Читать книгу The Sheikh's Bartered Bride - Люси Монро, Lucy Monroe, Люси Монро - Страница 8

HAKIM took Catherine to his favorite restaurant on the waterfront for dinner. The ambiance was quiet and elegant. Perfect for proposing to his future wife.

He’d thought about taking her to the restaurant at the top of the Space Needle. He’d been told it was considered the height of romance, but sharing a noisy elevator with tourists on the way up held no appeal. At least not for tonight.

She smiled at him as he held her chair for her at the table. She’d worn a black dress with long sleeves, a peasant neckline and gathered waist. The full skirt swirled around her legs as she sat down. He let his fingers trail along the exposed skin of her shoulders above the wide neckline and she shivered. Satisfaction that his mission would soon be accomplished settled over him as he dropped his hand, moved around the table and took his own seat.

Even in the dim light of the restaurant, he could tell she was blushing again.

“Surely such a small touch is not cause for embarrassment?”

She smoothed her already perfectly coiffed hair. She’d worn it up again. Though he liked the view it gave him of her slender neck, one day soon, he would remove the clip and see what the dark honey strands looked like tumbling against her shoulders.

“I’m not embarrassed. Not exactly.” Her sigh lifted her breasts against the soft fabric of her bodice, revealing the source of her blush.

His little virgin was excited. Two unmistakable ridges under the black material gave her away. They also apprised Hakim of the fact she was not wearing a bra. The knowledge had a by now predictable effect on him.

“What are you exactly?” he asked, wondering if she would admit anywhere close to the truth.

“Stupid.”

He shook his head. Little did she know, but her desire for him would soon be fulfilled. “Jewel of my heart, you must not say such things.”

She dropped her focus to her lap, where she straightened her burgundy napkin against the black fabric of her skirt. “You shouldn’t call me things like that. I know you’re just saying it because it’s the way you talk, but…”

He reached across the table to tip her chin up with his finger. “It is not merely the way I speak. Do I use such terms with other women in your hearing?”

Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth and her eyes reflected confusion. “No.” It was a bare whisper.

He wanted to kiss those trembling lips. Her vulnerability called to primitive instincts inside him.

“They are words meant for you alone.”

It was as if she stopped breathing and she went utterly still, the look in her eyes a revelation of emotions so volatile he was shocked by them. Then her eyelashes lowered and she sucked in air too quickly, choking.

He offered her a glass of water as she sought to get the small coughing fit under control.

“Thank you.” She drank the water and he watched as her throat convulsed gracefully with each swallow.

“You have a beautiful neck.”

The water glass tumbled and only the quick action of a nearby waiter saved her dress from a drenching. Considering her reaction to his last statement, Hakim decided it would be best to wait until after dinner to propose.

By the time Hakim pulled his black car to a halt in the parking garage of her apartment building, Catherine’s nerves were stretched tighter than an overtuned violin string. They wound one notch tighter when he insisted on seeing her inside.

She watched his dark hands as they unlocked her door and turned the knob to open it. Such masculine hands and yet so fluid in their movement, she desperately wanted them on her.

He pushed the door open and ushered her inside, one of the hands she found so fascinating secured around her waist. Her lungs stopped working while her heart went into overdrive. He closed the door and locked it, indicating he wasn’t leaving any time soon and her already racing heart went turbocharged.

He led her toward the living room and she was surprised when her legs were able to move. She felt like her bones had all melted to jelly.

When they reached her bright yellow couch, he gently pushed her down onto the overstuffed cushions and then sat beside her. So close beside her that her shoulder was pressed against the hard wall of his chest. “I wish to speak with you.”

“Oh,” she squeaked.

He laid the hand that was not attached to her waist on her thigh, succeeding in surrounding her completely with his body and putting her on the verge of hyperventilating.

