`You’re hurt!’ She’d seen his shoulder. Something had smashed into him last night and gashed him.
She raised her hands, pointing, and he sucked in his breath. She looked like a suppliant, kneeling at his feet. Ultra feminine in his oversized shirt, breasts tilted up towards him by the movement of her arms.
She could have been some sexy modern day slave, begging.
And in that instant, staring down at her, he felt a hot, primitive force surge in him. The instinct to reach out and grab. His blood quickened, his body hardened at the sensual image. At the idea of making her his. At the ruthless need to conquer and possess.
Generations of al Akhtar blood ran in his veins. Generations of fighters, leaders of men, pirates. His ancestors had been renowned for their rapacious passion and the single minded pursuit of what they wanted.
Who could fight centuries of conditioning?
Already he could taste her sweetness like a drug on his tongue.
Every muscle tensed like iron and his pulse drummed hard in anticipation. He remembered the feel of her beneath him, the combination of softness and strength, and knew she’d be perfect for him.
He only had to reach out. To take.
And then he registered her wide stare, the confusion in her eyes.
Reality crashed upon him. He shook his head, trying to clear the miasma that fogged his brain.
`You’re injured,’ she said again.
Ìt’s nothing.’ His voice was brusque.
Her hands dropped to her knees, her clear bright gaze slid from his.
He was the worst kind of savage. Ill tempered because compassion, the rules of civilized society, his sense of responsibility, all proclaimed she wasn’t for him. He shouldn’t want her. Not so elementally, so viscerally.
Yet it was so.
The first time he’d looked into her eyes sizzling fire had blasted through him. It scorched him still. But he had an obligation to protect her.
`Let me see how badly you’re hurt.’ His voice was low, brushing across her sensitive nerves like the stroke of plush fur on bare skin.
Belle darted a look up and found him still watching her.
Instead of dark eyes to match his black-as-night hair, his eyes were a deep, clear green. An exact match for the enticing crystal water where she’d dived this past week.
She stared, enthralled by a flicker of heat in those cool, sexy eyes.
Yet his face was hard, its strong lines set with disapproval. Had he guessed her secret thoughts? Recognized the delicious thrill that shivered through her as he towered over her? Or her rush of excitement as he’d stripped off his shirt to reveal that powerful, muscular chest?
It took all her will power to keep her gaze fixed on his face, not follow the narrowing line of dark, masculine hair that invited her attention down his belly.
With his superb fitness, his air of supreme competence and control, he must belong to some elite rescue squad. The sort called in when things got really tough.
And with those looks he probably had adoring women throwing themselves at him with monotonous regularity.
No doubt he was hoping the wreck of a woman he’d just saved wouldn’t follow suit.
Embarrassment heated her cheeks as she watched his mouth firm into a narrow line. He knew what she felt, all right, but he was gentleman enough to ignore her weakness. If she was lucky he’d dismiss it as a product of post-traumatic stress. As she intended to.
`Ms Winters.’ In one supple move he sat before her and reached out one hand, palm up. `Let me see your wrists.’
Wordlessly she complied, sucking in a long, calming breath as he took her hands in his and concentrated his attention on her torn, bruised skin. She already knew the touch of those long, capable fingers, the brush of calluses against her flesh. But familiarity didn’t prevent the melting sensation that spread through her.
It’s Belle,’ she said at last, her voice uneven.
`Belle’ He paused, her name on his tongue, and fire shot down to the centre of her being. He lifted his head to meet her eyes. Ànd you must call me Rafiq.’
She nodded. `Rafiq’ She should have guessed even his name would be sexy.
`Your hands are knocked about, but with antibiotics to ward off infection they should heal’ He opened his hands and she slid hers out of his hold.
`Let me see your ankles now.’ He reached down and lifted her foot in one hand, gently brushing the sand away.
`Not too bad, considering,’ he said finally, after a close inspection.
Ìf you’re lucky you’ll only have minimal scarring.’
Belle nodded, relieved when he released her. His nearness, even the whisper of his warm breath against her skin, set her senses reeling. She was so utterly attuned to him she was sure he could read the longing in her gaze.