The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride (16 page)

Desire was a searing curl of tension winding tight in her womb.

Coiling harder and faster, till her breathing constricted and her breasts peaked and throbbed.

His breath fanned her. She saw the rapid pulse at the base of his neck and the urge to kiss that spot, taste his skin with her tongue, made her sway in his hold.

Abruptly he let her go and stepped away. Something disappointment was a hard knot in her stomach.

`Belle,’ he said, and his tone made her shiver. His expression was taut as his gaze skimmed over her. It was no consolation to know he found this difficult too. Her whole body quivered from the pounding tension that grew and circled still inside her.

`Come,’ he said, his voice low. He took her hand and drew her forward. Ì think you’ll like it.’

Slowly she followed him, looking anywhere but at him. Pretending she didn’t feel the awareness that pulsed between them through their linked hands.

They rounded a clump of thorn bushes and she saw it. A traditional nomad’s tent set beneath a grove of tall date palms. And in front of it a slim ribbon of rippling water that flowed and widened into another waterhole. She gasped in amazement and delight at the scene. At this side of the tent was an opening, raised like an awning to reveal an interior luxuriant with rugs in dark jewel colors.

`How did you do this?’ she asked, eyes fixed on the enchanting sight. With its burnished hanging lamp at the entrance and the scatter of cushions she could make out at the rear of the tent, it looked like something out of an old storybook. A place Scheherazade could have described.

His hand squeezed hers. `You approve?’

Ì love it.’ She smiled up at him and caught a glimpse of some expression, quickly hidden, in his bright scrutiny. `But how is it here? When did you-?’

`There was a security sweep of the area by helicopter a little earlier. They brought out a few supplies for our picnic on their way.’ He smiled. Ìf ever we were in the desert overnight we’d use this tent, my grandfather and I. I felt sure you’d appreciate it.’

A few supplies. Belle stared at the vision before her and stifled a laugh. Where she came from a picnic meant a hamper and an old blanket.

It’s wonderful. Thank you, Rafiq.’

`My pleasure, Belle.’ His voice had deepened to a note that sent a tremor of response through her. His eyes met hers and her breath snagged.

`Let’s clean up a little.’ He led her to the water.

`The horses-‘

`They’ll be fine,’ he said as he leaned to scoop water over his face and hands. `They won’t stray.’

The water was surprisingly cool against her heated skin, and she let it dribble down her collarbone, reveling in the refreshing trails that ran under the loose cotton of her shirt. She washed her dusty hands and turned to find Rafiq watching her. That was nothing new. He did that all the time, quietly observing and giving nothing away.

But this time there was something in his look that unnerved her.

Send the blood rushing to her face.

He held out his hand and led her into the tent.

Her immediate impression was of dim coolness after the hot, bright desert sun. Her second was of its sheer luxury. There were patterned rugs on the walls, insulation against the heat.

Overlapping carpets covered every inch of the floor, and if she’d been alone she’d have thrown herself down immediately on the inviting pile of huge cushions. There were a couple of low, polished brass tables and, incongruously, a huge portable icebox in one corner.

She followed Rafiq’s example and took off her shoes, immediately grateful when she felt the caress of finely woven silk beneath her feet. She stared. Each of these carpets must be worth a fortune.

`Come. Make yourself comfortable while I get you a drink.’ Rafiq gestured to the cushions.

She padded across the rugs, feeling with every step as if she strayed further from the reality of her modern world into a shadowed place where time slowed to the pace of a heartbeat. The aroma of sandalwood scented the air, and even the shadows were painted with rainbow hues from the profusion of exquisite fabrics.

It’s amazing,’ she whispered as she subsided onto a huge brocade pillow, grateful for its soft comfort after the hard saddle. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘I’m honored that you approve.’ His deep voice came from above her, and he bent to press iced juice into her hand. Even the glass was decorated with gold filigree.

`Thank you,’ she whispered, her throat suddenly dry as she stared into his hooded gaze. His face was unreadable, but his lips curved into a smoky half-smile that sent her pulse into crazy overdrive.

She took refuge in the act of sipping her drink, lowering her gaze from his. The juice was tart and sweet, unlike anything she’d ever tasted.

