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‘No!’
Her head swung up at his sharp tone. Tariq was frowning down at her, his game with Adil stopped. What was his problem?
‘People cut their hair all the time, Tariq.’ It was past time she updated her image. Jackson had suggested it more than once when they’d been together and Samira had worried that her reluctance proclaimed her old-fashioned or just plain cowardly. She’d had long hair all her life. But was that any reason to keep it?
‘Please don’t.’
Samira opened her mouth to say something offhand, until she read what was in Tariq’s eyes and her mouth snapped shut. Heat seared her from top to toe and in every crevice and pulse point in between.
It struck her that this was the first time Tariq had asked her for anything.
She was so distracted she barely noticed Sofia bustling along to gather up the boys and take them back inside for dinner. Slowly Samira stood, stretching her toes to counteract the pins and needles in her feet from kneeling so long. Finding any excuse to look away from Tariq.
But he was still there, still watching, when she straightened. Surely he stood closer?
Her breath stalled. It wasn’t just the magnificence of him. Or the fire in his eyes. This was Tariq, the man she’d known and trusted all her life. The man who’d made her dream of a family come true. The man who looked at her and made her feel utterly unlike the sensible, careful woman she’d striven to become.
‘Promise me you won’t cut it.’ Before Samira could work out if that was a request or a command, Tariq reached for her.
He threaded his fingers in her hair, combing slowly from her ear, down past her jaw and throat, hovering for long moments near her breast, then down to where her stomach muscles automatically tensed as he ran out of hair. His hand came to a stop barely grazing the red Lycra at her hip bone.
The hiss of Samira’s indrawn breath was loud in the silence. Her muscles clenched hard in response to his feather-light touch. She ordered herself to step back but her legs weren’t listening.
‘I like it the way it is.’ He lifted a fistful of hair and held it to his face, burying his mouth in the dark locks, closing his eyes as he inhaled, his mighty chest rising as if sucking in her essence.
It was the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced. Every erogenous zone in her body slammed into awareness. Samira’s mouth dried and her breasts tingled anew. Her knees wobbled alarmingly and she shot out a hand, grabbing his elbow. He felt hot and hard and flagrantly male.
Slowly he lifted his eyes and lightning jolted through her as their gazes met and held.
Could he feel how she shook? Did he hear the rasp of her uneven breathing?
She swallowed hard, telling herself she still had time to retreat. Nothing had happened.
Yet she knew that for a lie. This was... She shook her head. She had no words to describe this.
* * *
Tariq stood stock-still. Samira in a red one-piece swimsuit, her sable silk hair rippling in waves to her waist, equalled his most fervid imaginings. The perfume of her skin was in his nose and mouth, like the sweetest of all treats. His lips brushed the impossible softness of her hair and he wasn’t sure he could let go.
Yet he’d promised not to rush her. He’d given his word.
This week of holding back from her had almost killed him. His breath sawed in his throat as he struggled to breathe.
He wanted so badly to reach for her. Holding back gouged a chasm through his midriff. But, despite the longing in her eyes, he saw the way her teeth sank into her bottom lip and the tight defensiveness of her shoulders.
Tariq looked into her beautiful face and suppressed a shudder of desire. His need for her was a ravening hunger that obliterated any satisfaction that she was obviously weakening. He’d assured himself it would be easy to enjoy the physical benefits marriage brought. Yet he felt himself hover on the edge of control.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. So all-consuming.
Guilt was a sudden sharp, twist of pain driving up from his gut to his heaving chest. How could he feel this rush of powerful desire when not much over a year ago his wife—
He slammed the door on that thought, but not before shame scored him.
Jasmin had asked him to do what was best for the boys, to find a woman who’d care for them as her own. Yet he’d been in no rush to fulfil his promise, appalled at the thought of marrying again. Nothing, he’d thought, would induce him to take another wife, to step into the quicksand that was emotion.
Now, holding Samira’s soft hair in his hand, feeling her touch on his arm, he wondered what the hell he’d done. How was he supposed to control this?