What would he do if she turned to him and did what she’d been longing to do for so long, touch the black silkiness of his hair and kiss the sensual line of his mouth? She clasped her hands firmly together in her lap to stop them from taking liberties that might end in her humiliated rejection.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke, the rush of air going in and out of her lungs at such a rapid rate the only sound in the room. He started to draw small circles on her thigh with his forefinger, sending awareness arcing up her leg and to the center of her being. She stifled a gasp of pleasure. She couldn’t move. Nor could she look at him. Her attention was firmly fixed on that darkly tanned hand as it moved lazily against the black knit of her skirt.

Still he said nothing.

The quiet became unbearable. “Hakim?”

His silence beat against her and she sensed he wanted something from her, but she did not know what. Finally, when she could not tolerate one more second of the tortuous anticipation, she raised her head and tilted it backward to look at his face.

It was what he’d been waiting for. Eye contact.

Dark ebony bored into her. “You have enjoyed these past weeks in my company, have you not?”

“Yes.”

“Am I a fool to believe you would like our association to continue?”

“No.” She had to clear her throat before she could get more words out. Necessary words. “You could never be a fool.”

“Then I would also not be out of bounds to hope you might want to deepen our relationship?”

He wanted to be her boyfriend? Her mind couldn’t quite grasp the concept, but she nodded her head in agreement anyway.

“Yes, I would be out of bounds, or yes you want to deepen our relationship?”

“I want…” She forced her halted lungs to pull in a breath of air. “I want to deepen our relationship.”

Would he kiss her now? The mere thought sent her pulse on a ride like a runaway stagecoach.

“Marry me.”

She was daydreaming. She had to be.

But there was something wrong with the fantasy. “But you’ve never even kissed me.”

“I have not had the right.”

“What do you mean? Were you… Were you attached to someone else?”

“No, not that, but I was not as you put it attached to you, either. It would not have been right for me to kiss you before formal declarations were made.”

Did he mean declarations of love? No. He’d said formal declarations. “Do you mean you have to be engaged in your country to kiss?”

His hand moved from her thigh to her cheek and he cupped it, his expression almost tender. “To kiss a virgin, yes.”

Was her lack of experience so obvious? She supposed it was. “But this is not Jawhar.”

“Nevertheless, I will treat you with the respect due you.”

That was nice. “If I say I’ll marry you, will you kiss me then?” This was by far the strangest daydream she had ever indulged in, only she knew on some level it was all too real.

A distinctly predatory light entered his obsidian eyes. “Yes.”

“Yes,” she repeated, not ready for the fantasy to end.

“You will marry me?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t really mean it and she would say just about anything to experience his mouth on hers. “Now you can kiss me.”

He lowered his head, until his lips were centimeters from hers. “I can?”

“Yes.” When he didn’t close the gap, she said, “Please.”

The kiss was as soft and fleeting as a butterfly flitting from one flower to another, but he did not move his head away and their breath continued to mingle.

The scent of his cologne mixed with a fragrance that could only be him. Male. It called to the primordial woman in her. She wanted to claim this man.

“Are you teasing me?” she asked, wondering why he had not kissed her again, more thoroughly.

“I am teasing myself.”

His admission was flint to the gunpowder of her self-control. To say such a thing implied he wanted her and that was as exciting as having his body so close she could feel his heartbeat. She closed the gap of those few centimeters, her mouth locking to his with enthusiasm, if not skill.

He didn’t seem to mind. His grip on her tightened and he took control of the kiss almost immediately. His mouth moved against hers, his tongue running along the seam of her lips. She opened her mouth on a small rush of air and he took possession of the interior. She’d thought of kissing like this before of course, but it had seemed messy.

It felt wonderful.

He tasted like the tiramisu he’d had for dessert at the restaurant. He also tasted like Hakim and it was a flavor she could not get enough of.

She moaned and sucked on his tongue.

He growled, his grip on her going painfully tight now and she found herself in his lap, her breasts pressed against his chest.

She wanted to touch him. She had to touch him. Her hands landed against his shoulders and stayed there for a full five seconds while the kiss went on and on. But just feeling the heat of him under her fingers was not enough. She wanted to explore.

