Читать книгу Desert Prince's Stolen Bride - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS A kiss that stole her breath as well as a little bit of her soul. It was the first kiss Olivia had ever had, and she swayed beneath it as the man’s mouth moved persuasively over hers.

Her body was awash with sensation, her mind dazed and reeling. She’d never expected this to happen. She’d never expected to feel this way. She was being seduced, ruthlessly and thoroughly, and she couldn’t even resist. She didn’t want to. The pleasure coursing through her in a hot, honeyed river was too strong for that.

The inner protestations that this man was a danger, her enemy, her abductor, fell utterly silent. She no longer cared. Even if this was merely a night and the man, stranger that he was, used her and then tossed her aside afterwards, Olivia knew she could not turn away from this. Not when she’d finally woken up, after a lifetime of sleeping. Not when every sense and nerve was tuned exquisitely, acutely. She felt. She felt so many wonderful things.

Tentatively, learning the steps of this new and intricate dance, she reached up to grip his shoulders, her fingertips grazing his skull. She pressed her body against his, thrilling to the feel of his hard, muscled chest and powerful thighs. And more than that...even in her innocence she recognised the insistent throb of his arousal against her stomach. She’d seen enough films, read enough romance novels, to recognise it and she thrilled to it, to him, all the more.

A groan escaped him as he tore his mouth from hers and took a step back from her. His expression was nearly as befuddled as her own, Olivia thought. They were both breathing heavily, staring at each other in dazed desire, the very air between them seeming to shimmer.

‘Come to bed,’ he said, and reached for her hand.

For a second Olivia hesitated. Here was the moment of clarity, of choice. Was she really willing to give up her virginity to a stranger? Would she do this, the most intimate and sacred of acts, with a man whose name she did not even know, who had kidnapped her, who had to be merely using her, no matter what flowery language he used? And yet he wanted her. That was no lie, no trick. He wanted her...and she loved the feeling of being wanted.

His fingers found hers and he tugged gently, a smile curving that mobile mouth. ‘Do not be afraid, hayete. Remember when I said I would never hurt you. That is, and always will be, my solemn vow.’

He spoke as if he knew her, as if he had been waiting for this moment. Waiting for her. Olivia knew he couldn’t have been. It was just words, sentiment, yet she believed him in this at least: he wouldn’t hurt her. She wouldn’t let herself get hurt. A night and no more. How many women had made the same bargain, the same promise? There need be no regrets. She didn’t care who he was. All that mattered was what he made her feel right now.

He must have sensed her acquiescence for his mouth curved in a deeper smile, and Olivia saw the triumph flare in his eyes along with the desire. He pulled her gently towards him and she came, hips swaying, heart beating. Their bodies nudged and bumped and he gazed down at her, standing so close she could feel the beat of his heart against her own.

‘You are very beautiful. Very desirable.’

No one had ever said such things to her before. She was too skinny, too quiet, all hair and eyes. She didn’t have Halina’s generous curves and lush mouth, her engaging smile and contagious laughter. She always stayed in the background and no one ever noticed her at all. Until now.

Shyly she laid her hand on his chest, felt the steady thud of his heart underneath the press of her palm. ‘As are you.’

He laughed softly at that, and then he took her hand and raised it to his mouth, kissing her palm, his gaze never leaving hers. ‘Then we are well matched,’ he murmured, and his mouth moved from her palm to her fingertips, kissing and nibbling each one in turn until Olivia’s knees went weak.

The man drew her to the mattress, bringing her down to its feathery softness, the silken covers slippery beneath her. He stretched out alongside her, his body relaxed but his gaze so intent.

‘So very beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘But I want to see all of you. May I?’

Everything in Olivia trembled. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, unable to say anything more. He tugged at the ties of her robe so it fell open, revealing the simple chemise she wore underneath. Keeping his gaze on her, he reached out and cupped her breast, his thumb sliding over the peak, making her shudder. She’d never been touched so intimately, so knowingly.

‘You like that?’ he murmured, and she nodded jerkily.

‘Yes.’

He lowered his mouth to where his hand had just touched, and Olivia jerked again, arching off the mattress as his mouth closed over her breast, damp and hot, sending darts of intense sensation through her. She gripped his head, unsure if she wanted to anchor him to her or push him away, because it was so much. All her nerve endings felt flayed, yet she wanted more of him.

