Winter Blockbuster 2012

by Trish Morey

  Rakin’s chest rose and fell as he sucked in a rasping breath—but he let her go.

  After a beat he said, “So? You’re certain you don’t want to risk making love in the daylight?”

  There was humor… and a dark passion that tempted her at the same time that it terrified her. “It’s the idea of…” She swallowed, then carefully imitated the wording he had used “…of making love outside—where anyone might see us. What happened in Vegas was under the cover of darkness.” Mostly.

  He scanned their surroundings. “Who will see us? We are far above the desert. There is no one near.” And he came closer.

  So much for her thirst for adventure, her craving to break free.

  “I know, I sound ridiculous. I can’t explain it.” She backed toward where the horses were tethered. And she damned all her inhibitions.

  There was a glint in his eyes, as he murmured, “So my rebel is not such a rebel after all.”

  Laurel wished she had the gumption to pick up the gauntlet he had thrown down. “I’m not ready for such an adventure.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THEY were almost home when a boy came running toward them.

  Rakin checked the stallion, and brought him to a halt beside the boy.

  “Give me your hand.” Leaning forward, he grabbed the boy’s hand and scooped him up onto the stallion in front of him.

  The horse started to stride out, neck arched and head held high.

  “I am riding Pasha.” The child’s back was rigid with pride. “He’s much better than Halva.”

  Rakin laughed out loud. “Don’t let Halva hear that—her feelings will be hurt, and she might buck you off.”

  “Pah.” It was a sound of disgust. “Halva is too old to buck.”

  Rakin shot Laurel a conspiratorial look. “Halva is kind with the sweetest nature in the horse kingdom. Nothing wrong with nice. And don’t forget I learned to ride on Halva’s mother.”

  They turned into the stable yard. An elderly man with a sun-beaten face came out of the nearest stable.

  As Rakin reined the stallion to a halt, the boy muttered something and slid off the horse. By the time the stable manager had hobbled up, the boy had disappeared.

  “That boy, he is a nuisance.” But there was pride in the old man’s eyes.

  “Your grandson will be a fine rider one day—like his grandfather.”

  The pride grew brighter. “He does well at school. He learns more than his father or his grandfather ever did. English. Computers. All the villagers say we are blessed.”

  Rakin waved his thanks off. “It was time.”

  The more she learned of Rakin, the more complex he became. The news that he was responsible for educating the youngsters. His gentleness with the boy and his grandfather made Laurel forget the reserve that had distanced him from her. Instead, she found herself melting inside at his connection with the pair. The discovery of this softer side of her husband moved her more than she would’ve expected. Rakin’s gentleness… his social conscience were more facets to admire about a man who was starting to occupy an awful amount of her life.

  He would make a wonderful father one day… and a perfect husband.

  One day…

  When she was long gone. Looking away from the man who’d taken over so much of her life, Laurel reined the gray in and swung her leg over the back of the saddle to dismount. She slid to the ground, then walked to the horse’s head, taking care not to glance in Rakin’s direction.

  Their marriage had not been forged for love or family. It was purely a temporary proposition. She was nothing more than a temporary wife.

  And, despite the heat of the day, that reminder caused a chill to settle around Laurel’s heart.

  It was the final day of their getaway. Tomorrow they would be leaving as Rakin had a board meeting in the capital.

  They’d retreated to Rakin’s library after sharing a late dinner as they’d done each night. The past four days had been a time that Laurel knew she would treasure even after their marriage was over.

  Today Rakin had taken her deeper into the desert to explore its magic. They’d explored towering rock formations where wadis—water paths that brought life to the desert—hid. He’d taken her to visit villages with markets that had delighted Laurel with their character.

  She should’ve been exhausted.

  Yet she was too wired to sit. Her mind was still whirring, stimulated by the color and excitement of the day. Instead of joining Rakin on the wide, overstuffed daybed, where heavily embroidered cushions added an exotic touch to the huge room, she made for the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

  Every subject under the sun was covered.

  Politics. History. Books about Diyafa; about deserts; about ancient cultures. In addition to the leather-covered books and coffee-table hard covers, there was a large selection of well-read paperback fiction. Modern literary novels and a selection of popular crime fiction. The collection revealed the breadth and scope of Rakin’s interest.

  “There’s a large number of travel books both ancient and modern,” Rakin said from the couch.

  “I can see.”

  “Their journeys were fascinating—they were men driven by more than action, by a vision of what they wanted from life.”

  She was on her own odyssey, Laurel realized. And it was far from over. Blindly she stared at the shelf in front of her. Then her gaze fell on a shelf of smaller tomes. Poetry, she saw. One was a volume titled simply Pleasures in faded gold lettering on the burgundy leather spine.

  Laurel drew it from the shelf, the calf binding soft against her fingers. As she opened it, the yellowed pages with a flower-printed border were revealed.

  A verse caught her eye.

  My love! Sun of my Dark Heart, brighten my Day,

  Bring life to stone-dry Desert, warm me with your Fire;

  As surely as Dawn follows the Star-scattered Night

  And floods the Perfumed Garden of my Desire.

  Love poetry. Oft read from the way the pages fell open.