It’s a traditional mixture,’ he said. `Pomegranate and melon, with mint and a few other things.’

It’s delicious thank you: The words sounded stilted, as if this polite, meaningless conversation barely masked the brooding, intense silence between them. A silence thick with other messages. All unspoken. All dangerous.

`This morning’s been lovely,’ she said quickly, as he seated himself beside her with the loose-limbed suppleness that made his every movement a study in masculine grace. Ì wouldn’t have thought there’d be so much water here-not when we’re surrounded by desert,’ she babbled, needing to keep the conversation going.

Ìt’s good swimming here too. The water’s invigorating.’ His words were bland but his look seared. Immediately she envisaged them both, naked in the water, and her temperature soared as blood suffused her whole body. She gulped down the rest of her juice and looked round for somewhere to put the glass.

`Here,’ he said, taking it from her and stretching across to place it on a nearby low table.

Too late Belle realized her mistake. Now she had nothing to keep her hands occupied. And more than ever it seemed imperative to have something to concentrate on.

Other than Rafiq.

‘Thanks,’ she murmured. ‘But I didn’t come prepared for swimming.’

Às you wish,’ he said, inclining his head, then letting the silence lengthen. He put his glass down beside hers and leaned back, propped on one elbow, to watch her. `This is your first trip here.

We will do whatever pleases you.’

Whatever pleases me… Belle scanned his handsome face and barely concealed the quiver of pure need that seared through her.

This close to him she breathed in the unique, seductive scent that was simply Rafiq. Every night it tantalized her as she lay against him, frozen into immobility by the fear that a single unguarded movement might shatter the brittle barrier of her self-control.

She wanted him so much.

`Belle?’ His deep, sultry voice was temptation. He took her hand, laid it across his palm and stroked the sensitive skin between thumb and forefinger till her nerves prickled. Her breath caught as she stared at him, mesmerized by the raw passion in his gaze.

`You only have to ask for anything you want,’ he whispered.

Ì want…’ She heaved a sigh as she slammed common sense down on the unspoken need that consumed her. She couldn’t tell him what she really wanted.

But his gaze had dropped to her breasts, drawn by her uneven breathing. Immediately her breasts felt fuller, uncomfortable against the restraint of her bra, her nipples pebbling in instant response to the banked fire of his unblinking gaze. A shaft of white-hot need speared down through her, igniting the core of her desire.

`You want?’ He raised his eyes to hers and she was lost. Defeated by the ardor she saw there.

Ì want…you to kiss me,’ she whispered unsteadily.

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, his fiery gaze holding her transfixed. Then slowly he turned it over and pressed an open mouthed kiss on her palm. This time she felt the hot caress of his tongue on the pleasure point at the centre of her hand, and squeezed her eyes shut as the tremor of delight intensified into shudders of fervent need.

Ìs that all you want?’ he murmured against her skin, pressing kisses along each of her fingers.

Belle felt her careful barriers collapse and shatter under the sensual onslaught of Rafiq’s intense caresses and her own longing.

Ì want…’ She hissed in a sharp breath as his teeth grazed the heel of her hand and she felt the hot, moist proof of her desire pool between her legs.

She curled her fingers tight round his and opened her eyes. He was so close, watching her with a smoldering intensity that snatched her breath away.

When she could summon the words she whispered, ‘I want you to make love to me.’

Her heavy lidded eyes darkened, her skin flushed with passion, her words echoed in the waiting stillness between them. And Rafiq knew he’d won.

The surge of triumphant elation that flooded his veins was so intense, so overpowering, that he froze, battling with all his strength to retain a semblance of composure. He felt it slam through him like a runaway train-the need to have her, take her, stamp his ownership on her in the most primitive and undeniable way.

He saw the unguarded longing in her eyes, smelled the unmistakable sweet scent of feminine desire, felt the dampening of her petal soft skin, and knew that she wanted him the way he wanted her. Now. Immediately. No preliminaries, no debate. Just the need to lose themselves in the mindless, dazzling passion that raged like a spiraling desert storm between them.

