He managed to sound a little more encouraging.
‘How are you sure we can completely separate sex from...’ she shrugged and spread one arm wide ‘...from anything else? How do you know we can keep sex and love separate?’
Tariq felt his pulse pound hard once, twice. He forced himself to sit back, planting his arms behind him on the bed. As if every cell of his being didn’t clamour for him to reach for her now. If she’d come this far...
‘Bitter experience.’
Her gaze had settled on his chest but now it swung up. ‘Because of those other women? Because none of them have been able to fill the gap your wife left?’
‘Partly.’ The truth was far more difficult and painful. He had no intention of going there. ‘I assure you, Samira, love isn’t something you need fear from me.’ Tariq’s mouth twisted at the irony of his situation. If only she knew. ‘And your experiences have cured you of that too.’
Slowly she nodded. ‘Absolutely.’
‘See? It’s simple when you think it through. You’ve already taken a step to build a better life without it. To think with your head not your heart.’ That was his strength, what he’d been trained to do from birth, eschewing anything that might cloud his judgement. He held out one hand, palm up, on the bed. ‘I admire your courage in learning from your mistake and reaching out for what you really want.’
For long seconds she contemplated his outstretched hand. Then, just as his patience frayed, she laid her palm on his. It was delicate and soft, but not weak. He smiled as he folded his fingers around hers.
She was his. Just as he’d planned.
Victory tasted sweet in his mouth. But not as sweet as Samira would be. Already he was salivating, anticipating pleasures to come. He stroked his thumb from her palm up to the pulse point at her wrist and she shivered delicately, her nipples peaking against the clinging nightdress.
‘You expect a woman to reach out and take what she wants?’ There was a delightful breathless hitch to her voice that awoke a visceral possessiveness in Tariq.
He’d wanted Samira so long. Since the year she’d turned seventeen. Instead of abating, his hunger had intensified with each passing year, torturing him. At first Samira had been untouchable because of her youth and innocence, because of who she was, because their paths lay in different directions. Yet now, against the odds, here she was, his wife.
‘Why not?’ His voice emerged as a low rumble. ‘It’s what I’d do.’
His words hung in still air. Then a warm palm planted itself on his chest, fingers splaying as she leaned close. Tariq’s breathing faltered. He felt the imprint of her hand right down into what passed for his soul. For a fleeting instant doubt hammered him, the remembrance of all he couldn’t offer her.
Then her fingers moved, learning the shape of his body, and doubt fled.
This time it was simple attraction, he assured himself, heady with relief and anticipation. There would be no painful emotional complications.
This time it would be okay.
The knowledge reassured him and fed his arousal.
His eyelids lowered as he fought to rein in rampant hunger to a level that wouldn’t panic her. His need was so profound.
‘I want you, Tariq.’ She whispered the words against his collarbone, pressing a kiss to his burning skin, then another and another, working her way in towards his throat, her mouth soft and hot.
Tariq arched back his head, exhaling with relief and shuddering anticipation. He grabbed her shoulders and with one surging movement hauled her onto his lap, groaning as her satin-clad bounty pressed against him. Her taut backside was on his thighs, his erection nudging her hip, the glorious weight of one full breast in his hand.
Was ever a woman created with the sole purpose of driving a man crazy?
He was near explosion point and they were still dressed. He hadn’t felt such urgency since he’d fumbled with his first woman.
Tariq dragged in a breath that smelt of sugary cinnamon with a hint of musk. Sex and Samira, a heady combination.
His mouth found her shoulder and he bit down on the spot that curved up to her neck, knowing how sensitive it would be. The taste of her in his mouth was as heady as he remembered.
She gasped, twisting closer, her breasts thrusting, her buttocks sliding across his legs. The friction of her hip against his shaft was excruciating pleasure. So was the knowledge that Samira was as aroused as he. She trembled all over as if sensitised to the very weight of the air against her body.
Tariq smiled and sucked gently at the spot he’d nipped. She grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging hard, her breath a low moan that was music in his ears.
‘I told you I could make it good for you, Samira.’
But she was past answering. He wasn’t even sure she’d heard. Her eyes were slits and her breath came in little pants as she shifted restlessly against him.
To hell with it. Foreplay could wait till the next time. This thing between them was too urgent, too elemental, for games.
He grabbed her waist, the silky material on her delicious body too flagrantly appealing. With a surge of energy he lifted her up to face him, the muscles in his arms locking hard to support her.
‘Move your leg over mine,’ he growled.
Her eyes opened, looking directly into his, and Tariq felt the impact of her stare thwack him in the chest. He read dazed confusion and a desperation that matched his own.
His arms shook as he lowered her gently onto his lap, pulling her close so her thighs wrapped around his hips. He struggled to breathe in, but the sensation of her heated core hard up against him was almost too much. He gritted his teeth, praying he had the stamina to last.
His hands slipped up her thighs and he found the lace-edged slit on one. Instantly his fingers were under the material, questing over skin every bit as enticing as the delicate, slippery fabric.
She shifted, rising clumsily on her knees, and somehow the silk ripped as his hand plunged higher.
‘Sorry.’
For answer she shifted her weight onto one knee, then the other, dragging the material out from under her legs, clearing the way for him. By the time she’d done that he’d yanked open his trousers, freeing himself from the folds of fine cotton.
As she sat back down, Samira gasped and shuddered, her silk-clad breasts exquisitely arousing against his bare torso. Flesh on flesh, heat on heat...the sensations were exquisite torture. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her still against his recklessly pulsing heart.
Did he imagine a flicker of something like anxiety cross her taut features? It couldn’t be. It was too late for second thoughts. Yet some part of his almost numbed brain still worked. To his amazement he found himself asking, ‘You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely.’ Her voice was that of a temptress, throaty and low. She speared
