by Trish Morey
He was magnificent.
She swallowed, suddenly less sure of herself. But he allowed her no chance to reconsider as he leant over, his mouth meshing with hers, telling her in no uncertain terms that whatever her concerns, he had none.
She lost herself again in his mouth as he pressed himself close to her and in a few deft moves she realised that her skirt had been efficiently despatched and her legs laid bare. Then his fingers slid under the lace of her thong until even that was slipped away and awareness and expectation washed over her like a tide.
Thigh against thigh. Breast against breast. Skin against skin. They rolled together on the bed, a tangle of limbs, and with the hot promise of more. And with the last barriers gone, there was nothing to stop them. She was glad. She wanted him inside her, so he could be part of her, so they could be part of each other.
He rolled away suddenly and she felt cold, exposed, until she realised what he was doing. But by then he was back and her mind processed his sensible actions with gratitude and appreciation.
And it meant, oh, it meant that soon there would be an end to this endless aching need.
He held her face in his hands, kissing her tenderly on her eyes, her cheeks, her chin as the seconds spun out in the suspense of waiting for the inevitable.
Inevitable.
Ever since Khaled had entered Bacelli’s salon, this moment had been unavoidable. Even from that first moment the attraction between them had been apparent. And ever since then it had been building, smouldering away, gathering force in spite of all that had happened to force them apart, despite all she had done to protect herself.
This moment was her destiny, her fate.
He took her mouth again as he raised himself up onto his elbows, positioning himself above her. His eyelids were heavy, his brow glossed satin with sweat.
She felt his weight, settling at her entrance, testing, probing, and instinctively she lifted her hips to welcome him with her own slick need, wanting him closer still, needing the completion, needing to have him deep inside.
And then he was. He plunged full length, driving his hips into hers, throwing back his head as if in triumph as his back arched over her.
Time stood still. She was unable to breathe, unable to think, unaware of anything beyond the exquisite sensation of him stretching her, of him filling her completely.
And then he moved inside her and a new wave of nerve endings came into play. Slowly he withdrew, only to fill her again and then again, and with each thrust the sensations grew, the pleasure mounted, wave upon wave of sheer ecstasy, building, always building.
She could feel his tension in his corded arms, she could sense his own battle for control, she could feel her mounting need for release mirrored in his own as the waves rolled in, the rhythm quickening and threatening to carry her away.
And then he took her there himself, with one final thrust that sent them both spiralling, shattering out of control, sending a tidal wave of sensation crashing over them, violent and primal, until it left them sweat-slickened and panting, their bodies spent, like so much driftwood left on the shore.
It was enough.She came to slowly, her pulse steadying, her body humming, dimly aware that, while it was still late at night, this was a brand-new day; and that, although she was still Sapphy Clemenger, on another level she was a stranger, even to herself.
She looked at him, settled into her shoulder, his eyes closed, his steadying breaths warm on her breast, his beautiful body majestic even in repose.
He’d changed her.
Never before had she experienced such need, such desire, and never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that lovemaking could be so mind-blowingly spectacular. Not that it had been bad before, just that in hindsight it seemed as though making love had been on another level, almost as if some vital ingredient had been missing.
If this night gave her nothing more, she would indeed have some warm memories to keep her company during her lonely nights back in her apartment in Milan.
Milan.She sucked in a breath. She’d be back there in less than two days, assuming the airport reopened as planned. And for all her desperation to escape from Khaled and return to Italy, the city itself had lost some of its appeal. Somehow she couldn’t see herself slotting straight back into work. Even involved in the crazy, fast-paced fashion industry, it was going to seem strangely dull after her visit to Jebbai with its enigmatic ruler.
Maybe first she should take some leave, go home to Australia and visit her sisters and Pearl and check up on her baby niece. She was owed some time and it wasn’t as if she couldn’t start sketching up designs for the next collection while she was travelling. She’d talk to Gianfranco as soon as she was back in Milan.
His eyes blinked open and she realised she’d been staring at his face the whole time. He smiled and reached out a hand, stroking it down the side of her face and brushing away the loose strands of hair.
‘You look…deep in thought,’ he said, his voice rich and low enough to make her toes curl all over again.
She flicked her gaze away. He didn’t need to know she was having second thoughts about returning straight to Milan. It wasn’t as if it had anything to do with him. ‘I was just—thinking about my family.’
He rolled closer, pressing his lips to her neck. ‘You don’t talk about them much, apart from when you went camel riding with your sisters. Tell me about them.’
She tried to ignore the feeling of his mouth leaving tiny kisses along her collar-bone, although the sensation was strangely soothing while at the same time it seemed highly erotic.
‘I haven’t seen them for far too long.’
‘You’re not close?’
‘We used to be closer.’
