In Bed With a Stranger (5 page)

‘Time to find the hotel, I think,’ he said grimly, turning and heading away from the little clapping, whooping crowd.

The music got fainter, swallowed up by the sounds of the market. Stretching up, Sophie pressed her lips to the column of his throat, where a pulse was beating with the same insistence as the fading drum.

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

The car was cool and quiet after the sultry, throbbing air outside. They carefully didn’t touch, sitting at opposite ends of the wide seat, knowing that any physical contact would be dangerous—like putting a lighted match into a box of fireworks.

Looking at each other was bad enough. But Sophie couldn’t take her eyes off him. The ten minutes it took to get to the hotel seemed like a lot longer.

The car slid to a halt in front of an unassuming building—little more than a huge, arched wooden door, flanked by lemon trees, set into a wall. The driver got out and walked round to open the passenger doors.

‘Leave this to me,’ Kit growled.

Sophie was about to ask what he was talking about, but he’d already got out of the car and come quickly round to her side. Leaning in and sliding one arm around her shoulders, the other beneath her knees, he pulled her against his chest again.

‘Kit, I can—’

‘Shh.’

His face was set and there was a muscle flickering in his jaw. Sophie let herself go pliant in his arms, but had to clamp her teeth together to stop herself from moaning out loud as
he carried her towards an imposing and ancient-looking set of wooden doors. She could feel his erection pressing against her hip.

‘Are you by any chance using me as a human shield?’ she murmured.

His lips twitched into a momentary smile, but then it was gone and his face resumed its deadpan expression as the driver who had brought them opened one of the giant-sized wooden doors.

Sophie had to admire Kit’s cool. Aside from keeping her rampaging desire in check she also had to try to stop her jaw from dropping at the sheer magnificence of her surroundings. The door had opened into a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by cloisters of pure white stone that, in the blue dimness, looked like sugar-icing. A rectangular pool stretched the length of the courtyard, and beyond it light spilled through another arched doorway, spreading golden ripples onto the water. Candles in glass lanterns were placed at intervals along it, their flames dipping as Kit passed, as if they were bowing.

The contrast with the vibrant chaos of the night market couldn’t have been greater.

A woman of quite extraordinary beauty appeared in the doorway.

‘Welcome to Dar Roumana.’

Her long black hair was fastened back from her olive-skinned, heart-shaped face and she was dressed in some kind of simple white linen shift. Gosh, thought Sophie weakly. The whole thing really had taken on the aspect of an Arabian Nights–type fantasy. She wouldn’t have been surprised if a genie had swept down on a flying carpet.

‘It’s Kit Fitzroy. I have a reservation, but my wife is feeling faint. If you could show us to our room I’ll check in properly later.’

‘Of course.’

Sophie bit her lip to stop herself smirking. Faint with lust,
possibly. They followed her into the lamplit room, where she took down a large silver key from a row of hooks on the wall behind a desk, then up a curving staircase and into a high stone corridor that overlooked the courtyard below. Tiny candles in glass votives were placed along the tiled floor, throwing their flickering shadows onto the walls as they went.

How could shadows look so erotic?

‘Here is your room.’

Turning the key, the dark-haired woman opened the door and stood back respectfully. ‘My name is Malika. If there is anything I can do for you …’

‘That’s very kind,’ Kit said curtly, ‘but there’s nothing for now.’

‘Some mint tea, for your wife, if she is ill …?’

‘Oh … th-thanks, but I’ll be fine,’ Sophie squeaked. ‘I just need to lie down.’

Malika retreated, closing the door silently.

The second she’d gone Kit gave a low, animal-sounding moan and Sophie wriggled free from his arms, sliding to the floor as their mouths met and their bodies collided, limbs tangling as they struggled to free each other of their clothes.

‘Just need … to … lie down,’ Sophie gasped when their open mouths parted long enough for Kit to pull her top over her head. Wildly she looked around, too dazed with the immediacy of her need to be naked and horizontal to take in the spectacular suite.

‘Through here,’ Kit growled, heading towards a set of double doors inlaid with silver, through which it was just possible to see a low bed, made up in white linen and piled high with cushions. However, they’d only got halfway when she took off her bra and he had to pull her into his arms and kiss her again, splaying his hands over her warm bare back before dipping his head and tracing the tip of his tongue around one rosy nipple.

The sound she made was almost one of pain. He felt her
body stiffen and arch beneath his hands and took her into his mouth as her fingers slid into his hair, twisting, pulling.

It had only been a matter of hours since they’d made love in bed at home, but his need to have her again was as sharp and all-consuming as if he’d been starved of sex for a year. Being in such close proximity to her on the plane, putting food in her mouth in the marketplace and seeing the sensual absorption with which she’d tasted it had cranked his desire up to an uncomfortable level. Watching her dance had tipped him over the edge of uncomfortable and into full-on pain.

