She closed her eyes, overcome at the poignant sweetness of his embrace, for once not sexual, but emotional. It felt healing. Loving.
But the effects of his proximity were there, too. She was aware of his torso beneath the familiar, thin fabric of his thobe, the scent of cotton and man, the humid air and the musical tinkle of the water below. It all pulled her into the sensual spell that was Zafir. Her blood began to heat and her skin prickled into receptiveness.
Self-conscious at her instant response, she started to draw away.
“Don’t,” he murmured and made her tilt her head to look up at him. “Given everything I’ve just told you, you must realize how important it is to me that you feel physical desire for me. Don’t hide it from me. Even if all you feel is lust, Fern, I’m glad it’s there.”
She struggled to hold his gaze, certain her true feelings were painted all over her face. He was too astute and experienced not to see the signs.
“It’s love,” she whispered, feeling worse than naked. Like her soul was exposed. The agony of having no defenses left against him at all twined through her voice. “I think it happened at the oasis. That’s why I was so afraid to tell you about the baby. I couldn’t bear for you to hate me when you’d seemed to like me a little—”
“A lot,” he amended, cupping her face in two hands. “Ah, Fern.” His face spasmed with great pain. “I fell in love, too. And I couldn’t admit it even to myself. Not when it made me just like my father.”
“I’m s—”
He set his thumb across her lips, stilling them. “I’m sorry that I wasted months when we could have been together. I thought I should be able to control my feelings, especially if it was only lust, but I couldn’t. I can’t. You’re everything I want, the only woman I think about.”
“Oh, Zafir...” She went up on tiptoes, trying to kiss him.
He groaned, hands closing into her hair as his mouth landed on hers, rough and hot.
He gentled immediately, groaning again, but didn’t release her. With a growl of apology and frustration, he tenderly ravaged her mouth.
She closed her eyes, falling apart at the sweetness of having his kiss again. His arm came around her back to haul her in. Her hands closed on his thobe, grasping and trying to pull him into her. She couldn’t get close enough. Silly bump in the way!
He moved them deeper into the room, kicking the door shut with a slam. As he pivoted to sit on the padded love seat, he dragged her onto his lap, knees on either sides of his thighs.
“Okay?” he murmured between consuming bites of her mouth, his hands riding her skirt up her thighs and then cupping her bottom proprietarily, fingering under the lacy edges of her undies.
She braced her forearms on his shoulders, kissing and kissing him. Running fingers up the back of his neck into his hair. Knocking his gutra askew. Reuniting. “I’m too heavy on you,” she gasped, but couldn’t make herself pull away. His hands wouldn’t let her.
He laughed, using his nose to nudge her chin up so he could kiss her neck. He’d done that sort of thing in the tent at the oasis, told her without words what he wanted. Her throat, her collarbone, her breast. She scraped her hair back and away, offering. She told him with the angle of her body where she wanted his nibbling kisses, and sighed when he found the exact spot that melted her into heaven.
She ignited in his arms. Absolutely burst with the thrill of feeling him, smelling him, returning to this amazing place where touching and kissing and caressing was perfect and right and necessary. Where it was an expression of more than sexual attraction. Love.