‘What changed things?’
She drew in a deep breath and rolled over, away from the distraction of his mouth, to somewhere bland she could direct her words, like the pillow in front of her. ‘Oh, it was nothing bad. My mother came back…’
He said nothing for a few seconds. Then, ‘I don’t understand.’
She turned her face back to him. ‘We thought she’d died when Ruby and I were four. It turns out she’d been living in exile at that time—banished by our father.’
‘How did you find her?’
‘Opal’s husband, Domenic, tracked her down to where she was living in England. He took her back to Sydney. She lives there now, in the family hotel that Opal runs. Dad died a couple of years before. He was always busy when we were young and it was usually just the three of us girls growing up with the nanny of the day. But Opal was our big sister. She looked after us better than anyone.’
‘You don’t like your mother?’
‘Oh, no. Don’t get me wrong. Pearl is lovely. It’s just hard to come to grips with the idea that I have a mother at all. For years we thought she was dead. And now she’s there and it’s just not the same any more. Opal has a baby girl, Ellie, who’s toddling now, and Pearl and Opal are very close. And Ruby works in Broome and is just so very far away.’
He curled his arm around her shoulder, gathering her in close to his chest, stroking her hair.
‘I see,’ he said, softly kissing the top of her head. ‘You’ve gained a mother, yet it feels like you’ve lost your sisters.’
She blinked against the warmth of his skin, surprised that he understood so much. ‘Yes. That’s exactly how it feels—except it’s still not like I can even accept her as my mother. She was gone too long. And now I don’t even know my sisters. Does that make sense?’
‘It makes sense. It is never easy to lose the ones we love,’ he said, his words trailing off, his hand stilling in her hair.
She almost groaned out loud when she realised. Here she was feeling sorry for herself and Khaled had knownreal loss. Both his parents, killed in tragic circumstances. He’d probably give anything for his mother to be alive. And yet she was acting as if her mother’s return had ruined her life.
‘Khaled,’ she said, lifting herself up so sh
e could see him, ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.’
Even in the dim lights, his eyes shone bright and glossy, their dark depths granite-hard, his chin set rigid as he stared unseeing at the ceiling. Then he looked at her and something inside them slowly peeled away.
It wasn’t her fault. He looked into her concerned blue eyes, his hand resuming its stroking motion of her hair, and knew that, despite her associations, it had nothing to do with her. It was Paolo who was to blame, it was Paolo who would pay. Already he would be suffering, his imagination no doubt conjuring up all sorts of despicable ways in which Khaled would be taking advantage of his one-time fiancée.
He allowed himself a smile. It was almost funny. How much worse was Paolo going to feel when he discovered the truth—that he hadn’t needed to take her by force? That it was Sapphy who’d asked him to make love to her. How much worse would he feel when he discovered that she was not a prisoner—but that she had decided to stay in Jebbai, as she surely now would, of her own accord?
No doubt the irony would not be lost on Paolo.
But then, in another way, it didn’t matter what Paolo thought. For right now he didn’t matter. Sapphire was here with him now, it was his scent she would smell on her, it was his body holding hers.
‘It must have been a dreadful time for you,’ she said, the breath behind her words falling like warm caresses on his skin. He sucked in a breath. She was much too special for anyone else. He could listen to her gentle words all day. He could watch the way her rounded breasts, her nipples peaked and taut, brushed against his chest forever. That was, unless he was doing something much more satisfying.
‘It wasn’t a good time,’ he agreed, feeling his need rising with the sudden urge to do something much more satisfying. He flipped her over onto her back again, enjoying her whoop of surprise and the way her eyes widened first with shock and then with anticipation.
‘But right now is a whole lot better.’
He made love to her then, slowly, deliberately, taking his time, exploring her body and sharing the initiative with her when she chose to explore his. And this time was even better than the first, more tender and yet more passionate, more exploratory and yet more focused. She was everything he thought she’d be as a lover and more.
And only when finally they’d both tumbled over the edge of reason again, only when he’d seen the blue facets of her eyes spark and flare into a fire that consumed them both, did he follow her into sleep.
The goats woke her—with their early-morning bleating for attention and the soft jangle of their bells as the first hint of dawn light permeated the tent’s walls, reminding her of where she was. But once awake, it was the heated body of the man who slept alongside her amongst the tangled sheets and the musky scent of their lovemaking that proved the distraction.
She propped herself up on one elbow and drank him in. He lay on his stomach, his head to one side, his arms high on the pillow. The remnants of one sheet was slanted across his thighs, so that his well-defined back was exposed from his broad shoulders to his tight waist and even tighter mounds of his rump below. She sucked in a breath.
How could he do that? How could he look so damned sexy when he was still asleep?