A series of shudders rocked her and she cried out, wrenching herself away and hauling him up so she could reach the fastening of his trousers. Her hands were shaking and when one accidentally brushed against his erection he almost came.

‘I have a feeling …’ she breathed raggedly, taking hold of his pulsing length ‘… that this is going to be
quick
.’

‘What gave you that idea?’ he rasped through gritted teeth, yanking her trousers open so that buttons bounced over the tiled floor.

‘Not sure …’

There was the sound of ripping fabric as she struggled to free herself of the thin linen trousers. A second later there was another as he didn’t bother to struggle to free her of her knickers.

Both naked, they gazed at each other for a second, their breathing loud and rapid. And then he was taking hold of her shoulders, fastening his mouth to hers, hitching her up against him as he carried her to the low bed.

They fell on it together. With the same kind of sensual flick of her hips he had seen her do when she was dancing she moved so she was astride him.

The room had a single huge window, covered with a kind of wooden fretwork shutter that cast intricate shadows over her naked body. Eyes half closed, she gazed down at him, her face haughty and abstracted as she raised herself up onto her
knees and took him inside her. Kit bit back a cry, clenching his teeth with the effort of not letting go.

‘Don’t fight it,’ she breathed, moving her hips. ‘Don’t hold back—I want you—’

He took her waist in his hands, holding her as she rode him, not taking his eyes off her face. Then he let one hand slip down to the place where their bodies joined.

He only had to brush her clitoris with his thumb to precipitate the orgasm that had been building with each hard, neat flick of her hips. And as her mouth opened and her eyes closed in ecstasy he felt a moment of pure, clear joy and finally gave in to his own wild climax.

She sank down on top of him, their skin sticky with sweat, their hearts thudding against each other. And for the first time in a long time Kit slipped easily into sleep, completely at peace.

CHAPTER FIVE

T
HE
call to prayer echoed out from minarets across the city; a thin wail, crescendoing to a discordant chorus that floated through the limpid dawn.

Kit’s eyes flew open, his body catapulting into a sitting position.

For a moment he didn’t move. His heart was pounding, his skin covered with an icy sweat. The bedroom was bathed in the melting Turkish-delight pink of a perfect dawn, and beside him Sophie slept on. Half draped in a white linen sheet, she looked like a voluptuous goddess from some rococo-painted ceiling, and for a moment his panic ebbed as he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

Marrakech, he reminded himself. He was in
Marrakech
. Off duty.

He exhaled heavily, easing himself back onto the pillows. The pins-and-needles sensation in his hands was back again. The call to prayer continued, a plaintive refrain that took Kit back and made him remember all the things that last night had made him so comprehensively forget.

God.

His heart lurched and instantly he was out of bed, looking round for his phone. He had
wanted
to forget the heat and the sweat and the constant, low-key adrenaline. He had wanted to forget walking along that road to the bridge where the bomb
was half concealed in a tangle of scrubby weeds and rubbish. But Lewis …

What right did he have to forget about him?

‘Kit?’ From the bed Sophie’s voice was as warm and thick as honey. He tensed against it.

‘It’s OK. Go back to sleep.’ He found his phone from the pocket of his kicked-aside jeans and headed for the door to the terrace. ‘I need to make a phone call, then I’ll order breakfast.’

Sophie turned over onto her stomach, burying her face into pillows that were still warm and breathing in the scent of him. Him and sex. It was a delicious and intoxicating combination. Happiness seeped through her, a gentler echo of the wild bliss she’d felt last night, and the day stretched out ahead, ripe with promised pleasure. Beyond the walls of the hotel she could almost sense the city that had already so enthralled her waking up, drawing her out.

It would have to wait, she thought drowsily. Breakfast first, and then she had plans for Kit in the Olympic-swimming-pool-sized marble bath …

She drew her knees up to her chest, hugging her stomach. Last night had been the most rapturous sex of her life and she couldn’t help wondering whether the joy she’d felt was simply from the earth-shattering orgasm Kit had given her, or something even more magical …

Talking to him about her childhood on the plane yesterday, she had finally understood just how much she had wanted the normal, settled family life that other people took for granted. She couldn’t turn the clock back, but she felt now as if she’d been given another chance. A new start, to create a secure family unit of her own. With Kit, in a beautiful sunny house somewhere, that they would fill with treasures from their travels, and children. Lots of children …

At that moment anything seemed possible, and as she drifted back into sleep she was smiling.

The sun was high overhead in a sky as hard and polished and blue as the little inlaid tiles that decorated the walls of the buildings and little cafés that lined the dusty streets.

