Читать книгу Modern Romance March 2019 Books 1-4 - Кэтти Уильямс, Julia James, Cathy Williams - Страница 18

HIS HUNGRY HANDS were on her breasts, her bottom and her belly as sexual heat ripped through Jasmine like a desert storm. Zuhal’s fingers were moving urgently over her as if he couldn’t wait to reacquaint himself with every inch of quivering flesh. She clung to his shoulders for support as he pulled her closer with a possessive mastery which made her feel weak with desire.

‘Zuhal,’ she breathed, the warmth of her breath mingling eagerly with his, the heat in her lower body starting its restless throb.

He didn’t reply. Not at first. His only response was to deepen the kiss—his tongue exploring her with breathtaking intimacy. Her heart was racing like a piston as her fingers touched the unfamiliar headdress and she gave an impatient little tug to remove it. It slithered redundantly to the marble floor and suddenly his head was bare, just like in the old days. Exultantly, her fingertips explored the thick silk of his hair, before kneading at the base of his neck in a way which made him give an instinctive murmur of appreciation. Her hands moved to his biceps—powerful and supremely strong beneath his desert robes. She began to massage the rippling flesh and felt a familiar tension enter his body as he circled his hips in a way which made her intensely aware of his erection.

Jasmine closed her eyes as she felt that steely column pressing into her belly, suddenly aware of everything which had happened since they’d last made love. She recognised that her body had done some amazing things during that time. It had grown and given birth to a baby—an accomplishment which seemed both unreal and marvellous. But this was different. This was hunger. Sexual hunger. A raw and primitive need which was fierce and all-consuming. It was eating her up from the inside and igniting a yearning so powerful that she felt almost unable to stand.

Did Zuhal realise that? Was that why he drew back and stared down at her for a long moment—his eyes glittering like polished jet—before scooping her up into his arms with a moan which called out to her aching heart? When for a moment he seemed like the embodiment of all things alpha as he towered over her, dark and strong and vital as he carried her across the shiny marble floor towards an arched entrance at the far end of the vast chamber, his robes flowing like liquid silk as he walked.

‘Where are we going?’ she gasped, as he dipped his head to enter a narrow corridor, whose ceiling gleamed with exquisite inlaid tiles depicting erotic scenes of cavorting lovers.

‘Somewhere where we’ll be more comfortable.’

She looked up into the hectic gleam of his black eyes. ‘Somewhere?’

‘My bedroom,’ he clarified unsteadily. ‘It is connected to your apartments through this passageway, which is unseen by anyone else and which only the King is permitted to use. But I grant you my permission to use it any time you wish, Jazz.’

They emerged into a room which was way more magnificent than the suite which had been assigned to her and Darius, but for once Jasmine wasn’t daunted by the size or splendour of the accommodation. Exquisite furniture and several statues swam in and out of focus, but all she could see was the vast bed, which Zuhal was striding towards.

Dimly she became aware of him impatiently brushing aside a litter of cushions before laying her down on it, his black gaze raking over her with a look of hungry speculation. Her hands were lying above her head and her legs were splayed out beneath the soft silken robes. And in that moment she felt like a sacrifice about to be offered up to the gods—a feeling which should surely have repelled the modern woman she was—yet the expression on his face spoke to some deep need inside her and she knew there was no power on earth which could have made her resist him.

‘Oh, Jazz,’ he groaned as he lay down beside her, his lips at her neck, his practised hand already rucking up the slippery fabric of her gown as his mouth drifted to her ear. ‘You look so beautiful lying there.’

‘D-do I?’

‘Utterly.’ he husked. ‘Do you know how much I want you?’

‘I think…’ She closed her eyes as he began to drift kisses over her neck. ‘I think I can just about work it out.’

‘Then double it,’ he growled. ‘Better still, triple it.’

His hungry words thrilled her—they made her heart race even harder. She remembered the first time he’d taken her to bed, when her heart had swelled up with so much joy. When she’d cried—she wasn’t quite sure why—when he had taken her virginity, and he had dried away her tears with a touch which had seemed almost tender.

And although some tiny voice in her head was telling her this was different—was urging her to employ caution—Jasmine refused to listen. Because how could she possibly be cautious when Zuhal’s fingers were at her breasts? When they were cupping each swollen mound so that the mango silk appeared bright against his burnished flesh. And now his hand was inching its way up her leg, his featherlight fingertips brushing against the silky flesh of her inner thigh so that goosebumps were flowering beneath his touch. She could feel a syrupy rush soaking her panties and Jasmine closed her eyes before opening them again. ‘Zuhal,’ she said weakly, and just saying his name out loud was making her even more excited.

‘Do you like that?’

‘You…you know I do,’ she managed to say, but only just—because now he had reached her panties and his finger was tracing a teasing path over the delicate fabric, which stretched tightly over her aching mound. Jasmine swallowed. How could she have forgotten that her body could ever feel like this?

‘And this?’ he questioned, almost carelessly.

She almost shot off the bed as skilfully he targeted her quivering clitoris. ‘Oh, yes,’ she groaned. ‘Yes.’

