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She hadn’t known it was possible to feel this.
She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see anything except darkness, and that darkness intensified feeling because she never knew what was coming next. She felt him shift above her, then move lower, and this time he put his mouth on her there. Shock rocketed through her and her hands moved to push him away, but he caught both her wrists in one hand and held her securely, so that all she could do was lie there and let him do exactly what he wanted to do. And what he did was sinfully good, and he did it again and again, until her body quivered and heated, until she was slippery wet and sensitive, embarrassment blown away by sensation. And with each erotic slide of his tongue the feelings intensified, until the heat of it was so maddening she thought she’d explode.
She knew there was something more, that her body was trying to reach something, somewhere, and she squirmed and shifted, trying to relieve the unfamiliar feelings, and then he shifted position in a lithe movement and came over her, his hand under her bottom.
‘I will try not to hurt you...’
His voice was husky and he slid his hand down her thigh, encouraging her to wind her legs across his back. Like this, she was open to him and she was once again grateful for the darkness as she felt the silken power of him against her and the warmth of his breath against her mouth as he lowered his head to kiss her again.
He licked at her lips, kissing her gently as he stayed still, letting her grow used to the feel of him against her. It was shockingly intimate with her legs wrapped around him, and for endless moments he held himself still. Then he eased forward and entered her slowly, gently, holding himself in check with ruthless control, taking it so slowly that the discomfort seemed minimal in comparison to the building frustration. Pain and pleasure mingled. Layla felt herself clench around the hard thickness of him, felt the heat and power of him stretching her, and when his hand tightened on her bottom she lifted herself against him and heard a low sound rumble in his throat as he sheathed himself deep. Her breath caught. The intimacy of it shocked her and she curled her fingers over his biceps and then up to his shoulders, aware that he was holding himself still and knowing that he did it for her.
‘Are you all right?’
His voice was low and very male, and she opened her eyes, even though she couldn’t see him, and said yes, even though she wasn’t sure it was true.
She wasn’t all right. With him so deeply inside her she felt shaken and unbalanced, as out of her depth as she had in the pool. Only this time instead of drowning in water she was drowning in sensation.
She didn’t know what was happening, but she knew she wanted this, needed this, and when he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his.
He eased back slightly and then moved into her again. She felt her body yield against the male thickness of him, discovered that if she relaxed it was easier, that when he shifted his angle the pleasure intensified and poured through her in long, wicked waves of ecstasy. He was deep, deep inside her, his hand locked in her hair as he controlled the rhythm, all the time kissing her. And she recognised nothing that was happening to her body, knew nothing—but he did, and he used that skill and experience to drive her higher and higher, until something strange happened, something unfamiliar and intensely exciting, until screaming ecstasy exploded into an almost unbearable shower of sensation that made her cry out despite her attempts to stay silent.
He trapped the sound with his mouth, kissing her through it as she felt her body tighten around the smooth, hard length of him. She felt the sudden tension of his shoulders under her fingers and then heard him groan deep in his throat as her body drove his over the edge. It was the most thrilling, explosive, intense experience of her life and afterwards Layla lay still, crushed by the weight of him and the knowledge that she had lived with herself for twenty-three years and yet not known herself at all.
She’d had no idea she was even capable of feeling that way.
Her illusions about herself had disintegrated. She’d never thought of herself as romantic, nor particularly physical. Nothing in her past had prepared her for what she’d just experienced. And she realised that delving into a book for information wouldn’t have made a difference, because there were no words that could adequately describe what she’d just experienced.
Nothing she’d read could have prepared her for pleasure.
Shattered by the experience, her expectations blown apart, Layla lay there, not knowing what words were appropriate. They’d shared the ultimate intimacy and yet outside the silken haven of his bed they were strangers.
She lay rigid, feeling as if she should say something, trying out various sentences in her head. But before she could utter any of them she felt him rise from the bed. Her burning skin chilled instantly and that chill spread through her bones as rapidly as the heat had done.
Shattered and confused, Layla lay still in the darkness, listening as he dressed. Was this normal?