What he felt was too big, too deep, too raw and unfamiliar. He resented it, despised the weakness it revealed in him. His whole upbringing had been designed to eradicate weakness. His guardian’s regimen of hard work, discipline and self-denial had honed Tariq into a man with the strength and single-mindedness to rule a nation, to lead in war if necessary, not to wallow in feelings or succumb to neediness.
Yet his fingers were stiffly reluctant as he released Samira and stepped back. Warm water eddied around his calves. He wished it was deep and icy so he could douse the heat in his blood and his phenomenal erection.
Abruptly he turned, wading out until the water reached his hips and then striking out for the other side of the oasis pool.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u17b71c3f-2a6a-58fc-bc34-7d79103d8785)
TARIQ STOOD, ARM BRACED high against the open window as he stared at the winking stars. The desert night sky glittered, diamond-bright. A soft breeze feathered across his chest and rippled his loose cotton trousers against his thighs. But it did nothing to cool him. Even the plunge in the oasis and a cold shower later hadn’t brought relief from the heat simmering within.
What he needed was a distraction, but the children were in bed and paperwork couldn’t hold his attention. Usually it was no effort to work through the evening. But he’d grown so used to Samira’s presence, he missed it now. This last week he’d spent most of his time with her, getting reacquainted over a game of chess or backgammon, or discussing the boys. But he’d decided an evening apart was a wise precaution.
A mirthless laugh escaped. He’d planned to accustom her to his presence, use every moment of every day to remind her how good they’d be together and how foolish she was to try denying the inevitable.
How that had backfired!
He was the one so needy he all but climbed the walls with wanting. He was the one who couldn’t settle.
He should have made her see reason that first night. Despite her haunted eyes it wouldn’t have taken much to seduce her. She was such a sensual woman he could have overcome her doubts in no time.
Now he was paying the penalty for his scruples.
Tariq shoved aside the half-formed suspicion that mere lust shouldn’t torture him so. After Jasmin, he knew he was incapable of feeling anything more profound for any woman.
He swung away from the window, intending to dress for a night ride across the desert, when a figure emerged from the shadows near the door.
‘Samira!’ Even in the gloom she took his breath away. Her long, pale nightdress shimmered with the lustre of a thousand pearls as it shaped her voluptuous form. Her hair lay loosely plaited over one shoulder, trailing down past her breast, lifting with every breath she took.
Tariq swallowed hard, his eyes travelling from her luscious breasts to her tiny waist and the smooth flare of her hips. She moved and a narrow slit revealed one leg all the way to her thigh. He breathed out gustily, trying to rein in his impulse to reach for her and slam her against his body.
‘Hello, Tariq.’
‘What are you doing here?’ He flexed his fingers, then linked them behind his back, away from temptation.
‘I want to talk with you.’
Tariq shut his eyes, trying to conjure the willpower he needed. She came to his room dressed like that and expected to chat? More and more he wondered just how experienced his bride was in matters of passion.
He’d reached the end of his tether.
‘We can talk tomorrow, Samira. It’s late.’ He strode to the wide bed and dragged back the covers. If that didn’t scare her away, nothing would.
Yet she stood her ground. In the dim light he saw her chin jut.
‘This won’t take long. I know how disrupting a visitor can be just as you’re trying to get to sleep.’
Tariq repressed a grunt of laughter. So this was payback for him walking into her room the night of the wedding? If so she had no idea how disruptive that had been for him. If she knew she wouldn’t have dared venture into the lion’s den.
Deliberately he sat on the side of the bed and gestured for her to do the same, knowing she wouldn’t.
‘Thank you.’ To his amazement, she sat down. Not at the far end of the bed, either, but a prim arm’s length away.
Tariq took one look at the toned thigh peeping out from her satiny gown and dragged his gaze up to her face. She was tense but more than that he couldn’t read in the gloom.
‘I wanted to ask you...’
‘Yes?’ It came out as a growl because inevitably his gaze had dropped again to where she fidgeted with the slit now gaping wide on her thigh. There was only so much temptation a man could withstand.
When she didn’t respond immediately he looked up to see her biting her lip.
‘Yes?’ 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?’
