Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem: Christmas at the Castello(22)

Flicking the bathroom light on against the gray haze of early morning,  she was surprised to see that she looked pretty normal, except for the  smudge of kohl around her eyes and her mussed hair. Wiping away the  make-up, and brushing her teeth with the new toothbrush that stood in a  small gold jar on the marble sink, she set about trying to tidy her  hair. Deciding it was impossible, she was about to leave the room when  she caught sight of herself in a full-length mirror. The underwear she'd  been given for the wedding was pure white and as delicate as a finely  spun spider's web. The bra was demi-cup, the panties cut high on her  hips and completely sheer, somehow making the dark curls they hid look  tempting and erotic. Shaking off the unnerving spark of arousal that  thought caused, she truly hoped a servant had undressed her and not  Zach.

Really? A little voice taunted.

No... She grimaced at the battle inside her head, grabbed a white robe  she spied hanging from the back of the door and belted it tightly around  her waist. She didn't hope that. Much to her chagrin, part of her hoped  that Zach had undressed her and that he'd liked what he'd seen.                       
       
           



       

But where was he?

Asleep on the deep divan in the adjoining room, as it turned out. His  large frame was sprawled on his back, his bare feet hanging over the  edge. At some point he must have changed because he was no longer  wearing his wedding robes but low-riding sweatpants and nothing else...  And, oh, but he was built.

Farah stilled, taking him in. She wanted to go to him and run her hands  all over his gloriously golden-brown skin, petting the dark pelt of  hair on his chest right where it arrowed down the centre of his lean  torso like a tempting trail. Of course, she didn't. She couldn't think  straight enough to unglue herself from the doorway for a start.

'You're awake.'

Farah's eyes flew to his. So was he.

Obviously.

She swallowed, feeling vulnerable at having been caught staring at him. 'Yes.'

He stifled a yawn. 'It's early.' His eyes held hers, gleaming in the faint light.

'I'm sorry did I...did I wake you?'

'Not really. This sofa isn't the most comfortable to sleep on.'

'Oh, you should have...' She gestured vaguely to the bedroom behind  her. He was her husband. He would be sleeping with her from now on.  Yesterday the thought had been horrifying but right now she couldn't  muster that same sense of dread.

'Did you undress me?' Her face flamed as soon as the words left her mouth. What was wrong with her? 'I mean-'

'Yes, I undressed you.'

'Oh.' She gripped the lapels of her robe together and glanced around,  only vaguely aware of the beautifully appointed room cast in morning  shadows. 'I thought maybe you had servants.'

'No.' He swung his feet to the floor and stood up. Farah's eyes  returned to his large frame and her heart took off. 'No servants here.'

Had he been that tall yesterday? That imposing? She suddenly felt very  thirsty again. 'Oh, well.' She waved a hand around aimlessly. 'I didn't  mean to wake you.' Especially not when you're only half-clothed.

'I already said that you didn't wake me.'

Right. So he had.

'How's the head?'

It took her a minute to realise he was referring to her drunken episode  on the plane. 'Um, good.' His gaze dropped to the belt on her robe and  she realised she was fidgeting with it. 'So, thank you for taking care  of me last night.'

A muscle knotted in his jaw. 'My pleasure.'

The softness of his tone thumped into her breastbone, his tone full of  sensual promise and a decadent passion she was finding harder and harder  to resist.

But for some reason it seemed imperative that she did resist, some deep  awareness warning her that it was too much. That he made her feel too  much. And as if to prove her own point her nipples peaked beneath her  robe as if he were already touching her, the delicate fabric of her bra  chafing like sandpaper, yet not rough enough to ease the ache. Would his  hands be able to do that? His mouth? Involuntarily her eyes lifted to  his.

A gruff sound broke the heavy silence between them and Farah realised  that her husband was no longer standing stationary across the room. He  was moving, towards her, his long, panther-like strides eating up the  space between them.

