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Cursing softly under his breath, he smoothed her soaked hair away from her face. ‘You are all right now. You are safe. It was lucky I decided to come back and check on you.’
‘I went under—’
‘Because you chose to swim in your dress,’ he breathed, and she shook her head.
‘I never intended to swim. I can’t swim. I was just going to dip myself in the water.’
‘Fully clothed?’
It sounded ridiculous, spelled out like that, and her face turned fiery hot. ‘I thought someone might walk along and see me. The dress was ruined anyway so I thought I’d just keep it on and paddle.’
‘In the deepest end of the pool?’
‘I thought it was the shallow end.’ Layla glanced up at him, puzzled, and saw his eyes darken dangerously.
‘Why would you think that? Who told you it was the shallow end?’
She wasn’t going to tell him that when there was already friction. ‘It was my fault,’ Layla muttered ‘I should have checked for myself.’
Without speaking, he unfastened the back of her dress. ‘Take this off. Go to the other end of the pool where the water is only waist deep. You will be safe and undisturbed, I promise.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘There is a conversation I need to have and it would seem that it can’t wait.’ His voice vibrating with anger, he vaulted to his feet and strode back towards the tent.
Moments later Layla heard his voice and winced, because it was obvious to her that however much Nadia had loathed her before this, she was going to loathe her a thousand times more by the time Raz had finished ripping strips from her in that icy voice of his. She thought she heard muffled sobs and closed her eyes, because the whole situation was turning into a complex mess and without the facts she had no idea how she was supposed to handle it.
Taking refuge in the practical, she peeled off the soaked dress and forced herself back into the water again—more because she didn’t want to let fear beat her than because she wanted to wash. This time she was relieved to feel the bottom under her feet. As he had promised, the water only reached her waist and she washed herself quickly, still shocked by how close she’d come to drowning in this beautiful place.
The sun sent sparkles of light dancing over the still surface of the pool. Somewhere nearby she heard children playing, their laughter cutting through the stillness of the baking hot air, and the sound surprised her because she hadn’t expected to hear children.
She couldn’t think of the time she’d last heard children laugh like that. It reminded her of when Yasmin had been very young and Layla had been constantly putting her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles in case the sound drew unwanted attention. But here no one was trying to muffle the sound and the children played happily, unrestricted.
Thinking of her sister brought a lump to her throat.
Where was she now?
If only she were at least alive, Layla would never complain about anything ever again.
Listening to the children, she was tempted to go and watch them, but then decided she’d encountered enough hostility for one day. Instead she wrapped herself in the towels that had been left for her and walked the short distance to the tent, hoping that Nadia wouldn’t be there.
Stepping inside, she stopped in surprise.
She’d expected something basic, but this tent was not only fully furnished but luxurious, decorated in rich reds and deep purples. There was a seating area piled with soft cushions and a low bed covered in silk sheets, with a thick cover for cold desert nights.
It was idyllic.
It was—Layla swallowed hard—it was romantic.
Someone had laid food on a low table near to the door, but Layla wasn’t hungry. She couldn’t even think about food after everything that had happened. Did Nadia really hate her so much she would want her dead? And what had Raz said to her that had caused her such distress?
Feeling sick from nerves and oasis water, she pulled on the clothes and sank onto the cushions.
Despite worry about Nadia, and anxiety for her sister, her mind was dominated by thoughts of the night ahead.
She would have spent the day reading, but her books had been left behind at the first camp so she had nothing but her imagination to occupy her time, and by the time Raz finally appeared she was so worked up she jumped out of her skin.
‘You startled me.’
His gaze rested on the untouched food and a faint frown touched his forehead. ‘You haven’t touched the food. Are you unwell after the incident earlier?’
‘No. I just wasn’t hungry.’
‘If you do not eat you will make yourself ill.’
She didn’t tell him that she already felt ill. That nerves had created an uncomfortable lump in her stomach, leaving no room for food. ‘I won’t be ill. I’m very fit.’
‘But you can’t swim?’
‘There is nowhere to swim in the palace so I’ve never had opportunity.’
‘Then that’s something we must fix.’ A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. ‘Swimming in the oasis is one of life’s pleasures.’
Her heart was pumping so fast she worried she was going to pass out, and when he took her hand and drew her towards him she stopped breathing.
‘I am sorry for what happened to you.’
‘Is Nadia—?’
‘I don’t want to talk about Nadia. She has no relevance to what is happening between us and I’ve dealt with her. Now you need to relax.’ His voice soft, he smoothed her hair back from her face. ‘You are very tense and there is no need to be.’
