Читать книгу Desert Sheikhs: Monarch of the Sands / To Tame a Sheikh / Sheikh Protector - Dana Marton - Страница 15

THERE was no finesse. No honeyed words which preceded a leisurely and sophisticated seduction. There was barely even time to take in the surprisingly modern building—for no sooner had the door of Zahid’s private house closed behind them than he pulled Frankie into his arms. For a moment, his hands framed her face as he looked down into the wide-spaced blue eyes and the high colour which was splashed over her cheekbones.

‘Francesca,’ he grated. ‘God help me for doing this.’

‘Then God help me, too,’ she whispered.

And then they were in each other’s arms and kissing as if it had just been invented. Only for Frankie, maybe it just had—because no kiss could ever have prepared her for this. Her arms wrapped themselves tightly around his neck and she clung to him like some kind of rampant vine while their mouths locked and their tongues played intimate little dances. With a groan, he pulled her closer into his body. She could feel the hot throb of his need pressing urgently against her and, although she should have found it daunting, it did nothing but make her wriggle her body impatiently against his.

With an effort, he tore himself away from her and saw the dark bewilderment in her eyes.

‘What is it?’ she whispered.

He shook his head. ‘Not here. Come with me. I want to do this properly.’

Properly. It was a word steeped in both sensuality and formality and Frankie gave a shiver of anticipation as he took her hand in his and led her into a room off the main area which was dominated by an enormous bed. She was dimly aware of an extraordinary light from outside—which was quickly muted when Zahid pressed a button recessed into one of the walls and blinds floated down to blot out the day.

‘Now …’ Lifting his hands, he tangled his fingers in the satin spill of her dark hair and could feel the soft butt of her breasts as he pulled her close to kiss her again. And it was torture. The sweetest and most exquisite torture he could imagine. If it had been anyone else, he would have taken her swiftly and left the slow love-making until afterwards, when his urgent hunger had been satisfied. But he did not want to take her like that. Not Francesca. He wanted to do it slow and he wanted her naked. To see every glorious inch of her.

‘Let’s rid ourselves of these damned clothes, shall we?’

Frankie’s heart was racing as he brushed his lips negligently over hers. Half of her was afraid to let him go—terrified that he might change his mind and decide that his wretched self-control was more important than this. But the old familiar nerves which she had been dreading had so far failed to make an appearance. ‘Oh, Zahid,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, please.’

With one movement and the swift gleam of a smile, he tore off his headdress—to reveal the familiar raven-blue gleam of his hair. ‘Lift up your arms,’ he said unsteadily.

Where were all those paralysing insecurities now? she wondered. Banished by the urgency of her desire for him, that was where. She did as he commanded, so that he was able to skim off her tunic, and then the silken trousers were removed in one fluid movement. She realised that her mediocre bra and panties were on show and that maybe this was the point where she should have felt self-conscious. Yet the hot look of approbation which glittered from his eyes made her thrill with a potent kind of pride and suddenly she forgot the fact that she was wearing chain-store underwear.

Impatiently, he pulled off his own clothing and suddenly Frankie felt a wave of shyness as she realised that he was completely naked beneath it. The robes fell to the ground in a whisper and her cheeks flamed as she saw the hard, lean body and the proud evidence of his arousal.

‘You like what you see?’ he murmured.

Too dazed to speak, she nodded her head, even though she was certainly no expert. But she liked what she saw in Zahid’s body—all burnished skin covering honed and powerful muscle. More importantly, she liked the man inside it—in spite of his outrageously outdated attitudes and cavalier air.

Her skin and her body felt as if they were on fire as, impatiently, he pushed aside a cashmere throw and drew her down onto the smooth, satin surface of the bed.

‘Zahid …’ She closed her eyes as he peeled off her bra and panties and brought her close to his naked body.

‘Mmm?’

‘It’s …’ His fingers were tiptoeing over her breasts—teasing the achingly aroused and puckered nipples and then letting his palms spread deliciously over them, covering them like a warm blanket.

‘What is it, anisah bahiya?’ he murmured. ‘Is it like a little piece of heaven that we have found here on earth?’

‘Yes, yes—that’s exactly it! Oh! Oh!’ Now his lips were on her breasts and his fingers were snaking their way down over her belly as the feeling of warmth grew into one of molten heat.

She should have felt shy when he touched her where she most longed to be touched, but how could she be shy about entering the little piece of heaven he had so rightly described? And should she be touching him?

What would a man like Zahid expect from his lover?

Tentatively, her fingertips reached down to brush against his manhood. It felt like silk and steel, she thought, before her hand was swiftly removed from his flesh as if she had been caught pick-pocketing.

‘No, anisah,’ he murmured regretfully as he kissed each finger in turn. ‘Not this time—for you have made me so aroused that I do not trust myself. I am like a novice in your arms and if you touch me again like that, it will all be over.’ It was, he realised with a sudden start, the most intimate thing he had ever said to a woman. But his thoughts reminded him of one vital omission and he reached into the cabinet beside the bed to extract a condom, stroking it on with a strange and unmistakable reluctance. And there was a conversation he still needed to have with her …

He moved over her, his arousal pressing provocatively between her thighs, but he forced himself to say what he knew he owed her, even if it meant that the mood might be destroyed and the moment lost for ever.