He moved his mouth to her other breast and she gasped out loud. The novels and films had never described it like this. And then he was moving lower, placing lazy kisses along her abdomen, her navel, and then lower still.

Olivia tensed as he nudged her thighs apart. Surely not...? But he was, his warm breath fanning her very centre, and she let out a long, shuddering sigh as he kissed her in the most intimate way possible. Pleasure licked through her veins and her hips arched helplessly, her fingers threaded through his hair, her body on fire. She’d never, ever felt anything like it; it consumed her. He did.

And then she felt as if she were burning right up; she cried out loud, a jagged sound, as pleasure exploded inside her, took her over, blazing through her. When she came to, everything hazy around her, he’d come up to rest on his forearms and was smiling down at her.

‘And that’s just the beginning.’

The beginning? He’d kill her, at this rate. Kill her with pleasure. He laughed softly. ‘Don’t look so disbelieving, hayete. I intend to make this a night you shall never forget.’

He already had. Still smiling, he shrugged out of his own clothes and then rid her of the rest of her own. Their bodies came together, naked, skin on skin, limbs twining and tangling. It felt so intensely intimate, to be pressed against someone like that, every part of herself on display, on offer for him. And he took it, his gaze roving over her, his mouth curved, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. He liked what he saw, and that thrilled her.

‘Touch me,’ he commanded, his voice a throb, and she gazed at him in surprise. Then, hesitantly, she let her hands drift from his powerful shoulders to the satiny skin of his back, and then down to his hips. His arousal pulsed against her, exciting and terrifying her all at once. But he’d told her not to be afraid, and somehow she wasn’t.

‘Touch me,’ he said again, his voice ragged, and Olivia knew what he meant. Feeling shy and bold at the same time, she moved her hand from his hip to curl around the pulsing length of his arousal. His breath hissed between his teeth as she stroked him, hardly able to believe that she could create this response in a man so fierce and beautiful.

He kissed her again, hard, the lazy sensuality he’d shown earlier now becoming something far more raw and primal that Olivia matched, the heat and need an insistent pulse inside her, an ache that demanded satiation—again.

He slid his fingers to her core, moving against her slick heat, making her moan. ‘You’re ready,’ he said and Olivia tensed, knowing she was, of course she was, and yet...

Slowly, surely, he slid inside her, an invasion that felt both shocking and overwhelming, the smooth slide of him filling her right up. She gasped out loud, her hips twitching in instinctive discomfort as she struggled to accommodate the sheer size of him.

Sweat sheened on his brow as he braced himself on his forearms and held himself still inside her, waiting for her to adjust to the entirely unfamiliar sensation. ‘You are not hurt?’ he asked through gritted teeth. Holding back was clearly a huge effort.

Wordlessly Olivia shook her head. She felt too overwhelmed to speak, too emotional. The dazed pleasure that had drugged her senses was trickling away, replaced by a tidal wave of realisation at the enormity of what she’d done. What could not be undone.

As if sensing her thoughts, he brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead and then pressed a kiss against her temple, the gesture almost as intimate as the pulse of his body inside hers. ‘It is all right, hayete. This is right, what is between us. There is no shame in it. None at all.’

Her body was relaxing into him, instinctively learning his shape, accepting it, and his words were the balm she so desperately needed. She put her arms around his taut shoulders, drawing him closer, bringing him even more fully into herself, gasping at the feel of it. It was as if he’d gone right into her centre, invaded her soul.

‘Please,’ she whispered, needing something more from him, craving it. ‘Please.’ And then he began to move, each slow thrust creating a delicious friction that had the pleasure rushing back, lapping at her senses in wave after wave of sensation and then engulfing her entirely.

Her cry shattered the still air as he pulsed inside her and her body felt as if it were dissolving into sated fragments. She cried again, a sob of joy and wonder, as she pressed her face against his damp shoulder, her body shuddering underneath his as the waves subsided but the wonder remained.

* * *

Zayed held his bride in his arms as she shuddered and wept, clearly overwhelmed by what they had experienced. Hell, but he was overwhelmed too. It had been a long time since he’d lain with a woman, a very long time. Yet he didn’t think it had ever felt like this.