Memories of the night’s activities came flooding back in a rush of heat, bringing a smile to her mouth. Hot memories. Her flesh quivered at the images playing over in her mind, at the same time rarely used muscles ached their protests, bringing to mind more of Khaled’s seductive night moves.
Her muscles would recover. In a day or two they’d forget and be back to normal. Not so her. Last night would be a night she’d remember for a long time to come. And after last night,normal was going to seem exceedingly dull.
What would it be like to have Khaled in her bed every night? To share passion and desire with him, night after night and then to wake up with him alongside her every morning? What would that be like?
She’d thrown away the chance to find out.
Realisation hit her like a cold shower. If she’d agreed to become his wife she could expect that—Khaled in her bed, every night, every morning,every way .
She’d had the chance and she’d thrown it away when she’d thrown his crazy marriage plans back in his face.
She sighed and eased herself back down onto her pillow, staring up at the tent’s ceiling. She’d done the right thing. It had been a crazy marriage plan—he’d been way out of line, scheming and conspiring to make her his wife in his own version of an arranged marriage—and she’d had no choice but to refuse. Any sane person would.
Why had he ever imagined she’d go along with it? It didn’t make sense and the more she came to learn about Khaled, the less sense it made. He was a strong leader, respected and loved by his people. She’d seen this with her own eyes, he was both fair and good in dealings with them. He was no petty despot.
And with his good looks he could have his pick of women to be his bride. So what could possibly have driven him to choose her?
None of it made sense. So shehad done the right thing. She knew it. Despite the sex. Even if she couldn’t imagine ever tiring of feeling the way he’d made her feel last night, sex just wasn’t enough. For since when did compatibility in bed constitute a sound basis for marriage anyway? It wasn’t as if they were in love with each other after all.
Oh, she’d miss him when she returned to Milan, that was true. She’d miss catching his hooded gaze upon her when she looked up, and his brooding magnetism setting her nerve endings alight. She’d even miss the verbal sparring between them and the endless mounting tension.
And there were times she even liked him. Though that was hardly the same thing as love.
Hardly the same thing at all…
On impulse she leaned over to him, his face still turned into the pillow. Holding back her hair with one hand, she dipped her head and kissed him.
His eyelids batted open and he smiled, uttering a low growl as one arm came down and circled around her.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
She smiled back. ‘I think it was my pleasure.’
‘It was our pleasure,’ he purred, nuzzling her ear. ‘You are so beautiful. I cannot understand why any man would be crazy enough to choose another over you.’
She went rigid. Paolo hadn’t even entered into her thoughts and right now was hardly the time to bring him up. Not that she felt guilty. It wasn’t as if they were still involved in a relationship and she’d betrayed him by sleeping with Khaled, not given her last phone call to him that had signalled the end of their relationship.
But still she didn’t want to think of Paolo when she was in another man’s arms. The shock of Paolo’s deception was still too raw, too painful. She didn’t want to be reminded of it now. She didn’t need to be reminded of it now.
Tell me you enjoyed making love to me,she wished;tell me it was worth it. But don’t remind me that someone else thought I wasn’t.
He cursed under his breath. What was he thinking? He had done what he had set out to do. He had made her want him and then he had made her his own. But his victory over Paolo was for his satisfaction—he should never have mentioned his name. Not when she was probably still mourning the loss of their relationship.
He pushed himself up, scooping her into his arms, kissing her averted cheek. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That was a stupid thing to say. But there is one thing I’ll never be sorry about.’
A blink of her eyelids, the soft parting of her lips on a sigh, was her only response.
‘I could never be sorry that you are here, in my arms and in my bed. I will never be sorry for that, for as long as I live. I don’t think I could ever have enough of you.’
She took a deep breath, her chest rising in a way that could not escape his attention. He couldn’t resist. He dropped his mouth over the closest nipple, rolling it languidly between his lips with his tongue, to be rewarded almost immediately with her gasp of pleasure as the nipple peaked in his mouth. Then he lifted his head fracti
onally, blowing softly on to the tip, fascinated to watch it pebble and firm.
She trembled in his arms as he drew closer to the other nipple. ‘Prove it,’ she invited.
The capital was bustling with afternoon crowds and swirling traffic by the time they neared the palace. She sat quietly in the Range Rover, the return trip having gone all too quickly for her liking, and she cursed the invention of the internal combustion engine that saw her sitting in a luxurious leather bucket seat, so far from Khaled’s reach, when a century ago she might have been sharing his saddle the entire journey.
The journey on camels from the encampment back to the vehicles had been the best. Almost every part of her felt tender, her aches a welcome reminder of their night of passion, and she’d let herself relax into his body, had even found ways she could inveigle herself closer still, pressing her face to his chest, relishing the scent of man, rich and raw, as it fed into her senses.