Mirage

by Monica Burns

  Need drove his hand downward and with a light touch, he swept aside the silk at her legs, seeking the curls at the apex of her thighs. It excited him to feel her shudder beneath him as his fingers parted the slick, velvety folds of her sex. He barely grazed the small nub inside her folds with his finger, and she bucked against his hand.

  Cream coated his fingers as he stroked her snug passage. The way her body clutched at him with fierce abandon sent desire barreling through him with the force of a sirocco. She wasn’t just hot with need—her body was demanding the satisfaction he wanted to give her. Needed to give her. As he pulled his hand away from her, she whimpered her protest against his lips.

  To his delight, she grabbed his hand and tried to guide him back to her lovely hot core. No, before he satisfied either one of them, he wanted to see the fullness of her beauty. He wanted to see all of her. Pulling away, he smiled at her quiet objection. He rose up on his knees, and gently slid her dress up to her waist. Although she sucked in a quick breath, she didn’t protest. Instead, she reached down and tugged the silk gown up and over her head.

  He swallowed hard at the sight of her. The voluptuous curves of her body tightened the desire burning out of control inside him. She was a feast for his eyes. Her creamy skin contrasted with the brown thatch of curls at her legs. Like a large fan, her hair spread out on the pillows. She was an odalisque fit for a pharaoh. No, she was for him. No one else. A needy hunger clutched at him as he removed his clothing with a sharp tug. His erection jutted outward and he swallowed hard as she reached out to touch him.

  “I want to please you like I did that night at the oasis.”

  Her soft words sent a bolt of disbelief streaking through him. She wanted to please him. She was putting him first. No other woman coming to his bed had ever done that before. Stunned, he simply stared down at her. A rose-colored stain crested up over her cheeks as she turned her head away. He caught her chin with his hand and forced her to look at him.

  “And I want to please you, emîra.”

  “I thought my forward behavior had shocked you.”

  He shook his head. “Never. In fact, I find it quite stimulating.” He couldn’t help teasing her as he glanced down at his arousal.

  With a breathy laugh, she reached out to brush her fingertips over his stiff cock. His mouth went dry as her hand encircled him, stroking him like a silky glove. Hazel eyes sparkling with a new found confidence, she stared up at him as her thumb rubbed a small bead of desire over the tip of him. A second later she stroked the sensitive vein along his hard length. She seemed to instinctively know what would please him. And God knew she was doing just that. With just a few strokes from her hand, he was throbbing in the heat of her palm.

  “God yes, emîra.”

  His breath quickened as he stared at her white hand wrapped around the dark stiffness of his cock. Christ Jesus, that felt good. Her hand slid back and forth over his rigid erection, creating a friction that tugged his ballocks up against his cock. No not yet. He needed to feel her hot silky core clutching him.

  Grabbing her hands, he gently pinned them above her head and kissed her. At the same time, he positioned his cock at her wet, narrow opening. He inched into her, and she lifted her hips to accept him. With each slow thrust forward, her body took in more of him. God, she was so tight. The muscles inside her hot, slick passage clenched at him with fierce intensity, and he struggled to keep from exploding inside her.

  The palms of her hands warmed his chest, and she ran her thumbs over his nipples. The pleasurable sensation tugged a groan from him. She was wonderful. His cock pressed deeper into her before he eased back. Hot cream smoothed its way over him as he thrust deeper into her. Buried inside her like this, she felt so good. No, better than good, incredible. Her eyes were closed, and her expression showed she was close to a climax. Lowering his head, he flicked his tongue over the stiff peak of one breast. Her response was to arch her back and thrust her hips upward. The movement heightened the intensity of his pleasure as she tightened around him like a hot vise.

  “Look at me,” he rasped. Her eyes flew open to meet his gaze. “Tonight, ana anide emîra, you are mine.”

