Darker Side of Desire & the Sheikh's Pregnant Prisoner(24)

‘Know that it was to Paris you were sent when she was married?’ Claire said tautly. ‘She did say London, Raoul. A slip of the tongue, no doubt, but she lied when she told you I had made the mistake.’

‘Lied?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘Why should she do that?’

‘Perhaps because she resents my presence in your life,’ Claire said with a calm she was far from feeling. ‘Anyone who loves resents the presence of someone else in the life of their lover.’

‘And does your lover resent my presence in yours?’ he asked softly. ‘He has not written to you recently. Have you written to him, Claire? Have you told him that you might be carrying my child? That we have been lovers?’

‘No… no, I haven’t told him anything,’ Claire whispered truthfully. Raoul’s softly-spoken words were conjuring up images she would far rather forget.

They had far too disturbing an effect on her composure. She glanced up and found him looking at her, probing the pale silk of her robe, reminding her how intimately he knew the curves that lay beneath. A hot languor spread through her veins; a tormenting desire to go up to him and press her body against his, wantonly offering herself to him, feeling him respond.

‘And nor will you do so,’ Raoul muttered arrogantly. ‘You are my wife now, Claire, mine!’

She wasn’t sure which of them moved first, she only knew that somehow she was in his arms, breathing in the warm male scent of him, feeling her pulses leap in exultation. She wasn’t even going to think about what had brought him to her, what had sparked off his desire. He bent his head, and her lips parted eagerly, welcoming the probing invasion of his tongue, all her earlier insistence that there should be no intimacy between them forgotten as her body’s craving overruled the fragile control of her mind. Her senses reeling wildly, she responded with all the banked down hunger inside her to the hungry dominance of his mouth, groaning with pleasure when his hand cupped her breast, stroking roughly over the thin satin barrier which separated his fingers from her flesh. Opening to him as eagerly as the furled petals of a flower to the sun, Claire drank in the touch and scent of him, sliding trembling fingers inside his robe, pressing her palms flat against the moist heat of his skin, thrilling to the hard possession of his mouth when her thumb rubbed lightly against the hard flesh of his nipple.

He dragged his mouth away from hers, plundering the soft scented skin of her throat, pushing aside her robe, copying the caressing movements her fingers had made against him. Shivering waves of pleasure crested and broke over her, her body the receptacle of sensations so acute that she thought she might break apart under the pleasure of them. Her tongue touched the strong column of his throat, feeling the muscles strain as he swallowed an involuntary moan of pleasure, urging her closer to him, his hands sliding down to her hips, and round to spread against the rounded curves of her buttocks, pressing her against him.

He was already hungrily aroused and the knowledge thrilled and excited her, her hips moving in instinctive enticement, her teeth nibbling delicately at the warm flesh between his neck and his shoulder. Raoul had taught her that love-making could be a sensual feast and now he was encouraging her to make for herself a banquet she knew no other man could ever rival. She wanted him as much, if not more, than he wanted her. She knew that male arousal was not as subtle as female, but her longing for him swept aside any rational doubts that might have made her think twice about what she was doing. When her body became impatient for his possession, she slipped out of her robe, pausing when she saw the look in Raoul’s eyes. They glittered almost black in the dimly lit room and the hand he stretched out to her betrayed a fine tremble.

The drift of his fingers along the outline of her body, no more than a butterfly touch, was excruciatingly arousing, but some inner sense, some instinctive urge to respond to his rhythm held her still beneath it, her throat closing on a hungry moan of impatience as his fingertips brushed briefly over the curves of her breasts. Surely he could see what he was doing to her? How much she needed the solid contact of his body against hers? But again something prevented her from moving, from taking the few steps necessary to bring her against him.

‘Claire.’ He said her name thickly, picking her up and carrying her the short distance to the bed, removing his own robe before lying down beside her.

