The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride

Ì want…’ She hissed in a sharp breath as his teeth grazed the heel of her hand and she felt the hot, moist proof of her desire pool between her legs.

She curled her fingers tight round his and opened her eyes. He was so close, watching her with a smoldering intensity that snatched her breath away.

When she could summon the words she whispered, ‘I want you to make love to me.’

CHAPTER TEN

Her heavy lidded eyes darkened, her skin flushed with passion, her words echoed in the waiting stillness between them. And Rafiq knew he’d won.

The surge of triumphant elation that flooded his veins was so intense, so overpowering, that he froze, battling with all his strength to retain a semblance of composure. He felt it slam through him like a runaway train-the need to have her, take her, stamp his ownership on her in the most primitive and undeniable way.

He saw the unguarded longing in her eyes, smelled the unmistakable sweet scent of feminine desire, felt the dampening of her petal soft skin, and knew that she wanted him the way he wanted her. Now. Immediately. No preliminaries, no debate. Just the need to lose themselves in the mindless, dazzling passion that raged like a spiraling desert storm between them.

It would be superb. It would be cataclysmic.

It would be over almost before it had begun.

She deserved better than that. Much better.

He dragged in a breath, laden with the heady scent of her, and yielded to the impulse to taste her again, this time laving her palm.

He didn’t trust himself to take her mouth, not yet.

Even now, just knowing she was his, he was so hard, so ready, that a single unguarded movement could be catastrophic.

Her lids fluttered closed and she sighed. But she wasn’t content to wait for his lovemaking. She dragged her hand from his and reached for him, leaning forward to slip both arms over his shoulders and round his neck.

`Rafiq,’ she murmured in a voice of pure seduction. Her lips were parted, waiting, her body taut against his.

He’d been right, he thought grimly. Now that her formidable reserve had been breached and her passion unleashed, Belle had transformed into a houri, the most seductively dangerous woman known to mankind. Everything about her promised a heaven of earthly pleasures. The way she breathed his name with such longing almost betrayed him into surrendering to the temptation of instant gratification. Without conscious thought he clamped his hands on her waist: He felt her writhe beneath his hold, circling her hips in age old invitation. One more move and she’d find her trousers pushed down to her knees and him inside her, throbbing his release.

`Belle,’ he groaned. The very thought of sinking into her waiting warmth was too dangerous. It brought him to the brink of sanity.

Gritting his teeth, ignoring the internal howl of outrage, the biting need to take her instantly, he slid his hands away, shifted his body and found his footing. Before she could object he scooped her up against him, then stood with her cradled in his arms. He knew his hold was too tight, pressing hard into her flesh. But he was functioning on raw instinct, the voice of his better judgment barely audible over the blood rush of primitive emotions.

Her eyes opened wide, but she didn’t look around as he strode to the far corner of the tent, kicking cushions out from underfoot. Her eyes were fixed on his, their expression an in-definable mix of excitement, blazing heat and…trepidation?

Could it be? Fear, from his indomitable Belle?

It brought him up short at the edge of the vast sleeping platform.

But now, try as he might, he could no longer read the emotions in her eyes. Had that anxiety been real or an illusion?

It was too late, he realized as he lowered her to the silken coverlet.

Nothing could stop them becoming one. But that flash of doubt was enough to take the edge off his rapacious need to strip her clothes away and take her without further preliminaries. It restored just a fraction of his sense of responsibility.

`You asked me to make love to you, habibti,’ he murmured in a voice that sounded thick and strange to his ears. `Just relax,’ he said, as he skimmed his hands down her body, then back up to the buttons of her loose cotton shirt.

Relax! Belle stared into his strong, stem face and wondered if he realized how laughable, how impossible, was his command.

Each nerve in her body throbbed with unfulfilled desire, with days of wanting this man till her body screamed its need every time he touched her. Did he have any idea how desperate she was for this?

For his embrace? His kiss? His lovemaking?

His hands worked deftly at the buttons of her shirt, his touch deliberate, calm, slow. She bit into her bottom lip, trying to court the patience to lie passive beneath his ministrations, but it was impossible. She reached out for his shirt, caught the fine lawn in trembling fingers and fumbled at the first button.