed the same deep well of tragedy within him.

‘Your father would be proud of you.’

Nat huffed a tremulous laugh. ‘Really? For taking pictures of a nineteen year-old girl in a dress worth thousands of dollars?’

He shook his head minutely, ‘Because you had the balls to get out before that world consumed you.’

His words went straight to her gut. Nat looked at him. She’d never revealed so much in such a short space of time, to a relative stranger. And no-one had ever got her like this before.

She cocked her head slightly. ‘What about you—what army were you in? The French one?’

Now it was Salim’s turn to laugh quietly. He stared into his glass of wine for a moment before catching her eye again. She almost shivered at the hardness she glimpsed in those depths.

‘I was in the French army no-one likes to mention. The Foreign Legion.’

Nat sucked in a breath. The Legionnaires were legendary for their brutal training regime, their fearlessness and their incredible loyalty to each other. And their mystique that was riven with equal parts controversy and myth.

‘How did you end up there?’

He took a sip of wine, for all the world a civilised man, but Nat could see the blunt edges not far beneath the surface.

‘I grew up in the banlieu, the suburbs of Paris. My father was Algerian, my mother French, there are six of us in my family, there wasn’t much time for looking out for us individually. I’d been dyslexic in school and was never diagnosed, so grew up being labelled stupid. I was running with a gang, up to no good. Petty crimes that were about to get much worse. I saw your father’s photos in a window of a gallery, and for the first time I felt a sense of purpose. I knew about the Legion…and so I went straight to the recruiting office in Paris and that was it, for ten years.’

Nat reeled. This man wasn’t stupid. Not remotely.

‘Did you have another name, in the Legion?’

Salim smiled and it knocked the breath out of her belly.

‘They called me Steven Seagal, after the actor, a play on my own name. And the ribbing I still get, especially now, is worse than any 30km forced run under the African midday sun that I ever endured.’

Nat let out a laugh at his rueful admission. ‘And how did you go from that to this?’

He toyed with his glass, his eyes hooded. ‘When I left I was spotted on a street one day, they were looking for models…’ he made a self-deprecating face, ‘Who looked like men. I couldn’t believe how easy the work was. It was a world away from where I’d come from, the other end of the spectrum. But perversely, I think its very silliness and superficiality helped me to readjust to living normally again.’

He looked at her and shrugged minutely, ‘And the acting…I like it. I took another name, another persona, while I was in the Legion, so it’s not that hard to play someone else.’

Nat absorbed this insight, she could empathise with that need to pretend to be someone else. She’d tried to be someone she wasn’t for her father’s memory. ‘Do you still see some of the men you served with?’

Salim nodded and finished his wine. ‘One of my closest friends is from the family who own this hotel actually. Marco Rossi as he was in the Legion—Antonio Chatsfield as he is really. We were in the parachute regiment together. I’m in London to promote the movie, but also because I’m going to invest in his security business and offer my expertise. We’re meeting tomorrow to discuss it.’

His mouth tipped up on one side, ‘Let’s just say that movies and modeling are easy, fun, but not exactly…fulfilling.’

Nat was impressed. The parachute regiment of the Legion was one of the most elite forces of trained soldiers in the world. And then she thought of what he’d just said and felt a little breathless. ‘What kind of fulfilment are you looking for?’

Salim leaned forward, eyes glinting. ‘Right now?’

Nat nodded.

‘Right now I’d really like to take you dancing.’

Visions of a dance-floor and feeling his body pressed against hers sprang into Nat’s over-heated brain. She wanted to go dancing with this beautiful man, in this city, tonight. And forget about whatever tomorrow might bring. If her father’s legacy had taught her anything it was that life was short and you had to seize it when you could.

Feeling giddy with lust, desire and a general intoxication with this extraordinary man, she stood up from her seat, feeling the movement of her dress against hot skin, making her nipples peak against the material. She saw his eyes drop there and almost groaned out loud.

Softly, huskily she said, ‘What are you waiting for then?’

* * *

The throbbing insistent beat of the music seemed to have merged with the beat of Salim’s pulse. He cut a swathe through the crowd, caught some double-takes, lustful glances, but was only aware of Nat’s small hand in his as he guided her through the club to the dance-floor.

Never had he been so intensely aware of a woman. All through dinner, he’d noticed every tiny movement she’d made—twirling her hair around a finger; self-consciously tugging at her ear lobe; biting her lip; fingers cupping the stem of her glass; which had automatically made him imagine how it might feel to have them touch him like that, feathering up and down the aching straining erection he’d battled to contain. It had been a delicious torture.

Just when they got to the heaving dance-floor, the music changed to a slow sexy beat. Salim turned and looked at Nat for an infinitesimal moment. Golden green eyes locked onto black, and for the first time Salim felt some of her lightness reach out to touch the depths of his darkness, transforming it into something lighter. Impossibly.

It was too loud to speak. But they didn’t need words. He felt as if he’d known her for millenia. He tugged her into him, the crush of the other bodies making it easy to tug her even closer. She came willingly, her soft curves melting against him like parts of a jigsaw sliding into place. It sent his head into a spin. Was he losing it? Finally? The control he’d wielded over his tangled tortured past loosening, so the demons finally reach out to claim him?

But no. As he folded Nat into his arms and felt hers reach around his neck, bringing her even closer, Salim knew this was different. This felt like he was moving away from that darkness.

And then he stopped thinking. Because he couldn’t anymore. Because all he could feel was the thrust of Nat’s soft full breasts against his chest, and her belly pressing against his arousal, each movement making it harder, ache a little more.

He slid one hand down over the slippery silk of her dress and cupped her bottom, its firm lushness making him groan. She pulled her head back and looked up at him and Salim drowned in her beauty.