  Read by Rakin?

  “What are you looking at?”

  It was as if her thoughts had conjured up his voice.

  “A collection of poetry.”

  She flipped the page over, and her eyes fell on an illustration. It caused her to gasp. A pair of lovers, entwined on a bed under a tree. The woman lush and voluptuous, her lover dark and powerful. Laurel stared down at the undoubted beauty of the naked flesh that the artist had painted.

  Normally she would’ve felt awkward to be faced with such material. The man’s head was flung back, a look of unrestrained passion on his face, while the woman looked utterly satisfied.

  Heat balled in her stomach.

  What would she give to see that look on Rakin’s face?

  She shut the book and slid it back into the empty space; then she crossed to where Rakin sat and dropped down on the wide sofa arm.

  “Thank you for a wonderful day,” her voice sounded hoarse. She couldn’t look at him yet, in case she gave herself away.

  His finger touched the tip of her chin, with a gentle pressure to turn her head. She resisted. His fingertip moved to touch her lip.

  Then he said softly, “You must be tired—ready to go to bed?”

  Was that a question in his voice? A suggestion? The heat in her stomach blazed through her veins. Her gaze dropped down to connect with his. And a spark leapt between them.

  “Come here,” he groaned.

  Laurel couldn’t have said who moved first, but she was in his lap, his mouth replacing his fingertip on her lips, and they were kissing fiercely. The fevered heat was soaring. Raging. Within a minute her control had shredded.

  Their clothes came off in a hurry, and there was little time for preliminaries before Rakin pulled her astride him.

  It was fast and furious.

  With every pleasure-increasing stroke, she watched him. Every flicker of his eyes. The way his throat tightened as he swallowed and the moment his
eyelids closed as a moan broke from deep in his throat.

  There was something sinfully wonderful about having this much power over a man—especially one as strong and unyielding as Rakin. So far he’d called all the shots in this game of chess between them. Back in Las Vegas, he’d reduced her body to quivers, played it like a virtuoso until she’d learned hidden secrets about her psyche that she’d never imagined lurked behind her conventional ladylike exterior.

  He’d unleashed passions she’d never suspected existed, awoken desires that she’d never considered would come to play across her mind every time he walked into a room.

  But now it was her chance to turn the tables.

  Rakin was every bit as hungry for her as she was for him.

  When it came, the explosion of pleasure was sudden and satisfying.

  And afterward Laurel dropped her head onto his chest, and the pounding of his heart told her that his composure was as stripped as hers.

  He’d seriously miscalculated.

  Rakin had left Laurel asleep, sprawled across the enormous bed in his bedchamber, and he’d come outside to the pool for a swim to calm the turbulence in his head.

  Who was the fool who’d said business and pleasure didn’t mix? Then broken the rule he’d created? Not once, but twice. Worse, Rakin suspected that it would soon be broken a third—even fourth—time and beyond.

  He swam a length, then back, searching for the tranquility, the clear head, that cutting through the water had always brought.

  But this time it didn’t.

  He stopped at the far end, grasped the rail and tipped his head back. The pool was lit up by the golden coin of the full moon.

  Not even the beauty could capture him. Emotions churned inside him, too hard to separate—or even identify.

  The click of the latch on the wooden gate set in the wall surrounding the pool, followed by the sound of a footfall caused him to turn his head and squint through the darkness toward the arch.

  He caught a glimpse of something in the shadows; then the moonlight moved on white silk.

  His wife.

  At the edge of the pool Laurel stopped. She’d woken to find Rakin gone—and she’d come looking. She’d suspected she’d find him here in the pool garden behind the high walls. She made out his dark shape swimming toward her, his arms cutting through the water with quiet strokes.

  He rose in the shallows, and the moonlight rippled across his wet shoulders. “Join me for a swim?”

  “Oh, I intend to.”

  Laurel dropped her white silk robe. Beneath, she wore nothing. She stepped into the water.

  Conscious of his eyes caressing her, she came down the steps, head high, shoulders back, proud of her nudity. The water was silken against her knees. Another step brought it swirling around her thighs and her fingers trailed over the calm surface. By the time she reached the bottom, Rakin was waiting for her. He rose from the dark pool, his hair slicked back, water streaming over his body. Her breath caught.

  He was magnificent.

  Pagan. Masculine. And too darn sexy for words.

  Moonlight fell on his face, bringing his angled cheekbones into sharp relief, casting light on the fullness of his bottom lip. Her gaze dropped down… farther… skimming his broad shoulders, resting on the amulet that hung on his chest and back up to his mouth.

  Desire twisted her in stomach.

  She wanted him.

  Again.

  It should’ve shocked her. But it didn’t. This feminine hunger for her mate was the most natural thing she’d ever experienced. Under the veil of the hot desert night, she’d shed her inhibitions. She reached out, stroked the side of his face. His chest rose in a groan, then fell as air rushed out. Her hand swept down… running along his jawline… and came finally to rest against the water-slickened skin at the side of his neck.

  Against her fingertips, his pulse reverberated.

  So he felt it too… this powerful hunger. Too strong to control.