  With a low cry, he plunged deep into her. With increasing speed, he created a friction that was about to push him over the edge. Her body rippled and constricted around him. It was the most exquisite pleasure he’d ever experienced. Her buttery core melted over his cock as he drove into her one last time. Need and gratification met to engulf him as he spilled his seed into her. She was finally his. He was no longer a Bedouin or Englishman. He was simply a man in the arms of a woman who wanted him solely for himself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A feathery touch on her skin stirred Alex from sleep. Brushing at her cheek, she snuggled deeper into the warm pillows. The touch came again, only this time it was the distinct sensation of a finger trailing across her cheek. She opened her eyes to find Altair looking down at her as he brushed her hair off her face.

  The low light of the lantern cast its soft glow around them. The sinewy muscles in his chest flexed as he curled her into the warmth of his long bronzed body. His eyes held a possessive glint as he stared down at her.

  “It will be morning soon.”

  She ran her hand across his hard chest, skimming his breastbone then trailing her fingers down to below his waist. When her thumb rubbed over the sensitive edge of his cock, he inhaled sharply. She smiled at him.

  “Do not tease, emîra, unless you are prepared to follow up on your boldness.” His hand glided over her stomach until his fingers slipped between her curls. The stroke of his thumb against her sensitive nub pulled a moan from her.

  The world slipped away at his touch until the only thing filling her head was him. They’d made love all through the night, and still he could drive her beyond reasonable thought. Her hand fully enclosed him in her grasp, and she rubbed her thumb under the thick cap to stroke the turgid vein there. She’d learned last night how much he liked that. Already he was throbbing in her hand. A low growl of pleasure rumbled in his throat.

  Rolling over on his back, he pulled her with him. Hands braced against his shoulders, she tugged in a sharp breath as his hard phallus pressed against the sensitive spot beneath her curls. A moment later, he lifted her up and slid her down on top of him. As he filled her, she emitted a small gasp of delight at the pleasure it gave her. He rested deep inside her and her body quivered.

  “Ride me, ana gamâl.” The raw need in his voice startled her.

  He’d called her his beauty. It amazed her, and she tenderly touched his cheek. He immediately turned his head, and his lips sought the palm of her hand. His fingers gripped her hips firmly as he urged her to rock her body over his. The earthy rawness of the act sent excitement streaking through her as she met the glowing passion in his eyes. Arching backward, she braced her hands on his hard, muscular thighs, taking in more of him.

  The sleek feel of his hard legs beneath her palms heated her blood to a simmering boil. With each stroke of her body against his, pleasure radiated its way through every nerve ending in her body. Tremors of delight cascaded over her as she tipped her head back until her hair brushed against her buttocks. Not even last night had she felt so wicked or wanton. And she loved every moment of it. His touch was sweeter than honey, and she trembled as his thumb pressed between her wet folds to stroke the firm button of her sex. The sensation of having him inside her while his fingers played with her dragged a cry of pleasure from her lungs.

  Sweet heaven, how could each time be better than the last? A tingle edged its way over her skin as his touch sent first one shudder and then another lacing through her. The faster he stroked her with his thumb, the faster she moved against his hard erection. A firm hand caressed her stomach and pressed her back further. The change in position increased her delight, and for a moment she was blinded to anything but the rising pitch inside her body.
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  With a small cry, she instinctively fell forward, her hips gyrating against his at a frenzied pace. Dear Lord, was this wanton body really hers? Something about this man drew out her most wicked desires. He tempted her, thrilled her. Each time he surged upward her body clung to him, trying to keep him buried deep inside her.

  The intensity of it all made her whimper with a need that demanded fulfillment. The familiar tension spiraled through her limbs once more, and suddenly, the muscles below her stomach shuddered wildly. Her body clung to him as he throbbed deep inside her. Spasms of pleasure rolled through her, and the ferocity of her response left her weak, but satisfied. Lowering her weight down onto his, she continued to throb against him, her body trembling with the aftershocks of their lovemaking.

  Satiated, she let her fingers drift over his hard, muscular shoulders. The faint aroma of cedarwood tickled her nose. He smelled wonderfully male as she nuzzled his neck, the light sheen of sweat on his skin salting her lips.

