Читать книгу Historical Romance Books 1 – 4 - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 18

Chapter Nine

Some of the women were veiled, many were not. Stephanie was at first quite overwhelmed by the crush of jostling bodies and the constant noise. Everyone seemed to speak at a shout and to walk at a snail’s pace save for children and dogs who raced about madly, screaming wildly with excitement, dashing between the tall poles to which the horses were tethered. Men and women bearing trays of hot food and cold drinks called out to advertise their wares as they wandered aimlessly, meandering back and forward through the crowds. The air was heady with the scent of food and animals and people.

Content simply to absorb the atmosphere, unwilling to draw attention to herself, Stephanie kept in Rafiq’s shadow. Despite the fact that he was not here in any official capacity, he was recognised by everyone, and the question on everyone’s lips was the Sabr. Knowing how much it set him on edge, she watched with trepidation, and was consequently surprised to hear him not only joining in the speculation, but relishing it.

‘This will undoubtedly be Bharym’s year,’ he said. ‘This will be the year the Sabr returns to its rightful home.’ With each assertion, his eyes met Stephanie’s. His fingers gripped hers for a fleeting moment, under cover of the folds of her abba. ‘For the first time, I truly do believe it,’ he whispered.

They joined the milling crowds examining the horses. ‘Though the trick is, as you will see if you observe closely, to pretend not to examine the best ones,’ Rafiq explained to Stephanie. ‘This is not an auction, but operates as a private bartering system. If a great deal of fuss is made over a horse then it attracts the attention of other buyers, thus raising the price. So a buyer feigns great interest in the horses he doesn’t want, while offering a lower price for the ones he does, hoping that by ignoring them, no one else will compete with him. Do you follow?’

‘No,’ Stephanie replied. He could tell she was smiling. ‘It is a preposterous system, since everyone knows the game and plays along accordingly. And, since almost every man and women here is an expert assessor of horseflesh, it must be obvious which are the best horses.’

‘Yes, the ones standing neglected,’ Rafiq answered, laughing. ‘It is the custom never to discuss the price paid, and one can never be sure if the seller is bluffing when he tells you that he has been offered a higher price so bargains are difficult to find. The horses I have purchased at these fairs have all been outrageously expensive, though admittedly of excellent quality.’

‘So you bought the stallions which formed your new stables at a horse fair?’ Stephanie asked. ‘I remember when you told me the story of the Sabr, you said that the stallions had cost you more than I could possibly imagine. At the time, I must say, I didn’t think you meant gold, but it seems you did.’

She could have no idea, Rafiq thought. He felt a momentary urge to confide in her before ruthlessly quelling it. Was this what Stephanie meant when she accused him of hiding behind an impenetrable cloak? After the hamam, he recalled now, she had suggested he be more candid about his past, less guarded. They had been talking of Elmira. She could have no notion that they were talking of Elmira again. He didn’t like this habit Stephanie was developing, of reminding him of his dead wife, no matter how unwittingly. Finding her gaze still fixed on him, Rafiq wished that he had kept his face covered too. He shrugged, turning away. ‘I obtained the Bharym stallions from another source.’

An answer that was not an answer, they both knew full well, but Stephanie had obviously decided not to spoil their unspoken truce, and merely nodded. He should have been relieved. Instead, he felt guilty. He watched her playing the game with the horse traders, amused to see that she was, typically, challenging the system by making a fuss over the finest of the horses, to the glee of their owners, and undoubtedly incurring the ire of potential purchasers, though naturally none betrayed themselves.

Despite her veil, despite her perfect command of the language, she had been spotted as a foreigner, but she did not seem to be at all unnerved by the attention. He stood on the fringes watching her, ready to intervene if required, but could detect no sign of disrespect. It had been the same in the city, he recalled now. Her natural curiosity overcame any shyness, her modesty, her complete unawareness of her appeal, meant men, women and children alike were drawn to her.