Behind him, through the crack in the tent, she could see the sun turning dark red as it set and it shocked her because she hadn’t realised it was so late.
‘I’m not tense.’
‘Yes, you are, and that is hardly surprising.’ His fingers lingered in her hair. ‘This is not how you dreamed your wedding night would be, I’m sure.’
‘I never dreamed about it. I’m not a dreamy person, Your Highness.’
‘Raz.’ He let a strand of her hair twist itself around his fingers, frowning as she flinched away from him. ‘You don’t have to be afraid of me.’
It wasn’t fear that made her stomach cramp, but she wasn’t sure what it was because it was a feeling she didn’t recognise.
All she knew was that she’d never felt more uncomfortable in her life. He clearly thought she’d spent her formative years dreaming of weddings and happy endings whereas nothing could have been further from the truth.
‘I am not a romantic person,’ she reminded him. ‘I thought I’d made that clear. I hope that won’t be a problem. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.’
What if he did?
Perhaps he was expecting her to fall instantly in love with him and she knew that was never going to happen.
The heat in the tent was stifling and he was standing close to her. So close she could feel the heat and power of him. The breath was locked in her throat and Layla had no idea what she was supposed to do next. Was he expecting her to kiss him? Was he supposed to go first or was she? Both together?
Layla desperately wished she’d had time to study the various options.
She wished she’d read that book long before now, instead of grabbing it as an afterthought on the run from the palace and her old life.
The gaps in her knowledge were glaringly obvious. For a start, she was confused by how long he’d stood there just looking at her. She’d assumed it would all be over quickly. Instead he seemed to be taking his time. His hand had migrated from her hair to her cheek and the slow, exploratory stroke of his fingers unsettled her.
Her tummy tightened into a knot and her pulse leaped and pounded.
She wanted to look away but his gaze drew her to him, holding her eyes with his. And then his eyes flickered to her mouth and that made her feel strange, too. As did his next words.
‘So what did you dream about when you were growing up in the palace?’
How was she supposed to answer that? Every day had been focused on survival. On protecting her sister. ‘I didn’t really dream. I prefer to focus on things that are real. Tangible.’
‘You had no wish for the future?’
‘If I did then it was a hope that the future would be better than the present.’ She saw him frown slightly and felt his thumb slide slowly over the line of her jaw.
‘The present was hard for you?’
What could she say? However hard it had been for her, she knew it must have been so much harder for him. He’d lost his father and the woman he’d loved. ‘I had my sister.’
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘You’re being evasive, but I’ll overlook it for now because the past has no place in our bedroom.’
Our bedroom.
Her heart was pounding furiously and she found herself trapped by his dark gaze as he slid his hands into her hair and tilted her face to his.
‘If I do anything you don’t like you must tell me,’ he breathed.
She’d just had time to think that was a very strange thing to say, because she had no expectation of liking any of it, when he lowered his head.
Anticipation held her rigid.
That sensuously curved mouth hovered close to hers, prolonging the moment of contact. Just as Layla was beginning to wonder whether there was a reason he was taking so long, whether there was something she was supposed to be doing that she wasn’t, he slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her.
The gentleness threw her. Braced for something quite different, she found the slow, deliberate movement of his lips on hers shocking. Equally unexpected was the sudden tightening of her stomach and the warmth that rushed through her body and into her limbs. The feelings intensified but still his mouth moved over hers while his hands, buried in her hair, held her head trapped.
She felt his tongue trace the seam of her mouth, teasing, coaxing, and she parted her lips, shocked to feel his tongue delve into her mouth.
Something—nerves?—made her shaky? and she closed her hands over his arms to steady herself, her fingers moving over the solid muscle of his biceps. His physical power was undeniable, and she remembered the way he’d controlled the stallion and lifted her out of the pool. But he used that strength lightly now, his hands gentle as he smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her mouth, all the time watching her through slumbrous dark eyes that made her aware of every part of herself.
Layla had never felt anything like this before, and she felt a flash of panic because she was a person who liked to understand things and rationalise them. But there was no understanding the searing heat that shot through her body and pooled low in her belly.
Releasing her head, he curved one arm around her back, slid the other around her waist and pulled her into him. She felt the strength and power of his thighs and the hardness of him. Pressed against the evidence of his masculinity, she discovered that the works of Michaelangelo didn’t tell the whole story.
Layla was confused by the torrent of sensation that flooded her skin and seeped into her nerve-endings.
‘Kiss me back.’
His husky command was spoken against her lips and she stared up at him, unable to see him properly in the darkness but knowing her mouth was just a shadow away from the dangerous curve of his.
