She pulled a face as she recalled every one of her whimpers, moans and cries for more. Then there was the way she had stroked the downy line of hair that covered Zach's rocky abdomen... She'd been out of control. Internal muscles ached in agreement and she wondered how she was going to face him this morning. For a woman who claimed she hadn't wanted to get married or have a man in her life, she'd put up very little resistance.
Actually, a little voice pointed out helpfully, you put up none.
Great. Even better.
Showering and washing her hair quickly, she dried off and then realised she had nothing to wear. Hearing a noise in the next room, she cast around and saw her folded wedding dress on a chair against the wall. She'd feel silly putting that on. Then she noticed a T-shirt draped over the back of a chair.
It was red and had a white image of a bird of prey in full flight on the front. It smelt of Zach and she inhaled deeply, her internal muscles softening even more. She frowned. Should she be thinking of sex again so soon? Was this even normal?
Determined that she would not turn into one of those clingy women who lived only to serve her husband, Farah pushed her thick hair back over her shoulder and opened the bedroom door, hoping at least that Zach had more clothes on than earlier.
Unfortunately not; she inwardly groaned. He was standing, half-turned away from her, slicing something at the kitchen bench and wearing low-riding denims, his hair slightly damp as if he, too, was not long out of the shower; his torso and feet were bare.
The leap in her pulse was instant and she drew in a deep breath, the scent of bacon and coffee making her stomach rumble. Hearing the embarrassingly loud noise, Zach turned towards her, his leonine eyes raking her from head to toe in that intense way that made her body burn.
He cursed, a swift, harsh sound, before he brought the side of his thumb up to his mouth.
Realising what had happened, she rushed to his side. 'Oh no, did you just cut yourself?'
She took his hand in hers, examining the line of blood that appeared as soon as he stopped sucking on it. 'You need to wash this under running water so we can see how deep it is.'
'It's not deep.'
But he complied and Farah tested the skin around the cut. He was right. It wasn't deep. 'It will still need a plaster. Do you have one?'
'No idea.' His eyes darkened as he watched her. 'Don't you think it's strange that I always seem to bleed around you?'
'That only happened once before,' she said indignantly. 'And you can hardly hold me responsible for this incident.'
'You walk in wearing nothing but my T-shirt, what do you expect? It's more of a weapon than the damned sword.' His eyes drifted over her again. 'Please tell me you at least have panties on underneath.'
Her skin felt hot under his eyes. 'You ripped them.' Right about the time he'd fallen to his knees.
He stilled and she knew he was remembering the same thing that she was. 'So I did.' He drew her into the circle of his arms. 'How are you feeling this morning?'
Embarrassed. Confused. Wanton... 'Good,' she said gruffly, unsure what the post-sex etiquette was with a man who was still a virtual stranger to her.
'You're not sore?' His eyes scanned hers. 'I wasn't exactly as gentle as I had promised for your first time.'
Farah knew she was blushing and hated the way he so effortlessly undermined her self-possession while he remained so composed. It hardly seemed fair. 'Not sore at all,' she lied blithely. If he was unaffected by her, then she was equally unaffected by him.
About to pull away and ask for a coffee, she gasped as his hands skimmed up her waist and cupped her breasts. Her eyes flew to his as her hands manacled his wrists, her breathing uneven. 'Zach?'
He strummed his thumbs across her nipples. 'How about here? Was I too rough here?'
He knew he hadn't been. He knew right now she was so turned on she was about to melt at his feet. 'I... I... What about your finger?'
He lifted her onto the bench and stepped between her legs. 'My finger is not the part of my anatomy that is concerning me at the moment.' He tugged at the zip on his jeans, his eyes on her mouth. 'Something else is.'
Farah's insides clenched hungrily as that something else sprang thick and long from the opening in his jeans. She licked her lips and did what she had wanted to do ever since she'd felt him against her: she reached out and touched him, circling him with her fist.