Stephanie wanted children. Lots of them, she had said. Stephanie’s independence was coming at an enormous cost. The unfairness of it struck him afresh. Why should she be punished so harshly! As a prince, he must marry a virgin, but Stephanie didn’t have any title at all. Was purity really so much more important than all her other qualities? She did not have to declare her loss of innocence to the world.

His thoughts were making him very uncomfortable. Stephanie would be horrified if she were privy to them. She prized her precious independence beyond anything. She certainly had no intentions of getting married. Once bitten, twice shy, wasn’t that the English phrase? Hypocrite that he was, he was glad. He didn’t want to contemplate Stephanie with another man. He didn’t have any right to feel proprietorial about her, and she would be outraged if she knew, but that didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t bear the thought of it. Which would only be an issue when she left Arabia and returned to England. And then it would be absolutely none of his business what Stephanie did, so he needn’t concern himself with it at all.

The tall man talking to her distracted Rafiq from this moral maze. Though his dress was not distinguished, consisting of practical desert clothes bearing the hallmarks of a long journey across the sands, the man himself had an unmistakable air of authority about him. And an edge of danger. The scimitar which hung from his belt looked well used. The man himself had the perfect build to wield it.

Rafiq strode across the arena, pushing his way through the crowds. ‘May I be of service?’ he demanded.

The tall man’s skin was deeply tanned, but his bleached brows and brilliant blue eyes betrayed him for a foreigner, albeit one who spoke perfect Arabic. ‘Not at all,’ he said blithely. ‘I was complimenting Miss Darvill here on her taste in horses—understandable now that I know she is your Royal Horse Surgeon. You must be Prince Rafiq.’ He held out his hand. ‘I have heard a great deal about your stud, and the Sabr race. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Christopher Fordyce.’

‘How do you do,’ Rafiq replied in English. The stranger might be dressed like a common man, but he had a most uncommon assurance. ‘You are a very long way from home, Mr Fordyce.’

‘Indeed. As is the delightful Miss Darvill here,’ he replied blandly. ‘You know, she is the third Englishwoman I have encountered here in Arabia in as many months. The region is awash with them! In Qaryma there was a botanist—though she’s likely back in England by now. And then, in Murimon, the Court Astronomer, would you believe?’

‘I am acquainted with Prince Kadar of Murimon. He owns one of my thoroughbreds.’

‘Lucky chap. I would very much like to own one of your highly prized horses, but I keep my ear to the ground and I know better than to ask whether you brought any along to sell today.’

Rafiq stiffened. ‘Why is that? What have you heard?’

‘Only that it’s well known in these parts that you sell only to those and such as those, and not on the open market,’ Christopher Fordyce said, a slight frown pulling his bleached brows together. ‘No need to take offence.’

‘No offence was taken, I assure you. I take it that you are here to purchase some horseflesh, Mr Fordyce.’

‘Oh, I’m just passing through.’

‘First Qaryma, then Murimon, and now Nessarah. A rather circuitous itinerary. I am sure you have a good reason for it.’

The Englishman laughed. ‘As good as reason as you do, for bringing Richard Darvill’s daughter all the way from England to tend to your Sabr runners, Prince Rafiq. You see, I told you I keep my ear to the ground. But don’t worry, secrets are my business and yours is perfectly safe with me, I promise. Now, if you’ll excuse me. Miss Darvill, it was a pleasure. Your Highness.’

‘One moment, Mr Fordyce. You understand, I am sure, that the desert is a very hostile place. You must also know, since you are so very well informed, that I have alliances with almost every Bedouin tribe. Any gossip regarding my stables, and in particular the health of my horses would soon reach me. I would take a dim view of that.’

All trace of insouciance left him. Christopher Fordyce’s eyes hardened, and so did his voice. ‘I understand your natural desire to keep your problems within the camp, so to speak, but do not deign to threaten me, however obliquely. I am a man of my word and that should be sufficient, even for a prince.’