Was it different, perhaps, knowing his life was linked with this woman for ever? She would bear his children; she would stand by his side. She was his bride, his wife, his Queen. Yet none of that had been in his mind when he’d held her, when he’d been inside her. The need to consume her had been too overpowering—and that was a dangerous thing.

He didn’t need people, just as he didn’t trust them. Betrayal had taught him the latter; grief had taught him the first. Zayed rolled onto his back and stared up at the roof of the tent as Halina lay quietly beside him, faint tremors still going through her body.

‘You are not in any discomfort?’ he asked eventually and she pushed her hair away from her flushed face.

‘No...no.’ She looked rosy and satisfied and a little bit uncertain. He wanted her all over again, so he rolled away from her, into a sitting position.

‘Good.’ It was done. Nothing could break the bond they’d created; she was his wife both in name and physical fact. Zayed rose from the mattress in one fluid movement and shrugged on his clothes.

‘Where are you going?’ Halina asked. She suddenly sounded very young, and Zayed was reminded that she was only twenty-two—ten years younger than him.

‘I have things to do.’ His voice came out brusque so he tried to moderate it. ‘I will see you later.’

‘You will?’

‘Of course.’ He suppressed a flash of annoyance. Already she sounded needy, clinging, and that was the last thing he wanted. ‘If you need anything, you can ask Suma.’

‘Suma? But I can’t understand her.’

The flash of annoyance came again, and with it an odd sense of unease. ‘What do you mean?’

‘She speaks a dialect I can’t understand.’ She was clutching a sheet to her breasts, her hair tumbled around her face. Zayed fought the urge to climb back into the bed and take her in his arms all over again.

‘I did not realise she was so difficult to understand,’ he said stiffly. ‘You will have to get used to it. She is the only woman here to serve your needs.’

‘But...what...what are you going to do with me?’ Her voice was both tremulous and brave.

Zayed’s gaze narrowed. ‘What am I going to do with you? I have already done it, hayete. It is finished.’

She bit her lip. ‘I know that. I mean, I wasn’t expecting more than...than this. But now what are you going to...? Why did you kidnap me?’ She lifted her chin, holding her gaze steady as if steeling herself for a blow.

Zayed stared at her, completely nonplussed. ‘Why did I kidnap you?’ he repeated. ‘Surely that is obvious? I told you I could not wait any longer.’ He blew out a breath. ‘Your father will not be pleased, I grant you, but he will not be able to affect the outcome. Of that I am certain.’

Now she looked genuinely confused, her brow creased, her lips parting. ‘My father...’ She shook her head slowly. ‘But my father is dead.’

‘What?’ Zayed stared at her in complete shock. Sultan Hassan dead? When? How? But no; surely he would have heard of it? He would have known. His informants in the palace would have said something. Still, a cold fist clutched his heart. If Sultan Hassan was dead, all his plans fell apart, crumbled to dust. To nothing. The man had no sons, and his heir was a distant cousin, someone Zayed could not rely on to help him. ‘When did this happen?’ he bit out.

His bride stared at him in wary confusion. ‘Years ago. Five years now.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t understand. What could my father possibly have to do with any of this?’

‘Wait.’ Zayed felt as if he’d entered some weird, alternative reality. How could Halina be saying this? Sultan Hassan had most certainly not died five years ago. What the hell was going on?

‘Why do you care about my father?’ she asked, her voice trembling. ‘Who are you?’

For a moment he could only stare. She knew who he was. She had to know. ‘I am Prince Zayed al bin Nur,’ he said, biting off each word. She’d wed him, she’d slept with him! Of course she’d known he was her fiancé, her intended husband. Because, if she hadn’t known, why the hell had she slept with him? Agreed to marry him?

‘Zayed...’ Her face had gone pale, her lips bloodless, dawning horror in her eyes. Something was very, very wrong, and the cold fist that was clutching Zayed’s heart squeezed painfully.

‘And you,’ he said forcefully, each word a throb of insistent intensity, ‘are Princess Halina Amari.’ She had to be. He’d seen photographs—blurry, yes, but he’d watched her in the palace. She’d played with her sisters; she’d gone into her bedroom. She had to be his intended bride. His wife.

But already she was shaking her head.

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No, I’m not Halina.’