Читать книгу Bedded By The Desert King - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 6

‘THE storm is easing…’

As Abbas spoke, Zara watched him move towards the entrance as if the sexual temperature between them had never flickered. Maybe it hadn’t for him. Keenly aware of the progress of the storm outside the tent, maybe he was oblivious to the storm he had whipped up inside it. Or was he toying with her? Which one was it?

‘If the weather is improving I want to leave as soon as I can…’

‘Three days and three nights,’ he said, turning to face her.

So he had remembered. ‘Your custom?’ She raised a brow, wanting him to know she wasn’t convinced.

‘Custom demands that, having sought refuge here, you must remain as my guest for three days and three nights…’ His face told her nothing as he sat down again and arranged his robe around his legs.

‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ She had to drag her gaze away and ignore the heavy throb of anticipation in her lower body.

Raising his head, Abbas levelled a stare on her face. ‘I am bound by the customs of my land…’

‘But I am not.’ It was too shadowy to interpret his expression with any confidence, but Abbas’s silence suggested she was mistaken. She didn’t press him, knowing he would probably reply that at this moment she was a guest in his land.

Zara found it hard to relax. Abbas’s commanding manner had aroused her to the degree where his slightest move made her heart race. He made her long for things that had never mattered to her before, forbidden things. She hardly dared to imagine what it might be like to be held by him, to be cradled in his arms, to be touched delicately, persuasively…As he leaned forward to check the coffee she saw the flare of recognition in his eyes and pulled herself round. ‘As soon as the trader leaves, I’m going with him. Even if my Jeep has been lost, it doesn’t matter. I’ll hitch a lift with him.’

‘On his camel? And I think you’ll find that he has already gone.’

‘But the storm has only just died down…’

‘Come with me, Adara…’

When Abbas released the entrance cover Zara uttered a sharp breath of amazement. The desert was peaceful again, but they might have been carried up and brought down in a totally different place. What had happened to the dune where she had been captured, the dune behind which she had sheltered her off-road vehicle? Now all she could see was a flat plain that stretched away into the distance as far as the foothills of the mountains. The sand around the tent had formed into wavelike ripples. The structure was now isolated in a vast expanse of flat featureless nothingness, like a ship floating on a sea of sand…

Looking further, Zara was relieved to see that at least the palm trees clustering round the wadi had survived. But they were bent at such an acute angle their fronds were brushing the water…She found it much easier to walk in the flat sandals Abbas had provided and was suddenly eager to escape the confines of the tent. Hurrying over to the nearest palm, she touched its trunk gently with her hand. ‘Will it recover?’ She glanced at Abbas, who had come to stand by her shoulder.

‘Yes,’ he reassured her. ‘The trunks of the palm are as flexible as the poles used to support the tent and so they will recover, given time.’

Leaving her, he strode towards the second tent, which had also survived the onslaught of the storm. Picking up her skirts, Zara hurried after him.

There was no sign of the trader or his camel. There was nothing to show that he had been there at all other than a bundle hanging from the fronds of a palm. ‘What is it?’ Shading her eyes, she looked up into the branches.

‘I have already told you that hospitality is instilled at birth in the Bedouin, and so is repayment of the debt.’

Was Abbas sending her a hidden message? Zara wondered, pressing him to continue.

‘That cache will contain whatever the trader can safely spare. It is his way of thanking me. But I am honour bound not to touch anything I don’t need, the point being I must consider the needs of others over myself.’

His words sent a shiver tracking her spine. ‘Perhaps I could copy some prints to send to you when I get home…I have taken some good landscapes…’ As she gestured around, Zara felt her offer wasn’t enough. ‘And I’ll send you a cheque too, of course.’ She couldn’t bear freeloaders and didn’t want Abbas mistaking her for one.

‘A cheque?’

‘Money for the time I’ve spent here as your guest…’

‘I do know what a cheque is. I just wondered why you should feel it necessary to send one to me.’

‘To cover the cost of sheltering me, of course,’ she said, frowning.

‘Are you always so scrupulous?’

‘Yes.’ She held his gaze steadily. ‘I never use people and then just walk away.’

‘But you haven’t left yet,’ he pointed out, ‘and I may need to add something to your account.’

Zara’s eyes widened. She didn’t know whether to believe Abbas or not.

He couldn’t resist provoking her just a little more. Three days and nights…It was an outrageous idea, even if he had based his assertion on ancient lore. Traditions such as that had never been meant to apply to a situation like this. But he could hardly blame his ancestors for not factoring into their thinking one reckless young female who had ventured into the desert without a chaperon.

And the storm hadn’t finished with them yet. This was only a lull. What he should do was dispatch her to the spare tent to wait out the weather and then send her on her way with Aban. But he had been a long time alone in the desert and he was only human. The girl was strong and self-assured, mature beyond her years; she knew the score.

He followed her back into the pavilion, noticing how she resented the yards of material flapping round her ankles. Having forgotten to pick up her skirts, she looked like an ungainly fawn as she struggled to cope with the flowing robe. Big brown eyes and that shock of golden hair peeping out beneath the veil only added to the illusion. He liked her in the veil; it suited her—softened her.

‘Is another storm coming?’ she asked anxiously, turning to face him as a gust of wind snatched the veil from her head.

‘I think we should go back inside,’ he advised.

‘If there is another storm, how long do you think it will last?’

For a mischievous moment, as he secured the entrance behind them, he was tempted to leave what he was doing and stride outside to sniff the air. But play-acting wasn’t his thing. The truth was, he didn’t have a clue. They hadn’t taught weather forecasting on his course at Harvard Business School.

‘What shall we do to pass the time?’