‘Indeed. I can see that you are. You will forgive me if I have offended you.’

The Englishman smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. ‘I’m not sure if that is a request or a command, but either way it is granted.’

With the sketchiest of bows, he turned on his heel and was lost in the crowd. ‘What a very singular man,’ Stephanie said. ‘Though rather charming. Why do you think he is here in Arabia?’

‘Putting his ear to the ground,’ Rafiq said. ‘It can mean only one thing.’

‘You mean he’s a spy!’

‘And therefore, despite his charming appearance, a dangerous man. Now, why don’t we—?’ He stopped in mid-sentence. He must be mistaken. But, no. His heart sank. The black cloud of his guilt enveloped him anew.

‘Rafiq? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

She could have no idea how close to the truth she was. ‘I see Prince Salim has unexpectedly graced us with his presence,’ he said flatly.

‘The Bedouin who stole your father’s horses!’

‘The Bedouin who won my father’s horses,’ Rafiq corrected her, touched by Stephanie’s misplaced loyalty. ‘You will excuse me,’ he said. ‘I was led to believe that he would not be present today, but it seems my information was inaccurate. I must pay my respects. Wait here, where I may keep an eye on you.’

* * *

Stephanie did as he bade her, watching apprehensively. Meeting the man who had stolen—won—his father’s horses, the man who had taken the Sabr from Bharym, was obviously a daunting prospect for Rafiq. She would have wanted to turn tail and run in the opposite direction. He was a great deal more honourable than she.

He was gone only a matter of moments. When he returned, his princely expression was firmly in place, but he was walking like a man marching into battle. ‘The fair is drawing to a close,’ Stephanie said brightly, ‘I think we should go.’

‘Don’t you want to wait and see who bought your favoured horses?’

‘Rafiq, I’d prefer to leave,’ she said anxiously.

‘If there had been any change at the stables, Fadil would have sent someone.’

‘Rafiq! It is not your horses I’m worried about.’

‘Then what are you worried about, Stephanie?’

She didn’t want to upset him further, but he would be much more upset if...

‘Elmira,’ she blurted out. ‘I am afraid that Princess Elmira’s tribe may be here after all. If your information regarding Prince Salim was wrong, then it’s possible that your information regarding Princess Elmira’s tribe is inaccurate too, and I don’t want you to have to face them.’

‘It is too late for that, I’m afraid,’ Rafiq said grimly. ‘Prince Salim is Elmira’s father.’

* * *

Neither of them had spoken since they left the horse fair. Fortunately for Stephanie, her camel needed little encouragement to follow Rafiq’s across the desert, for her mind was reeling. Rafiq had married the daughter of the man who had wrested the Sabr from Bharym. Why on earth would he do such a thing? She could make no sense of it. Time and again, she opened her mouth to formulate a question, and time and again, one glance at the stiff-backed figure on the camel in front of her had kept her silent. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he was thinking.

The sun was sinking when they halted at a small oasis which she recognised from their outward journey. It was no more than a few palm trees, some scrub, and a small pool, beside which was pitched a Bedouin tent which had not been there this morning. There was no sign of life, no camels, no horses, and though the fire was set, it had not been lit. ‘I wonder where the occupants are,’ Stephanie said.

‘They have just arrived.’ Rafiq clicked his tongue, and both camels immediately dropped to their knees, allowing them to dismount, he infinitely more adroitly than she. ‘You said that you wanted to escape. “Out into the desert, to breathe the night air” were your exact words, I believe.’

‘You remembered,’ Stephanie said, pulling off her keffiyeh. ‘I can’t believe you remembered.’

‘I remember everything you say. Even the more unpalatable comments,’ Rafiq said drily.

She recalled the context of her words now with dismay. ‘The harem. I must have sounded terribly ungrateful.’

Rafiq pulled his headdress off, running his fingers through his hair. ‘As ever, Stephanie, you force me to look afresh at things. When we return, you will find the locks removed and guard gone. You may enter and leave your rooms without being observed. If you prefer, I will have a suite set aside for you in the main body of the palace.’

