On the other hand... “This is ludicrous,” she muttered. “No one has ever... I am completely English. Is this how you talk to every woman you meet?” She was blushing—of course she was—but she was indignant enough to feel her spine lock into place. “Because I can’t believe you’re acting as if this is...something that could really happen. I barely know you.”
“But the way you look at me says I can have you. I want to have you,” he warned, looking every inch the desert warrior who stole women for his harem and kept every single one of them pleasured.
A swirl of excitement spiraled downward from her throat to sting her breasts, coil in her abdomen and end as a spark between her thighs. It was a promise of something that had eluded her all her life and she wanted to hang on to it, kindle it and watch it glow hotter.
“You could help me out,” he said with a feral growl, nostrils flaring. “Tell me I’m wrong. Refuse me.”
She opened her mouth, knowing she should, but he stood there so commandingly. This wasn’t about her being too shy or intimidated to assert herself. It was about her being an honest person who was overwhelmed with attraction for the first time in her life. She wasn’t a victim of her own urges or his aggression. She finally felt alive and wanted to embrace everything about this glorious awareness.
So not a good idea.
She lifted a hopeless hand. “I told you men don’t come on to me. How much experience do you think I have with refusing one?”
He bit out an old-fashioned English curse, one she supposed was apropos, and turned away, too athletic to lurch, but his movements were jerky as he joined the children and admired the shots they’d taken so far.
Fern forced her gaze to the footprints he’d left behind, fearful that she was more like her mother than she’d ever be able to bear.
CHAPTER THREE
“THANKS FOR STAYING behind with me, Fern. This has been a nice day.”
Fern couldn’t help a small snort as she lifted her eyes off the book she was reading on her tablet. “We’ve barely done anything. I feel like I’m taking advantage, having such a lazy day.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. This trip isn’t just about Zafir wanting to ensure he has the backing of the nomads. It’s a holiday.” Amineh came up on her elbow on the mat next to Fern’s. “Speaking of the men, I could tell you were curious. Do you wish you’d gone with them?”
“I’ve never seen anyone hunt with falcons,” Fern lied, hoping it was a sufficient excuse for the temptation she’d revealed when Tariq had invited her to join him, his father and Ra’id. Every cell in her body was begging to be near Zafir, but after a glance into his inscrutable expression, she’d declined and had spent the day feeling his absence. “It seemed like male-bonding time, though. And I’d probably cry if they caught something.”
That made Bashira look up with a giggle from where she was building a sand castle with her sister. They all looked exactly as they did when they spent occasional afternoons beside the shaded pool at the palace. Amineh wore her bikini and Fern her one-piece. They’d waited until the sun had lowered enough to create a strip of shade for them to lie upon without needing sunscreen.
“The question is, do you wish you were with the men,” Fern teased. “You’ve been glued to your husband since we arrived.” It had been four days and while Fern had had the children for a few hours every morning and afternoon, the adults tended to keep their distance, as did Fern. It was the only way she could disguise her fascination with Zafir, but her attraction toward him had only increased rather than abated.