Bound to Her Desert Captor

Regan laughed. ‘No. He’s a famous photographer from last century. When I was a teenager I became enthralled by a photograph of two lovers kissing on a Parisian sidewalk. It was one he had taken. There’s a magic to it, a sincerity. The couple look so in love...it’s as if they can’t wait to get back home and had to kiss in the street or die.’

And suddenly Regan realised why she spent so much time photographing couples. They satisfied a deep longing to find the kind of love her parents had shared and which she feared she’d never experience. Unfortunately making love with the King of Santara had created the same longing inside of her.

She gave a little laugh at the improbability of it all. ‘I’ve always wanted to take photos like that and go to Paris. Neither one has happened yet.’

‘Both still could.’

‘Paris, maybe. Some day. But photography, no. I’m a teacher now and I love my job. I love inspiring kids to learn, and one of my joys is taking a special photo of them during the year and presenting it to them on their birthday. They love it. And I’m not convinced that being a professional photographer would give me the same level of satisfaction. Oh, look, the hawks are back.’ She shaded her eyes as she watched their majestic antics. ‘Or are they falcons? I can’t tell.’

‘Hawks.’ He watched them with her. ‘Falcons are smaller but have a longer wingspan. And falcons grab their prey with their beaks, whereas the hawk uses its talons.’

‘Ouch. Fortunately they don’t seem hungry right now. Look, they’re circling each other.’

She raised her camera and started clicking away right when their talons joined together.

‘Oh, wow, did you see that? They’re dancing.’ She couldn’t suppress the smile on her face.

‘They’re not dancing, habiba,’ he said roughly, his eyes on her mouth. ‘He wants to mate with her.’

Regan’s breath caught at the raw, elemental hunger in his gaze as he looked at her.

‘Falcons mate for life,’ he continued. ‘And once they’ve established a home they never stray from it.’

Regan’s throat went thick. ‘That’s so lovely.’

They both watched the birds skim across the top of the blue lagoon. ‘Now, that looks lovely.’ His hands found her waist and he lowered his head to hers. ‘Come swimming with me.’

* * *

Much later Regan lay with her head in his lap, shaded by the huge palm trees bordering the pool, the breeze gently rustling the fronds overhead.

Jag held a small piece of something or other to her lips.

‘Try this—you’ll like it.’

Regan opened her eyes to look up at him. ‘You have to stop feeding me. I think my stomach is going to burst.’

‘Just one more,’ he said lazily, tempting her. ‘You know I like feeding you.’

Regan felt herself flush with pleasure. Being with him that morning and afternoon had been wonderful and, despite her better judgment, she had let herself soak it up. Let herself soak him up.

They’d made love twice more, once in the lagoon and then again on the blanket. He’d done things to her that made her body instantly tighten with anticipation but she knew reality would set in again soon.

‘What are you thinking about, habiba?’

‘You,’ she said honestly.

He gave a purr of appreciation, his thigh muscle tensing beneath her cheek as he shifted. He prowled over the top of her, his powerful arms and shoulders flexing as he moved. ‘Anything specific about me?’

She ran her fingers through his hair, loving the way his eyes darkened to almost black as he looked at her.

‘That you’re not as scary as I first thought you were.’

‘Not as scary, huh?’

‘No.’ Happiness surged inside her as he gazed at her with wicked playfulness. ‘You’re like a big domestic pussycat when it comes down to it.’

‘Is that so?’ She gave a squeal of delight as he flicked her sarong aside and lightly tickled her ribcage. ‘Want me to show you how much of a pussycat I am?’