The densely packed stalls of last night had been cleared away from the city’s main square, but the wide expanse was still filled with performers, medicine men, acrobats and orange juice sellers. Kit was aware of Sophie taking everything in with wide-eyed delight. She was wearing a narrow, ankle-skimming dress in white muslin, and with her hair tied in a loose knot at the back of her head and brass bangles jangling on her wrist she looked completely at home.

‘It reminds me of the music festivals I used to go to with Rainbow when I was a child,’ she said, lacing her fingers through his. ‘Oh, look—there’s even a tarot reader! Rainbow would have been all over that.’

Kit said nothing. It reminded him of the place he’d just left. The place where Lewis’s blood had glistened blackly as it soaked into the sand. There had been no change, the nurse had told him over the phone earlier. They were keeping Lewis sedated to give his body the best chance of healing, so it was impossible to tell what the long-term damage was yet. They’d have a better idea tomorrow.

Kit pushed sweat-damp hair back from his forehead with a hand that was completely numb, but steady. It was only inside that he was shaking.

He had woken from one nightmare and walked straight into another, and there was no escaping this one. It was the heat, the punishing sun, the dark eyes looking at him from beneath headscarves and veils. It was the man hauling a fresh sheep’s carcass on his shoulder, the scent of blood filling the narrow alley as he passed. It was the groups of men standing in doorways, watching.

Watching.
For a moment he thought he could hear that voice in his earpiece again.

Sophie slowed in front of a snake charmer playing a whiny-soundinginstrument to a resolutely impassive cobra. Seeing her looking at him, the snake charmer nudged the basket with his foot. With visible reluctance the snake roused itself, desultorily swaying for a few bars before subsiding again. Sophie gave a shout of laughter.

‘Oh, poor snake! She’s about as enthusiastic as a bored nightclub hostess performing for a crowd of ageing businessmen.’

Kit smiled, pressing the palm of his hand onto the middle of her back.

‘You’re burning.’

‘I can’t be. You applied the cream very thoroughly …’ She looked up at him with eyes that glittered with mischief.

‘Twice, in fact.’ The first time it had got rubbed off all over the sheets when, hopelessly aroused, they’d fallen back onto the bed.

‘And how is it fair that I’m burning in factor fifty when you don’t even have cream on?’ she asked huskily.

He wound a tendril of flame-coloured hair that had escaped from the knot around his finger.

‘You’re more sensitive than I am. Come on.’ He pulled her forwards, away from the snake charmer with his steady black stare. ‘Let’s get out of the sun. Preferably by going back to the hotel.’

Sophie laughed, quickening her pace to keep up with him. ‘No way,’ she said firmly. ‘I want to see more. I love it here.’

She steered him into one of the souk’s dim alleyways, out of the blowtorch heat of the sun. Adrenaline stung through Kit’s veins as his gaze automatically scanned the street.

‘Oh, look—’

Sophie’s voice reached him as if from a long distance. He turned his head automatically to see what she was pointing out to him, but was aware only of shadowed doorways where a sniper could hide, flat roofs that would provide the perfect position for a gunman to take aim.

‘These are beautiful …’

She had gone over to a stall that was hung with silk clothing and was running her fingers down an olive-green scarf threaded with gold, lifting one corner so that a shaft of sunlight shone through the gossamer fabric. Kit gritted his teeth and rubbed a hand over his eyes, forcing back the blackness.

What the hell was wrong with him? It was pathetic. He had to get a grip.

‘Put it on.’

His voice was hoarse, his fingers fizzing as he took down the scarf and laid it over her hair. Winding it gently around her neck in the Eastern way, he focused on the shape of her lips and the scent of her skin to stop his mind from wandering back along those dark and twisting pathways. She was here and she was real, and with the scarf around her head she looked oddly demure and very beautiful. Desire kneed him in the groin and a wave of relief and passionate gratitude swept through him. He took her face in his hands and fastened his mouth on hers.

Kissing her anchored him. His hands, now they were holding her, felt normal again and the darkness in his head was benevolent once more, filled with images from last night, of her body, tattooed by shadows as she kneeled astride him. As always, her desire rose to meet his and he felt her move towards him so that her breasts were brushing his chest.

With a muffled curse he pulled away.

‘Don’t stop,’ she murmured, her eyes still closed and her face tipped up to his.

‘If I don’t I’ll be taking that dress off right here and making love to you on a pile of silk cushions,’ he said gruffly, ‘and they’re pretty strict about that here.’

She looked down, biting her lip.

Gently he unwound the scarf and picked up a tunic in the same colour. The shopkeeper had emerged from the back of his cave-like stall and was looking at them expectantly. His
face was seamed with age, his dark stare gimlet-sharp but friendly enough. There was no trace of the suspicion and mistrust Kit saw in people’s eyes when he was in uniform. So why was his heart beating faster, his fingers buzzing and nerveless?