‘How much do you like it?’ he murmured.

‘A…a lot,’ she breathed.

‘Then let’s see if we can do something you like even more, shall we? Any ideas, Jazz?’

‘I’ll… I’ll leave those to you,’ she gasped. ‘You were always the one with the ideas.’

Pushing aside the damp fabric, he began to thrum his finger against her moist flesh and Jazz began to quiver as his hand took on that slick rhythm she hadn’t felt for so long. Already she felt crazily close to coming, knowing that if she let him continue she would succumb to the intense orgasm which was building up inside her. And wasn’t that what she wanted? Wasn’t that all she wanted? A quick, physical release to satisfy her aching body—with no danger of compromising her heart. Fractionally she lifted her hips and squirmed, her silent invitation to continue with his ministrations all too obvious. But Zuhal obviously had other ideas. Pulling his hand away and allowing it to rest indolently against the springy curls of her pubic hair, he pressed his lips into her ear.

‘No,’ he breathed hotly. ‘Not like that. Not the first time. I want to feel myself inside you again, Jazz. Deep inside you, where I belong.’

His erotic words rocked her. They set up an answering clamour in her body which made her long to accommodate him. But even as her trembling thighs were spreading open to welcome him, that cautious voice of earlier was louder now, and less easy to ignore. It was reminding her that his words weren’t true. That this wasn’t the first time. Far from it. She was countless episodes and almost two years away from that initial deflowering, which had taken him by surprise. She was no longer the virgin divorcee he had rapturously introduced to sex. Nor was she the idealistic innocent who believed that just because a man groaned out heartfelt words of desire when he was orgasming inside you, it meant any more than just physical satisfaction. With Zuhal it had only ever been about physical satisfaction. But now there was something else he wanted even more badly. His baby son. Was that what this was all about? Softening her with seduction while he plotted to take what he saw as rightfully his?

Did he think that if she had sex with him now she would instantly agree to marriage?

Because that had been part of the trouble before—she’d allowed passion to sweep her away, so that she wasn’t really thinking straight. Was that why she had tolerated her very part-time role as his mistress and been content to live in the shadows of his life? Maybe that was what amazing sex did to you…it robbed you of your strength and logic—and she needed both those things like never before. For her son’s sake, but also for her own.

Her thoughts blurred as he slipped a finger inside her panties and she knew that if she didn’t stop him soon, she would be past the point of making a rational decision…

Wriggling free of his intimate caress, she somehow managed to scramble off the day-bed, steeling herself against the sight of Zuhal still lying there in his rumpled robes, two high lines of colour flushed across his autocratic cheekbones, his black eyes burning with an expression she couldn’t quite work out.

‘Was it something I said?’ he questioned mockingly.

Flattening her fingers against her heaving breasts, Jasmine struggled to get her breath back. ‘That…that wasn’t supposed to happen!’

‘No?’ He raised his black brows. ‘So just what did you think was going to happen when I carried you in here, Jazz? Did you think we were going to have a discussion about world politics, or that I was about to start regaling you with stories of Razrastanian history?’

She realised that although outwardly he appeared cool and in control, his sarcastic words were underpinned with unmistakable irritation as he folded his arms behind his head to cushion it. She couldn’t blame him.

‘I’m sorry.’ Distractedly, she shook her head. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

There was a pause as his black eyes bored into her. ‘Why don’t you want to have sex with me, Jazz?’

She could feel the burn of her cheeks. She shouldn’t have allowed him to bring her in here, putting herself in a situation she couldn’t handle. Because wasn’t the truth that she wanted to go right back over there and have him touch her with all that sweet unerring accuracy again? Didn’t she long to feel him inside her—deep inside her—as he himself had groaned out a few minutes ago?

But a few moments of pleasure weren’t powerful enough to make her forget why she was here. He’d offered her marriage but she was still unsure of what her answer was going to be. Because surely she could only accept if she felt equipped enough to cope with a loveless union. The last thing she needed was to be blinded by desire. ‘Because sex will just complicate things. Surely you can see that.’

‘You’re saying you don’t want us to be intimate?’ he queried softly.

Her voice was stiff as she tried to give an honest answer. ‘I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want it. I just…just don’t feel ready for it at the moment.’

‘Maybe that’s something you ought to think about next time you start batting those big green eyes at me,’ he observed, a little pulse hammering frantically at his temple.

She gave an awkward nod of acknowledgement. ‘We were both responsible for what just happened, not just me. We got…carried away.’

‘And then some,’ he agreed drily.

Attempting to put some space between them, Jasmine walked across the room to stand beside a marble statue of a winged creature which was half-falcon, half-goat—before turning back to face him. But he was still tempting her. She suspected that he always would. ‘I’ll try to be more circumspect in future,’ she said.

There was a pause. ‘Even if that means resisting your own desires?’