‘Francesca …’

Her eyes fluttered open in question; she was terrified that he might be about to change his mind. ‘What?’

‘It is not the right time to say this—and yet if I wait, it will be too late.’

‘S-say what?’

‘You … you do not expect this to lead to something permanent?’ he questioned unevenly. ‘Because it can never be. You do realise that?’

Frankie stared up into the shifting shadows of his face, momentarily cursing his sense of timing. The heartbreaking words left her in no doubt of his feelings for her, but that didn’t change a thing. ‘Of course I don’t. I just want …’ What did she want? To feel as other women felt? To experience pleasure with a man she had always adored? Should she tell him the secret she had kept buttoned up inside her? She looked up at the bowed outline of his lips—so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face.

And if she told him, then what? Would he stop? Yes, she realised, with an instinct she instantly trusted. He would stop. Even if it took a supreme effort of will which would defeat most men—Zahid would somehow manage it.

‘What do you want, Francesca?’ he murmured.

No. She would not tell him. At least, not yet. ‘I want … you.’

‘Then you shall have me.’ His lips grazed hers as he moved over her, his fingers moving between her thighs to part her moist flesh in readiness. Grasping his manhood, he brushed provocatively against her honeyed heat. ‘You shall have me right … now.’

Urgently, he thrust inside her—but the warning bells rang too late. It happened before Zahid properly realised what was happening—before his disbelieving senses could piece together all the facts. The brief barrier. The momentary resistance to his deep thrust before he broke through into a place of such sweet, wet tightness that he groaned aloud. The tiny whimpering sound of pain she made confirmed his worst suspicions but by then it was too late and anger melded with passion and became an unstoppable mix.

‘Zahid!’ She gave a soft gasp as he tightened his hold on her.

‘Relax,’ he instructed throatily as he began to move inside her. ‘Let go.’

‘Oh, Zahid,’ she said again, more brokenly this time.

He’d never known love-making like it—even though it tested every reserve he possessed. Time and time he held back from giving into his orgasm—determined that her first time would be memorable for the right reasons. Or at least some of the right reasons, he thought grimly as his fingers gripped the satin of her thighs to drive into her even deeper.

Her head turned wildly against the pillow as she began to make soft, moaning sounds—and when at last he sensed the change in her, he drew back to watch it happen. Saw the slow arching of her back and the rosy flowering over her breasts. Heard the fevered entreaty gasped from her parted lips as her orgasm captured her.

Even before her spasms had stilled, he sensed the inevitability of his own release and felt it like nothing he had ever felt before. Everything paled in comparison to those fleeting moments of pure pleasure. Every milestone of his life, every battle fought and victory won—he would have traded them all for this one moment of delicious weakness with Francesca O’Hara.

But afterwards, when his body had begun to quieten, his thoughts began to race. Slowly, he withdrew from her—taking a moment to compose himself before turning her towards him, steeling his heart against the trickle of a tear which slid down her cheek.

It was long moments before he could bring himself to speak and when he did, his words shot out like bullets. The only woman he had thought he could trust—and she had deceived him in the most fundamental way of all.

‘So,’ he said heavily. ‘Are you going to give me some kind of explanation?’

She heard the sudden coolness in his voice and Frankie’s heart sank as some of her joy began to evaporate. Couldn’t the interrogation wait? Couldn’t he just let her revel in this feeling—let her enjoy the sense of warmth and closeness she was experiencing right now? Surely she was allowed to spin out her hopeless fantasies about her dark and brooding lover for just a little longer.

‘You mean about—’

‘Please don’t make it worse by playing games with me, Francesca. It seems you’ve done enough game-playing to last a lifetime.’ Angrily, he wiped away the tear which shimmered on her cheek and which seemed to reproach him. Why hadn’t she told him before it was too late? ‘You know exactly what I mean.’

‘About me being …’ Her voice tailed off because the word seemed like an unwanted intruder and the dark look on his face filled her with trepidation.

‘A virgin. A virgin!’ He shook his head in disbelief as he rolled away from her, reaching down to grab the cashmere throw, which had tumbled to the floor during their love-making and thrusting it at her, not wanting to look at her pink and white nakedness. He saw her move one milky thigh to reveal the secret, dark fuzz of hair and felt the rapid escalation of his heart. ‘Cover yourself up!’

Frankie was grateful for the blanket, tugging it over herself with trembling fingers as she stared at him with apprehensive eyes.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he demanded.

‘Because I knew you would stop if I did—’

‘Damned right I would have stopped!’

‘And I didn’t want you to,’ she said, in a small voice.