  She lifted her head to stare down into his eyes. With one hand, he lightly stroked her cheek, brushing away a stray lock of hair. He rolled them over onto their sides, his mouth seeking hers in a deep kiss. The hard muscles of his arm tensed as her fingers ran downward to his hand. He entwined his fingers in hers, raising them to his mouth.

  “I should return to my tent.”

  “Must you?” Was that low, sultry voice really hers?

  “Yes. I may not practice the tribe’s faith, but I respect their beliefs. Many would frown darkly on my presence here.”

  The warmth of his mouth caressed hers again before he reached for his clothing. Troubled, she watched as he dressed. So much had happened in the past few hours. She’d given herself so easily to him and now he was leaving because he didn’t want anyone to know they’d spent the night together. His explanation made perfect sense, but what if it was another lie?

  Fear cooled her skin, and she pulled a blanket over her. The warmth didn’t keep her from shivering. When he was ready to leave, he knelt beside her, and she forced a smile to her lips. He cupped her face.

  “I’ll see you later this morning, ana gamâl.”

  She nodded, stubbornly keeping her smile on her face. Altair bent his head and gave her a quick kiss before leaving the tent. The wool flap whispered his departure, and she buried her face into a pillow. What had she done? Last night she’d allowed him to beguile her with his seductive words and touch.

  The sudden brush of fur against her neck made her jump. Zada. The little mongoose pushed her warm, soft body up against Alex’s chin. She absently rubbed the animal as it nuzzled her cheek. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the affectionate little creature was trying to ease her fears.

  She’d given in so easily last night. How could she have forgotten he’d lied to her? He couldn’t be trusted. No, that wasn’t the problem. The real problem was she couldn’t be trusted around him. Every time he came near her, her knees turned to water, and she was willing to do whatever he asked. Tonight had been incredible beyond words, but she was afraid to let it happen again.

  Tomorrow she would have to find a way to put distance between them. She couldn’t afford to lose her heart to a man she couldn’t trust. Worst of all, she didn’t trust herself to say no to him. She buried her face in her blanket, fighting back tears. Today would be better. Today she could focus on Per-Ramesses and forget the pleasure she’d found in Altair’s arms. She uttered a soft moan of despair. Now who was the one lying?

  Elbows resting on the top of her folding desk, Alex rubbed her tired eyes. Sitting beneath her work tent at the excavation site, she had a clear view of the dig area. She just wished her eyes would stop drooping. After Altair had left her early this morning, she’d not been able to sleep. The memory of his touch had been far too disturbing.

  A light breeze riffled the papers in front of her. With a quick move, she slapped the papers down in place until the delicate wind danced away. It wasn’t just the way she’d responded to his caresses that troubled her, but the fact she’d given in to him so quickly.

  She was far too impulsive for her own good. He’d deliberately lied about knowing her father and about who he was. But it was the ease with which he’d deceived her that was so frightening. Then there was his connection to the Museum. He’d given his word not to tell the British Museum about Per-Ramesses, and while the code of honor among the Bedouin was legendary, he wasn’t a full-blooded Mazir. He was half English.

  Per-Ramesses was almost as important to Altair as it was to her. The lost city represented a part of the Mazir culture and legend. Now the threat to her dream of excavating Per-Ramesses was greater than ever. If Lord Merrick learned of her find, it would only be a matter of weeks before his minions arrived to take control of the dig. Even worse, how could she have forgotten Altair’s lies so quickly that she’d eagerly welcomed the pleasure she’d found in his arms? It had been a grievous error on her part.

  Quivering at the thought, she leaned back into her chair. No, not a mistake. Nothing so magical and sensual could ever be labeled that way. When she’d emerged from her tent this morning, his tall figure had been easy to see among the workers he’d chosen for the day’s excavation work. The moment his eyes had met hers across the encampment this morning had been enough to set her heart skittering along at an outlandish pace.

  That dark gaze of his had held a possessive glow, and she hadn’t been able to resist enjoying the way he looked at her. Closing her eyes, she sat in the heated silence, listening to the desert wind as it played gently with the roof of her work tent.