His mouth was on hers, crushing her sweet softness, feeling the touch of her tongue against his. And he knew that if he didn’t get them out of there right now, he’d be stripping her bare and pushing her against the nearest hard surface before anyone could stop him.

He drew back even though every cell in his body protested. It took a long moment for her eyes to open and when they did they were darkened with the same need he felt.

He muttered roughly with uncharacteristic inarticulateness, ‘I want you.’

For a moment he tensed, thinking she might say no. He was already howling inwardly in rejection of that. But then she just said, ‘yes,’ and Salim clung onto the shreds of whatever control he had left to take her hand and lead her off the dance floor.

* * *

The chauffeured car ride back to the hotel was thick with sexual tension. Nat was still jittery after Salim had pulled her close as soon as they were in the back and he’d said, ‘The privacy window stays down. If it goes up then I won’t be able to stop myself from taking you, here and now. Unless you want that.’

Nat had looked at him in the gloom in the back of the car and had wanted nothing more than to say yes and have him pull her onto his lap, so this unbearable ache might be assuaged.

But the strength and depth of her desire scared her. So she’d shaken her head. And now Salim was gripping her hand and looking forward, his jaw tight, every torturous second that passed making her regret her decision. Making her wish she was brave enough to straddle him, take him inside her.

But then the gleaming golden lights of the hotel came into view and Nat almost let out a sob of relief. When the car pulled up, Salim was out of the door before the driver could get out, and he reached in for Nat, practically lifting her out.

She could feel the urgency between them and it was like a giddy rush. She felt wild, young, carefree, for the first time in her life. She’d never been aware of how weighted down she felt before.

The lobby’s grand hushed opulence went over Nat’s head, Salim’s hand tight on hers. She almost had to run to keep up with his long-legged stride. They were at the lift and she was breathless. She couldn’t look at Salim though, too afraid he’d see her desperation.

And then the lift doors opened and they stood back to let a tall distinguished grey-haired gentleman out. He stopped when he saw Salim and exclaimed, taking his free hand and pumping it enthusiastically. Frustration gnawed at Nat as she took in the conversation, Salim’s tight smile.

Salim drew her into his side and looked down for a second. She could see the frustration mirrored in his dark eyes and almost felt like giggling.

‘Natalja, this is Gene Chatsfield, owner of the Chatsfield empire, and my friend Antonio’s father.’

The older man turned to Nat. She could appreciate that he was an Alpha male past his prime but still very much in control. His gaze was shrewd and had assessed her in an instant.

He bowed towards her briefly, ‘I trust your photo shoot went well Miss Jordan?’

Nat was taken aback that he knew of it. ‘Yes, of course, everyone was very helpful, thank you.’

He straightened up. ‘Your father was a great man, he stayed here many times over the years.’

‘Yes,’ Nat said huskily, ‘I knew that.’

Salim’s hand tightened on hers as if to comfort her and she clung to him like a rock. The past and present, it was all meshing and colliding in this place. Salim was bidding Chatsfield good-night and finally they were free to step into the lift.

Once the doors closed and Salim had pressed the button, presumably to his floor, he turned to her and cupped her jaw with a hand. He looked at her and she saw concern in his eyes. ‘Ok?’

She knew that he meant the reference to her father just now. And it touched her. She nodded her head, any tendrils of emotion being drowned in the waves of heat emanating from Salim in the small space.

He didn’t pull her closer, didn’t try to kiss her again. Just looked at her as if he could see all the way to the very depths of her being. It was more profound than if he’d touched her physically, even though every part of her body ached for him to do that.

The lift pinged and the doors slid open silently. Salim led her out and down a luxuriously carpeted hall. Nat could see that it was far more opulent than her floor. Salim opened ornate doors and walked inside, flicking a light switch.

Nat followed him into the palatial suite which she could see took in a stunning view of London. She was used to some of the most jaw-dropping locations in the world thanks to her job and this was up there with them. ‘What is this suite?’

Salim was slipping off his jacket, dark eyes taking in her reaction. ‘It’s the Princess Royal suite, Antonio’s little idea of a joke.’

Nat said dryly, ‘Pretty impressive joke.’

But she could see what he meant now as he flicked on some more low lights. The furnishings definitely ran to a more…feminine bent. But perversely, it only highlighted the intense masculinity of the man who was now prowling towards her and looking so intense that she shivered with anticipation.

Chapter Four

Nat half expected him to sweep her up and carry her straight to the bedroom because he looked so feral, but Salim stopped before her and put out his hand. When Nat looked down and put her hand in his, she realised that she was shaking.

‘I want to get to know you better.’

Nat looked at Salim, her hand in his. Not what she’d expected to hear. She almost felt disappointed, and then he said with a wicked grin, ‘And I don’t mean by talking.’

His shirt was open at the neck and he leant down and took Nat’s bag out of her hands, throwing it onto a chair. Then he led her over to a couch and sat down, pulling her onto his lap.

A shaky breath left her chest. He felt so firm underneath her, unyielding, hard. He looked at her for a long moment and then lifted a hand to push her hair off her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her bared neck. Tingles chased over her skin, causing goosebumps.

She felt the arm of the couch against her back and sagged against it a little. Her bottom rested in the cradle of Salim’s lap and she could feel his erection under her flesh. He pulled back and cradled her head with a big hand, his other hand coming to rest on her thighs.

Anticipation tightened. He moved his hand down her thighs and legs, smoothing over bare skin, until he got to her feet and slipped her shoes off each foot. They fell with a muted thud to the carpet.

This burningly intense yet lazy seduction wasn’t what Nat had expected. It was as if Salim wanted to savour every tiny moment. And it made her melt even more.

