The Sheikh's Sinful Seduction(37)
His whisper, scented faintly of cloves and anise, caressed her cheek.
Belated shock went through her and she jerked her limbs into reacting. Unfortunately he was half on her bedroll, pinning her sheet and keeping her reflexive movements muted. She couldn’t even wriggle as he settled his weight half over her.
“Shh. Don’t make any noise. I just want to talk.”
Forcing herself to stillness, she tried to ignore the way her body blossomed against his, even with his thobe, a sheet and her nightgown between. Her breasts tingled, her thighs grew restless. Desire concentrated in her loins, anticipating his touch.
And her helplessness at her own reaction made tears burn her eyes. She turned her head away from him, dislodging his hand from her mouth.
His fingers curled under and he smoothed her cheek with his knuckle. “I know I was harsh to you,” he said tightly. “This thing between us—”
“Is nothing. I know,” she asserted, not wanting to hear him say it. “I’m weak, not stupid. I wasn’t trying to stake a claim on you. I wasn’t assuming we’re friends or anything else. We don’t even know each other.”
His touch stalled, then his breath clouded against her ear in a drained sigh. “I know you’re willing to put everything on the line for the life of a girl you barely know.” His touch caressed from below her ear, along her jaw and down. He opened his hand on her throat and aligned his thumb along the artery throbbing with needy anticipation. “Thank you for doing that. I couldn’t sleep, knowing you thought I was angry with you for it.”
She knew she ought to say something. Forgive him. Tell him to go. All she could think about, however, was how it would feel if he slid his hand down to her breast.
“That’s all I came for,” he said, lifting his hand off her as he started to roll away.
“Is it?” Weak, weak Fern. She closed her eyes against the clamor inside her, the yearning that was so self-destructive as to invite more of his dispassionate lovemaking.
His breath hissed in. He set his hand on her stomach. “You want me to stay?”
She shouldn’t. She knew that. But she slid her hand from under the sheet, covered his and lightly drew it up to her breast. “I know it’s bad,” she whispered achingly.
“I’m the one behaving badly, Fern.” He took up her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “Your first lover should be someone who offers more than a week of stolen rendezvous in the dark. I’m very conscious that I’m taking advantage of you.”
She heard the confirmation that this was all they had and it cracked a wide fissure through her. Turning her hand in his, she traced the smooth shape of his lips, aching for better words to come out of them.
“Apparently I have a suitor if I want marriage,” she said, smiling sadly and glad he couldn’t see it. “At first I thought you were him, here to kidnap me into the desert.”
“That’s not funny.” His grip on her hand tightened and he leaned over her, lips questing for hers. “I wanted to knock his young ass into the dirt when he asked about you. I told you before that if I can’t have you, no one can.”
“But you can,” she told him, smoothing her fingers over the scuff of his growing beard and into his hair to explore the shape of his skull. A distant part of her already wept at the idea of losing him in a few short days, but his possessiveness healed the fracture in her chest with crooked, stinging stitches. Oh, how she wanted this. Him.