  Lifting her hand away, she reached out with one finger, touched the center of his lip as he had done to her hours earlier.

  His lips rounded, and he sucked.

  Laurel’s nipples hardened, and a sweet pain contracted in her stomach with the erotic play. The liquid heat of arousal filled her.

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  When he released her finger, she trailed it across his lower lip, leaving traces of moisture. Then, unable to resist, she stood on tiptoe and placed her mouth on that same spot.

  His mouth became passionate, his tongue sinking past her lips, ravishing her. Promising her that what she’d started would be good.

  The want twisting inside her leapt higher.

  She shifted restlessly… and brushed against him. With a sense of shock she discovered he was naked… and already aroused. Her heart turned over at the discovery and her pulse started to hammer. His breathing had quickened, filling the silence of the night where only the soothing sound of the water trickling over rocks broke the dark spell.

  “What do you want?” he whispered.

  You. But she said nothing, only brushed herself up against him, in a language older than time. Her body telling him more clearly than words.

  Embracing her, he dragged her through the water to him. Corded muscled met her feminine softness. A sigh whispered in the night…. It sounded as though it came from a long way off, not from her. The stroke of his hands down her back caused shudders to sweep her in torrents. When his strong, male hands closed over her buttocks, his fingers flexing into the rounded mounds… it was ecstasy.

  Laurel arched against him, panting against his mouth, all too conscious of the rigidity of his erection. One rock-like thigh drove between her legs, forcing her stance to widen, giving him space to maneuver closer still.

  She flung back her head, surrendering herself to the pleasure of his hands… his touch… gazing up into his face, that dark mask silvered by moonlight.

  For a beat of time he looked like a stranger. His face taut with desire. No sign of the good-humored man she’d come to… like.

  His hands speared through the tangle of her hair. He drew them through, fingers sensually combing the long strands. Her eyes closed. Was this how mermaids of old had felt? This primal passion for their all too human lovers? Caught up in the mood of the moment, Laurel leaned into him, inciting him… not caring that she was driving herself—him—crazy.

  The shackles had been shaken off.

  This last week, for the first time in her life, she’d been free. Free of restraints, free of all the expectations that came with the Kincaid name. It had taken action on her part to step from the existence that had been so familiar into the fear of the unknown. But the reward was infinite. She’d become someone… more.

  Someone she no longer recognized.

  The old Laurel would never have undressed and entered the pool, naked, with such abandon. Would never have pursued her wants… her needs… so blatantly. So wantonly. Even a few days ago it would’ve been too much.

  Yet in her heart she knew what drove her tonight was more profound than raw passion. Their time together—this adventure—could not last.

  It would come to an end too soon.

  An emotion to which she had not yet put a name overwhelmed her. It was more than liking… more than friendship… or even respect… much more than all the other things she’d been telling herself she and Rakin shared.

  She dared not use the word love…

  Get a Life.

  Under the water, the smooth friction of his leg against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh caused her to gasp. Her eyes shot open. The pressure increased, rubbing against her. Then his fingers were touching her, peeling back the petals to find the sensitive bud that bloomed within.

  Heat roared in her head. She fought the shivers that threatened to break, to bring the escalating excitement to completion. She wanted to stretch this time… to savor it… to never let it end.

  His blunt length replaced his finge
rs. The pressure increased. Then he was sliding into her with slow strokes. Laurel gripped his shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut, giving herself up to sensation.

  It rolled over her, in hot, endless waves.

  A final thrust and she felt the quivering tension take hold of Rakin. He froze. A harsh, rasping sound broke from his throat as his control shredded. It was what Laurel had been waiting for.

  She let the tide sweep over her, allowed the shivers of satisfaction to take her. But she had a blinding insight that this was far from the end. This was only the beginning.

  The power of the emotion that had been confounding her had to be love.

  Joy bubbled up.

  She was in love with her temporary husband.

  Laurel shifted restlessly against him in the water, and Rakin tightened his embrace. The blood still thundered in his ears.

  “Cold?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.

  She shook her head.

  But he lifted her up into his arms and headed up the steps to a lounger, where his towel waited. Once he was seated with Laurel on his lap, he drew the towel around her. Using a corner, he patted her face dry. She closed her eyes and didn’t resist.

  She hadn’t said a word since that shattering experience in the pool.

  To his surprise, Rakin discovered he wanted—needed—for her to say something.

  Placing a finger beneath her chin, he raised her face. Her eyes remained stubbornly shut.

  “Laurel?”

  Finally her eyes opened. But these were not the sparkling gems he’d grown accustomed to; there were only shadows in the jeweled depths.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What is the matter?”

  “What could possibly be the matter?” Her lips curved into a smile. “I’ve just experienced possibly the best orgasm of my life.”

  “Good,” he purred, and relaxed a little, relieved he’d been reading a problem where none existed. “It was pretty damn fantastic.”

  “Yes.”

  She was still smiling, but he couldn’t shake off his concern that she was troubled. “Are you sure you’re all right?” A nasty thought struck him. “I didn’t hurt you?”

  He’d been so hungry for her—and he’d been sure she’d been ready for him, despite the barrier of the water.