The Sheikh's Sinful Seduction(27)

                Trying to get a grip on his libido before he saw her, he’d hung back with Tariq to watch him dress the birds they’d caught. After a few moments, his son had said, “I can do it” with that hint of exasperated annoyance children had when a parent hovered. Rather than take offense, Zafir had accepted that he was being a coward. He had gone to relay Tariq’s invitation to dinner, then found himself following Fern across the camp.

                He should have called out sooner and spoken to her in the open, but the male animal in him had fixated on the twin cheeks that were not voluptuous, but were lovely, firm lobes that moved under the tissue-thin veil of her sarong. Her ambling walk had been lazy. The way she had craned her neck had spoken of her enjoyment in her surroundings.

                That sensuous streak was his undoing. His thoughts had turned to how she would react to other physical pleasures. When he’d finally caught up to her in the relative privacy at the side of her tent, he’d already been so primed that her near nudity had devastated what little self-discipline he’d had left. He hadn’t even spoken to her. It was a wonder he’d taken the time to press her out of sight before he’d fallen on her.

                If only she had recoiled from his touch, but the responsiveness in her was not only a frustrating thrust of responsibility totally onto him, but also pure seduction. When she’d opened her mouth and kissed him back, he’d lost it. His one and only glimmer of sanity had been a recollection that they could be discovered at any second.

                And now that he knew how reactive she was, how she melted under his touch and abandoned herself to his lovemaking, he could think of nothing but touching her again. Arousing her to that same level of wildness and thrusting into her. Making her cry her elation into his ear.

                So impossible.

                Especially as she sat across from him, her lashes lowered, her tongue sweeping her lips between bites of stew. The children bandied for her attention. Even Amineh was determined to engage her.

                He did everything he could to avoid even looking at her.

                But he noticed Fern had buttoned herself into cotton armor and was acting like she was sitting on a pin. Her hair was hidden under a scarf. Its edges fluttered around her face and she kept touching her collar and tugging her skirt to cover her shin, trying to hold her own against the breeze that had come up as the sun had gone down.

                His friend Ra’id could caress his wife’s cheek, but he, Zafir, could not reach across and tuck an errant strand of hair under his lover’s scarf. The injustice—and the intensity of oppression he felt at being denied—confounded him.

                “You’ve been in such owly moods this trip,” his sister said with a nudge of her elbow into his side. “What’s bothering you?”

                Ra’id covered Amineh’s hand and murmured, “Men in our position can’t always talk about the concerns we shoulder.”

                Amineh’s gaze flicked to Fern, and Fern was sharp enough to get the message that she had just been labeled an outsider. Her mouth tightened in a tiny flinch, but she quickly hid it behind a smile for Tariq.

                “I must thank you again, young man. This has been such a treat. Both the delicious meal and dining with your family. I find such a lively table a bit overwhelming to be honest. It was always just my mother and I growing up. She often worked late so eating alone feels very normal to me.”

                I won’t be insulted if you don’t invite me again, her chipper remark seemed to say. In fact, I’d prefer it.

                It tugged an unexpected pang from Zafir’s heart. Ra’id wasn’t a snob, but he was a realist. Fern’s position in his household was well defined and it behooved all of them to remember it.