‘Oh, no. I did not mean—you didn’t have to go to so much trouble.’

‘As to the palace, I have had a plan of the rooms drawn up for you. Aside from the obvious exceptions of servants’ quarters and my own, you may consider it entirely at your disposal.’

‘Rafiq, I didn’t mean—you didn’t have to...’

‘Stephanie, this is my world. I am so accustomed to it that I do not question our ways. Many of our traditions serve a sound purpose. Some of them are no longer valid. It was never my intention to confine you to the harem.’

‘No, you wished only to protect me. And you did not want to compromise me, or yourself.’

He smiled crookedly. ‘You do understand me, despite what you say. That is what you meant this morning, wasn’t it? That I do not trust you enough to confide in you, that by refusing to confide in you, I deny you understanding?’

She was so surprised, she could only nod.

Rafiq pushed her hair away from her face to kiss her forehead. ‘As a prince, I have been raised to remain aloof, to steer clear of exchanging confidences. But as you did not hesitate to point out, I am also a man. I don’t know if I can—how much I can—but I will try, Stephanie, to break the habit and explain a little. For you, and you only.’

* * *

Rafiq hobbled the camels while Stephanie lit the fire. The front of the tent formed an awning propped open by two wooden poles. Thick luxuriant rugs, soft blankets and huge cushions were strewn across the floor. This was a Bedouin tent fit for a prince. They sat by the fire on a heap of cushions which she had set out. They drank the tea which she had made, picked at the selection of breads, salads and cold meats which, as ever, appeared wherever Rafiq commanded them to be. Above them, the sky was indigo, the stars turning from twinkling pinpoints of light to incandescent silver discs.

Rafiq set his tea glass to one side. He was sitting cross-legged, his feet bare, his cloak and belt discarded. His night-black hair was dishevelled by his headdress. The day’s growth of his beard was a bluish shadow on his chin, accentuating his absurdly perfect bone structure, giving him a rakish air. Beside him, Stephanie pretended to sip at her tea, sneaking glances at him under cover of her fringe. She daren’t think about what this meant. She daren’t allow herself to imagine that it could mean anything.

‘My father never forgave Prince Salim for shaming him by defeating him,’ Rafiq said, picking up from a conversation he must have been having with himself, ‘even though it was his own fault that the defeat had such catastrophic consequences. As a result a permanent rift developed between Bharym and Prince Salim’s tribe while my father was still alive. I tried to bridge it when he died. It was a slow process, but I was prepared to be patient.’

‘Because Prince Salim’s horses were the direct descendants of the stallions you had lost? And because not only were they the best and therefore likely to secure victory, but by owning them you would restore the pure Arabian bloodline that had been broken.’

‘Precisely.’

‘And in doing so, restore the honour of your family name, your own bloodline.’

‘It seems I left my impenetrable cloak at the horse fair! You are absolutely right but there is even more to it than that. That is—that is what I am attempting, rather poorly, to explain to you.’

‘Elmira,’ Stephanie whispered. Not because she understood, but because it was the only possible link. ‘Elmira’s father won the race. Elmira’s father sold you the new bloodstock.’

Rafiq stared into the fire for a long time. When he spoke it was slowly, carefully. ‘He did not sell them to me, Stephanie. He gave them to me. Sufficient stallions to replenish my stables, and all guaranteed descendants from the Bharym stud.’

‘But you said—I thought—today—you said the stallions cost you more than I could imagine, and now you tell me that they were given to you...’

‘At a price.’

‘What price?’

‘Can’t you guess?’

He waited while she worked it out for herself, and when she did, she couldn’t disguise her shock. ‘That you marry Elmira!’