He angled her head towards him, his other hand coming back up her legs, so slowly she had to bite her lip. He went under the material of her dress, and rested his hand on her upper thighs, and then he pulled her head towards him and he slanted his mouth over hers, and all Nat could feel was heat.

She wound her arms around his neck, hands shaping his skull, feeling the short silky strands of his hair. The kiss was dark, decadent, slow and sexy. Breaths mingling and coming harsher as it went deeper and deeper.

Without even realising it, Nat was angling her body into Salim, pressing her buttocks against him, wriggling ever so slightly to assuage the burning ache between her legs, which got worse when she felt him so hard underneath her.

His hand moved around, under her thighs, gathering her into him and then suddenly he stopped and Nat stopped too. She pulled away, breathing harshly, dizzy. His hand was resting right over the puckered skin of her scar.

His eyes were burning. ‘Where you got shot?’

She nodded, mouth dry, because he looked so fierce all of a sudden.

‘Merde.’ The curse was harsh in the quiet room. In direct contrast to how gentle his fingers were, on her scar. Nat felt shaky. ‘It’s ok, I’m ok now. It was a long time ago.’

Salim shook his head and rested his forehead against hers for a moment. ‘That’s why I got out…too much pain and horror. It was eating away at my soul.’

A well of emotion made Nat bring her hand around to touch his jaw. She just said softly, ‘I know.’

And then because she couldn’t resist, she pressed her mouth to his again and let their desire burn everything away but here and now. When Nat realised that Salim had pushed aside her dress and pulled down the lace cup of her bra, he was already cupping the flesh of her breast, her nipple a sharp point against his dark skin.

She lay back, panting, her bottom moving restlessly on his lap, against his hard arousal. He looked at her and smiled wickedly before lowering his head to her breast, its plump flesh being offered to him like some sort of succulent invitation.

He flicked his tongue against her and she groaned, watching with greedy eyes as his teeth nipped gently at the turgid flesh, before soothing with his tongue. His dark hair and face against the paleness of her skin was erotic in the extreme.

When he finally closed his mouth around her nipple and drew it into his mouth, her head fell back against the couch, she arched against him in a silent plea and her hands wound into his hair, holding his head.

He stopped cupping her flesh to undo her dress, tugging it open completely, and Nat urged him on, rolling her hips now, hearing his low growl of approval against her breast.

When his hand moved down over her belly and cupped her burning mound, she went still. Her legs fell open and he smiled against her, lifting his head to watch the reaction on her face when he explored with long fingers, pushing aside the flimsy barrier of her pants to slide one finger along the wet seam of her body.

Nat felt so hot she was burning up. Sweat broke out all over her body and she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Salim was a sorcerer, his finger lazily exploring but never quite—and then he thrust inside her, deep into the channel of her body, which was already clamping in anticipation of his body.

‘Salim,’ Nat shuddered, ‘I can’t…please…’

One finger became two, and her body arched at the exquisite intrusion.

‘Not enough?’ Salim’s voice was rough, the only giveaway that he wasn’t half as cool as he let on. That, and the flare of colour on his cheeks and his steel hard erection under her bottom.

Nat moved against him now, sinuously, feeling his penis slide against the cheeks of her bottom through their clothing.

‘Damn,’ he said hoarsely, his control finally fraying, just as Nat feared she might tumble over the edge completely with the movement of his hand and fingers between her legs. No man had made her feel this crazed, this wanton.

Salim took his hand away from Nat’s body and the momentary relief was short because he pulled her over him so that her knees were either side of his hips. Her eyes widened when she could feel his thick length right there.

Lust bloomed to think that he might just free himself and—

‘Much as I’d like to do what your eyes are suggesting I think we can make it to a bed, hm?’

Nat flushed scarlet and glared at him. Salim chuckled. ‘N’inquiete pas trésor, as much as I want you hard and fast right now, I want you on a soft surface and bared to me completely.’

Hard and fast sounded great. Nat trembled. She already felt bared completely and they’d been doing little more than heavy petting. What would it be like when their bodies joined? The thought made her brain fuse.

Displaying awesome strength, Salim stood up from the couch, taking her with him, wrapping her legs around his waist. As if he couldn’t help himself he kissed her and Nat’s slick body moved against him like a hungry little kitten.

He groaned and pulled away, his accent was thick. ‘Damn you, sorciére. I won’t take you here on the floor.’

And then he was walking, striding through the suite and into a darkened bedroom, where he lowered her to the bed. The sheets were cool against Nat’s feverish skin, and it only got more feverish when she watched Salim step back, kick off his shoes and start to undo his shirt, never taking his eyes off her.

Nat wasn’t even concerned that her dress was gaping open and that one breast was bared. She was too meserised by the stunning power and beauty of the body being revealed to her. Every muscle was clearly delineated, honed, but not pretty. It was as if he was carved out of rock.

The shirt dropped to the floor, his hands came to his trousers and Nat gulped. The belt slid free, and when she saw the slightest tremor in his hand as he lowered his zip, she looked up.

Salim’s hand stopped. ‘Viens ici.’

Nat understood French. She wondered if he even knew he was speaking it? She stood up, wobbly, and went towards him.

He said, ‘You do it.’

She looked down to see the zip half undone, and a large bulge. Mouth dry, she reached out and took it, her knuckles brushing against the hot thrust of his arousal. His breath hissed. As she pulled the zip down, over that bulge, Salim’s hand cupped her bare breast, a thumb rubbing back and forth over her sensitised nipple.

Nat’s legs amost gave way. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop calling out. The zip was down and Salim took his hand off her breast to push his trousers down, kicking them off impatiently. Now he wore only his underwear, which did little to hide how big or aroused he was.

‘Je veux—’ he stopped and cursed, ‘I want to see you.’

