chest hair, Raffa had a tattoo running from just below his neck to somewhere she wasn’t prepared to look. If she had thought him sexy before, the ruler of A’Qaban half naked, with a rampant lion clambering all over him, was sin made flesh.
‘You can come up now,’ Raffa suggested. ‘I’ve seen it all before—or had you forgotten?’
No, she hadn’t forgotten, Casey thought, feeling deflated. The magic of the desert didn’t seem to be working in her favour, somehow. ‘So is this the end of my spa treatment?’ She was feeling thoroughly fed up as Raffa picked up a towel.
‘Not unless you want it to be …’
As he held it out, she demanded hoarsely, ‘Raffa, is this fair?’ And when he didn’t respond, she insisted, ‘Raffa, say something.’
‘Adam al-jawab jawab …’
‘Say something I can understand.’
‘Stand up first, and then I’ll translate.’ He jutted his chin when she hesitated. ‘You don’t want to catch cold, do you?’
Catch cold? She had enough heat for both of them. ‘You promised to explain,’ she insisted, as Raffa wrapped her warmly in a towel.
‘No answer is an answer—or, as you might say, silence speaks volumes.’
‘Well, that’s no good if I can’t understand your brand of silence,’ Casey pointed out. Her first thought was to keep the conversation going, distracting Raffa from her extremely aroused nakedness beneath the towel, but then the penny dropped. ‘Are you saying your being naked is fair?’
‘You’re naked, aren’t you?’
‘I’m here for a spa treatment.’
‘So am I. And you’re going to give it to me.’
Had the pussy cat found her claws? For a moment, as Casey gasped and looked truly alarmed, he wondered if she was ready for this. But then she gazed at him, and both challenge and determination crept into her eyes, and he changed his mind. He preferred a match of equals, but women constantly disappointed him. Casey was proving to be the exception to that. Money and status, in particular, were the last things on her mind.
Casey was searching for reality, one she could deal with. He wanted her to know a reality that existed beyond the pages of her parents’ books. That was one of the reasons he had brought her here. It was his intention to prove that there was nothing to be ashamed of in the naked body, that in all its exciting variations it was beautiful; he intended to start this tutorial with his own.
‘Come,’ he said, holding out his hand to her. He walked unselfconsciously, aware that Casey was trying very hard not to look at him.
He walked with her from the open-air bathroom into the main part of the tent where, at his instruction, the women had left the creams and oils she would need to perform the treatment he had in mind.
‘I’ll just climb up on the bed,’ he said, dropping his towel.
‘The bed?’ she gasped.
‘We’ll call it the treatment couch, if you prefer.’
‘I do prefer,’ she assured him, staring fixedly away.
He hid his smile to save her blushes. That he should meet a woman so fresh and challenging had really opened his eyes. He could share his life with a woman like this—a woman who could fulfil public duties at his side with the same enthusiasm that she should for other, more caring issues, closer to his heart. But he was wedded to duty and to A’Qaban, he reminded himself sternly. There had never been any room in his life for the self-indulgence of a love affair.
‘Well? Get up on the couch,’ Casey rapped impatiently, bringing his honourable thoughts to an abrupt close.
She plunged her arms up to the elbows in a tub of cream. She could do this. She would do this. Timid virgin or not, she had confidence. She just needed to dig deep and prove it—to herself and to Raffa. To herself mostly, Casey admitted silently.
‘Don’t forget to warm your hands up first,’ Raffa told her dryly, moving his face to one side as he eased his position on the couch.
‘Don’t worry—I will.’ They were warm already—very warm—and so was she.
She hadn’t looked at Raffa properly yet. She needed a moment to prepare before doing that. She glanced at his towel on the floor, and checked her own towel was securely fastened.
Casey’s breath caught in her throat as she took her first look at Raffa’s naked form.
‘Steady,’ he warned as she slapped two handfuls of goo on his back. ‘Half of that landed on the floor.’
Possibly because she had her eyes tightly shut. ‘I read somewhere that a firm touch is needed,’ she defended, wondering if the spasms of delight she was experiencing would ever stop racing from her fingertips to her arms, from where they spread outwards to every part of her body.
‘Firm, but not slapdash,’ Raffa agreed huskily. ‘Would you like me to show you how?’
Rippling with muscle, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere—which was quite a bit different from her own well-upholstered form. ‘No, that’s all right—I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.’
‘Rub the cream in well, but catch any dribbles on the towel first.’
‘Dribbles?’
‘Of cream?’
‘On my towel?’
‘On any towel …’
Leaning over him, she managed to hold onto the towel with her elbow and dab at him with the hem at the same time.
‘Don’t be so prissy—rub it in.’
Casey stared at Raffa’s sculpted shoulders before tentatively resting her fingertips against them.
‘Now, rub.’
Her whole body fired in response to the warm, firm flesh beneath her hands.
‘Use more pressure …’
She leaned against the couch, craving contact with Raffa in places that had never felt this much action before.
‘More …’
More? How could there be more than this? She felt swollen in certain places, short of breath, and hungry for Raffa in a way that made her throat tight and everything else rather too loose.
‘More pressure, Casey …’
‘I’m using all I can.’
‘Pathetic,’ he growled. ‘Try harder.’
Any harder than this and she’d explode. But she had to try, Casey told herself firmly. She couldn’t back down now. She explored the wide expanse of Raffa’s back with infinite care and absolute slowness.