‘I had no choice,’ Rafiq said harshly. ‘Prince Salim would not sell them to me for any amount of gold. He coveted the power and political influence that would result from an alliance with a kingdom such as Bharym. It was not only the opportunity to establish the stud, the first vital step on the road to reclaiming the Sabr, it would heal the rift between Bharym and the most influential Bedouin tribe. I had no choice, Stephanie.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘At least that is what I thought. I had no idea then—if I had realised—but I was blinded by my ambition.’

‘Your people’s ambition.’

‘No, I will not allow you to excuse me. I am their Prince and I have a duty to them, but I cannot deny the strength of my own ambition. I told you how, as a child, I dreamt of riding the winning string of horses one day, how that dream turned to ashes when my father burned down the stables. It was very important to me, but important enough to marry for? Because make no mistake, that is what I did, Stephanie. I married Elmira solely for her dowry.’

‘She was a princess. Her bloodline—you said Prince Salim was happy with the match...’

‘Oh, it was a good match, one my Council also heartily approved of.’

‘There, you see! It all makes perfect royal sense.’

‘Royal sense?’

‘A bride with the appropriate pedigree. Stallions with the appropriate pedigree. An end to the feud your father started.’

‘Royal sense,’ Rafiq repeated dully. ‘You’re right, everyone got what they wanted, especially me. Everyone except poor Elmira. That is why my horses are plagued.’

‘That is what you meant when you said that the sickness was your fault, when you said that your misfortune was all your own making? Rafiq!’ Stephanie shook his arm. ‘Nature is to blame for the sickness, you must see that. It would have struck whether you had married Elmira or not. Whether you loved her or not.’

‘I did not love Elmira.’

For the first time when Rafiq spoke of his dead wife there was sorrow in his voice. It twisted at Stephanie’s heart for reasons she was reluctant to explore. ‘It is not a crime, in an arranged marriage, not to feel true love.’

‘There are other crimes, which must be atoned for.’ Rafiq shivered and stared into the fire.

‘Are you cold?’

‘A little.’

Stephanie was at a loss. He had clearly not told her everything, but he had told her a great deal. He had trusted her. The significance was not lost on her. She pulled his arm around her neck and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Thank you.’

Rafiq laughed gruffly. ‘For revealing the flawed man lurking beneath the perfect Prince?’

She kissed his hand, snuggling closer. ‘When I told you about Rupert, my biggest fear was that you would think me gullible, that you would judge me as harshly as I judged myself. You told me then that your opinion of me was based on what you knew of me, that what I had done in the past couldn’t change that.’

She pressed another kiss on to his hand. ‘It is the same for me. I know you for an honourable man. A man who wants desperately to do right by his people and his kingdom. A man who has sacrificed a great deal to make good on a pledge he made. A good man, Rafiq. One who, like me, may regret what he did, but who is determined to atone for it. You judge yourself far too harshly.’

‘No.’ He removed her arm gently and got to his feet. ‘It is not possible to do so.’

‘But...’

‘No.’ He held out his hand to help her up and pulled his boots on. ‘It is a beautiful night, and I brought you here to walk in the desert under the stars, if you still wish to do so? We have dwelt long enough in the past.’

She tucked her arm into his. ‘Then let us inhabit the present. Just us, just now.’

* * *

Stephanie was curled up inside the tent, sleeping under a mound of blankets. Rafiq fed the fire, listening to the sounds of the desert. They had walked for an hour, talking of little or nothing. The names of the insects which buzzed around the oasis. The constellations above them. No mention of horses. No Sabr. No Elmira.

Today was not his first meeting with Prince Salim, but it was the first time he had encountered him unexpectedly. At the time, the Prince had received the tragic news of Elmira’s death with the phlegmatic resignation of a seasoned despot with a coterie of eligible daughters. A point he had been at pains to reinforce earlier today.

Rafiq groaned, dropping his head on to his hands. He didn’t need to feed his guilt with the realisation that Elmira meant as little to her father as she had to him. But he fed it all the same, adding another branch to the towering pyre.