First she let her fingers trail through his hair. It felt soft, almost like silk and she explored the shape of his head through it. He was so male, even his head felt a particularly masculine way to her searching fingers.

A sense of desperation, laced with fear that this would end soon and she would miss having touched the rest of his body, she brought her hands down on either side of his face, slowly sliding them toward his neck, then shoulders. With each centimeter of movement, she memorized the feel of his warm skin against the pads of her fingertips.

Sliding her hands down the polished cotton of his shirt, under his jacket, she outlined each muscle, each ridge and valley on the masculine torso so close to her own.

He shuddered and she rejoiced that she could affect him.

His hands were kneading her backside and she could feel a growing ridge of hardness under her hip.

In the back of her mind, she registered that meant he was getting excited which sent her emotions careening out of control and the impossible feelings she harbored for this magnificent man poured out through her lips and fingertips.

As if the release of her emotions had freed something in him, his ardor increased and the kiss went nuclear.

His tongue dueled with hers, demanding a submission she was only too willing to give. While he conquered her mouth, she tore at the buttons on his shirt, getting enough undone to slip her hand inside and feel the smooth, hot flesh of his naked chest. It was at that point that she accepted this was not a waking dream. No fantasy could possibly be this good.

And somehow because it was real, it was more. More intense. More feeling. More excitement. Almost too much.

She broke her mouth from his and sucked in air, trying to breath as her world spun around her in a kaleidoscope of feelings she had never experienced, but nonetheless recognized.

She wanted him.

Desperately.

“Do engaged people get to make love?” Her own boldness shocked her, but she waited tensely for his answer.

The kneading action on her bottom stopped and his forehead fell against hers. “No.”

“Is it because I’m a virgin?” she asked, feeling tears of frustration already burning at the back of her eyes.

Hakim was going to wake up to whatever insanity had prompted his proposal and withdraw. And she would still be a virgin. Life was so unfair.

“It is true. This is part of it.”

“But I don’t want to be a virgin,” she wailed and then felt mortified color drench her face, neck and even the breasts achingly aware of the proximity of his body.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. He kissed her, hard and quick against her mouth. “We must wait.”

“I can’t.”

He groaned like a drowning man going under for the last time. The hardness under her thigh twitched and his mouth locked with hers again, this time not waiting for her to open her lips, but forcing them apart for the entrance of his tongue.

His hand came up and cupped her breast, his thumb brushing over her achingly erect nipple. She arched into his touch while squirming her backside against his hard maleness. She loved him so much. Loved what he was doing to her. Loved the anticipation of more. For the first time in her life Catherine was glad she had never been with another man.

She wanted Hakim to be her first.

He kissed his way down her neck, stopping to suckle her rapid pulse beat. Arrows of pleasure shot through her limbs and she cried out at the wonder of it all.

Then his mouth was on her collarbone, his tongue caressing her in a way she had not expected. She went completely still when he pulled the stretch neckline of her dress down to expose her braless breasts.

He stopped moving, too, pulling back until he had an unfettered view of her exposed flesh. There was a lot on display. Her figure in no way resembled the boyish shapes so popular in today’s media.

She felt another blush crawl up her skin as her senses prickled with heat and heady excitement.

Dark fingers caressed her pinkened flesh, making her moan and shake in response.

“So beautiful. So perfect.” His words registered with the same sensual impact as his touch had done.

“I’m—” She’d meant to say something about how she was not exactly cover model slender, but he forestalled her with a finger against her lips.

“Exquisite. You are exquisite.”

Then his head lowered, his lips touched her sensitized flesh and she lost her sense of place and time. He tasted her. All of her, covering each square centimeter of her naked curves with tantalizing attention. By the time he took one of her nipples into his mouth, she was shaking and inexplicable tears were running hotly down her temples and into her hair.

It was too much. The pleasure was too great.

“Hakim, darling, please!”

She didn’t know what she was begging for, but he seemed to as his hand trailed down her body until it reached the hem of her skirt. His fingers brushed against her stocking clad leg and moved upward, slowly, ever so slowly.