Was it usual for a man to stand up and leave the bed afterwards?
Or did his response have something to do with his wife?
Was that why he’d blown out the candle? Had he been imagining that he was with someone else? Or was it that he couldn’t bear to look at her?
It sounded as if he were going to stride out of the tent without looking back, but then he paused, his hand on the heavy fabric that protected them from the heat of the sun and the cold of the night. Moonlight shone through the slit in the tent and in that moment Layla saw him. Saw the hard, savage lines of his handsome face and the emptiness in those cold eyes that were as black as a starless night.
She stared at him in silence, trying to read him, trying to understand what was going on and failing.
She had no idea what that look meant. No idea what was going through his head.
And now she wished she’d kept her eyes closed. Pretended to be asleep. Anything, to avoid a situation in which she was clueless.
Should she speak?
Was he waiting for her to say something?
And then, before she could decide whether to speak or not, he turned and strode out of the tent, leaving her alone.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_afce5f2b-fb0d-551f-8197-037a7ff079a6)
HE RODE RAJA deep into the desert, trying to escape the weight of his feelings but failing, because wherever he went they followed. His mouth was dry with the bitter taste of betrayal, the past a deep ache inside him that wouldn’t heal.
There were so many issues demanding his attention, but the only thing on his mind was Layla.
He’d felt nothing but contempt for her family for so long that when she’d arrived in his camp and offered herself to him he’d treated her proposal with suspicion. Even when it had become clear to him that her life had been very different from the one he’d imagined for her, his feelings towards her hadn’t warmed.
But now?
The scent of her clung to his skin and her soft gasps echoed around his head, refusing to be silenced by his own vicious conflict.
As if sensing his tension, the horse under him stamped impatiently. Raz soothed him gently with his hands and his voice until Raja calmed and stood still.
He had a sudden vision of Layla smuggling the Kama Sutra from her father’s library before leaving the only home she’d ever known. He thought of her climbing onto a horse, even though she didn’t ride, and then going in search of him even though she knew exactly how he felt about her family.
And then he thought about her standing still and straight next to him, speaking her vows in the hope that the union would ensure the safety of her sister, and writhing under his hands as he’d shown her what her body could do.
The thought of it sent heat rushing through him and he cursed softly.
He told himself that respect and powerful sexual chemistry didn’t change the fact he wasn’t ready to feel anything for another woman. Nor did it change the fact that he didn’t want her feeling anything for him.
Nothing changed the fact that this marriage politically motivated.
Was she all she seemed to be, or was she a clever opportunist who had the sense to change sides for her own protection?
His suspicions were deep-set, rooted in a lifetime of bitter feud.
So why did the knowledge that he’d hurt her rub at his nerves like sand wedged in his boot?
Staring at the sunrise, he told himself it was a good thing.
He told himself that anger was a thousand times safer than those softer emotions that could fell a man faster than a samurai sword.
‘Your Highness.’
It was Abdul, never far from his side and as much a father to him as his own had been.
‘You should not be out here alone.’
‘I don’t appear to be alone.’
Ignoring the irony in his voice, Abdul touched his arm. ‘This is hard for you, but you did the right thing marrying her.’
‘Did I?’ He heard the harshness in his own voice and winced, because he wasn’t in the habit of revealing his weaknesses to those around him. ‘We need to keep an eye on Nadia.’
‘Yes. I can imagine she is very upset. But no doubt Her Highness will deal with that sensitively. She seems like a very sensible young woman.’
Sensible? Raz could have agreed with him, but he knew it wasn’t her logic or her ordered thought-processes that teased and tormented his brain.
It was something far more intimate and a thousand times more dangerous.
* * *
Layla awoke slowly, aware of the sounds of animals, the laughter of children, the hum of voices. None of them belonged to Raz.
The side of the bed where he would have slept was cold, the pillow smooth and untouched.
Her body ached from her night with him, making it impossible to blot it out or forget.
He’d come to her in darkness and then he’d walked away.
Had he known how his touch had made her feel?
Of course he had. His expertise had never been in question. From the first touch to the last, he’d known exactly what he was doing to her.
