about it, all the same. She wanted to wrap her arms
around him and tell him how sorry she was and knew she couldn't because
he would totally misread the gesture.
"Just occasionally," he suggested brutally, "you might try reminding
yourself that you're the one who came looking for me. If you don't like
what you found, it's hardly my fault. Good night, Anne. Let me know if the
sheikh shows up."
Anne watched in frozen silence as he stalked through the room toward a
door he had tried earlier. The limp was very pronounced tonight and she
knew his leg must be hurting him. Too much sitting still in a car and on
the plane. But his broad shoulders were arrogantly straight, and there was
more than enough dangerous male temperament in Julian to keep Anne
very still until he had slammed the door shut behind him.
On the other side of the door Julian flipped on a wall switch and grimly
surveyed the bedroom that adjoined Anne's fantasy tent. At least this
room had been done in a more sensible style. He didn't much care for the
early Western film look but he was relieved that he wouldn't have to put
up with a bunch of filmy drapes over the bed. Feminine nonsense.
He might have been willing to tolerate the netting, of course, if it had
meant he could have shared a bed with Anne. He was willing to be
reasonable in some area. If she liked the drapes he would have put up with
them to please her.
He'd have put up with a lot if it meant coaxing her into bed with him.
Idly he fingered the still-stinging side of his jaw. Anne probably didn't
realize how close to the edge she'd walked when she gave in to that burst
of fury. It would have been very easy for him to have taken the angry
passion in her and translated it into another, more sensual kind. God, he
wanted her. His body was still taut with the heavy hunger.
Disgustedly he tossed his suitcase down on the bed and sat down to take
off his worn leather boots. His leg was hurting him. It had stiffened up
during the long day. Rummaging around in his case he discovered that
Anne had packed her bottle of aspirin in with his overnight things. He sat
staring at the little bottle, absorbing the implications of her
thoughtfulness. Then he unscrewed the lid. Gulping down two or three of
the white tablets he went in search of a glass of water.
The bathroom he found opening off his room was obviously meant to be
shared with the occupant of the sheikh's tent. Mirrors lined every wall and
the ceiling. Three steps led up to the huge oval red enamel tub. The rest of
the fixtures were also in red, and the faucets were in a heavily scrolled
brass. Huge bath sheets designed in a vaguely Oriental motif hung from
the towel racks and a thick white carpet cushioned his bare feet.
Anne was going to love it, Julian decided in gathering irritation. He
found a glass, filled it with water and downed the aspirin. On the other
side of the wall he could hear Anne moving about in the sheikh's bedroom.
Wait until she found out he would be sharing the bathroom with her.
Maybe he'd time it so that he "accidentally" walked in on her when she
was in the bath. Serve her right. Besides, he'd enjoy seeing her covered in
nothing but soap bubbles.
Julian's annoyance grew as he undressed and fell into the rough-hewn
bed. After reaching out to turn off the bedside lamp, he folded his arms
behind his head and considered his relationship with the woman in the
room next door.
She had a lot of audacity to think that she could just walk into his life
and turn it upside down. The way she was leading him around—as if he
were a bull with a ring in his nose—made him want to shake her. Who did
she think she was, he wondered violently.
She'd had no right to turn up at the cabin the way she did. No right to
see him when he was in the grip of that blasted fever. He couldn't figure
out why she hadn't fled in disgust as soon as the roads were cleared.
Whatever attraction he'd held for her must
around him and tell him how sorry she was and knew she couldn't because
he would totally misread the gesture.
"Just occasionally," he suggested brutally, "you might try reminding
yourself that you're the one who came looking for me. If you don't like
what you found, it's hardly my fault. Good night, Anne. Let me know if the
sheikh shows up."
Anne watched in frozen silence as he stalked through the room toward a
door he had tried earlier. The limp was very pronounced tonight and she
knew his leg must be hurting him. Too much sitting still in a car and on
the plane. But his broad shoulders were arrogantly straight, and there was
more than enough dangerous male temperament in Julian to keep Anne
very still until he had slammed the door shut behind him.
On the other side of the door Julian flipped on a wall switch and grimly
surveyed the bedroom that adjoined Anne's fantasy tent. At least this
room had been done in a more sensible style. He didn't much care for the
early Western film look but he was relieved that he wouldn't have to put
up with a bunch of filmy drapes over the bed. Feminine nonsense.
He might have been willing to tolerate the netting, of course, if it had
meant he could have shared a bed with Anne. He was willing to be
reasonable in some area. If she liked the drapes he would have put up with
them to please her.
He'd have put up with a lot if it meant coaxing her into bed with him.
Idly he fingered the still-stinging side of his jaw. Anne probably didn't
realize how close to the edge she'd walked when she gave in to that burst
of fury. It would have been very easy for him to have taken the angry
passion in her and translated it into another, more sensual kind. God, he
wanted her. His body was still taut with the heavy hunger.
Disgustedly he tossed his suitcase down on the bed and sat down to take
off his worn leather boots. His leg was hurting him. It had stiffened up
during the long day. Rummaging around in his case he discovered that
Anne had packed her bottle of aspirin in with his overnight things. He sat
staring at the little bottle, absorbing the implications of her
thoughtfulness. Then he unscrewed the lid. Gulping down two or three of
the white tablets he went in search of a glass of water.
The bathroom he found opening off his room was obviously meant to be
shared with the occupant of the sheikh's tent. Mirrors lined every wall and
the ceiling. Three steps led up to the huge oval red enamel tub. The rest of
the fixtures were also in red, and the faucets were in a heavily scrolled
brass. Huge bath sheets designed in a vaguely Oriental motif hung from
the towel racks and a thick white carpet cushioned his bare feet.
Anne was going to love it, Julian decided in gathering irritation. He
found a glass, filled it with water and downed the aspirin. On the other
side of the wall he could hear Anne moving about in the sheikh's bedroom.
Wait until she found out he would be sharing the bathroom with her.
Maybe he'd time it so that he "accidentally" walked in on her when she
was in the bath. Serve her right. Besides, he'd enjoy seeing her covered in
nothing but soap bubbles.
Julian's annoyance grew as he undressed and fell into the rough-hewn
bed. After reaching out to turn off the bedside lamp, he folded his arms
behind his head and considered his relationship with the woman in the
room next door.
She had a lot of audacity to think that she could just walk into his life
and turn it upside down. The way she was leading him around—as if he
were a bull with a ring in his nose—made him want to shake her. Who did
she think she was, he wondered violently.
She'd had no right to turn up at the cabin the way she did. No right to
see him when he was in the grip of that blasted fever. He couldn't figure
out why she hadn't fled in disgust as soon as the roads were cleared.
Whatever attraction he'd held for her must
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