He groaned and gripped the bench either side of her hips, tension drawing the skin on his face tight. Forgetting all about how awkward and confused he made her feel, she moved her hand experimentally along his smooth, solid length, loving the loss of composure she saw in his expression.
'Firmer,' he rasped, his head bowed back, the muscles in his neck straining.
'Like this?' She stroked him again. Harder.
His nostrils flared as he brought heavy-lidded eyes back to hers. 'Oh yeah, just like that.'
Not giving herself time to think, Farah bobbed her head and took the tip of him into her mouth. The sound he made was deep and guttural, and his hands came up to cup the back of her head. The taste of him was hot and male on her tongue and a rush of liquid heat pooled between her thighs.
'Enough.' Zach urged her head up and yanked his T-shirt over her head, pushing her back on the bench and following her down to clamp his mouth over hers. He pushed her legs wide, his finger sliding inside her, and he groaned again. 'So wet, so ready, habiba.' And then he was there, sliding her forward off the bench and onto him.
Five minutes later, Farah was a sweaty mess on the bed with a heavy male panting on top of her.
'Farah, hell...' He raked a hand through his hair and levered himself off her. 'I was at least planning to feed you first.' Her stomach grumbled and he rolled her over so that she was on top of him. 'Sorry, sweetheart.'
'It's okay. It was...'
'Good?'
'Yes.'
'Shockingly good?'
'Yes.' She sighed, trying not to think too hard about anything. 'Is sex always like this?'
'It's called making love and, no, it's not.'
Making love? 'Ah, Zachim?' She wrinkled her nose as she smelt something burning.
He stroked his hand down the curve of her spine. 'Mmm?'
'Did you turn the stove off?'
'Holy-' Unconcerned about his nakedness, he vaulted from the bed and ran to the other room.
Grabbing his T-shirt again, she quickly donned it and followed, to find him rinsing a steaming pan under a tap, the inside charred to black.
He looked over his shoulder at her. 'I hope you like your bacon well-done.'
She laughed.
* * *
Later, they finally ate, and not a minute too soon, because Zach was sure his stomach had been about to feed on itself while he fed on her.
He looked across at her curled in the window seat, nursing a fresh cup of coffee and a faraway look as she gazed out over the tranquil blue waters of Talamanca Bay. The remains of their breakfast-eggs sans bacon-were pushed away on the breakfast table between them.
The air was balmy with late morning, the waters calm, and his thoughts somehow just as peaceful. The restless emptiness he'd been experiencing a few weeks ago strangely settled. By this woman?
The question threw him a little because he had no idea how she felt about him.
It was a surprisingly angst-ridden thought for a man who was used to women who would watch paint dry if he told them he found it fascinating. Not that Farah would. She'd no doubt roll her eyes and tell him a camel had more brains than he did. The thought made him smile and he was determined to remove the pensive look on her face.
Feeling strangely bereft of the skills that had led him arrogantly to claim that he was good with women and horses, he cleared his throat. 'You look troubled, habiba. Want to share?'
She glanced at him, her eyes guarded. Slowly she set her mug down on the table. 'It's nothing.'
He cocked an eyebrow and waited, resisting the need to haul her into his lap to comfort her and pet her. 'Nothing seems to get us into trouble. How about we try some other word?'
A faint smile tugged at her lips. 'Okay, I was... I was thinking that we don't really know each other very well.'
'Well, we do,' he corrected lazily. 'But that's not what you meant.'
Her smile turned wry. 'No.'
'Okay, well, I know that you take your coffee white with one and you know I have mine black. What else would you like to know?'
'I don't know.' She made a face. 'What is your favourite breakfast?'
'Bacon,' he delivered, deadpan. 'Yours?'
She laughed and he took it as a small victory. 'Eggs with sumac, hummus on flatbread, yoghurt and dates.'
'What about toast with Vegemite?'
She frowned. 'What is that?'
'It's something I discovered on a tour of Australia. You will love it.'
She rolled her eyes. 'Naturally.'
He smiled. 'Favourite colour?'
'Too many to choose. You?'