Her whole body trembled with an acute ache, her eyes closed so that he wouldn’t see the depths of the hunger in them as he bent towards her. Disappointment shivered bitterly through her as she felt his brief kiss on her lips, his tongue stroking gently over them, when what she wanted was the fierce intensity she had felt in him earlier. His lips drifted gently across her skin, his tongue touching, arousing, and then withdrawing, all down the length of her body until she felt she might explode beneath his tormentingly tentative caresses. He paused when he reached her breasts, stroking their pointed aching tips briefly with his tongue, but when Claire reached up to him, her whole body surging beneath the caress, compelled by a fierce need to urge him to intensify the contact, his fingers locked round her wrists, forcing them slowly down to her sides, his tongue returning to stimulate her throbbing flesh, until Claire felt she could stand it no longer and her body began to move wantonly, perpetuating an ancient rhythm.

Almost instantly the gentleness left Raoul’s touch, replaced by the hunger she had earlier yearned for, explosive in its unbridled demands; the searing touch of his mouth against her body wanted an intimacy that made her gasp and tense until he showed her how he wanted her to respond, and all her previously held ideas of what desire should be between a man and a woman were overturned in a storm of pleasure too intense to allow hesitancy or withdrawal.

When at last Raoul moved over her, her body quivered ecstatically in response, glorying in the surge of pleasure fusing between them as she arched to welcome his body into hers, her fingernails digging deep into the muscles of his sweat-slick back, the fierce sound of pleasure emitted from his throat echoing the elemental urgency she could feel soaring deep inside her.

All the delight in the universe seemed to be concentrated inside her; their bodies were no longer two separate entities, but one united whole, seeking and finding together the pleasure which was the nearest the human race could ever come to savouring eternity.

Afterwards she slept, deeply and dreamlessly, waking with the dawn, drowsy and satiated with satisfaction, her body as sleek and supple as a mountain cat’s—until she turned her head and found that at some time during the night Raoul had left her.





CHAPTER NINE


IT was Zenaide who told her that Raoul had gone to see his uncle, the Sheikh, and that he had left a message to say that he might be gone for several days. His uncle—or Nadia—Claire found herself wondering bitterly. He might have made love to her, but that didn’t mean that he loved her. Her hand brushed against the flat curve of her stomach as she remembered the feeling of nausea she had experienced earlier, and her haunting fear that she might be carrying Raoul’s child returned. Up until now she had managed to keep it at bay, reassuring herself that she could not possibly be pregnant, but now she wasn’t so sure. And there was Saud to worry about as well. How could Raoul leave them now, after what had happened? And moreover leave them so that he could be with Nadia?

He had been gone three days before Claire could bring herself to admit that she was pregnant. Her persistent sickness and the growing fullness of her breasts made it impossible for her to hide from the truth, and she was sure that Zenaide too had guessed. On one front at least, though, she could not accuse Raoul.

She had noticed how closely Ali stuck to both Saud and herself, remaining in the vicinity even while they were in the courtyard, and Claire had become particularly careful about Saud’s food, making sure that no one apart from herself had access to it.

The knowledge that she was to have Raoul’s child pushed aside some of her overwhelming anxiety for Saud, her mind grappling with new problems and fears. How could she leave her child behind with Raoul when they were divorced? But how could she stay, even if Raoul were to permit her to do so? The ideal solution would be for her to leave before Raoul guessed that she was pregnant, but that would mean deserting Saud. Her problems seemed insoluble.

On the fourth day of Raoul’s absence, Claire woke to the familiar nausea striking her as she tried to leave her bed. She had learned to move more gingerly, taking her time in dressing and leaving her breakfast until she was sure the sickness had subsided. She was down on the beach playing with Saud when she heard the sound of feet crunching along the path. Tension feathered across her nerves instantly, the fear of danger to Saud never far from her mind, but it was Raoul who was striding towards them across the sand.

It was only when she shaded her eyes from the sun to study him properly that Claire saw the glitter of anger darkening his eyes. Fear trembled through her as she wondered at the cause of it. Was he angry because they had made love? Had Zenaide perhaps said something to him that had made him realise she was pregnant? She hadn’t intended to tell him yet, not until she was properly sure, but his first words drove all thoughts of the baby out of her mind.