horror snaked through her, despite the heat around them. She had to protect herself. She forced her body to relax and mirrored his own easy demeanour. She even smiled sweetly. ‘On the contrary. I don’t have feelings for you, Salman. I never did. Whatever you saw in Paris was a very transitory and misplaced affection for a first lover. That’s all. You mean nothing to me. I am merely angry because you disrespect your brother and sister-in-law, who I care about greatly, and your home. You’ve caused chaos in the castle, and I refuse to stand by and watch it for a moment longer.’
Salman’s gaze glittered down. His jaw clenched. It was getting harder to keep her body relaxed as he came even closer and she felt his hips grind into hers. And then it was all but impossible when she felt the thrillingly hard evidence of his arousal. Heat climbed upwards and she lashed out. ‘You’re an animal.’
Salman growled, ‘I agree. I feel very animalistic at the moment.’ His eyes had grown heavy and dangerously slumberous, but still with that provocative fire igniting in their depths.
He tightened his hold on her jaw and swooped down, his mouth a searing brand over hers before she could take another breath. Their bodies touched, chest to chest, hip to hip, and Jamilah felt an immediate wild excitement coursing through her blood.
She wanted to rip the wet clothes from her body and arch closer to Salman, to feel wet skin on wet skin. A vivid memory of another shower, another time, flared up. He had lifted her naked body against the wall and urged her to wrap her legs around his waist. He’d found the hot wet core of her and had surged up and into her, making everything blur into a heat haze of passion.
Anger at her reaction and at the vividness of the memory made her kiss him back, defiantly at first, and then she realised the folly of that when Salman pulled her in even closer. She had to battle harder than she’d ever done in her life not to respond, not to let him suck her under to a dark vortex where past and present might merge and make her forget where she was and what he had done to her.
She seized her opportunity when he lifted his head momentarily. With an abrupt move she snaked out from under him and out of the shower, dripping water everywhere and only then realising how much the wall had been supporting her when her legs felt like jelly.
Salman turned slowly under the spray of water and looked at her. She fought the wild clamour of her pulse. As she watched his hand snaked down to his jeans. He flipped open the top button and drawled, ‘I’m going to make myself more comfortable, if you’d care to do the same and join me?’
Jamilah dragged her gaze back up and shook her head, feeling as if she were on fire inside. ‘I wouldn’t join you if we were the two last humans on earth and the future of civilisation depended on us procreating.’
Salman smiled and lazily pulled down his zip. Jamilah could see the whorls of dark hair which led to his sex in her peripheral vision. Heat threatened to engulf her completely. She wondered why she couldn’t move.
And then Salman said, ‘But wouldn’t we make beautiful babies?’
Jamilah made a garbled sound. She was so mad she wanted to cry, or slap Salman’s mocking face. And through that emotion, completely unbidden, came the sudden awful yearning to be heavy with this man’s child. That brought with it the return of bitter reality and the sharpest pain of all—because she knew what it had felt like to carry this man’s child for the briefest time, before nature had taken its tragic course. She could still feel that dragging pain, the wrenching sense of loss, and he would never know.
Even now he was still mocking, taunting, pulling his wet jeans down over lean hips and off, blissfully unaware of the nuclear implosion happening within Jamilah. Before he could see any of it she tore her gaze away and grabbed a towel hanging on a nearby rail. While she still could, she walked on wobbly legs out of the bathroom to the sound of a dark, mocking chuckle and a softly intoned, ‘Coward. ‘
Salman stood in the shower after Jamilah had walked out, his hands against the wall and his head downbent between them. Only minutes before he’d held her captive. Dripping wet and the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He finally turned the water to cold as he faced the prospect that for the first time since his teens he might be forced to pleasure himself just to reclaim some sanity. But he had to acknowledge now that his sanity had fled along with Jamilah.
Her white shirt had turned see-through the minute the water had hit, clearly showing her white lace bra and the puckered tips of her berry-brown nipples. Her breasts were still beautifully round, firm and high. And he knew that they would fill his palms like succulent fruits.
He groaned softly when his wayward body persisted in responding, despite the stinging cold spray, and he valiantly resisted the urge to wrap his hand around himself and seek all too transitory relief. There was only one way to relief now. Past or no past, history be damned, one thing was clear: he would have Jamilah back in his bed until he’d sated himself—until he’d sated them both. Because their desire was mutual, explosive and unfinished. And there was no way he could survive a month here without taking her. He’d go crazy.
All concerns for Jamilah’s emotional welfare and the state of his soul were dissolving in a wave of heat. He took some reassurance from the way she’d stood up to him. He could be in no doubt that she was no longer some shy, timid and idealistic virgin. And you did that to her. He blocked out the voice.
His mind stalled for a moment. Dammit, she had been a virgin. He’d assumed that she’d been at least a little bit experienced. He could still remember his shock when he’d thrust into that slick tightness and felt her momentary hesitation, seen the fleeting pain on her face. And then heard her husky moans and pleas for him to keep going. She’d just been too seductive. He was only human, and he hadn’t been able to stop.
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