hungry, as he was, and probably almost as experienced. Well, then—let her see who was the most magnificent lover of all her conquests!
For he too had been enchanted by the sense of nearly. Of something unfinished and incomplete. In his anger—with himself as well as with her—he had sent her packing before he had properly had his fill of her, and that sense of aching and burning frustration had never quite gone away. Well, now it would— and it would be gone for ever.
‘We have long enough,’ he said, and the stark note of hunger made his voice sound hollow—as if it came from a long way away—and for a moment he scarcely recognised it as his own.
And hunger made his hands tremble, made his need to join with her overwhelm him with a desire which banished all his carefully conceived plans. Forgotten was his long-nursed wish to feast upon the magnificent breasts which she had displayed for all the world to see. Instead—unbelievably and inexplicably—he found that he didn’t want to wait. No—couldn’t wait.
With a groan, he rucked up her skirt and found himself ripping off the delicate panties. She made no protest, her legs parting for him instantly. His robes were not encumbered by belts or buttons or zips. He could slither off the light silk of his trousers with ease until he was free at last, sliding on the necessary protection with the impatient fumbling of a schoolboy. And then he was touching and nudging against her with a restrained and magnificent power. At last! Such sweet torture, this moment of expectation, but a torture to be treasured and savoured until he could bear it no longer.
‘Now,’ he whispered—not a question but an emphatic statement, and in answer her lips pressed into his shoulder, opening against him, closing around his flesh. He could feel the wet of her tongue and the sharp graze of her teeth and could contain himself no longer. He drove hard into her.
There was one moment before he realised, a split- second as he worked out what was happening but by then it was too late. He saw the screwing up of her eyes, the way her little white teeth bit down on her bottom lip, and then he knew. By the mountains and the rivers!
‘Sienna!’ The word was torn from his lips even while her body became taut, like a bow stretched around him, before the arrow of his desire pierced through to the very heart of her. ‘Sienna!’ he said again, but this time it was on a note of wonder.
‘Oh,’ she breathed, the word a little feather which drifted away as the pain became transmuted into a growing and indescribable wave of pleasure and he began to move inside her.
He had planned his own release with little concern for hers—not like the first time—but now it was different. Now it was a virtuoso performance. Never had he taken so much care with a woman as he thrust all the way inside her—but then, never had the weight of such responsibility lain so heavy on his shoulders.
He found himself being gentle with her—an odd and unfamiliar kind of gentleness which made what was taking place seem to do so in slow motion, like a film viewed through a gauzy lens.
‘Ah, Sienna.’ And her name came out on a long, shuddering sigh.
He was slow for as long as he needed to be, and then a little faster. He held back for as long as he needed to, and then he drove in again, harder and then harder still. He teased her when she breathlessly began to beg for more, relentlessly retreating to take her further along the inexorable path, and just when he thought that he could withstand no more of this exquisite self-control he felt her begin to convulse around him.
Her cries split the air, her legs splaying and her back arching as her sweat-sheened face fell back, and she was calling his name in wonder and in disbelief. And then—oh, sweet, sweet desire—then he let go himself, in an orgasm which rocked his world on its axis—which took him completely out of his body. It was a slow drift back to earth, and he fought it every bit of the way.
It had been the most mind-blowing sex of his entire life—but that should not have surprised him, not really.
After all, he had been waiting for this for a long, long time.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THROUGH the soft darkness Sienna became aware of her heart as it beat within her, strong and loud and steady. And then she became aware of another beat and another heart—so close to hers that it almost felt as if it was inside her. She felt warm and complete— as if she had been made whole at last—the slight aching deep inside her a glorious physical reminder of what had seemed like a perfect dream.
Opening her eyes, she took in the scene with something approaching disbelief. It had not been a dream. She was lying on a carpet in a dim, cool corridor in Hashim’s arms, her dress around her hips, and he was staring down at her. Impossible to read what was in those glittering black eyes, but his question gave her some idea.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked quietly, his voice as deadly as the silent snakes which glided around the foothills of Qudamah’s mountains.
‘Tell you what?’ she teased.
‘Do not play games with me! You are a virgin!’
She heard the accusation in his voice and the pink bubble of contentment began to dissolve. ‘I was,’ she corrected.
He shook his dark head. ‘I cannot believe it!’
‘I’m afraid you have incontrovertible evidence, Hashim.’
‘But… how?’
At any other time his incredulity would have been almost laughable, but now… now it just hurt. ‘Surely you don’t need me to tell you that?’ she questioned quietly.
His mouth tightened. He was still reeling from this one incredible piece of knowledge which had rocked his world just as surely as his orgasm had. For the fact of her innocence had blown all his preconceptions out of the water. And it had done something else, too….
From the start his instinct about her had been that she was innocent, but the existence of the calendar had convinced him that her innocence had been a sham. But if that instinct had been correct then what about the other ones which had crowded in on him at the time? The ones which had left him muddled and confused making him wonder if he had found in her something which he had not thought possible?
And hadn’t he been glad to abandon those feelings by seizing on her questionable past with something like relief? As if he found it easier to live in a state of cynicism rather than one of hope and longing, like other men.
He shook his head again, dazed and angry, too. ‘It should not have been like that.’
She wanted to tell him that it had been perfect, but something in his attitude was puzzling her. He was acting as if something shameful had just taken place—rather than the something wonderful it had been. She stared up at him. ‘What was wrong with it?’
‘Wrong?’ A frown creased his brow as he studied her face, rather as a scientist might intently bend over a test tube. ‘Nothing was wrong with it.’ How could she fail to understand? ‘But it would never have happened if I had known. Why did you not tell me, Sienna?’
Because she hadn’t been thinking of anything except the touch of his lips and the hard, strong embrace of his lean body. She had found it impossible to stop something she had wanted for so long—even though she had denied wanting it. Had told herself that it was wrong to want it.
‘We