Nat looked up, and emboldened by the heat in his gaze, she let her dress fall down over her arms and to the floor. So now she stood in just her bra and panties. Salim’s gaze devoured her.

‘Si belle.’ So beautiful.

Nat ducked her head. Embarrassed. Salim tipped up her chin and one brow was arched. ‘What? You don’t know how beautiful you are? You are a woman, Natalja, who has lived and loved.’ He shook his head, ‘You’ve seen things…been braver than most people ever are.’

Nat felt meserised. Cocooned in this spiraling hot tension between them. She shook her head and whispered, ‘I wasn’t brave…it was a form of escape too, not dealing with things. And I’ve loved, yes, but not a man, a lover…’

Not someone like you, she just stopped herself from saying, realising in that moment that she’d always avoided that ultimate sacrifice of her heart for fear that she would be left, abandoned again. And suddenly, she realised that already this man had the power to hurt her.

Before that revelation could suck her under completely, Nat said huskily, ‘Kiss me Salim.’

‘With pleasure,’ he growled softly before drawing her into him and lowering his head to hers. The flimsy barriers of their clothes almost melted off their bodies. Nat was only aware her bra was gone because Salim was cupping both breasts as they kissed, fingers pinching her nipples to stinging points.

She was arched into him, tongues tangling, hands under his briefs, kneading the smooth taut muscles of his backside, the thrust of his arousal against her soft belly. She pushed his briefs down and felt that stiff column of flesh against her, skin to skin.

Drawing back, she looked down and a wave of heat pulsed through her to see him revealed. He was magnificent. A bead of moisture anointed the head and Nat touched it with her thumb, before looking up at Salim and bringing her thumb to her mouth and tasting his essence.

Salim looked tortured. ‘Dieu, I want you. Now.’

Nat felt heady with her power in that moment. That this huge awe inspiring man should be so hot for her. Salim took her hand and led her to the bed, drawing her down with him.

There were no barriers between them now, and Nat tangled her limbs with his, arms wrapped tight around him. His hands seemed to be everywhere, cupping and squeezing her bottom, covering her breast and reaching down to between her legs, finding that slick spot and making her moan and squirm as he circled and explored, taking her higher and higher.

In the haze of heat she barely heard the sound of a foil wrapper, or noticed that he left her for a second to put on protection. She was incoherent with need, a fine mist of perspiration covering her entire body.

He was behind her, gathering her into him, pulling one leg over his thigh, his arm holding her against him, tight. And then he was there, thrusting up and into her, so deep that she cried out.

He moved slowly then, giving her time to adjust, but there was no discomfort, only a feeling of intense union and completion, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She turned her head to find Salim’s mouth already searching for her, his hand cupping her face, holding her close, while his body moved in and out of hers with relentless precision.

Nat was lost, and yet profoundly rooted, mouth clinging to Salim’s, breaths feverish as their tongues mimicked the movement of their bodies. And then he moved his hand down, over her breasts and belly, to between her legs, fingers finding the centre of all her nerve endings, so close to where he was thrusting faster now, deeper.

He took his mouth from hers. Nat opened her eyes and saw only him. ‘Viens avec moi, Natalja.’

Come with me.

And as if her body had no choice but to respond, she did. In a twisting breaking free of that tight band of tension. She stopped breathing as her body soared so high she feared she might never come back. And then she did, crashing back to earth in a million shattered but glorious pieces, her body clamping tightly around Salim’s as he breathed out the shuddering aftermath of his own release.

Chapter Five

When Salim woke he was aware of a sense of panic even as his hand went out and found the bed beside him empty. The fact that this was a wholly new sensation after sleeping with a lover was not welcome.

He opened his eyes. She was gone. Not there. The panic rose higher. Merde. He felt weakened by the incredible sex, unable to gather his strength to move for a second.

He closed his eyes as a memory assailed him—the tight sheath of Nat’s body clamping around his, drawing the longest most intense climax he’d ever experienced out of him.

They’d lain there for a long moment, stunned by the depth of their release. And then Salim had extricated himself and dealt with the protection. When he’d come back, Nat had been curled up on her side, asleep, and he’d wrapped himself around her as if it was the most normal thing in the world. When it was anything but.

Cursing again, he got up, that panic intensifying. He prowled into the living area and his heart stopped and started again when he saw the terrace doors open to the balcony outside and a slim robed figure looking out over the view as the first pink light of dawn broke over London.

Not liking the sense of relief that gripped him, Salim went over and knew she heard him when he saw her tense minutely. He came up behind her and put his hands on the stone balcony on top of hers. Something deep in his soul was soothed, and instantly Salim told himself that that was ridiculous, it was just sex. Incredible sex.

‘I’ve always loved this time of the day.’

Salim’s libido reacted forcibly to the roughness of Nat’s voice. Rough because she’d been begging, pleading—he brutally cut off the memories and focused on the view. Birds soaring high against the skyline, free. And for the first time in years, Salim had a sense of something lifting off his shoulders. A dark weight.

He reached his arms around Nat and pulled her back against him. She fit him perfectly. Already he was hardening against her and he knew she felt it when her bottom moved against him.

‘I love it too,’ he heard himself saying. And he realised he did. The dawn had always seemed to him to hold the potential that perhaps the day ahead might not end in carnage and horror, and even if it did, the dawn never got tainted for him. As if some part of him refused to be dragged down completely.

Nat turned in his arms then and he saw her eyes flare when she realised he was naked. He caged her in, loving how she felt pressed against him, the way her head tipped back, those golden green eyes surveying him with such seriousness and yet with a hint of mischief and humour.

She bit her lip for a second and then she said huskily, ‘I don’t even know you. This is…’

Salim put a finger to her mouth, stopping her words. He took it away and looked at her and felt something break apart inside him.

