sank to their knees, as he tore her chemise from her, to burrow his head between her breasts, cupping her, teasing her nipples, taking her to new heights of delight. If passion was a colour it would not be the scarlet red of heat, it would be the blue of Christopher’s eyes, the gold of his hair. Glittering colours, sharp-edged, unforgettable.
They were entwined on the sand now, locked together, face-to-face, but as his hand trailed down her belly to the waistband of her drawers, once again he paused. ‘Are you sure you want to carry on?’
Her nerves returned as she reached to undo his belt, but she knew hesitation would be fatal, and she was determined that her satisfaction would not be one-sided this time. She tugged it open, shaking her head at him when he would have stopped her. ‘Christopher, I promise you, I want this.’
His chest expanded as he exhaled. His lids flickered closed for a tiny moment. ‘You know I will not...’
‘I know,’ Tahira said, sliding her hand inside his trousers before he could stop her. Silk and iron, the book had said, but as she wrapped her hand around the thick girth of him, there was no mistaking this for anything but hard, hot man.
‘Wait.’ Gently removing her hand, Christopher eased her out of her drawers, quickly ridding himself of his own trousers, before lowering her on to the sand. ‘By the stars, but you are beautiful,’ he said, lying down on his side to face her.
They were both completely naked. The sand was cool and gritty on her flank. The cascade was a shimmering, watery curtain which hid them from the world. It was intoxicating. Taking her cue from Christopher, Tahira ran her hands over his body, drinking in every detail of him, too absorbed by the rush of desire for shyness to take hold. Her touch made his breathing fast and shallow, just like hers. When he pulled her to him, her body instinctively moulded itself to his. Their kisses were languorous at first, their hands tentative, learning each other’s shape, but every touch seemed to ignite a tiny fire, and soon every flame was connected up, blazing trails from her breasts to her belly to the tension building inexorably between her legs.
When he touched her there, slid his fingers inside her, she shuddered, but when he tried to ease her on to her back she resisted. ‘Together,’ she said. ‘I want—please, Christopher, together. I know we can—that we cannot—but...’
‘We can. Do this much. Together,’ he said raggedly. ‘But I simply cannot...’
‘I know.’
She wrapped her hand around the hard length of him again, feeling the blood pulse as she stroked him slowly. Their mouths met in a tongue-tangling kiss, and her eyes closed as she surrendered to the rhythm he set, reassured by the way their breathing syncopated, that everything she was feeling he was too. She lost herself in his touch, in the tension mounting inside her, in the answering throb of him, the indescribable feeling of her climax, slowly building momentum, until it rushed up on her sending her soaring, making her cry out. Christopher’s harsh groan as he rolled away from her to spend himself added a new layer of satisfaction, and an odd sense of disappointment. Her body craved something more. Her body craved what he would never, for reasons which were still unfathomable, permit himself to give her.
Tahira forced herself to sit up. She did not trust herself. She would not tempt him to do what he was so certain would destroy him. Who was this man, that she had shared the most intimate of moments with? For a few seconds, watching his chest heaving, his breathing slow, she felt as if she was looking at a complete stranger. Then he opened his eyes. He sat up, pushing her tangle of damp hair back from her cheek and kissed her slowly, and he was Christopher again. Her dream man, who had tonight made another of her own dreams come true.
‘Thank you,’ Tahira said.
He laughed gruffly. ‘No, thank you. That is not what I had in mind when I brought you here.’
‘I meant thank you for granting another of my wishes. You have gone to a great deal of trouble to make them very special. And I know this wasn’t what you had in mind, I know that all you planned was my swim, but it is sharing all of this, together, that makes it so perfect. I hope you don’t regret it?’
His expression became serious. ‘Not if you don’t.’
‘Never.’ She smiled shyly up at him. ‘I thought the book exaggerated, but quite the contrary.’
Groaning, Christopher wrapped his arms tightly around her. ‘It would be better for both of us if this were not quite so—if I did not find you quite so—if our passion were not so—Tahira, you are soon to be married.’
‘But not just yet,’ she said fiercely, burrowing her face into his chest. ‘Please don’t tell me this is wrong. I am not yet another man’s property. This cannot be wrong, Christopher, it feels too wonderful to be wrong. Please, let us not spoil the perfection of this night.’
He heaved a sigh, but he nodded. ‘You haven’t even had your promised swim yet.’
Relieved, she leaned in and kissed him. ‘And you always keep your promises. Shall we?’
* * *
Tahira stepped into the waterfall, letting out a squeal of shock as the icy water cascaded over her. Christopher watched her as she tilted her head back, closing her eyes, her hair streaming down her back, utterly unaware of her beauty. Her body was silky smooth all over, the tradition here in Arabia, he knew, though until today had not seen in the flesh. He wanted to kiss her, to taste every inch of that olive-toned, sweetly scented skin, to lick into the hot, wet core of her. The possessiveness he felt was both misguided and inappropriate, he told himself, a natural consequence of what they had just shared, nothing more. And what they had just shared—was that wrong? He simply couldn’t bring himself to think so.
Tahira held out her hand invitingly. He stepped into the cascade, relishing the sharp sting of the water on his skin, cooling his ardour, which had been returning with astonishing quickness as he watched her. It had been too long, that was all. And they had so little time.
He turned away to rinse the sand from his body, and to keep his eyes from the temptation personified showering beside him. Not that he was tempted to test his control any further. Tonight had not been a close call, he had not at any point considered acting on his body’s most insistent urges, but it had surprised him how strongly they persisted, how much he had wanted that ultimate possession.
That word again. Tahira could never be his. What he wanted for her was freedom to be herself, and that was something she could never have. He could not ignore the direct comparison to that other woman whose wishes had been similarly ignored, whose fate had been decided by the selfish passion of one particular vile man. Tonight Christopher had proved once again that he was different, that his blood, tainted as it was, did not define him. He should be proud of that fact. He should also be thankful that Tahira’s life would at least be comfortable, if not necessarily happy.
But he could not be thankful. The days, which at times these last nine months had passed with excruciating slowness, now seemed to be galloping by with the speed of an Arabian thoroughbred. Something else he should welcome, for it was hurtling him toward the future he yearned for, the moment when he could finally bury his hateful past, but perversely, he wanted events to slow down. Though he was more than ready to wave goodbye to his amulet, he was not yet prepared to say goodbye to Tahira.
‘You look so serious. What are you thinking?’
The tiny frown between her perfectly arched brows warned him he was in danger of breaking the spell they had woven around themselves. He could not resist pulling her
