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His hand fell on her shoulder. She could feel his hard body behind hers, could feel the heat emanating from him.
He said her name again, his voice low and rough, and she turned and faced him.
What she saw in his eyes told her that tonight, at least, anything was possible.
“Karim,” she whispered, and when he reached for her she went straight into his arms.
He told himself there were endless reasons to let go of her. To step back from this while he still could.
He had always done the right thing, the logical thing, the dutiful thing …
Karim groaned, and gathered her close.
This, only this, was the right thing. This was where Rachel belonged.
“Karim.”
His name was a sigh on her lips. He looked down into her face, her lovely face, and knew she was feeling the same emotions. Desire. Confusion. The realization that what they were doing could be dangerous, that there would be no going back …
“We can’t,” she said in a thready whisper, and he said she was right, they couldn’t …
She moaned. Rose on her toes. Pressed against him.
He bent to her and captured her mouth.
She tasted of the night, of honey, of herself. She tasted like cream and vanilla, and he shuddered, took the kiss deep, deeper still.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, and she trembled and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he knew they were both lost.
He slid his hands down her back, cupped her bottom, lifted her into him.
Another groan came from his throat.
He could feel all of her against him now. Her breasts. Her belly. Her hips.
Her body was hot. So was her mouth as he drank from it.
Half the buttons of his shirt were undone and she slid her hands inside, stroked them over his naked shoulders, and he shuddered under that feather-soft, tantalizing touch.
He drew her closer, holding her as if his arms were bands of steel, but it wasn’t enough, it couldn’t be enough—not when the need to make her his pounded through him with every beat of his heart.
He wanted to sweep her into his arms. Carry her to his bed.
But first—first just a taste of her skin. Here, behind her ear. Here, in the tender hollow of her throat. Here, at the delicate juncture of neck and shoulder.
She cried out.
The sound raced through him like a river of flame.
“Do you want this?’ he whispered. “Tell me, habibi. Tell me what you want.”
She cupped his face, dragged it down to hers and kissed him.
“This,” she whispered. “You. But we can’t. We can’t—”
His kiss was hot and hard. Her knees buckled; he swung her up into his arms, his mouth never leaving hers, and carried her to his bedroom.
Moonlight poured in through the windows, spilling over them in a pool of ivory iridescence. He put her on her feet beside his bed and his eyes locked on her face.
“Tell me to stop,” he said thickly, “and I will. But tell me now, before it’s too late. Do you understand, Rachel? Once I start to touch you—once I start there’s no going back.”
The room filled with silence broken only by the rasp of his breath. Then, slowly, she brought her hands to the top button of her nightgown.
Karim’s hand closed on hers.
“Let me undress you.”
He heard the catch of her breath. Her hands fell to her sides. He reached for the first of what were surely a thousand buttons, none made for male fingers as big and suddenly clumsy as his, but he wanted to be the one who bared her to his eyes.
One button gave way.
Two.
Three.
And finally he could see—ah, God—he could see the slope of her breasts.
“Karim,” she whispered.
He tore his gaze from her breasts, fixed his eyes on her face. Saw her parted lips, the flush of desire that streaked her cheeks, the darkness of her pupils.
His throat constricted. He leaned forward, kissed her mouth.
And undid the next button.
And the one after that.
Undid them, button by button, until there were none left.
Slowly, the gown parted.
And he saw her.
Saw all of her. Naked and incredibly lovely.
Her breasts were small and round, and he knew instantly that they were meant to fit perfectly in his cupped palms.
Her nipples were elegant buds, their color the dusty pink of the early-summer roses that grew wild in the valleys of the Great Wilderness Mountains.
Her hips were lushly feminine curves, the perfect framework for the soft curls at the junction of her thighs.
God, he needed to touch her.
Cup her breasts with his hands. Brush his fingers over her erect nipples. Put his mouth to the heart of her, let her feel the heat of his tongue between her thighs.
He looked up. Watched her face. Reached out slowly, brushed his fingers over her nipples. She gasped, and he bent his head, kissed her mouth, her throat, her breasts …
Drew one rosy bud between his lips.
She sobbed his name, shuddered. Her head fell back and she cried out with pleasure.
It almost undid him.
He drew her down with him onto the bed. Go slow, he told himself. Go slow …
Her body was hot against his.
Her mouth was soft.
And his erection was so hard it was almost painful.
“Rachel,” he said unsteadily, and she wound her arms around his neck, and somehow, somehow, her nightgown was ruched around her hips and somehow, somehow, his hand was between her thighs and she was wet and hot and slick, and he found that sweet nub that was the essence of her, and when he did she arched against his hand and gave a cry that made him rear back, tear off his clothes and pull open the drawer of the nightstand.
He found a condom. Fumbled with it. And then—
Then he was inside her.
A groan tore from his throat.
Rachel was tight around him, so tight he was afraid he’d hurt her, and he went still, his body trembling with the effort, holding back, letting her stretch to accommodate him. But she wouldn’t let that happen. She was sobbing, moving against him, moving, moving, moving …
She said his name. He could feel her trembling; she was on that razor-thin edge of eternity with him.
Could a man’s entire life have been meant to bring him to this one moment?
He thrust forward, harder, deeper, faster. She whispered his name again and then she screamed in ecstasy.
And Karim let go of everything—the pain of the last weeks, the rigidity of his life—and flew with her along the moonlit path into the heart of the night sky.
He collapsed over her, his body slick with sweat.
His face was buried in the curve of her shoulder, her hair was a silken tangle and he loved the feel of it against his lips. His heart was pounding; so was hers. He could feel it beating hard against his.
He knew he was too heavy for her but he didn’t want to move—not if it meant giving up this moment. Rachel’s skin against his skin, her arms around him, her legs wrapped around his hips …
She gave a little sigh.
He sighed, too, rolled to his side and drew her into his arms.
“Are you all right?” he said softly.
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Very fine?” he said, and smiled. He used one hand to tilt her face to his. “Incredibly fine?” he whispered, and kissed her.
Her lips were soft. They clung to his but only for a heartbeat. Then she drew back.
“I—I have to get up,” she whispered.
“Not yet,” he said in a sexy, rough voice as he stroked a lock of hair from her temple and tucked it behind her ear. “Stay with me a little longer.”
“No. Really. I have to—I have to get up.”
A simple request, Karim told himself. She wanted to use the bathroom. A simple, normal request.
But her voice was strained and her eyes darted away from his.
“Rachel?”
She didn’t answer.
“Rachel. Sweetheart—”
“Let me up!”
For a horrible few seconds she was afraid he was going to keep his arms where they were, one around her shoulders, the other draped over her waist, but finally he let her go.
Now the trick was to sit up and not let him see her, because she was naked and, yes, he’d already seen her, he’d more than seen her …
Somehow, she managed to struggle upright and drag the edges of her nightgown together. Then she got to her feet, her back to him.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t sound sexy anymore. No matter. She would sound brisk and bright.
“To the bathroom.”
Karim sat up. “The bathroom’s behind you.”
“The bathroom in the guest suite.”
“What’s going on, Rachel? You have regrets?”
“Honestly, Karim, I’d think you would know that there’s nothing less appealing than a—a post-sex analysis. So if you don’t mind—”
She turned away from him and started for the door, her posture stiff and unyielding. He grabbed his discarded trousers, pulled them on, got to the door before she did, stood with his back to it, arms folded over his chest, legs slightly apart, face without expression.
“Please,” she said. “Get out of my way.”