It would be superb. It would be cataclysmic.

It would be over almost before it had begun.

She deserved better than that. Much better.

He dragged in a breath, laden with the heady scent of her, and yielded to the impulse to taste her again, this time laving her palm.

He didn’t trust himself to take her mouth, not yet.

Even now, just knowing she was his, he was so hard, so ready, that a single unguarded movement could be catastrophic.

Her lids fluttered closed and she sighed. But she wasn’t content to wait for his lovemaking. She dragged her hand from his and reached for him, leaning forward to slip both arms over his shoulders and round his neck.

`Rafiq,’ she murmured in a voice of pure seduction. Her lips were parted, waiting, her body taut against his.

He’d been right, he thought grimly. Now that her formidable reserve had been breached and her passion unleashed, Belle had transformed into a houri, the most seductively dangerous woman known to mankind. Everything about her promised a heaven of earthly pleasures. The way she breathed his name with such longing almost betrayed him into surrendering to the temptation of instant gratification. Without conscious thought he clamped his hands on her waist: He felt her writhe beneath his hold, circling her hips in age old invitation. One more move and she’d find her trousers pushed down to her knees and him inside her, throbbing his release.

`Belle,’ he groaned. The very thought of sinking into her waiting warmth was too dangerous. It brought him to the brink of sanity.

Gritting his teeth, ignoring the internal howl of outrage, the biting need to take her instantly, he slid his hands away, shifted his body and found his footing. Before she could object he scooped her up against him, then stood with her cradled in his arms. He knew his hold was too tight, pressing hard into her flesh. But he was functioning on raw instinct, the voice of his better judgment barely audible over the blood rush of primitive emotions.

Her eyes opened wide, but she didn’t look around as he strode to the far corner of the tent, kicking cushions out from underfoot. Her eyes were fixed on his, their expression an in-definable mix of excitement, blazing heat and…trepidation?

Could it be? Fear, from his indomitable Belle?

It brought him up short at the edge of the vast sleeping platform.

But now, try as he might, he could no longer read the emotions in her eyes. Had that anxiety been real or an illusion?

It was too late, he realized as he lowered her to the silken coverlet.

Nothing could stop them becoming one. But that flash of doubt was enough to take the edge off his rapacious need to strip her clothes away and take her without further preliminaries. It restored just a fraction of his sense of responsibility.

`You asked me to make love to you,
habibti
,’ he murmured in a voice that sounded thick and strange to his ears. `Just relax,’ he said, as he skimmed his hands down her body, then back up to the buttons of her loose cotton shirt.

Relax! Belle stared into his strong, stem face and wondered if he realized how laughable, how impossible, was his command.

Each nerve in her body throbbed with unfulfilled desire, with days of wanting this man till her body screamed its need every time he touched her. Did he have any idea how desperate she was for this?

For his embrace? His kiss? His lovemaking?

His hands worked deftly at the buttons of her shirt, his touch deliberate, calm, slow. She bit into her bottom lip, trying to court the patience to lie passive beneath his ministrations, but it was impossible. She reached out for his shirt, caught the fine lawn in trembling fingers and fumbled at the first button.

No!’ His voice was a muted roar of disapproval and she blinked.

`No,
habibti
. Do not touch. Not yet.’ His fingers clamped around her wrists and dragged them away from him. She looked into his brilliant eyes and felt the burn of raw desire in his stare. It was incendiary, igniting the flames of secret need within her.

How could he ask her not to touch him? It was unthinkable. She had opened her mouth to object when he put one arm round her, lifting her up a fraction so he could slide her shirt from her shoulders and toss it away. Then her loosened bra disappeared too.

He settled her back on the bed, and this time she lay still, pinioned by the hot, possessive light in his eyes. Her breasts peaked shamelessly under his scrutiny, and a flood of searing heat scorched every inch of her skin.

`You are even more beautiful than I expected,’ he whispered as he stroked a light touch across first one breast than the other. Her breath hitched in her chest at the incredible sensuality of that barely there caress. Then she gasped as his touch slowed, stilled, sharpened, his fingers tugging on her nipple so that darts of luscious sensation speared down to her very core.