At the Sheikh's Bidding(29)

At last he snatched up his shirt and strolled  over to the tent flap,   pausing briefly to glance back at her-still  spread on the satin   bedcover with her hair tumbling in fiery disarray  around her shoulders.   ‘Never tell me again that you don't want me,' he  warned softly, his   black eyes boring into her as if he could see inside  her head. ‘Because   now we both know it's not true.' And with that he  dipped his head in a   mocking salute and stepped outside into the desert.





CHAPTER SEVEN




PALE  rays of sunlight filtered through the tent flap and slanted across    Zahir's face, rousing him from sleep. As always, he was instantly   alert,  and turned his head to find Erin curled up next to him, her   glorious  hair spread like a fiery halo about her head.

Last night when he  had joined her in bed, long after she had fallen   asleep, he had been  struck by how young she looked-and how innocent.   Her pillow had been  drenched, and the streaks of tears on her cheeks   had tugged hard on his  conscience. Usually he had no patience with   women's tears, but Erin had  cried alone and silently-he had been   standing just outside the tent and  hadn't heard her-and the idea that   she had sobbed herself to sleep had  forced him to evaluate his   treatment of her.

It was nothing to be  proud of, he'd acknowledged as he had stretched   out beneath the sheets  and tried to ignore the fact that she was lying   inches from him, her  delectable body barely concealed beneath the  sheer  grey silk chemise she  must have donned after he had stormed out  of the  tent. Now, in the  light of a new day, he was besieged by a  nagging  sense of shame.


She  was no longer innocent. He had taken her virginity with as much   finesse  as a barbarian. It was impossible to believe he had not hurt   her, and  the thought filled him with such bitter self-disgust that he   flipped  back the sheet and swung his legs over the edge of the bed,   raking his  hand wearily through his hair. Whatever Erin might have done   in the  past, she had not deserved such brutality, and the fact that   she had  responded to him so fervently did not excuse his behaviour.

He  was suddenly conscious that the rhythmic sound of her breathing had    changed, and he glanced round to find her watching him with big, wary    grey eyes. For the first time in his life he did not know what to say.    None of the usual glib compliments that formed part of his practised    routine when he woke with a woman in his bed came to his lips. The    silence ached with emotions he did not understand, with a faint feeling    of regret he felt helpless to express, and yet despite his   self-loathing  he could not tear his eyes from her face.

She was his woman, his  wife, and his desire for her this morning was,   if possible, even more  intense than last night. But he would have to   control the fire that  licked in his veins and had already caused him to   harden in eager  anticipation. He had vowed in the pre-dawn hours when   he'd stalked  restlessly in front of the tent that he would not touch   her again until  she'd indicated that she wanted him to. He would not   force himself on  her like a coarse boor. He was a prince, for heaven's   sake, and it was  time he exerted some of the iron self-control for   which he was renowned.

‘I need to apologise for last night,' he said stiffly, his clipped tone shattering the uneasy quiet.                       
       
           



       

Erin's eyes widened even further. ‘For what last night? For making love to me?'

He  could feel her surprise-as if an apology was the last thing she had    expected-and his jaw clenched. ‘I was rough with you,' he grated.    Apologies were not easy, but this one had to be made. ‘I have spent the    past week anticipating our wedding night, and my impatience made me    careless. By the time I discovered it was your first time it was too    late to restrain my hunger for you. If you had told me-' He broke off,    clearly struggling to contain his impatience. ‘If I had known, I would    have acted differently-been gentler,' he expounded at her confused    frown.

‘If you had known I was a virgin you wouldn't have made  love to me at   all,' Erin murmured. ‘You would have had our marriage  annulled and   asked the courts to award you custody of Kazim-wouldn't  you?' she added   uncertainly.

Zahir's gaze meshed with hers, and  the tension between them changed   subtly as awareness wove its sensual  spell. ‘Kazim was not the only   reason I married you,' he said harshly.  ‘And you credit me with more   self-control than I possess-certainly where  you are concerned. The   knowledge that you were a virgin would not have  lessened my desire for   you,' he said with a self-derisive laugh, ‘but I  would not have forced   myself on you like some clumsy youth at the mercy  of his hormones.'

Erin watched in fascination as dull colour  highlighted his incredible   cheekbones. Zahir was a royal prince, and  fiercely proud, but   previously she had mistaken his pride for arrogance  and hated him for   it-or so she had tried to kid herself, she thought  ruefully. With a   sigh she rolled onto her back and stared up at the  canopy of rich   burgundy silk that was draped above the bed. ‘You didn't  force me, she   said flatly. ‘I wanted you as much as you wanted me.'

Colour  stole into her own cheeks as she recalled her wanton behaviour   last  night, the way she had practically begged him to make love to her.   If  anyone should feel ashamed it was her. But her pride seemed to  have   deserted her for good, and she only wished he would lie back  down,  next  to her, and work his magic on her eager body once more.


But,  far from reassuring him, her words seemed to anger him-although   she had a  strange feeling that he was angry with himself rather than   with her. He  jumped to his feet and paced the floor of the tent-all   powerful,  muscle-packed masculinity, with his bare chest gilded from   the morning  light, a pair of thin cotton trousers tied with a   drawstring around his  waist.

‘Your honesty humbles me,' he said tersely. ‘Nevertheless,  I am not   proud of my behaviour on our wedding night, and I want you to    understand that you have not married a brute intent only on his own    selfish pleasure. I will wait until you feel ready to share my bed    again, and when that time comes I will temper my desire and make sure    you are fully aroused and ready for me before I make love to you.'

Just  the thought of him ensuring that she was ‘fully aroused' was   having a  profound effect on her, Erin thought frantically, feeling her   breasts  tingle in anticipation of his touch. And she didn't want him  to  temper  his desire; she wanted him to kiss her in all the places he  had  explored  last night, especially the secret, silken heat between  her  thighs, and  then move over her and enter her with the hard,  rhythmic  thrusts that  she already seemed to be addicted to.

Zahir had been prowling the  tent like a caged tiger, but now he came   over to the bed and stared  down at her, his keen gaze taking in the   hectic flush that stained her  cheeks. He had told her he would not make   love to her again until she  was ready, but the gleam of undisguised   sexual hunger in his eyes made  her long to throw back the sheet and   tell him she was ready now, this  minute, and couldn't wait.

‘I am aware that we had little  opportunity to get to know each other in   the days before our wedding,'  Zahir muttered abruptly, forcing  himself  to step away from the bed.

Despite  all his good intentions, Erin was an irresistible temptation,   lying  there with her hair tumbling in silky disarray over her   shoulders, the  firm swell of her breasts visible above the neckline of   her chemise,  beckoning him to slide the strap down so that the   deliciously soft  mounds spilled into his hands. He strode over to the   tent flap and  unfastened it, so that more sunlight poured through the   gap, standing  with his back to her so that she would not see the   confusing whirl of  emotions in his face.