‘I know,’ he just said, filled with a sudden incredible melancholy. Because she was right, even though she hadn’t said it, he knew what she would say…that this was crazy. They lived on opposite sides of the world. It was one night…they’d never see each other again.

As if reading his mind and absorbing that sadness, a small sob escaped Nat’s mouth and he saw a sheen in her eyes. When she stretched up to touch her mouth to his, a desperation infused their movements, desperate to reclaim what they’d just shared, desperate to make it last, even just a while longer.

* * *

When Salim woke again he knew the spell was broken. It was bright outside and he could hear the low constant hum of traffic. The bed beside him was empty. She was gone. Had she ever even existed or had he conjured her up out of a pathetic fantasy he’d never even realised he had? The desolation that ripped through him made him suck in a breath.

Salim sat on the edge of the bed and was about to walk to the shower when he spotted the small card on the bedside table.

He sat down again, heavily. Her card. She was real. Natalja Jordan. Dark blonde hair, huge golden eyes. A mouth made for sin and kissing and…when he thought of how she’d pressed kisses all over his body just a short time before…a mouth made for healing.

There was nothing written on it except her name and that she was a photographer and her website details. He turned it over and saw a mobile number written in pen on the back. His heart beat unsteadily. He imagined her then, getting on a plane, flying back to New York, getting submerged in her own world, forgetting about this night. About him.

Galvanised by something almost primal, Salim picked up the hotel phone and punched in the numbers. Almost angry now at the thought that she’d just left. After a second to connect, he heard a ring tone, and then he heard the distinct sound of a mobile phone ringing in the suite.

He put the phone down. The ringing stopped. Feeling dazed, and with his chest getting tight, Salim stood up and haphazardly pulled on his trousers, leaving them open.

He walked to the door of the bedroom and everything seemed to stop. Nat was standing there, hair tousled, in her gold dress. Bare feet. Holding her phone.

* * *

Nat took in Salim standing in the doorway. He looked shell-shocked. Her heart stuttered, shell-shocked because she was still here and he didn’t want her to be?

She found her voice. ‘I meant to leave. I was leaving…my flight…but then I got to the door, and I just…couldn’t.’

She shrugged her shoulder minutely feeling self-conscious. ‘I’ve missed my flight now. And I thought…I wondered if maybe you had some free time today, if you’d like to spend it with me?’

For a long moment Salim stood frozen like a statue and just when Nat was about to collapse under a wall of humiliation at her naivety, thinking a one-night stand was something more profound when she should know better, Salim broke out of his trance and came over to her.

His face was stark, eyes black. He put his hands on her shoulders and said faintly, ‘You’re still here.’

A very fragile unfurling of hope and joy made Nat’s voice shaky. ‘Yes, I’m still here.’

‘Last night wasn’t a dream.’

She shook her head. That treacherous joy taking root, spreading outwards. ‘No,’ she whispered. She put her hands on Salim’s waist. ‘It was real. As real as we are now.’

Something seemed to relax in Salim’s body as his hands moved to cup her face, fingers tangling in her hair, lifting her jaw up, angling her towards him.

He smiled and Nat’s heart split open.

‘I would like nothing more than to spend the whole day with you, Nat Jordan.’

Nat tried to hang onto some sense of reality. ‘But your meeting with your friend…Antonio.’

‘Not important. Not today.’

He pressed a kiss to her mouth and Nat drowned. When he pulled back she felt tears prick her eyes and furiously tried to blink them away. Her voice hoarse with repressed emotions she said, ‘But I live in New York…’ She huffed out a shaky laugh, ‘I don’t even know where you live?’

Salim looked serious as his thumbs rubbed back and forth across her cheeks. ‘Paris. But that’s just geography. Let’s start with today, because all I know is that right now I live here, with you, and I don’t want to be anywhere else.’

Nat wound her arms around his neck and pressed close again. She smiled up into those dark eyes which she could see now were flecked with tiny pieces of grey. Not totally black then.

‘Take me home, Salim.’

And he did.

* * * * *

Proposal in Room 309

Joss Wood

The Proposal in Room 309—Joss Wood

In this sparky novella by Modern Tempted™ author Joss Wood, sinfully sexy Ben gets down on one knee for an unexpected proposal to reluctant bride Joely. Will they learn the secret to a happy marriage at The Chatsfield?

Step behind the hotel room doors of The Chatsfield, London…

When Ben treats girlfriend Joely to a luxurious birthday night at The Chatsfield, he has more than celebration in mind. Joely may be antimarriage, but Ben is determined to show her they are destined for happy-ever-after! With every proposal attempt ending in disaster, Ben’s last hope is the stunning sapphire engagement ring burning a hole in his pocket.… But who would have thought that being walked in on by a stranger—while naked!—would be so good for a relationship?

Praise for Joss Wood:

‘Morgan’s struggles with a learning disorder and her fears that she “isn’t good enough,” along with Noah’s fear of allowing his emotions to take control of his life, add depth to this steamy, fast-paced story. Well-developed secondary characters are a bonus.’

—RT Book Reviews on FLIRTING WITH THE FORBIDDEN

‘Loved the chemistry between Rowan and Seb—Seb is adorable, and his angst runs deep.’

—Harlequinjunkie.com on THE LAST GUY SHE SHOULD CALL

‘I LOVED this book. The hero and heroine had an attraction I could absolutely feel. The secondary characters were just crackling with life. I believed everything that happened in this story would be real if the people existed, and that’s an amazing thing. When a book draws me in like this one, I hesitate to remove it from my tablet—just to remind myself to read it again later.’

—Harlequinjunkie.com on TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING?