  The sound and smell of the restless air was hot. Hot and sensual. As hot as Altair’s hands on her skin last night. Even now, the memory of his touch made her belly grow taut with desire. She sucked in a sharp breath of air as her eyes flew open. He could be lying about that too. What if his lovemaking was simply a way to lull her into a false sense of security?

  Her nails bit into the palms of her hands at the thought. No, surely he couldn’t have done something as vile as that. It went against everything her heart was trying to tell her. Brutally, she crushed the fierce cry of denial and reminded herself of every lie he’d told her. From their first meeting he’d hidden the truth from her. It would always be there between them. A vine that choked the life out of everything in its path, including her trust. And yet she’d given in to his seductive words, his hedonistic caresses. She winced at the thought.

  From the work tent’s elevated vantage point, she could see the workers measuring off the city wall. She tried to find Altair’s tall figure, but the distance was too far to recognize any one individual. Her frustrated gaze scanned the terrain underneath which Per-Ramesses was buried. Rocky and covered with gritty sand, the landscape reminded her of paintings she’d seen of the American West.

  Odd how she’d traveled through a seemingly endless expanse of sand to find an oasis surrounded by an almost mountainous terrain. Thousands of years ago, this area had been an abundantly fertile land. Time had shrunk it to the small oasis that housed the village of Khatana-Qantir.

  With a tiny noise of disgust, she stood up and paced the sandy floor beneath her black boots. Until now, she’d managed to avoid being alone with Altair, but it hadn’t been easy. Soon she’d have to face him, and she dreaded the thought. For most of the day, she’d allowed her thoughts to drift along like this—anything to avoid thinking about how she was going to tell him there would be no repeat of last night.

  Another light breeze drifted through the tent, stirring up more of her papers. She was unprepared for the gentle wind, and her fingers slipped as she tried to keep the documents from scattering off the desk. Grabbing her sextant box, she buried a stack of notes under the narrow case then retrieved the papers that had landed on the sand-covered ground.

  Seated once more at her desk, she glanced down at the materials she held. Uncle Jeffrey’s drawings of Per-Ramesses and Nourbese’
s tomb. With a critical eye, she scanned the Coptic symbols drawn with such confident strokes. About to return the pages to the table, she stopped as she eyed the warning Uncle Jeffrey had seen in his vision. With her index finger, she traced the line of text.

  “Trust not the Mazir who lies for he intends only death and destruction to those in his path.” She pondered the sentence for a moment. The first time she’d read it out loud to her father, they’d both puzzled over the meaning. Even now, the warning still perplexed her. Why would Nourbese’s tomb markings contain a warning about a Mazir tribesman? The Mazir were Nourbese’s people.

  Shaking her head, Alex leaned forward and laid the paper on her table. As she looked up from her notes, her stomach curled into a tight knot. Altair was moving up the incline toward the work tent. A hot wind stirred the blue hem of his gambaz until it flowed out behind him as he strode quickly up the hill. The intricately embroidered Mazir robe emphasized the exotic darkness of his skin. Gray goatskin boots dug through the sand as he moved toward her, the powerful muscles in his legs taut beneath the snug fawn trousers he wore.

  The raw power of his stride and the lean strength of his body made her limbs tighten with desire. Last night’s pleasures hovered on the edge of her senses, the hair on her arms standing on end at the memory of their lovemaking. No, his lies were what she needed to remember. She had to end this today.

  Her fingers nervously tapped the worktable. With another glance at the paper, she sighed. Trust not the Mazir who— She jerked upright in her chair and read the warning again. Oh God. Was it possible? Was Altair the Mazir in the warning? He’d lied to her time and again, and every time her life had been in danger, he’d been in close proximity to her.

  Fear chilled her hands, and she shivered in spite of the heat. It made perfect sense, and yet it didn’t make sense at all. She didn’t believe in curses. But Uncle Jeffrey had warned of something or someone trying to stop them. Any other time, she would have scoffed at the caveat, but this was different.