To Tempt a Sheikh(16)

As she began to reach for her clothes, he turned back to her.

He took her undershirt away from a hand gone lax. He pulled it over her  head, guided her flaccid arms through it, managing not to drop the  blanket from where it covered her breasts. He drew it away only once the  undershirt was securely in place.

Just when she thought she might suffer a coronary, his intent and  serious expression turned incandescent with a surge of something dark  and driven. Then he leaned down, opened his lips over the junction of  her neck and shoulder.                       
       
           



       

The feel of his tongue and teeth there was like being prodded by  lightning. She lurched under the force of sensations that thundered  through her. Then he made it worse.

He glided to the tip of her shoulder, scraping her flesh with his teeth, gathering the sweat beaded on it with his tongue.

He growled against her skin, sending a string of shock waves through her with every syllable.

She thought he said, "A reward … an incentive … "

Then he pulled back and disappeared into his compartment.

She flopped onto her back, gasping, before she forced herself up and  into her clothes. Then she crawled to his side to check his wound before  they resumed their grueling trek.

She'd have hours to contemplate the meaning of his words.

And the feelings he'd ripped from her depths.



By the end of the second day, their water supply had dwindled even  though they drank only when absolutely necessary. They were losing  gallons in this weather and with the exertion.

After midnight they stopped for their hour's rest.

As she drank, she noticed he didn't. She stopped, insisting he drink,  that he was the one losing the most fluids handling ten times the weight  she was. He only insisted on taking her up on her offer of IV fluids.

He hung the saline bag on his jacket so that she wouldn't have to stand  and hold it for him. She protested the inefficiency of this maneuver,  and he calmly unrolled a mat from the sled, propped it against the  sloping edge of a dune, tossed a few blankets beside it, then caught her  hand and pulled her down on it with him.

Before she knew what hit her, Harres was lounging with his back to the  dune, his endless legs open with her between them, her hips in their V,  her back to his chest, her head on his right shoulder. Then he cocooned  them both in the blankets and crossed his arms over her midriff,  plastering her to him.

After the first stunned moment, she tried to fidget away.

He tightened his hold, groaned in her ear, "Relax."

Relax? Was he insane?

And he wasn't only that, he was rubbing his lips against the top of her  head, inhaling her and rumbling enjoyment as he talked. "Rest. Get warm.  It's far colder than yesterday."

"W-we have enough blankets," she protested weakly. "We can roll in them separately."

"This is the best method of body temperature preservation."

"And to think I reminded you of that!"

His chuckle, reverberating beneath her ear, sent more waves of distress  crashing through her. "Conserve your energy, my Talia. Sleep, and I'll  wake you up in an hour, maybe two."

"I-I don't want to sleep."

"I don't either. I'd rather be awake, experiencing this with you."

And though she was far from cold, a tremor rattled through her.

He'd just put into words what she felt.

Though his arms were pressing beneath her suddenly aching breasts and  her buttocks were pressed to what she suspected, if couldn't credit, was  a massive erection, it wasn't sexual. Or not only so. She'd never felt  this close to anyone. This intimate. Even during her now  almost-forgotten sexual encounters, she hadn't been any closer to  experiencing what she did with Harres than she was to one of the stars  above.

She sighed, feeling as if her bones had turned to warm liquid and the  rest of her senses had melted in the sluggish heat of her blood. "Stars.  They are still up there."

He nuzzled her cheek with his lips. "You don't see them much where you live, eh?"

She sighed in deeper contentment. "Make that don't see them at all. Not  for years. But even when I did, I never saw so many. I didn't think  there were so many. Scientifically speaking, I know there are endless  numbers of them in our galaxy alone. But I never thought we could  actually see them. There are millions of them."

Her voice sounded intoxicated to her ears. And she was. With the  overpowering mixture of the virility enfolding her and the desert's  magnificent menace.

His voice poured directly through to her brain, frying more synapses.  "Actually, only about eight thousand are visible to us poor earthlings  in any given hemisphere, no matter how clear the skies are. And you  won't find any clearer anywhere in the world."

That piece of info she hadn't known. She turned in his arms languidly, looked up at him. "Don't tell me you counted them."

"I tried. Then had to borrow good scientists' findings."

"They seem so much more. But I'll take your word for it. I'm just glad they all showed up tonight."

"I ordered them to be present especially for you."

Coming from any other man, that would have sounded like an  outrageous-and annoying as hell-line. But somehow, from Harres, this  force of nature who seemed to be as one with the powers of this land,  his land, it didn't seem far-fetched. She did feel as if he had an  empathy, an understanding with their surroundings, as if they let him  divine their secrets and share their strengths. And then, coming from  the man who'd risked his life to save her, who'd lavished such care on  her, showed her such admiration and restraint and solicitude, she could  easily believe his wish to please her, to gift her. So even the  sentiment behind the claim seemed right, sincere. Profound.                       
       
           



       

And if an inner voice told her it was his need to learn her secrets that  fueled all of the above, she couldn't listen. No one could be that good  at hiding ulterior motives. And she had experienced him through the  worst that could be thrown at a person. He'd shone through with  gallantry and resourcefulness, with kindness and control.

She at last sighed again. "I wouldn't put it past you. So they're your subjects, too?"

"Oh, no. They're just old friends. We have an understanding."

Just as she'd thought. "I sort of believe you."

"I could get used to hearing you say that."

The rolling r's of the accent that caressed his perfect English thrummed  that chord of ready desire that seemed to have come into existence in  the core of her being. Instead of agitating her, it lulled her. She  suddenly wanted to sleep. Like this. Ensconced in his power and  protection.

She yawned. "You're comfy."

"I certainly am not comfy." His chuckle vibrated through her. But it was  the powerful jerk against her buttocks, what she could no longer doubt  was his hardness, seeming to be getting bigger, if that was possible,  that lurched her out of her stupor.

He pulled her back against him. "Don't move."

"But you're … you're … "

"Aroused? Sure. I've been hard as steel since I laid eyes on you. And no, I'm not like that by default. But I don't mind."

"I thought men didn't mind anything more."

"I'm not 'men.' And even though it started out as uncomfortable, veered  into painful and is now bordering on agonizing, I've never enjoyed  anything more. I've never felt so alive."

She squirmed with his every word, only to be struck still when she  realized it only made him harder. She'd never known mortification like  this. Or arousal.

Her heart rattled her frame, until he pressed her closer to his body and  whispered against her cheek, "I'll never do anything you don't invite  me to, Talia. Beg me to."

She believed him. And she sagged back, savoring the way their bodies  throbbed in unison. She'd probably be horrified later. But who cared  about later when now was here? And like this?

She melted into him, felt her breathing and heartbeats match to his.

Endless minutes of shared tranquility and silent communion     later, he  kissed her forehead and sighed. "See that star? The one winking  azure-blue? I'll call her Talia."

She nuzzled into his kiss, inviting a few more down her cheek, her core  now so hot, so drenched and cramping she was breaths away from inviting  more. Begging for it.

She pressed her thighs together, alleviating a measure of the pounding,  and choked a thick murmur. "It must already have a name."

"I don't care. It reminds me of your eyes."

She giggled. "Maybe you should call it Talia's Eyes."

"Since it's only one, better yet Talia's Eye. So which will it be, ya  nadda jannati? Talia's Left or Right Eye? I can foresee the myths that  would one day be woven around such a name."