Her wide-eyed honesty took him aback and almost made him melt, until he reminded himself of what she had done and the repercussions of her actions. ‘You didn’t have sex with Simon?’ he queried, then gave a short laugh as he realised the ridiculous nature of his question. ‘Clearly not, as I’ve just discovered for myself.’ He looked at her, trying to steel himself against the softness of her lips and the blue temptation of her darkened eyes. ‘The question is, why not?’

She felt as if she were on a witness stand—suddenly expected to mount her own defence with little or no preparation. And her only defence was the truth, Frankie realised—even if it opened her up to the charge of being too trusting and too vulnerable.

‘Because I was … nervous whenever Simon touched me.’ Awkwardly, she wriggled her shoulders. ‘I sort of … froze.’

‘You didn’t act very nervous just now.’ And she certainly hadn’t frozen.

She swallowed but the candid question still sparked from his black eyes. Did he want her to spell it out for him, detail by cringe-making detail—and inflate his already over-inflated ego into the bargain? Did she admit that she’d been stupid enough to get engaged to a man who hadn’t made her feel a modicum of what she felt for the brooding sheikh? That she had only just discovered what real passion and desire could feel like?

‘You made me feel relaxed,’ she said simply. ‘No, maybe that’s the wrong word. You made me feel …’ She gave another rueful shrug of her shoulders—for surely there was no place for coyness now. ‘Wanton, I guess. Which he never did. He told me that day when I went to see him that I was basically … frigid. And I believed him.’ She stopped while Zahid said something very profound in his native tongue, her heart beating hopefully as he pulled the cashmere throw over him as well, so that she could feel the heat from his body as he drew closer. ‘Anyway, maybe I should be grateful that we didn’t have sex.’ Her voice wobbled a little. ‘Not if he was sleeping with somebody else at the time.’

Zahid gave a ragged sigh as he stared at the ceiling, cursing the man who had hurt her and cursing his own hot-blooded impetuosity. How bloody complicated life could be at times, he thought. The best sex he’d ever had and it had been with his oldest friend—who had now wasted her virginity on him and given him a whole new layer of unwanted responsibility towards her. Was this not the most impossible of all situations?

‘You know what kind of man I am, Francesca,’ he said furiously. ‘As King, I will be expected to marry a virgin—but it will have to be a woman from my own culture,’ he ran on hastily, in case she should think that she now qualified for the position. ‘Not a foreigner.’

Frankie was glad that he was looking at the ceiling because otherwise he might have seen the hurt which had criss-crossed over her face. How unwittingly cruel he could be. Did he think she was now angling for marriage, simply because he had been the first man she’d had sex with? Did he imagine that she had withheld the information from him in order to put herself in a powerful position?

But it took her only moments to compose herself. Why should he feel guilt about what had just happened, when in a way—she had misled him? Yet she hadn’t kept quiet about her innocence because she had some form of agenda. She had done it because she’d wanted Zahid more than anything else in the world. She had wanted him to be the man to introduce her to the world of sex. And she had done it because she … well, she liked him. That was all. Surely that was something which could be celebrated instead of regretted?

Beneath the superfine cashmere, she stretched her glowing body and the movement made him turn his head to look at her, his eyes narrowing as she gave him a tentative smile.

‘I don’t want to fall out about it,’ she said softly, and with that she reached out her hand to cup the jut of his jaw. She could feel the rasp of new growth there and traced her thumb over his lips, not surprised when he caught it between his teeth and gave it a tiny nip.

‘Neither do I,’ he growled.

‘So couldn’t we … couldn’t we forget it ever hap pened?’

‘Are you crazy?’ The absurdity of her statement stirred him into action and he rolled closer, pulling her against his warm and newly aroused body. And then he sighed. ‘No, you’re just inexperienced—and in a way, it’s a bit of a pity that you’ve started with the best.’

She bristled at the implication behind his words. ‘You mean that no lover will ever match you?’

That hadn’t been what he’d meant at all. He’d meant that sex rarely felt this good—especially given that it was her first time. He wondered why that was, before quickly dismissing the thought. The whys and wherefores were irrelevant—it was the facts they had to deal with. And the fact was that he had just made love to his sweet virginal Francesca and he wanted to do it again.

‘I doubt it,’ he told her honestly.

‘Why, you arrogant—’

He silenced her with the brush of his lips. ‘Arrogance is sometimes the truth, anisah,’ he said sombrely.

When he spoke like that—how could she resist him?

When his black eyes looked as deep and as dark as ink and she just wanted to write her name with them …

‘Oh, Zahid.’

‘Zahid, what?’

She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders helplessly so that the throw slipped down. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.

And neither did he. All he could think about was the distracting softness of her warm breasts and her evocative feminine scent, which seemed to have invaded his senses. His lips brushing against her shoulder, he slid his fingers between her thighs as he gave into a temptation he had no desire to resist. Why mar this beautiful experience with troublesome questions which could easily wait?

Lowering his mouth onto hers, he gave a low moan as his kiss blotted everything except the hungry clamour of their bodies.