A wall of sensation hit Idriss.
Every cell in his body cried out for her, as if the past two decades had evaporated, compressed in one incandescent moment of lust. His lips explored hers, caressing every contour. His tongue touched the edge of her mouth, licked, slipped inside. She tasted even better than he'd imagined. He circled her neck with his hand, pulled her to him. The world beyond the painted screens, the world that wasn't her, vanished.
Until she lay both hands on his chest and shoved him off.
"I've got to go," she said, and scurried away from him, back to the safety of the fake Roman forum.
Idriss almost punched the table in frustration. Women never pushed him away. Women never ran from him. He stalked out of the beauty space, but a volley of flashbulbs stopped him dead in his tracks before he could reach Georgina. The press had arrived, his distinguished guests were streaming through the doors. Georgina threw him one troubled glance, and busied herself welcoming the arrivals.
He'd lost her. The knowledge he wouldn't get anywhere near her, not for the next four hours, burnt a hole in his gut.
"Quelle belle femme," said a familiar, posh voice next to him.
Idriss wheeled round. The French Culture Minister held out his hand.
"So nice to see you again, Monsieur Al-Makudi. I can see this is going to be a splendid party."
He was looking Georgina up and down as he spoke, his distinguished face lit up with appreciation. Idriss swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat.
"I am delighted you were able to come and support my new museum, Monsieur de la Riviere," he lied.
The minister inclined his head, but his eyes remained glued to Georgina, who was working the room like the pro she was. He winked.
"Congratulations. You are a lucky man."
His words hit Idriss like a punch to the gut. Had the Frenchman seen them kiss? Or was he making his assumption because of the way Idriss had run after Georgina, the way he was looking at her? Zarba, had he been that obvious?
"You are mistaken, Monsieur," he said. "Georgina Beaufort is a party planner. I hired her to organise this event."
The minister raised an eyebrow.
"So you are not an item?"
His obvious delight unleashed a surge of anger in Idriss's chest. De la Riviere didn't appear to notice, too busy gazing at Georgina's golden hair, bright as a flag among the crowd.
"One of our greatest writers said that English women are either plain or stunning. I don't need to say which category your planner falls into. I have a few parties of my own to organise, in Paris. I'm sure she would do an excellent job."
Idriss shook off the unwelcome image of Georgina squired around the City of Lights by the silver-haired fox. The sooner he could conclude the evening's business, the sooner he could take her out of here. He nodded, from one man of the world to another.
"Parties are not my area. Antiquities are."
The Frenchman put down his champagne flute on a passing tray.
"Let's talk work, then. Tell me more about this new museum you are creating."
Idriss switched to business mode with relief. But all the time he talked and shook hands, his awareness of Georgina grew. His body seemed to always know where she was; he could sense every one of her movements, even from the other end of the room. Her perfume lingered in the beauty corner, which was proving a hit with the female guests, and a few males as well. Her laughter popped above the hubbub of voices. Her silhouette stood out in the sea of cocktail frocks and tuxedos, drawing his eye wherever he went.
The hours ticked by, and felt like centuries. At last, he managed to extricate himself from his guests and moved towards the blonde woman in the black dress who magnetised his entire being. Her work at Lobiera was coming to an end. But he had unfinished business with her.
"Splendid party, mon cher!"
The director of the Louvre museum was blocking his path, waving a canapé in his face.
"I love those little marzipan dormice. Nice touch!"
Idriss felt himself split in two. The rational part of him welcomed this golden opportunity to discuss whether France's number one museum would consider lending some of its exhibits to the new venture. And the other part screamed in silent frustration, every nerve tensed in the direction of Georgina. The rational department reminded him that he'd never let a woman distract him from business, or his mission, before. He made himself turn his back on her.
By the time he'd finished his conversation, Georgina had vanished.
His stomach flipped. This time he didn't stop to wonder why. His head only had room for one thought: find her. Fast.