He suddenly felt inexpressibly weary. This morning he had been eaten up with guilt for putting it all behind him and forgetting. Now he knew that if he didn’t, the remembering would drive him mad.

If he wasn’t there already.

He handed the money over without bothering to haggle and went back to Sophie, draping the scarf around her shoulders.

‘Now, Salome,’ he said dryly, ‘if I tell you that the hotel has a highly recommended hammam, can I tempt you to come back with me?’

Lying on her tummy in the dense, smoky heat of the Dar Roumana’s hammam, Sophie closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind, focusing on nothing but the sensation of warm oiled hands moving across her back.

The trouble was her mind didn’t want to be empty. It was too full of Kit, and if she let her guard down the hands of the masseuse would reawaken the rapture in which he had drenched her. When they’d got back from the souk, hot and dusty, he had stripped her off and carried her into the enormous walk-in rainshower. Turning the setting to ‘mist’, they had lain on the limestone tiles and wordlessly drunk each other in.

But he hadn’t
talked
to her, hissed a nasty little voice in her head. From the moment they’d woken up this morning she’d sensed a kind of tension in him, which had become increasingly obvious in the souk earlier. When she tried to ask what was bothering him he brushed her off, so she still had no idea what demons crouched at his back or what had put them there.

She was so lost in thought that it was a moment before she realised that the masseuse had stopped rubbing her back. Sophie opened her eyes. Gracefully the girl unfurled a towel and held it out to her.

‘Time for wash now.’

‘Wash?’ Thinking of the shower, Sophie was about to say that wouldn’t be necessary.

‘Is Moroccan hammam speciality. This way.’

Hastily doing up the clasp of her bikini top, Sophie followed her into a hexagonal room whose pale marble walls dripped with moisture. A huge marble slab stood, altar-like, in the centre of the space. Climbing onto it, Sophie felt like an offering.

The heat was intense. Rivulets of sweat dripped down her back. The girl scooped a bowl of water out of a wooden bucket and tipped it over her shoulders. Sophie tucked her knees up and rested her chin on them, submitting to her ministrations like an obedient child.

She had thought that getting away from London would make it easier. Perhaps he just needed time, she thought wistfully, allowing the masseuse to take hold of her arm and soap it from wrist to shoulder. Sophie had spent enough time on film sets to understand the bond created when people were thrown together in an intense environment. She knew the feeling of disorientation when returning to real life in the outside world, when for a while it felt impossible to connect with anyone who wasn’t there.

For Kit, returning from a war zone rather than a film set, that feeling must be intensified a thousandfold. She knew how concerned he was about the boy who was hurt. Surely he would talk to her when he was ready?

Having soaped her upper body all over, the masseuse took up an innocuous-looking sponge. Sophie stiffened and gave a little cry of surprise and pain as the girl began to rub her
shoulders with it and she realised it was made of something scratchy. Sandpaper perhaps. Or steel wool.

She bit her lip. It hurt, but at the same time it felt good. Like loving Kit.

Defiantly she gritted her teeth against the pain.

He loved her too—every touch, every kiss told her that. Words were unnecessary. Didn’t their bodies say it all?

Kit reached the end of the long swimming pool and surfaced for air before twisting beneath the water to begin another length.

In that brief second he got a glimpse of the faded sky and realised that he’d been in the water for a long time. Initially he had focused all his energy on not thinking—on forgetting about Lewis and what had happened in the medina that morning—and instead thought of nothing beyond blankly counting the number of lengths. After a while even that blurred into meaninglessness and he just swam.

And that was what you had to do, he told himself wearily, ploughing through the water. You just had to keep going, keep shutting it out and eventually it would go away. An image of Lewis’s girlfriend hung in the greenish water in front of his eyes for a second before he pushed it away with a stroke of his arm.

He couldn’t spill it all out to Sophie. She was so sweet and sure and easy-going; there was no way he was going to inflict on her the dark thoughts that kept him awake at nights and had now begun to seep into his waking hours too. He’d sort it out alone, in his own way.

Reaching the other end of the pool, he broke the surface of the water again, took a lungful of air and was just about to turn around again when a movement caught his eye.

Sophie was coming down the path from the hotel, the afternoon sun making her hair dance with auburn lights and turning her skin to warm honey. She was wearing the embroidered
tunic they’d bought earlier, a thick leather belt slung around her hips, and as she walked the thin silk rippled against her, showing off every line and curve. Suddenly his body seemed to forget that it was sated from the most intense sex of his life and that he’d been swimming for heaven knew how long.

If only his head were as good at overlooking stuff.