Were all men so heedless of the effect their actions had on women? Why did not more women rebel? Stupid question. He could not imagine Elmira speaking to him the way Stephanie did. He could not picture Elmira standing up to Jasim. Could not envisage her demanding he pay her more attention, spend more time with her. Because she was happy with her cosseted if cloistered lot? Or because she was afraid to?

The question made him feel quite sick. Confiding in Stephanie had only served to make him feel more guilty for having made a partial confession. The urge to tell her the whole of it was there, like a hand in his back, pushing him over a precipice. Madness. Pointless. Not that it mattered, whether he lost her good opinion of him or not, because she was only the Royal Horse Surgeon. She’d be going back to England in a few months.

No, it was far too late to pretend that he didn’t care what Stephanie thought. Which meant it would be folly indeed to tell her the whole unpalatable truth. Sighing, he banked up the fire, for they would require coffee before they started out for the palace in the morning. Earlier today he had promised her there would be kisses tonight. Nothing had turned out as he had planned. He should have known better than to plan anything that involved Stephanie!

Rafiq pulled off his boots. He was far too overwrought to sleep. He would sit in the doorway of the tent and watch the stars. Stephanie sighed in her sleep, throwing an arm out of the cover. She had taken off her tunic, and wore only her pantaloons and camisole. He didn’t want her to get cold. Kneeling down beside her, he tried to tuck her arm back under the covers. She pushed the blanket away. He really didn’t want her to get cold. He lay down beside her, just for a minute to warm her up, curling himself into her back, and pulled the covers over both of them. He kissed the nape of her neck. He closed his eyes. She was so soft and warm. He had never slept the night with a woman before. But he wasn’t going to sleep. He was simply keeping her warm. Rafiq closed his eyes, just for a second, enjoying the comforting presence of her quietly breathing form.

* * *

Stephanie awoke to find herself held in the tight embrace of a soundly asleep Rafiq. His breath was soft on her neck. His arms were wrapped around her waist. Her bottom was curved into his groin. And his fully aroused manhood was snuggled against her bottom. It was the most delightful feeling. More intimate in a way than any lovemaking, and arousing in a drowsy, sleepy way. If she turned around, he would kiss her and they would make proper love. How wonderful it would be, to be woken in this way every morning.

Her eyes snapped open. She eased herself out from his embrace, grabbed her tunic and headed for the icy waters of the oasis. By the time Rafiq awoke, she had dressed and reminded herself very firmly that there were a strictly finite number of mornings left to her in Arabia. She wasn’t going to be waking up on any of them with Rafiq lying by her side again.

* * *

‘I have made a decision regarding the Sabr,’ Rafiq said, as she handed him a cup of the bitter, thick black coffee Mama had taught her to make. He was smiling. He made no mention of their night spent sleeping together. Perhaps like her, he thought it better to ignore it. Though that would be to assume he cared, as she did. Not that she did. Stephanie gave herself a little shake. ‘I know, you said at the horse fair that Bharym would compete and you expected to win.’

‘Yes, but it’s not the decision I was referring to.’

‘What, then?’

‘I’m going to compete in the Sabr myself. I will be Bharym’s rider.’

‘You!’

‘Don’t you think I am up to it?’

Stephanie threw her arms around him, knocking his coffee flying and toppling them both over backwards into the tent. ‘I can think of no one better suited, or qualified. When you first told me the story of the Sabr I pictured you on the back of one of your thoroughbreds, riding like the desert wind towards the finishing post.’

‘Bareback,’ Rafiq said, laughing.

She was sitting on top of him. He had washed, but he had not shaved. What was it she had been telling herself when she woke up? She had the logic all wrong. She shouldn’t be avoiding intimacy with Rafiq. What she should be doing was making the most of the opportunity while she could. She ran her palm over the rough hair on his chest. ‘Bareback. That will be quite a spectacle.’

Rafiq laughed again. She felt his chest rumbling. ‘I was referring to the horse, as well you know.’

