The Sheikh’s Disobedient Bride(55)
“You’re here.”
“So are one hundred other women!”
“You need me—”
“I don’t—”
“You do, but since you won’t accept that argument then here’s another.” He walked toward her, one step and another, closing the distance with his silent catlike strides that made him king of the desert. He didn’t stop walking until he stood just in front of her.
Tally had to lift her chin and look up, way up, to meet his dark eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as his gaze met hers and she felt consumed by him, consumed by a heat she couldn’t explain. All she knew was that when he looked at her she felt her insides melt, felt her bones dissolve.
Like now.
Hot, so hot, and the corner of his mouth lifted and he knew the effect he had, and he loved it.
“I want you as my wife because I like the way you look.” He smiled a little as if he knew how she’d take the words, appreciating how offended she’d be.
“I also like the way you kiss,” he drawled. “And I very much like the way you taste.”
Tally’s stomach flipped. She tried to look away, but his gaze was too intense and she felt caught, trapped in his smoldering eyes, his desire there, revealed for her. He was keeping nothing hidden now.
“There are few women,” he added, “that taste like you. And if I am to have a wife, I want one that I can kiss and lick and eat.”
Tally’s stomach flipped again, so high, so fast she shook. “You have a horrible sense of humor.”
His lips pulled and white wolf teeth flashed. “None whatsoever,” he agreed. His dark gaze settled on her mouth, and he cocked his head, drinking her in, making her lips feel full, swollen.
Tally’s belly clenched and she knotted her hands, a silent protest at his expert seduction. It wasn’t fair that he could just look at her, study her, say a few words and she’d feel this way. Feel this hot and anxious, this tight and unsatisfied, muscles snapping, pulse racing, temper flaring. It wasn’t fair that he created so much tension in her and that she’d want him to relieve it. Want him to satisfy her. Appease the hunger, satiate the ache.
“You don’t marry a woman just because she kisses good.”
“Of course you do.”
“Tair—”
“Come, think like a man. If you kiss like that, God, can you imagine what a delight you’ll be in bed?” He forced her head back and his mouth descended, his lips covering her, overwhelming her, lips ruthlessly parting hers to plunder the softness and sweetness inside.
Tally grabbed at Tair’s robe, clutching the fabric with every bit of her strength. She didn’t want to want him, didn’t want to feel like this, didn’t want to give in but as he shaped her body to him, she could only feel and feel how much she craved him.
His hands slid down her body, molding her curves, lingering on her breasts before setting fire to her spine and hips. His lips found that electric spot on her neck and she felt her legs nearly buckle beneath her. But he didn’t let her fall. He just took his time with her, breaking down her defenses, weakening her resolve with expert touch.
Shuddering she buried her face against his chest as his palm pressed against her pelvic bone and then down over her mound, cupping the warmth of her. He didn’t press into her, but then he didn’t need to. It was obvious to both of them she wanted him and for Tair that was victory enough.
“You are mine,” he said, lifting his head, his dark eyes burning with the same heat and desire that filled her. “Your body knows it even if your mind refuses.”
“It’s a physical thing,” she flashed, even as she struggled to clear her head, all her senses shaken, her legs weak.
“Fine. I’ll take whatever I can get.” He started to walk away but turned at the doorway. “For your information, it was a ceremonial bath you took two days ago, and the henna party yesterday? Another prewedding ritual. Here in Ouaha the bride is always painted before the ceremony.” His expression hardened, features grim. “You might not want to be a bride, and might not feel like marrying me but the Mullah is here and you’ve been prepared.”
He inclined his head once. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Tally sagged, clutched the wall behind her. Couple of hours?Hours? “We’re getting marriedtoday? ”
“Yes. Leena has your dress.” His granitelike jaw shifted, upper lip curling. “It’s not black, blue or white.”
Tair was right. The dress, part traditional caftan and part Western evening gown, was a lovely golden beige silk trimmed in velvet green and studded with silver and jewels along the dramatic velvet neckline.