The Sheikh's Sinful Seduction(25)

                She felt him smile against her mouth, but her focus narrowed to only his touch, delicate and certain, pressing, circling, rubbing and rubbing, drawing her closer and tighter to the edge of reason, making her scalp tighten—

                “Oh, Zafir—” He covered her mouth as the sob built in her throat, reminding her to hold it back as he slid his finger into her and made her world shatter.

                She clung to him, overwhelmed by the cataclysm. Nothing in her sheltered little world had prepared her for how amazing he made her feel. Delicious convulsions of joy rocked through her, settling her in a place where nothing existed but him, his touch, his kiss.

                The sensations went on and on, slowly fading and leaving her in a floaty place where she felt closer to him than she’d ever felt to another human being. A distant part of her was aware that he was still fondling her, soothing her down from the clouds in the most intimate way, but it felt natural and delicious and she wanted to stay right here luxuriating in—

                “Miss Davenport? Are you in there?”

                Tariq.

                They jerked apart and her hands automatically scrambled her swimsuit back into place. What had she just done?

                Zafir nudged her to rise and she flashed him a look, cut by the grim scowl he wore. He mouthed Answer.

                “I’m, um, yes, I’m here, Tariq.” She grabbed her sarong off the ground and wrapped it around herself, trying not to hang herself on the wires as she glanced back to ensure Zafir wasn’t visible. “What did you need?”

                “Did my father come see you?”

                “Um...” Her brain blanked, unable to conjure a lie even to a child when it was critically necessary.

                “To invite you to eat with us tonight?” Tariq prompted.

                “Oh! Was your, um, hunt successful?”

                “Just three birds, but it’s enough. Are you coming swimming? Walk with me. I’ll tell you about it.”

                “I’ve been swimming already. I need to rest now.” Take cover. Regroup. She couldn’t believe what she had just let happen.

                “You should cool off in the water,” he suggested. “You look hot.”

                She blushed harder as she thought of the reason she looked overheated.

                “Good advice,” she choked. “I’ll think about it and join you in a minute.” There. Finally a credible lie.

                As Tariq ran off, Fern stood there in bewilderment. Her blood still sang and her skin felt like it was made of velvet. Forget swimming. She was so lethargic, she could barely stay on her feet, but she was gripped by mortification so intense she was terrified to move.

                Glancing around the camp, she saw no one who might have seen what she’d been doing, where she’d been, or with whom. Was he still there?

                Ducking into her tent, she went to the back wall and whispered, “Are you still there?”

                Nothing. When she looked out the screen that formed a small window in the back wall, she saw no one. It was both a relief and a disappointment. Going back outside, she went behind the tent and kicked sand across the impression they’d left with their rolling, then scrubbed her bare foot over the man-sized sandal prints that disappeared into the forest of grass and palm trees behind her tent.