She settled herself on top of him. ‘You slept with me last night.’

‘I didn’t intend to.’

‘I’m glad you did, I liked it.’ She leaned over, letting her hair tickle his face, and kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘I was thinking, there are only a dwindling number of days left, before I return to England.’

‘Four months is not an insignificant amount of time.’

‘If you intend to ride the Sabr, you will need to dedicate yourself to a rigorous training regime. There will be precious few opportunities for us to spend time together.’

When she kissed him again, he put his arms around her waist and pulled her down. ‘When you put it like that.’

‘Precisely. And there is the small matter of the promise you made me yesterday.’

‘I promised you kisses, and I am a man of my word.’ His beard was rough on her skin. It made his mouth seem so much softer in contrast. He slid his hand up her side, to cup her breast. ‘I did kiss you last night, but you didn’t wake up.’

‘You can’t have kissed me properly, else I would have.’

He teased her nipple into a peak. She could feel the ridge of his arousal between her legs. ‘Do you want me to kiss you properly now, Stephanie?’

‘Yes, I do, Rafiq,’ she whispered, nipping his ear. ‘I want you to kiss me very, very properly.’

He did. Pulling her on top of him, he kissed her. Rolling her on to her back he kissed her, and she kissed him back, pulling him against her, wrapping her legs around him. Wild kisses that lacked all the control of their other kisses, as they snatched at each other’s clothing, tearing buttons, tugging themselves free, kissing themselves naked.

His beard grazed the tender skin of her breasts, and she shuddered. He took her nipple in his mouth, tugging and teasing, making her moan. She arched under him, shuddering at the hard silky length of him between her legs. ‘Rafiq,’ she urged, clutching at the taut muscles of his buttocks.

‘Wait.’ He was breathless. His chest was heaving. ‘Wait.’

‘No.’ She pulled his mouth to hers again, savaging him with a kiss. ‘We’ve waited long enough.’

‘Stephanie, I want this to be—wait.’

‘I don’t want to wait, and I’m pretty sure that you don’t want to either.’ She smoothed his hair back from his brow and kissed him deeply. ‘I want to. I am very sure. I promise you. Very, very sure. Now, can we stop talking? Didn’t you tell me that actions—?’

He cut her words short with a kiss. Then he kissed his way down, to the valley between her breasts, to the dip of her stomach, licking into her navel, then down, but this time it was no slow wooing. This time he sensed her urgency. This time when he licked into her, it was not teasing, but purposeful. She forgot to protest that it wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t care whether it was his mouth or his tongue or his fingers which brought her straight to the edge, which made everything inside her tense, which sent her spinning out of control with a wild cry.

Then his mouth covered hers again. And his tongue touched hers. And finally he entered her, slowly, smoothly, the pulsing of her climax drawing him higher. She shuddered as he moved inside her, a slow withdrawal followed by a slow, delicious thrust back inside her. Another kiss. He slid his hands under her bottom, tilting her upwards, and she instinctively tightened her legs around his thighs. When he thrust into her this time, it was faster, higher, and this time she thrust back in rhythm, seeing the reaction on his face, feeling it inside her. She thought her release was over, but it was building again. She moaned, gripping his shoulders, kissing him urgently, sliding her legs up around his waist, moaning again when he slid higher, and again as she tightened around him, and again as his final thrust tilted her over the edge, sending him over too, pulling himself free of her with a harsh cry.

* * *

She was sprawled on a tangle of cushions and blankets. She was completely naked, and she was completely sated. She felt utterly wanton. Lying at her side, Rafiq looked just exactly as she felt, his eyes dark with passion, his cheeks slashed with colour, his chest heaving, his skin damp with sweat.

‘I am a harlot and a brazen hussy,’ Stephanie said, leaning over him to kiss him languorously. ‘I find it is a very delightful thing to be.’

Rafiq smiled. ‘Delightful,’ he said.

‘Was it? Truly?’

‘Stephanie. Truly.’