Kiss me back.
Wishing she had more knowledge of technique, Layla tentatively touched her lips to his. She wanted to ask, Is this right? But then she felt his arm tighten around her waist, drawing her closer. Pressed this close to him, she felt hot and unbalanced in every way. She knew her cheeks were flushed, knew he could taste her confusion on her lips, but still he kissed her and the slowness of it, together with the long drawn-out ache of anticipation and something else she couldn’t name, was agonising.
He kissed her until their surroundings faded and the only thing in her vision was him, and then he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. The practical side of her prompted her to tell him she was capable of walking, but she thought it might be a lie so she kept silent and wondered how nerves could weaken limbs.
The light in the tent was dim, but not so dim she couldn’t see his face, and she remembered Yasmin dreamily telling her how handsome he was—how he was ‘hot’. At the time Layla hadn’t understood how a word used to describe temperature could be used as a positive indicator of visual appeal, but now she realised that looking at him made her feel hot. Burning hot. Her skin, her lips and other more sensitive parts of her that she rarely had reason to think about. And while he was kissing her he extracted her from her clothing. The ease with which he accomplished that feat was almost as embarrassing as being naked in front of him.
Grateful for the semi-darkness, she somehow resisted the desperate urge to cover herself. Never in her life had she felt so out of her depth and inadequate, and she lay there, her breathing shallow, staring up at him as he wrenched off his shirt, all the time watching her with eyes almost black in the candlelight.
Layla held her breath because even she, with her limited experience and previously limited interest in the masculine form, could see that his was perfectly proportioned.
Unable to help herself, she let her gaze slide over bronzed, muscular shoulders, down over his chest with its haze of dark hair, and lower still to his board-flat abdomen. She didn’t look lower and he slid his fingers under her chin and lifted her face, forcing her to look at him.
‘You’re scared.’
‘No.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘But I wish I’d read more.’
‘Not all the answers can be found in books.’ His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth and his fingers slid into her hair, cupping the back of her head. ‘Perhaps you know more than you think you do. Follow your instincts.’
As he drew her head down to his she wanted to tell him that she didn’t have any instincts when it came to men, but her tongue wouldn’t form the words. Instead it tangled with his, and she heard herself moan into the heat of his clever mouth.
And she discovered she did have instincts, because it was instinct that had her sliding her hands into his hair, clutching his head, meeting his hot, seductive kisses with her own. And instinct had her pressing herself closer to him. Later, she’d wonder how a kiss involving her lips could have an effect on her whole body, but right then she wasn’t capable of wondering about anything except what was going to happen next.
‘Next’ was his mouth on her neck—slow, lingering, as everything he did was slow and lingering—and she lay still, hardly breathing as the warmth of his tongue traced the line of her shoulder and moved lower, to her bare breasts.
Her nipples were standing erect and she watched in tense fascination as he paused with his mouth close to that sensitive part of her. She felt the warmth of his breath brush over her skin, followed by the slow, deliberate flick of his tongue as he skilfully teased and toyed with that part of her that had never been touched before. Sensation shot right through her, pooling in her pelvis, until she found it almost impossible to keep still, until the urge to cry out was so powerful she had to bite her lip to stay silent. And what he did to one nipple he did to the other, and when he finally lifted his head and looked at her she found it impossible to look away.
For a moment they stared at each other.
There was a hardness in his eyes, a coldness she wished she hadn’t seen, and then he leaned across the bed and blew out the candle, sending the tent into darkness.
She could no longer see, but she could feel, and the feelings became more acute because everything was focused on that one sense—touch.
The warmth of his palm rested low on her abdomen and she wondered if he knew how much she was aching, just how badly she needed—needed something. But of course he knew. She remembered Yasmin’s breathless statement that he was supposed to be a skilled lover and knew now that it was true.
No wonder he hadn’t bothered returning her book.
I will teach you everything you need to know.
The fact that he knew her body better than she did embarrassed her, but nowhere near as much as when he gently spread her thighs and shifted lower on the bed.
Shocked, and feeling intensely vulnerable, Layla gave a soft gasp as his hand moved with sure, leisurely ease over her abdomen and lower still. He took his time, but whether that was out of respect for her inexperience, patience or just a maddening ability to know how to ramp up the tension until she was at screaming pitch, she didn’t know. All she knew was that she was moving her pelvis against his hand, and then his fingers were there, sliding skilfully over that part of her, exploring her with slow, knowing strokes of strong, clever fingers, until her breathing was shallow and her hands fisted in the sheets.
