She parted her lips on a gasp that never made it because he was kissing her, his tongue delving between her lips to boldly stroke her tongue.
The resulting effect of the outer caress and the inner melting was so wonderfully divine, she moaned helplessly. Then kept moaning as he deepened both caresses, rending her mindless as her knees weakened and she sagged against him.
The floating effect continued even after he’d laid her on the bed and levered himself over her without breaking the kiss. His thighs bracketed hers as he continued to hold her tight against his body, ravaging her lips, flooding her whole being and especially her sex with warmth and desire and so, so much hunger.
This.
This was the addiction she already feared she would never be free of.
With a strangled cry, she spiked her fingers into his hair and threw herself into the kiss, her body writhing against his.
She was fairly sure he didn’t remain as removed or as silent this time. Or perhaps the muted growl she heard might have been the hum of jet engines.
Niesha didn’t really care.
All she wanted, all she craved was for him to keep wrecking her with his potent kiss, his magic hands. He cupped her breast, moulded her flesh before mercilessly teasing its tight peak.
‘Zufar...’ She gasped.
The plane hit a pocket of deep turbulence, rudely jarring them apart.
For an eternity Zufar stared down at her, his breathing harsh, his face a tight mask of unbridled hunger. Hunger he mastered before her stunned eyes seconds before launching himself off her to stride several steps away.
‘Zufar...’
He rounded on her, his face under even tighter control. ‘My apologies,’ he bit out thickly. ‘I didn’t mean for things to get so carried away. It won’t happen again.’
She wasn’t sure whether the chill that descended on her was because he was apologising for touching her or for the hint of self-loathing she caught in his voice. Both, she suspected.
The reality that their lovemaking was really only about duty for Zufar lanced like forked lightning through her. Every anguished cell in her body wanted to curl up in a ball. But she forced herself to remain contained, to rise and force her weak legs towards the door she hoped led to the bathroom. ‘No need to apologise. You were looking for a way to calm your hysterical wife. Don’t worry,’ she threw over her shoulder, ‘I’ll be the picture of composure by the time we land.’
With that she thrust the door open, glimpsed the porcelain sink and shower stall, and rushed inside, locking the door behind her.
She avoided her gaze in mirror as she splashed water over her wrists and face. Then, knowing she couldn’t go out and face him, not just yet, she braced her back against the door, wrapping her arms around her middle as she fought the tears that were determined to fall.
Niesha wasn’t sure how long she spent in the bathroom, but by the time she emerged he was gone. Yet relief was nowhere in sight. Not when the dawning suspicion that, far from being a thing of the past, her childhood crush on Zufar seemed to have resurfaced, and, much stronger this time, now loomed like a spectre on her horizon.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TRUE TO HIS WORD, the incident on the plane didn’t happen again. Nor did Zufar make any attempt to touch her either during the night or in the early hours of the morning as he’d previously done.
By the sixth day of their honeymoon tour, Niesha was beginning to think she was one of the unfortunate few women who wouldn’t experience the most intimate part of her honeymoon. And while a greater part of her desperately struggled with the loss of his touch, a tiny, self-preserving part of her urged her to count her blessings.
She hadn’t been able to completely expel the niggling voice that whispered she was much more invested emotionally than she was willing to admit. Because it couldn’t be true. Not so soon. Not so foolishly.
So she pushed the voice away, joined Zufar for breakfast each morning before they made whatever appearance in whatever museum or charity or luncheon they were supposed to attend, where she gazed adoringly at him, waved at the crowd and pinned the smile on her face until the photographers had their money shots.
After that he had her driven back to whatever splendid hotel or villa or mansion they were staying at while he went off to conduct business, and she was supposed to spend endless hours getting ready for another evening function.
Tonight, it was a ball being thrown in their honour by the Khalian Ambassador to Italy. They’d arrived in Venice last night and visited all the main sights this morning. After Dubai, Prague and London, the magnificent sights were beginning to blur into one. But Venice had been truly breathtaking, something she wasn’t going to forget in a hurry.
But as she dressed in a sweeping, strapless dove-grey silk gown, overlaid with soft chiffon mesh, into which delicate butterflies had been sewn, Niesha’s heartbeat began to thud faster.
Her period still hadn’t arrived.
And she really couldn’t hold back from telling Zufar any longer. For all she knew, he had the exact dates of her monthly cycle memorised. Was that another reason for his sudden lack of interest?
She tried to breathe through the heavy, unbearable weight that pressed on her chest as Halimah settled the small diamond tiara on her head. Apparently it was customary headwear for all overseas Khalian-hosted functions.