Layla rolled onto her back and stared up at the roof of the tent.
But as for the rest of it—as for how she felt inside and in her head...
How could he understand that when she didn’t understand it herself?
She’d thought she knew herself very well but it turned out she didn’t know herself at all, because she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling like that.
Sheltered by the silk sheets, she slid her hand over her breasts, still tender from the touch of his mouth and the roughness of his jaw. He’d touched her there and then he’d—
‘Your Highness?’ Nadia stood in the entrance to the tent, her expression frozen as she saw the clothes piled on the floor. ‘I have instructions to help you dress and fetch you anything you need.’
What did she need?
Layla had no idea. She felt like a jigsaw someone had dropped. She had no idea how to fit the pieces back together because she no longer recognised the picture. And she had no idea how to make peace with Nadia. It didn’t feel good to watch the other woman’s pain and know she was somehow the cause.
It was the first time they’d seen each other since the incident in the pool, but Layla decided that Raz had already said whatever needed to be said so didn’t raise the topic.
‘There is nothing I need, thank you.’ She watched as Nadia moved around the tent, placing food on the rug and laying out fresh clothes. She wanted to ask where Raz was, but didn’t want to reveal how much she minded his absence— especially not to this girl, who clearly resented Layla’s presence and wished she were anywhere but there.
Layla wondered again if she were in love with Raz herself. Was that the reason for the rigid expression and the fact she didn’t meet her eyes? Or was it because of who Layla was?
In the end concern for him overruled pride.
‘Have you seen His Highness?’
Nadia paused in the entrance of the tent. ‘The rumour is that he has gone to find Hassan and talk to him. If he is killed it will be your fault.’
The girl blurted out the words and then left the tent, leaving Layla alone with nothing but her conscience to keep her company.
The news that he’d gone to find Hassan disturbed her—not because she underestimated Raz’s strength, but because she knew just how duplicitous Hassan could be. He was neither honest nor honourable, and she knew better than most that he was at his most dangerous when he was cornered.
Should she have voiced her suspicions to Raz?
Weighed down by her worry, the hours dragged past. Without access to the library Layla had nothing to distract her from her thoughts, no hope of reaching a state of relaxation. She would have loved to talk to someone but no one came near her. Even Nadia stayed away, and Layla realised that when she’d suggested this marriage she’d given no consideration to how others would feel about it.
Did they all think she’d put Raz at risk?
What if Nadia was right and by coming to him she’d created trouble?
What if Hassan found them here?
It felt like the longest day of her life, and she spent most of it alone, sitting by the oasis, aware of the unfamiliar soreness and aching in her body.
Several times she heard children laughing and the sound reminded her so much of her sister that a lump wedged itself in her throat. Where was she? Had Salem found her? Was she in trouble? Dead?
If Hassan had found her before Salem then the chances were she was already in America.
As darkness fell the noise of chatter faded, leaving only the sounds of the desert at night.
Layla lay still on the bed, staring at the single candle that had been lit for her, so tense she could hear her own breathing in the silence of the tent.
Would he come?
Would it be like the night before?
The question swirled around in her head until eventually she fell asleep. When she woke it was light, his side of the bed was still cold, and she had her answer.
He hadn’t come.
She was still alone in the bed and she had no idea if Raz had even returned.
Seriously concerned, she swallowed her pride and sought out Nadia once more.
‘I do not know where he is, Your Highness.’ Her voice was frosty and hovered on the edge of rude. ‘He never reveals his plans. And now he’s brought you here the risk to him personally will be even greater.’
With no hard evidence with which to refute that challenge, Layla bowed out of the conversation. Guilt gnawed at her, driven by anxiety that Nadia could be right. Had she increased his problems? Had she made things worse, not better?
Or did his unexplained absence have nothing to do with Hassan?
What if it were driven by something even more personal?
Something to do with the night they’d spent together.
Was he thinking of his wife?
Layla spent a second day alone, with only her imagination for company, and was beginning another night the same way when she heard the sound of horses and knew it was him.