Farah didn't move. She couldn't. She just waited, and if she'd thought  her breathing shallow before, that was nothing compared to now. When he  reached her he stopped and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

The gesture tugged at her heartstrings. 'Do you...do you want coffee?'  she asked on a nervous rush, her whole body taut with equal parts desire  and dread.

'Coffee?' He shook his head. 'No, my beautiful bride, I do not want  coffee.' He forked his fingers into the loose tumble of her hair. 'I  want you.' He eased her forward until all that separated them was the  thick cloth of her robe and his sweats. 'Naked.' She shuddered,  completely mesmerised by the hunger burning in his eyes. 'Untie the  robe.'

Like someone in a daze, Farah fumbled with the knotted belt until the  lapels hung straight down. She saw his nostrils flare and a thrill raced  down her spine.

'Now open it,' he urged roughly.

Slowly, feeling as if she was in a hot whirlpool about to go under,  Farah did, and then she was hard up against him, the tips of her breasts  crushed against the solid wall of his chest. She made a sound, more  like a whimper, and her knees gave out.

'Yes,' he growled right before he dragged her mouth up to his and kissed her.





      CHAPTER ELEVEN                       
       
           



       

IT MIGHT HAVE been because of the mystical aspect of the predawn  morning or it might have been because of the state of her  nerves-probably it was just him-but Farah gave up all thought of  resisting. Instead she opened to him, lost in the mindless passion that  he had started inside her.

Raising her arms she wound them around his neck and arched into his  rough, restless hands as they skated over her back and met at her  bottom, lifting her onto her toes.

He growled low, the sound rough and exciting. Her body answered it with  a flood of moisture at her core. Fevered, Farah clutched at his  shoulders, lifting herself higher, her body searching for that perfect  alignment with his, that perfect amount of pressure that would ease the  ache. Oh, there it was, right there! 'Zachim!'

He swallowed his name with his kiss and brought both hands up to cup  her breasts. Farah nearly died as pleasure knifed through her. She  arched more fully against him, seeking more, wanting-oh, yes,  wanting-him to lightly pinch her nipples. Her body bowed toward his,  seeking more. Had anything ever felt this good, this perfect? She  nuzzled her nose against his neck, planting open-mouthed kisses along  his jaw, his cheek, wherever she could reach.

He turned his head, his mouth capturing hers again, his hands squeezing  her gently, his fingers teasing, one muscled thigh wedged between hers,  stroking the flames higher.

Suddenly his touch on her breasts wasn't enough and she nearly  whimpered with ecstasy as his hand trailed over her stomach and curved  between her legs. She felt like she was standing on some kind of  tightrope, her whole body like a finely tuned instrument waiting for the  master player to stroke the correct parts, her focus completely centred  on the heat of his palm cupping her.

He hitched her higher, one arm hooked below her bottom as he bent  forward and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. Farah cried  out and clutched at him to hold him close.

'So beautiful. So...sweet.' He rolled her nipple between his teeth and  then drew on her rhythmically, his fingers playing with the lace of her  panties between her legs. Dimly she thought that she should stop him and  then her brain reminded her that they were married. That he was allowed  to touch her like this. That she was allowed to lift her hips towards  his hand and widen her stance to make it easier for him to... She  groaned long and low and her head hit the wall when his fingers slid  beneath the lace.

Which was when she remembered, and her head snapped forward. 'I didn't-  That is, I'm not-' She clamped one hand over his to stay his  exploration.

'You're not what, habiba?'

His finger moved along the folds of her most private place and she  completely forgot what she was or what she wasn't. Nothing mattered  except the delicious sensations he evoked as he stroked her and pressed  deep.

With her eyes blissfully closed, Farah was completely unprepared when  Zach dropped to his knees and ripped her flimsy panties from her body.

Her eyes flew to his. 'Oh. I... You...'

'Shhh,' he whispered, lifting one of her thighs and draping it over his shoulder, opening her to him. 'I need to taste you.'

Lost in a rush of liquid heat Farah gripped his hair as his tongue  lapped at her, part of her wanting to pull him away and another, much  more wanton part, wanting to pull him in closer.