‘Jack’s backstory is literally heart-wrenching. Watching Ellie and Jack dance around each other while trying to keep their lives the same was incredibly riveting. And seeing their growth really drew the whole story together. Amazing book. If you can keep it together in the last two chapters, I bow to you. Go read it… go on… go!’

—Harlequinjunkie.com on IF YOU CAN’T STAND THE HEAT

‘Wood’s tortured hero is believable and compelling, and the story takes readers on a passionate, emotional roller-coaster ride.’

—RT Book Reviews on IT WAS ONLY A KISS

‘Joss Wood has a writing style that is easy to read and will keep you glued to the pages… if you like reading sweet and sexy romance without going too much into all the naughty details, you’ll love this story.’

—Harlequinjunkie.com on IT WAS ONLY A KISS

Chapter One

‘Marriages are made in heaven’ had been the Master of Ceremonies’ opening remark at a mutual friend’s wedding eighteen months ago.

‘So are tornados, hurricanes and tropical storms.’

He’d turned at the sarcastic mutter behind him and looked into a pair of deep-as-midnight blue eyes and felt his heart bounce off his ribcage. Ka-doof!

‘Not a believer in the institution?’ he asked sotto voice as he stood with his back to the MC.

‘Hell, no,’ she’d scoffed. ‘You don’t need a certificate to be committed; you just need to be committed.’

He took a step back to stand next to the gorgeous sable-haired cynic.

‘Are you telling me that you can’t think of one reason to get married? Love?’

He kept his eyes on her face and watched her eyes narrow at his bland tone.

‘What’s love got to do with it? What can you do married that you can’t do living together? And then, to add insult to injury, when you marry you shove all your financial eggs into one basket and when you decide that you no longer want to be together, you have this turgid mess you have to pick through.’ Joely shook her head so hard that he thought she’d shake loose her sexy, messy pile of curls. ‘Madness. What’s that old saying…marriage is an institution and who wants to be in an institution?’

A lady of strong views, he’d thought. ‘My name is Ben Duncan.’

‘Joely Bennett.’

‘Can I get you a drink?’

Two shallow dimples flashed when she smiled. ‘Only if you promise not to propose.’

‘Well, not tonight.’

Eighteen months later and while much had changed between them, Joely’s anti-marriage views hadn’t. And that was why he’d chosen The Chatsfield to launch his campaign to change Joely’s mind. There was a reason it was voted one of the most romantic hotels in the world. The hotel, rich, luxurious, decadent, gave the subtle impression that anything was possible, that magic was hovering just around the corner.

Well, that was what the brochures and website said…Ben just wanted to get Joely out of their flat where she felt comfortable and settled, and hopefully she’d see happy honeymooners and settled families and wrinklies who’d been married for a hundred years.

He was also hoping that, since it was her birthday, she wouldn’t give him the silent treatment for raising ‘That Which Must Not Be Discussed’.

Joely had been hard to catch and, if he had to be honest, he still wasn’t sure whether she was really his. It had taken three weeks to persuade her to have dinner with him, another six to get her into bed and getting her to move in with him had required the finesse of a brain surgeon. Dr Joely Ann Bennett did not like change.

He believed in marriage, in the concept, in the promises that he wanted to make to her in front of their family and friends. And he didn’t fail; it wasn’t in his makeup, despite his genetics. When he started something he finished it, every single time. Unlike his father who flitted through life bouncing from one get rich quick scheme to another, expecting Ben to bail him out when it went pear shaped again. Like Joely’s parents, his father also had a tenuous grasp on the concept of commitment and fidelity.

Well, Ben and Joely were not their parents and they could do anything they wanted to…

And that was why, wildly optimistic sap that he was, he was here with a kick-ass ring in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

Of course, it could also mean that he was freakin’ nuts.

Ben jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers and looked around the lobby of the opulent hotel. Built and decorated in the ‘twenties at the beginning of the art deco period, it still retained the glamour and subdued sexiness of that era. The massive front reception desk had been hand-carved with geometric inlays of abalone shell and ivory and the couches and easy chairs, in bold jewel tone colours, were from the same period. Despite having a double-volume ceiling and a fountain with a brass statue of a naked sprite in the middle of the lobby, it still retained the feel of a rich country house…if the country house was Blenheim or Buckingham Palace.

Ben looked at his watch and cursed when he saw that Joely was fifteen minutes late. He was just reaching for his mobile when it rang and he knew it was her.

‘Honey, you’re late…again.’

‘Working on my birthday is contrary to all the rules of the universe but my day is over and it’s time to play!’ Joely replied and, despite her jovial tone, Ben could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

‘You ok?’ he asked, immediately concerned.

Joely sighed. ‘I really need that drink…and you.’

‘Bad day?’

‘Kind of…and really busy. Apart from being such a treat, having a drink at The Chatsfield is a nice bridge between the blood and gore of the patients from an RTA and my weekend off. Thanks for thinking of this, Ben, you spoil me.’

Only Joely, so undemanding, would think a drink was him spoiling her. He grinned, thinking of the flowers in the shockingly expensive suite upstairs, the rose petals on the bed, the champagne on ice. ‘Well, it is your birthday and tomorrow you can have the day off. Maybe, if you’re really good, you’ll get breakfast delivered to you.’

Which he wouldn’t have to make. Bonus.

‘That sounds like heaven; my only problem is that I’m not really dressed for The Chatsfield,’ Joely said.

Joely had the type of body that would look good draped in a Hessian sack and, for a doctor working in Accident and Emergency who spent most of her days in scrubs, the sense of style of a catwalk model. She always looked fantastic.

‘You’ll be fine.’

Besides he’d packed her a black dress, the sexiest underwear he could find and shoes—he hoped they were the right ones—for her to wear when they had dinner at the two-star Michelin restaurant on the second floor.