She met the curious question gleaming in the depths of his ebony eyes. Could she explain what was making her so cautious, without coming over as vulnerable or needy in the process? ‘Here in your lavish palace, the only thing I have is my integrity and I don’t intend to compromise it,’ she said. ‘I won’t be able to think straight if we become intimate again. I’m afraid that desire will cloud my judgement and I can’t afford to let that happen.’

‘These are fighting words, Jazz,’ he observed softly.

‘They aren’t meant to be. I don’t want to fight with you, Zuhal.’ She drew in a deep breath, praying her new-found conviction wouldn’t leave her. Praying she wouldn’t morph back into that docile Jasmine of old who had been content with the crumbs of affection the powerful Sheikh had thrown her way. ‘We’re no longer two occasional lovers who can’t keep their hands off each other. We’re parents. We have a lifetime bond through our son. We rushed into a relationship once before without really getting to know one another. This time, I think we should take things more slowly—to decide whether or not we could make a marriage work.’

‘And am I supposed to admire your reluctance?’ he questioned. ‘Is your elusiveness part of some complex female game of playing hard to get in order to make yourself seem more of a prize?’

‘I can assure you I’m not playing games, Zuhal. This is much too important for that. I have to believe that there’s a basic compatibility between us before I agree to become your wife—otherwise it’s just a recipe for disaster.’

Zuhal shook his head, unable to believe that Jazz of all people was turning him down. A woman who had been eager to learn all he could teach her—who had been the most delightful of all his lovers. Was she holding out for what women always demanded—words of love he would not provide? Could not provide, he reminded himself bitterly. If Jasmine wanted violins and moonlight she was doomed to be disappointed.

He looked at her. During that tantalising tumble which had just taken place on his bed, her hair had come free from its ribbon and was now tumbling down in waves of golden silk. She looked like an angel, he thought reluctantly, her long lashes shuttering the verdant beauty of her green eyes. He watched her smoothing down her robes as she struggled to catch her breath and in that moment she looked like the Jasmine he remembered—young and wild and passionate. But this Jasmine had just pushed him away in a way she would never have done before.

For a moment he was tempted to walk over there and attempt to change her mind. Would she have the strength to resist him a second time? He suspected not as for a moment he imagined being inside her again, his length encased inside her molten tightness as he rocked them both towards that blissful goal.

But he wasn’t going to do that. She would regret soon enough having turned him down and discover that he had no intention of chasing after her all the way to the altar. Did she really think a man in his position would ever have to grovel to a woman? His lips hardened into a smile.

Let her come to him.

‘So what exactly is it you want of me, Jazz?’ he enquired casually.

It was a question Jasmine had never thought he’d ask. She knew what she’d wanted when they’d been together before but had accepted she was never going to get it. Because you couldn’t demand love when instinct told you that love was an alien concept to a man like Zuhal. But she could discover more about the man who had always been a closed book to her when they had been casual lovers, couldn’t she?

‘Obviously, I’d like to learn about your country and your culture, Zuhal. But I’d also like to learn more about you.’

‘Even though you’ve just turned down a method guaranteed to do exactly that?’

‘I didn’t find out much about you in all the time we were together, did I? And we were having plenty of sex back then.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘There are official biographies you can look at,’ he said coolly. ‘Which have always been in the public domain. We even have the authorised versions here in the palace library, which you are perfectly at liberty to read.’

She shook her head. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘Oh?’

It was the most forbidding of looks and maybe if so much hadn’t been at stake, Jasmine might have heeded its silent warning. But there was a potential marriage to consider, and it had to have the makings of a good one for her to risk putting Darius at its centre. And how could she consider marrying a man who remained little more than a stranger?

‘I want to hear it from you, Zuhal,’ she said. ‘From your lips, not somebody else’s.’

She saw his face darken with frustration, irritation and then a grim kind of acceptance. ‘Very well,’ he said at last, bending to pick up the discarded headdress which she had pulled from his head. ‘You’d better speak to my diary secretary.’

‘Your diary secretary?’ she echoed in confusion.

‘Of course.’ He gave the flicker of a smile edged with undeniable triumph. ‘How else did you think I was going to find time to see you? I am King now, with many demands on my time. Speaking of which…’ he glanced at his watch ‘… I must leave you now, since I have work to do.’

She blinked. ‘What, now?’

His black eyes glittered. ‘There is always work to do, Jazz, no matter what the clock says. And since the evening has fallen far short of my expectations, I might as well put what remains of it to good use. I will show you back to your rooms and anything you require, just ring and one of the servants will attend to you.’

A peremptory wave of his hand indicated she should precede him. But it did more than that—it made it very clear who was in charge.

Jasmine opened her mouth to object before shutting it again, because what could she say? She had turned down his proposal and now he was suggesting she make an appointment to see him, in the same way he might schedule in an appointment with his dentist! And meanwhile that vast and rumpled bed was mocking her with all its unused promise.

The bubble of the evening seemed to have burst. She walked ahead of him, hearing the soft shimmer of his robes brushing over the marble floor as he followed her. And all she could think about was the powerful perfection of his brooding body and the way it had felt when he’d held her in his arms again, as she tried to quash a deep and overwhelming sense of regret.