The innocent question was negated by the look in her eyes and his senses, already sharpened by his days of denial in the desert, raged out of control. He found it ironic that the desert had given her to him. The coincidence of them meeting in thousands of square miles of hostile land was incredible, but she had come to him with the dawn—his virgin, Adara. Fortunately, her manner, her eyes, her body language all assured him she was no such thing. When they were both sated and his mind clear again, he would return to Zaddara and take up his duties. This would be his last self-indulgence before duty claimed him.

And now there was only one thing still plucking at his mind. According to Zaddaran tradition there was no such thing as coincidence; there was only destiny.

She went to check her camera and as he looked at her something inside him softened briefly. ‘You may take a handful of photographs if you wish—but only of objects and your surroundings. As an aide-memoire for your trip,’ he added. He wasn’t prepared for the look on her face of sheer surprised delight and found it gave him pleasure to please her.

‘That’s very good of you. I promise I’ll be quick…’ She reached for the camera. ‘I know I haven’t exactly been the easiest guest. Do you forgive me?’

As she turned her face up to him, he wanted to tell her just how much. The appeal in her eyes made his heart turn over which, as far as he could recall, had never happened before. The offer of the photographs had changed something. It was almost as if an understanding, a bond, had developed between them.

She was scrupulously fair and obviously knew what she was doing. She took a few shots of the tent and some objects and then put the camera away. ‘There, I’ve finished. Thank you…’

His gaze was drawn to her lips, reddened where she had chewed on them while she was concentrating on her work. And now there were questions in her eyes: Did he find her attractive? Did he want her? Did he want her enough to make love to her? The answer to all three was, of course, yes. Her lips were slightly parted and damp where she had moistened them. She wasn’t afraid to hold his gaze. She was beautiful and she was ready, and she was waiting for him to make the first move.

‘Three days and three nights?’ She made it sound like a request. And, as she stared at him, his hunger surged to a new level. He had expected many things of his retreat in the desert, but not this forwardness of a young woman who had appeared out of nowhere like a gift…

‘And then we will part asking nothing of each other,’ he confirmed.

As silence descended between them they both knew it could only have one outcome. And it was a delicious moment that neither one of them wanted to break. It took a ferocious gust of wind to bring her into his arms and, as she rested her head against his chest, he silently praised the storm for wrestling with the tent.

There was barely enough time to inhale Abbas’s delicious scent and feel his warmth seeping through the flimsy fabric of her robe before he swung her into his arms. ‘We’d ask nothing of each other?’ Zara repeated Abbas’s words back to him in a whisper.

‘Only this,’ he murmured, carrying her towards his bed.

She felt so safe that even the sand rattling against the sides of the tent seemed to be in another world. Her body was tuned to his, waiting for his touch, eager to feed on the passion she knew he possessed. He was so restrained, so controlled; to see him lose that was the only thing she wanted now. When he lowered her to the bed she reached up to draw him down to her. Cupping her face in his warm hands, he kissed her deeply. The taste of him was delicious and addictive, the boldness of his tongue the most thrilling thing she had ever known. She wanted more, more of everything, more of Abbas. She wanted every part of him to be touching her and so she clung to him, pressing herself against him until he was forced to hold her away. She made a complaint at once, asking him, ‘Why…?’

Abbas smiled against her mouth. ‘Your clothes,’ he murmured.

Fortunately, she wasn’t wearing many, Zara thought, starting to wriggle her way out of the restrictive robe.

‘Let me…’

‘And yours,’ she ordered, impatient to feel him naked against her.

Abbas had no inhibitions and, as he stripped off his robe, she sucked in an excited breath. He exceeded all her expectations. He was the most beautiful man she could have imagined. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she studied him boldly with the eye of an artist. He was like a living statue carved in bronze, with each muscle and sinew clearly delineated. Stroking him, she revelled in his strength and in the way he quivered beneath her touch. The expression in his eyes when he looked at her with approval was intoxicating. He was so big and so powerful and his muscles rippled as they wrestled together playfully. He allowed her to make all the moves, barely touching her, which in turn was the most arousing thing she had ever known. But he knew how to tease and each caress of his hand, each brush of his fingers, lit a separate fire.

Catching hold of her hand, Abbas drew it to his lips. Zara gasped in surprise when he began to suckle each fingertip in turn. She could feel the sensation all over her skin. Crying out for him to be merciful, she sobbed with relief when at last he let her go, but almost at once she wanted him back again. And, when he would not fall in with her wishes immediately, she balled her hands into fists and pounded them against his chest, calling him angry names until he was forced to capture her wrists in one powerful fist and hold them firmly in place on the pillows above her head.

She drew deeply on the fragrance of his skin and sighed with contentment. And, when at last he released her hands, it was her turn to take control—exploring the hard path of muscle, the inflexibility of bone, her fingers travelling slowly and provocatively until it was Abbas’s turn to sigh. She enjoyed the sensation of rough chest hair springing against her finger-pads and smiled to feel his nipples harden beneath her touch. Placing both her hands flat on his chest, she drew them slowly down over his torso across the impressive banding of muscle to where she could feel the heat of his erection.

Brushing him lightly, she pulled away when he groaned with pleasure. She hadn’t expected him to be so big. The speed and strength of what was happening to her had not prepared her for this reality. And the reality of a man like Abbas was a great deal more than she had expected.

But then he touched her softly, gently, and her courage began to return. If Abbas could tease, then so could she. And she hadn’t finished with him yet…

Crouching up on her knees, she used her long hair to brush back and forth across his body, while Abbas made sounds of appreciation deep in his throat. For the first time she knew the power of her femininity and, growing in confidence, she swept her hair across his ribcage, moving gradually lower.

To see Abbas quivering with anticipation was the most intoxicating thing Zara had ever experienced. She found she couldn’t stop watching his erection swell and pulse, and as it did so she felt her own body responding to the same urgent rhythm.