‘Well, I’m about three minutes away. Meet me in the lobby.’

‘Already here, babe,’ Ben answered on a grin before disconnecting the call. Standing by the huge fountain in the centre of the lobby, he turned as someone cleared his throat behind him. It was Harrison, the same concierge he’d spoken to when making all of the many, many arrangements it took to set this evening up. Ben, easily able to read people’s faces, immediately noticed that something was wrong.

He lifted his eyebrows.

To his credit, Harrison didn’t waffle and jumped right in. ‘Mr Duncan? The flowers and rose petals you ordered have been mistakenly delivered and set up in the wrong room, sir. My sincere apologies but in the confusion of making arrangements for a very picky celebrity and a demanding sheik and his entourage, my staff entered the incorrect room number and it was set up in room 390, not 309.’

Ok, easy to fix. ‘Can’t you just move it?’

Harrison shook his head. ‘Well, I would but the couple came back to the room unexpectedly and one half of the partnership believed his lover had organised it for him and the other begged me not to let the cat out of the bag.’ Harrison gestured to two well-dressed men walking through the lobby. There was a rose petal in the hair of the blonde.

‘Ah.’

‘While you are having dinner, we’ll dress the room again,’ Harrison said, wringing his hands. ‘Would that be in order?’

‘Sure.’ Ben shrugged.

‘Things like this don’t happen at The Chatsfield. Obviously, we’ll compensate you for our error and we’ll leave a thank gift in your room.’

Take a breath, Ben wanted to say, it’s flowers not a broken vial of the Ebola virus. Jo probably wouldn’t even notice; the woman could spot a potential melanoma at fifty paces but flowers? Not so much.

‘Thank you for your understanding,’ Harrison gushed before leaving.

Hell, in the scheme of things he had a lot more to worry about. Like whether he would ever be able to get his woman down an aisle. Or even talking about it…

He felt her hand on his shoulder and then caught her scent; something fresh and light that suited her vibrant personality. Ben turned and looked into those deep eyes surrounded by sooty lashes; traced the contours of her wide mouth, her high cheekbones. He knew he wanted to wake up to that face for the rest of his life…

He grabbed her and yanked her to him, sipping at her mouth while holding her head in place.

Let the campaign begin, he thought before he got lost in her kiss.

* * *

It didn’t matter how tired she was, how flat, being in Ben’s strong arms, feeling his masculine solidness always picked her up, Joely thought as she looped her arms around Ben’s neck and sank into his kiss. They’d been together for eighteen months, living together for six and she was still amazed that their relationship was as much fun as it was when they had just met, dizzy with the wonder of each other.

He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man and a part of her still couldn’t believe that she’d found him. Intelligent, yeah, you couldn’t be one of the country’s youngest venture capitalists without an overdose of smarts, and sexy with his ripped body and deep grey eyes. Having a lover with a hard body who had superior sack skills was a huge bonus.

But best of all, Ben was steady. Reliable. Thinking. While he wasn’t unemotional, far from it, he wasn’t volatile and she loved that about him. Unlike her crazy, hot-blooded, impulsive blood and step-parents and half and step siblings, there was no drama with Ben. He didn’t upset apple carts, throw his toys, make quick decisions without talking it over with her. He was rational and he didn’t make rash decisions.

She felt safe with him. Loved. Treasured.

‘Hey, Doc.’

‘Hey you. Want to buy a girl a margarita? Tequila makes me easy…’

Ben grinned. ‘I make you easy.’

‘This is true but buy me a drink anyway.’

‘Sure.’ Ben tugged her head back by gently pulling her ponytail and smiled down at her from his six-two height. ‘Happy birthday, Jo. What is it, your thirty-fifth?’

Joely mock glared at him as he placed a broad hand on her back and guided her to the bar off the lobby. ‘It’s my twenty-ninth, you twit, as you well know.’

Chapter Two

In the downstairs trendy, classy bar, Ben snagged a free bar stool and Joely wiggled her bum onto it as Ben ordered a margarita and a beer from the barman. The place was full of suited men and smart woman, coming into the bar for a Friday night drink. Just next to them sat a glossy couple who were looking everywhere but at each other.

‘Trouble brewing.’ Joely tipped her head towards them and Ben slid his gaze to the left.

‘Maybe they are both tired.’

‘She’s wound tighter than a spring and he would rather be having a root canal,’ Joely scoffed. She’d witnessed far too many failed relationships—her parents treated love like ping pong—and she’d become a master at spotting relationship trouble at an early age. You had to if you didn’t want to get caught in the emotional fallout that their marriages always ended in.

‘Ignore them,’ Ben said, picking up her drink and handing it to her. ‘Sip…’

Joely took the drink from him and tasted salt, the tang of citrus and the hit of tequila. Yeah, this was what angels would drink on their hen’ nights. Joely took another sip just to make sure that the first wasn’t a fluke and closed her eyes. Yeah, it was sooooo good. ‘My evening is starting off with an awesome margarita and, hopefully, will end in spectacular sex.’

‘Oh, I don’t know…’ Ben’s eyes always sparkled when he teased her, ’’ ’you’re getting ugly as you get older. I’m not really finding you that attractive these days.’

Because they had a very active and exciting sex life and she knew that he absolutely adored her, Joely just wrinkled her nose at him.

‘We’ve been married for six months and you’re cheating on me!’

And there it was, trouble. Big trouble. Joely pulled a face at Ben who, strangely, looked annoyed at the woman’s outburst.

‘I was drunk…’

‘That’s a stupid excuse!’

It really was, Joely agreed. Joely saw the flicker of disgust on Ben’s face and half-smiled. Ben, unfailingly honest, wouldn’t cheat on her—he’d dump her first. There was a certain level of comfort in that.

