Date with a Surgeon Prince(40)

‘Mostly relief, I suppose,’ she admitted. ‘I’m sorry to be such a wuss, but when Nelson said goodbye he called me “darling girl”. Nelson hasn’t called me that for years and I guess it just broke me up.’

‘Darling girl! What a lovely phrase. He’s something special, the man called Nelson.’

‘He is indeed,’ Marni responded, resting her head against Ghazi’s side and remembering just how special Nelson had always been to her. ‘Pop was very good with children but once they started to grow up, girls especially, he became…not embarrassed but less approachable somehow.

‘He always blamed himself for how my mother turned out, always seeking love in the wrong places. So it was Nelson who had to check I knew about the birds and the bees—he actually used those words—and he’d call me darling girl when he talked about growing up, and give me little lectures about believing in myself, and about honour and respect and loyalty—all the things he felt were most important in the way we live our lives, all the things Pop lived by but couldn’t put into words.’

She looked up at the man she’d been leaning on, suddenly embarrassed by all she’d revealed.

‘Not that you need to know all that! It’s just the words brought it all back. I’m sorry. You’ve already been so good, and here I am babbling on about Nelson bringing me up.’

The dark eyes were unfathomable, but as he moved she sensed what was coming and her body tightened as he dipped his head and kissed her on the lips.

‘I think I owe your Nelson a big favour,’ he said quietly, breathing the words against her skin, then his lips returned to hers and the kiss deepened, taking her away from the past and the present, to where sensation swamped all thoughts.





CHAPTER NINE





COULD SHE BLAME the relief that had set in after talking to Nelson, or was it just that this man had been so good, so kind and considerate, so there for her, that her response was so heated when he kissed her the second time?

Somehow, as the kiss deepened, they’d moved, Ghazi in the chair, she mostly on top of him, her arms wound around his neck, her body snuggling against his.

His hands were on her breasts, brushing across them, teasing them to a heavy longing, while his lips explored her face, kisses brushing eyelids, temple, the little hollow beneath her chin.

Her hands explored his back, feeling the hard muscle beneath the white robe, and ranged across his head, his beautifully shaped head, dark hair cut close to the scalp, her fingers teasing at his ears, wanting more contact with his skin.

Now his lips found hers again, deep, drugging kisses, while his hands travelled lower, fingers seeking sensitive parts while she squirmed against his hardness and wanted more and more of him, wanted the feel of his skin on hers, wanted to know him by touch, to tease him as he was teasing her.

Could she?

Awareness that she had never felt this way before—had never known she could—was somewhere in her consciousness, but buried deeply beneath the sensations she was experiencing.

The sensations she was enjoying!

Inflamed by his fingers, trembling on the brink, she heard him saying something but the words didn’t penetrate the fog of longing enveloping both her body and her brain.

She moved and felt a shudder of release, a promise of things to come that she didn’t fully understand but knew she wanted.

Her excitement must have stirred more arousal in him, for now they were joined in a macabre dance as they tried to strip each other’s clothes off, while still kissing, still touching, still stoking the fires in both their bodies.

‘There’s a couch, for emergency overnight stays,’ Ghazi said, half leading her, half carrying her towards an open door at the side of the office.

She glimpsed a small bathroom then an even smaller room, as plain as a monk’s cell, one narrow bed against the wall, but Ghazi had stripped off his robe and stood before her, a snowy-white sarong tied around his waist—untied now, the full magnificence of the man revealed.

Her lungs jammed, she couldn’t breathe—had to—

He drew her close, her trousers and tunic gone, her bra disposed of next, his lips suckling on her breast, her body in a torment of need as his fingers slipped beneath her knickers, touching her already sensitised nub, and she knew the little whimpering noises were coming from her, although an occasional groan suggested he was as aroused as she was.

Now on the bed, his fingers inside her, feeling the hardness of him against her soft abdomen, need outweighing any lingering doubt she might have had—need, and fear that he’d stop if she admitted—

He mustn’t rush! Ghazi told himself.