Combined with his tasting of her breast, this tormenting slowness was driving her mad. But then his hot fingers were on the skin above the top of her stocking, curving toward her feminine center. His fingertip brushed against the silk of her panties where it covered her most tender flesh and sensation exploded inside her like a nuclear reactor.

Her body bowed. She screamed. She thought Hakim cursed, but she couldn’t be sure. Nothing but the agonizing pleasure of her body was registering completely.

His hand slipped inside the waistband of her panties, down to flesh that had never, ever felt a man’s touch and she cried out in an overload of sensation as he touched that bit of feminine flesh that other women talked about, but she had never even experimented with finding.

She went rigid and then shook in convulsions that were so strong, her muscles ached from supporting them.

He continued his ministrations until her entire body went limp from the strain.

He pulled her close to his chest, wrapping her in his embrace with strong, sure arms. The tears that had been a trickle became a torrent and she sobbed against his chest with as much abandon as she had given to her pleasure.

He comforted her, whispering soothing sounding words in a language she did not recognize. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t understand the words, their tone was what she needed.

“That was too much,” she said between hiccuping sobs.

“It was more beautiful than the desert at sunrise,” was his response.

“I love you,” she confessed, her heart left unprotected by the amazing experience she had just gone through.

She was hopelessly in love with a man who could have any woman he wanted and that scared her. Refusing to admit it did not change it and there was a certain amount of relief in letting the truth out.

His hands caressed her back and she shivered with another convulsion. If it had been an earthquake, she would have called it an aftershock. It had been close enough.

He picked her up, carrying her as if she weighed no more than one of the throw pillows off the sofa. When they came into her bedroom, he flipped on the small light by her bed, casting a warm glow in the room.

Stopping beside the bed, he bent to lay her down, but she clung to his neck. “Please, don’t leave.”

She couldn’t bear being alone after that.

He tensed.

“Please,” she begged again.

“Do not plead. If you want me to stay, I will stay.”

She let go of his neck and let him lay her down on the bed. He straightened to stand beside her. “Prepare yourself for bed and I will return to hold you.”

“Aren’t we going to make love?” she asked, not at all sure she could stand another dose of pleasure like what she had just gone through, but willing to try.

“Not until we are married.”

She still didn’t believe for a minute they were actually going to end up married. “But…” She could see the hard ridge still pressing against his slacks.

He shook his head decisively. “We will wait.”

She couldn’t expect him to hold her all night in that condition.

“I could…” She blushed without completing the offer, knowing he was a smart enough guy to figure it out.

“I’ll take a shower.”

“You’re going to take a cold shower?” The thought of a sexy man like Hakim having to take a cold shower over her was somehow very appealing.

He smiled as if he could read her thoughts. “As you say. Prepare yourself for bed. I will return in but a moment.”

She nodded and silently watched him walk into the en suite. It was only when she looked down that she realized her chest was still exposed. Her nipples were still hard and wet from his mouth. Oh my. The sight paralyzed her for a full minute before she was able to get up and find a nightgown to wear to bed.

Hakim stood under the warm jets of water, his body buffeted by the pain of unrequited passion, his mind filled with pleasure at how successfully his campaign had gone.

Catherine had agreed to be his wife.

His uncle would be pleased. Her father would be pleased. Hakim was pleased.

Marriage to Catherine would be no hardship.

Under the shy exterior, she was so passionate, so beautifully sensual. It had been harder than he ever would have thought possible to pull back from making love to her completely.

She’d liked that. His sweet little wallflower had liked thinking he was in here taking a cold shower because of his desire for her. The shower wasn’t cold, but only because he’d never found that an effective deterrent to desire. He had found that warm water could sometimes soothe the physical ache of wanting what he could not yet have.

It wasn’t working right now though. His sex was so hard, he was in pain.

He could not banish the image from his head of how she had looked with her dress pulled down, her breasts swollen and quivering with her desire. And the way she had exploded…her entire body bowing with such strong contractions, he had found it most difficult to keep his jewel on the couch. He groaned as his male member throbbed at the memories.