‘You spend too much money,’ the man countered. ‘I make it, you spend it.’

Ah, money. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was why she was so anal about being independent, about paying her way, paying rent, her share of the utilities, picking up the grocery bill. She never wanted Ben to think, for one moment, that she was with him for his money, of which he apparently had quite a bit.

‘I’ll contact the lawyers but you need to move out.’

‘You move out,’ the man countered. ‘I’m paying for the house.’

‘Get real.’

And the lawyers were the only winners here, they’d end up with a fatter bank account.

‘And another happy marriage bites the dust,’ Joely said, her voice low. When Ben didn’t respond she looked at him and frowned when she saw him running his finger around the collar of his shirt, his eyes on his glass of beer. ‘Ben?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re miles away.’

Ben flicked the still fighting couple a look that suggested that they had crawled out from under a rock. They were stupid not contagious and Joely wondered why they bothered him so much. She was pretty and he looked successful, like a million other couples in London. Ok, they were slightly touched to get married and he was a slug but why would that rile the normally easy-going Ben?

‘Let’s go,’ he suggested.

Joely looked at her half-full glass. ‘Not a chance. This margarita is heaven and we just got here. And we have free entertainment.’

‘Could’ve done without that,’ Ben muttered.

Joely sipped her margarita. ‘I want another one.’

Ben finally smiled. ‘Finish that one first, babe, and see how you feel. I have plans for you tonight and carrying you up to our room, rat-arsed, is not part of it.’

Joely lowered her glass in surprise. ‘We’re spending the night here?’

‘Yep.’

‘Why?’ Joely asked, genuinely confused. Why would they want to spend a night in a lavish hotel when Ben had a luxurious flat she’d moved into in January? What was the point of spending a fortune to sleep in another bed? She liked her bed…

Ben looked at her, puzzled. ‘I thought it would be romantic.’

Romance…geez. Ok, she wasn’t very good at all the gooey stuff that went with relationships and her job made her practical and no-nonsense. Ben was the same…in the first few months he’d done the flowers and chocolates thing but soon realised that him making them supper and giving her foot rubs got a more enthusiastic response from her. She and Ben just were… They didn’t need this superfluous stuff.

Besides, when her parents weren’t wanting to kill each other, they spoiled each other with over the top romantic gestures and it still left a sour taste in her mouth. Instead of wasting money on the weekends in Barcelona or Rome, on the seventy two red roses, the midnight picnics, they should’ve just spent that energy on loving each other…trying to stay together.

Your past has nothing to do with Ben, she told herself, forcing herself to smile. It’s a night in a nice hotel, Bennett, not a prison sentence.

She slipped her hand into Ben’s broad one and squeezed. ‘It sounds amazing, Ben.’

It didn’t, not really, but a little white lie could be forgiven since he’d gone to so much trouble to organise this for her birthday. ‘Luggage?’ she asked, still looking for an excuse.

‘Waiting for us at the front desk. Clothes for the morning, an outfit for tonight, your make-up bag and toiletries.’

God bless Ben’s organisational skills, she thought.

She lifted a naughty eyebrow. ‘Pyjamas?’

‘Jo…’ Ben drawled. ‘In the six months we’ve been living together, how many times have you slept in pyjamas?’

Ah, good point. ‘Never,’ she admitted. ‘Mostly because you take them off as soon as I get into bed.’

Ben’s eyes darkened with passion. ‘Exactly. So, we’re going to go up to our room, get naked, play around and then we’re going to have dinner and then we’re going to play around some more.’

Yeah, dinner and stunning sex. Brilliant birthday present!

* * *

Ben and Joely walked into the lift and when the lift doors closed behind them, Joely stood in front of Ben, her hand behind her, resting on his thigh. Ben wound his arm around her waist and nuzzled that sensitive spot just under her ear. The other couple in the lift, huddled into opposite corners of the lift and looking middle-aged and tired, glanced their way.

‘We used to be like them,’ the woman hissed at her husband and in the reflection of the metal panels Ben saw her pursing her lips.

‘Like what?’ the husband asked in an equally low but easily distinguishable tone.

Pursed Lips threw a malevolent glance at her husband. ‘You know…happy. Young, excited to be together…then we got married!’

Ben tipped his head back and swore silently. Seriously? Again? He thought the divorcing couple in the bar were a one off and he was now stuck in a lift with Mrs Unhappy and her Furious Spouse. Ok, universe, catch a clue. I want to ask her to get married, not reinforce her beliefs that marriage is very bad idea. Help me out here, ok? Happy married’s only please.

‘Can we not discuss this now?’ the man asked.

Good plan, Ben thought, hoping the wife would keep their marriage woes to herself. He saw her take a deep breath and knew that he was out of luck. Forgetting, or not caring, that Ben and Joely were in the lift with them, the volume of her voice lifted. ‘I cannot believe that you hauled me off to this stuffy hotel when you knew that I wanted to go to Vegas! Before we were married, you listened to me and paid attention to my needs!’

Ben wanted to send the man a sympathetic look but refrained. Guess you’re not getting lucky tonight, mate.

‘Twenty five years and it comes to this!’ The woman hissed the words and Ben saw Joely grimace.

This being a holiday in one of the greatest cities in the world, staying at one of the greatest hotels in the world. Not exactly a shabby proposition, Ben thought.

The lift stopped and the husband looked at his wife with blazing eyes and didn’t bother to keep his voice down. ‘Frankly, twenty five years is far too bloody long to put up with you and your miserable attitude.’

‘Wow,’ Joely said to Ben as the couple stomped out of the lift. ‘And I thought this hotel was supposed to be super-romantic, an oasis away from all of life’s troubles.’

Yeah, so did he. Dammit.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.