Then he heard her rich, throaty laugh. His body turned towards the sexy sound of its own accord. What he saw froze his blood. Georgina was leaning against one of the tall windows, half-shielded by the heavy velvet curtain. And, standing close – far too close – to her, bending his elegant head, the French Culture minister was murmuring – what? An amusing anecdote, a compliment, an invitation to Paris, or worse? She looked up into her admirer's eyes, and a hundred invisible daggers stabbed Idriss through the heart. A primal instinct took over and bore him towards the pair.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your tete-a-tete."
He could barely hear his own words through the blood pounding in his ears. He laid a hand on Georgina's bare shoulder. Staking his claim. She turned her eyes on him, with an expression he couldn't decipher. Then her red lips arranged themselves in a coquettish moue.
"You will have to excuse me," she said to Monsieur de la Riviere, with a fluttering of eyelashes. "My client is so possessive."
The Frenchman bowed. He looked amused. Idriss's fingers itched to grab the man by the lapels of his made-to-measure suit and shake the smirk out of his lecherous face.
"And so he should be!" said Monsieur de la Riviere. "I too would keep you close, my dear."
He turned to Idriss.
"I look forward to visiting your museum very soon, Monsieur Al-Makudi."
The sensible part of Idriss's mind at last made itself heard through the chaos raging inside his head. He thanked the minister, in a calm, collected voice, shook his hand, promised to be in touch. And then he led Georgina through the throng, towards the back of the hall.
Where was he going? He didn't know. He only knew that if another man as much as looked at her, he would no longer be responsible for his actions. So he pushed the first door he saw and found himself in a little salon, the one with just enough room for a green sofa and a gilded table.
Georgina wrenched herself from his grasp.
"What do you think you're doing?"
He wished he knew. The door closing behind them had sent his rational brain packing. He stared at her, powerless to resist the torrent of emotion that engulfed him. Her chest rose and fell in a staccato rhythm. Her voice shook with an irritation she made no effort to suppress.
"I'm not your servant, Sheikh al-Makudi."
The "Sheikh" cracked like a whip in the silent, perfumed space. He didn't reply. She glowed like a jewel in the dim little room, and he drank her in, the bright fire of her hair, her parted lips, her maddening curves under the wispy silk. Her hands opened and closed at her sides, as if she didn't know whether to punch or slap him.
Right now, he didn't care. He took one step towards her. Her eyes widened, two windows into a dark and stormy sea.
"You don't own me, Idriss."
He saw the wariness in her face, and did something he rarely did.
He stepped back.
He had already acted like a caveman more than once since she had blown into his life like a mistral wind. Whatever strange spell she wove over him, he would not give in to his instincts. He would have control even if it killed him.
So he reined in the crazy tigers of his jealousy, and placed his hands behind his back so she wouldn't notice they were convulsing into fists.
"What did the Minister want with you?"
The spark of defiance in her eyes turned into a blaze.
"I could answer it's none of your business. But as you are still my client," she checked the ornate clock on the wall, "for another hour, I will answer you. Monsieur de la Riviere wants me to organise a party for him in Paris. This could launch my business in France. I can't afford to jeopardize that."
Her obvious anguish forced him to pause, if only for a few seconds.
"Does your career mean that much to you?"
And why did he care? Maybe they were more alike than he'd thought. He too had never let anything or anyone stand in the way of what he wanted. He too would have dropped any conquest if she'd interfered with a business deal.
But not this conquest. Not tonight. Not now he'd had a taste of her, however fleeting.
Georgina lifted her chin.
"My career means more than you can imagine. And I can't risk it for the sake of... a short-lived affair."
The old-fashioned expression brought a smile to his lips.
"Why do you think a fling would damage your career? I could help you. Your business would grow stronger with my support. And we could have fun into the bargain."
He took one step towards her. Heat exploded into her cheeks, echoing the fire in his groin.
"So much fun, Georgina."
He'd never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her now. But he wouldn't touch her. Not until she came to him, of her own free will. Not until she surrendered completely.