Maybe a cold shower would help.

Turning the knob all the way to the right, he was soon blasted with an icy spray. He gritted his teeth, practicing a self-discipline technique he had learned while training with elite guard in his uncle’s palace.

Catherine would have to marry him very soon.

She would not demur at a simple civil ceremony, he was certain. She was too happy to be marrying him.

She loved him.

Though it was not necessary, it pleased him, it pleased his pride that his future wife loved him.

Her shock at his proposal underscored the reality that she had reached the age of twenty-four without once having had a serious relationship, or even a steady date. Or so her father had asserted and Hakim had no reason to disbelieve him.

Her virginity had been an important issue to Hakim’s uncle. According to the old man, no royal prince of Jawhar could marry a woman of uncertain morals. Hakim felt a certain primitive satisfaction in Catherine’s untouched state, but he hardly placed the importance on it that his uncle did.

After all, he’d been prepared to marry once before and the woman had not been a virgin. Undoubtedly his uncle would not have approved.

And right now, when he wanted very much to bury himself in the silken wetness of Catherine’s body, her innocence was more barrier to pleasure than benefit.

Reentering the bedroom, he found Catherine sitting up in the bed wearing a virginal, almost Victorian gown in white and her dark honey hair hanging over one shoulder in a thick braid. He smiled at her innocence.

As he got closer to the bed however, his smile slipped. He doubted very much that she realized it, but the gown was borderline sheer and the dark aureoles of her nipples were visible as well as the outline of her gorgeous breasts. He wished he’d left his slacks on as the benefits of the cold shower disappeared and the silk of his boxers shifted with his growing erection.

Catherine didn’t seem to notice. Her blue eyes were unfocused as she stared at something beyond his right shoulder. Her lips were slightly parted and he could see the sweet, pink, enticing interior of her mouth.

As he climbed into the bed beside her, she jumped as if startled.

“Hakim!”

“You were not expecting me?”

Soft color flooded her cheeks and she scooted down into the bed so that the quilted spread covered her to her neck. “I was thinking about something.”

“And was I this something?”

Expecting a shy affirmative, he was surprised and chagrined to see her shake her head in a jerky motion.

“What were you thinking of?”

She started. “Just, just a story that’s all.”

“A story?”

“Sometimes I like to tell stories in my head.”

“Our lovemaking was not enough to keep your mind occupied?” The fact his innocent fiancée had been able to dismiss their lovemaking from her thoughts when he had not, irritated him.

“I didn’t want to think about it.”

Offended, he demanded, “Why not?”

And only realized as she pulled back that he was leaning over her in a most intimidating fashion. He did not move back however. He wanted an explanation.

“You said we couldn’t make love until we’re married.”

“Yes. This is true.”

“Well, then what would be the point of letting myself get all worked up if you aren’t going to let anything happen?”

It was a good question. One he wished he could answer, but he had not been so successful in tamping down his own desires. He was rock hard and the only thing saving his pride were the blankets covering them both. Even so, had he not had his body tilted toward her, his erection would have tented the covers and given him away.

It shamed and frustrated him that his usual ice-cool restraint was letting him down. With all his training, she had more control over her desires than he did his. He did not like weakness, even that of a purely sexual nature.

“So you told a story in your head?” What sort of story would have been sufficient to take her mind off of the pleasure of their lovemaking?

“Yes.”

“And it was not about me.” He felt his irritation turn to irrational anger at the thought.

“That would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?” Her tone said her words should be obvious to even the simplest of minds.

He glared at her. “I thought you wanted me to stay with you tonight.”

Suddenly the pragmatic tilt to her mouth disappeared and searing vulnerability beamed at him from the startling blue of her eyes. “Yes. Are you going to leave because I was daydreaming?”

She had much to learn about him. “I made a commitment to stay. I will stay.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, still red and full from his kisses. “Do you always keep your promises?”

“Always.” He repeated the word in his mind, reminding himself he had given her his word to wait until their marriage to receive the gift of her purity.