He intended to give her a piece of his mind. To tell her that he felt like putting her across his knee and smacking her. At least, that was what he thought he intended. But somehow it didn’t work out like that.
Maybe it was the sight of all that tousled blonde hair, or the violet glitter of her beautiful eyes. Maybe it was because he’d always wanted her and had never stopped wanting her. His desire for her had been like an endless hunger which had eaten him up from the inside out and suddenly there was no controlling it any longer.
He made one last attempt to fight it but his resistance was gone. He’d never felt so powerless in his life as he stared down into her beautiful face and caught hold of her by the shoulders again. Only this time he was pulling her towards him.
‘Damn you, Sara,’ he whispered. ‘Just damn you.’
And that was when he started to kiss her.
SARA GASPED AS Suleiman’s mouth drove down on hers. She told herself that this was crazy. That it was only going to lead to heartbreak and tears. She told herself that if she tore herself out of his embrace, then he would let her go. But her body was refusing to listen.
Her body was on fire.
His mouth explored hers and it felt like a dream. Or some hot, X-rated mirage. It surpassed every hope she’d nurtured during these desperate last few hours. Long, grim hours, as she’d realised the full extent of her plight—that she was hopelessly lost in the unforgiving desert. Until the stern-faced emissary had appeared on the empty horizon, astride a gleaming black stallion like her greatest fantasy come true.
And then he had taken the fantasy and given it a sexy embellishment, by pulling her into his arms and giving her this hard and seeking kiss.
Yet this was dangerous, wasn’t it? Dangerous for her heart. Dangerous for her soul. She couldn’t afford to love this man, no matter how much she wanted him.
She meant to push him away but he pulled her closer, so that she could smell his raw, male smell. He smelt of sandalwood and salt. The hard sinews of his body were pressed against hers and the proximity of his tight, taut flesh made her want to melt into him. His lips were hard and soft in turn as they kissed her. One minute they were cajoling, the next they were masterfully stating their intent to make love to her.
‘Suleiman.’ It didn’t come out like the protest she intended it to be—it sounded more like a plea.
‘Sara,’ he said, drawing his mouth away from hers and cupping her face with both his hands. ‘Foolish, beautiful, hot-headed Sara.’ His gaze raked over her with a mixture of exasperation and lust. ‘Why the hell did you take off like that? Why take such a risk?’
‘You know why,’ she whispered, moving her head fractionally as she sought out another kiss. ‘Because I wanted to escape.’
He brushed his lips over hers. Back and forth in a teasing graze. ‘Do you still want to escape?’
She nodded her head. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Stop it.’
‘I’m waiting for an answer to my question.’
She shook her head. ‘N-not any more. At least, not right now. Not if you keep on kissing me like that.’
‘That sounds very much like an invitation.’ He gave another groan as their mouths meshed together and his breath was warm in her mouth. ‘I should put you straight back on that horse and ride you back into camp.’
‘Then why are you unbuttoning my tunic?’
‘Because I want to taste your nipples.’
‘Oh.’
She tipped her head back as his lips trailed a fiery path over her neck, closing her eyes as sensation washed over her. His fingers felt hard and calloused against her delicate flesh. She could feel the slick, wet heat of her sex overwhelming her as he lowered his mouth to trail his tongue over one hardened nipple.
Her mouth grew dry as her lashes fluttered open to watch him. He kissed each breast in turn and then turned his attention to her tunic, peeling it off entirely—along with her slim-fitting trousers. He freed her aching body so that at last her skin was bared to the warm desert air. And to his eyes.
She heard him suck in a ragged breath as he looked down at her and she was glad she was wearing the provocative underwear she’d brought from England. The balcony bra in electric-blue lace and matching thong were both pretty racy, but she’d discovered a while back that she liked wearing expensive lingerie. It had been another aspect of the freedom she’d relished—that she could go into any department store and stock up on X-rated undies and nobody was going to tell her she couldn’t.
He said something she couldn’t quite make out and the expression in his slitted eyes was suddenly forbidding.
‘Is something wrong?’ she questioned tentatively.
‘Who buys your lingerie for you?’ His voice was dark with some unnamed emotion.
‘I do.’
‘But you buy it for you? Or do you buy it for the men who will enjoy watching you wearing it?’ he persisted, slithering his finger inside her thong where she was so wet and so sensitive that she bucked beneath his touch and gave a little cry. His finger stilled. ‘Do you?’
Sara nodded, so strung out with pleasure that she barely knew what she was agreeing to. But men liked women to indulge in fantasy, didn’t they? She’d read enough erotic literature to know that. Men liked you to pretend to be things and to do things. She read that normality was the killer in the bedroom.
Not that they were anywhere near a bedroom, of course—but who cared about that? Why not feed into his fantasies—and her own? Why shouldn’t she make love with Suleiman in the wild desert which had spawned her, on this shaded patch of sand? She might not like all the restrictions of life here, but she was sensitive enough to appreciate its beauty. And if Suleiman wanted her to play the femme fatale, then play it she would.
‘I’m enjoying wearing it for you,’ she answered coyly, her finger moving to trace the curving satin trim of her bra. ‘Do you like it?’
He made a sound mid-way between hunger and anger as he pulled off his crimson robes with impatient disregard, until he was also naked. She let her gaze drift over him, her eyes widening as her gaze locked onto the most intimate part of his aroused body—and suddenly she was a little daunted by what she saw.
‘Suleiman...’ she whispered, but her words faded because he was back in her arms and was touching her again. Moving his hand intimately against her sex and stroking her with pinpoint accuracy. She could smell the scent of her arousal on the air. She could feel the warm rush of blood flooding through her veins. And shouldn’t she be touching him? She reached down to whisper her fingertips against his silken length, but he stilled her movement by the abrupt clamp of his hand around her wrist.
‘No,’ he said.
She looked into his eyes,