She gulped down some air.
"I can't, Idriss. I don't want the Minister, or any other business contacts, to think I'm the kind of woman who sleeps with her clients. It's just... unprofessional."
There was more to it than that, but he didn't press her. He was close enough to smell the perfume he'd created for her. He only had to raise his hand a little to touch those amazing breasts, so thinly veiled with silk... He summoned all his willpower to rein in the storm she'd raised in his blood.
"So you will deprive yourself of what you want, what you need, just to protect your reputation? You will deny this chemistry we have?"
She crossed her arms, dropped her dark eyelashes over her eyes, so he could no longer read anything in them.
"Yes. If there's one thing I learnt at school, it's that chemistry only results in explosions. And I'd like to keep my life in one piece."
But the vein at the base of her throat betrayed her. It beat, erratic and persistent, against her flushed skin, echoing a deeper, darker pulse. He inclined his head towards hers, breathing her in. His knee brushed hers, and a sharp shiver ran through them both.
"One day, you will come to me, Georgina," he murmured, into the golden hair. "One day, you will beg me to touch you."
She gasped and lashed out, her small hand connecting with his chest with about as much impact as a butterfly hitting a rock.
"I will never beg, Idriss. Never!"
He placed one hand on the wall above her head, hemming her in. Zarba, he'd never enjoyed himself that much. And this was only the beginning.
"We will see," he said.
She shoved past him, and he let her. She wouldn't just leave. She wouldn't resist the temptation of delivering a parting shot.
She didn't disappoint him.
"You're the most conceited man I've ever met, Idriss," she said, her fingers closing over the door handle. "You think I'm going to stay here in your little lair, so you can play with me and then throw me away when a shinier toy comes around. But in less than an hour I'll be free of you. I'll be on a plane, on my way back to London."
Idriss nodded.
"You can be. Alternatively, you could stay and listen to my new business proposal."
Her pupils dilated, betraying her interest. So she wasn't as keen to leave as she wanted him to believe.
"Did I mention those new luxury hotels I'm developing in Messaira?" he asked, and grinned as her hand dropped to her side. He had her full attention now.
"I want to throw a fantastic launch party," he continued, leaning against the wall as if the outcome of the conversation didn't matter at all. When it did. Too much. But he'd deal with that later.
"I have a team of event planners lined up, but you've achieved more in two days than they did in three months. I'd like you to come with me to Messaira and shake them up."
Georgina was chewing her lip, frowning.
"How long will it take?"
Idriss dug his hands in his pockets.
"The launch is in four weeks' time."
He wanted her to say yes, badly, and he didn't like to admit it, even to himself. He didn't want to remember how much he'd longed to see Georgina again, before the years had passed and he decided he never would. Deep down, he'd always hoped that the Honourable Lady Beaufort would make the first move, and get in touch with him. She had, but for the wrong reasons. But if she accepted his proposal, she would be his reward for all the hard work he'd put in since he'd left his childhood behind, the years of striving to build a fortune and reclaim his title.
Besides it would keep her away from any French seducers' clutches, until the fire had burnt itself out. Away from Lobiera and its memories, away from any would be competitors, surely the strange fascination she held for him would abate. They'd have a fling, satisfy their lust for each other, go their separate ways. And his life would return to normality.
Georgina's smile threatened to reignite the flames he was trying to douse.
"I would love to see Messaira," she said. "But I want everything to remain above board. Professional."
As if. But Idriss lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug anyway.
"If that's the way you want it. You don't have to stay too long if you don't want to. You can just put the team on the right track, and fly off again."
Georgina pondered this. Her eyes sparked with... Greed? Enthusiasm?
"How much will you pay me?" she asked.
His heart twisted a little, as if the stupid organ had hoped that she'd say something different. If she'd become that mercenary, so be it. It would make things easier, later on. He named a figure which made her eyes widen.
"I'll do it," she said.