Heart of a Desert Warrior

It didn’t matter. For a few brief hours, she would let her body be his, just not her heart.

He reached behind her to unclasp her bra. “You still wear such feminine underwear beneath your T-shirts and jeans.”

“I wasn’t wearing jeans tonight.”

“But you brought this with you regardless.” He drew the silky champagne lace bra down her arms and dropped it to the carpet under their feet.

She couldn’t deny it. She might dress like an asexual scientist most of the time, but underneath, her bras and panties were her one consistent feminine indulgence.

His large hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples.

She sucked in a breath.

Approval flared in his dark eyes. “So responsive.”

His gaze dipped low and she felt the caress of his eyes on her most sensitive flesh, though it was still hidden behind the stretch lace boy shorts that matched her bra. “This style is new for you. I like it.”

“It’s been six years since you’ve seen my underwear.”

“I’m keen to see what else you have in store for me.”

Which implied this was not a onetime deal. And she’d known that. He’d said as much when admitting he wanted her back in his bed, but this further proof that tonight was not their only and last night together still settled over her in an unexpected delight.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered in a guttural tone.

“Why don’t you?”

“I can’t stop touching you.” The admission affected something deep inside her she didn’t want reached and she almost pulled away.

But the way he played so intently with her breasts, giving her pleasure and so obviously taking his own from the caresses, made it impossible for her to deny him. Or herself.

Soon, they were both naked and lying together in the big bed, the covers tossed back. His hands mapping her body as if memorizing it, comparing it to memory and marking all the similarities and differences.

She could not remember a time they had made love before when he had been so intent on learning her every dip and crevice. Not even their first time together.

Something about tonight was different for him too, but she wasn’t about to speculate what that might be. She’d make the wrong assumptions as she’d done before and her heart couldn’t afford such mistakes again.

He leaned up over her, his regard serious. “You are the first woman I have brought to this bed.”

But he’d been married. “Badra?”

“Had her own room.”

Iris couldn’t imagine him having sex with his wife on that tiny bed, so Badra’s bed must have gone the way of her other things.

“Do you want me to be flattered?” she asked and then wished she could take back the facetious comment.

It might not be love, but this moment was too profound for sarcasm.

His tender smile said he was not offended. “It is I who am honored to have you here.”

So that was what he wanted, for her to feel honored by the distinction. And really? She did. Not that she was going to tell him so. It seemed like too much an admission to make after she’d opened herself to him in a way she’d been determined never to again.

“Kiss me, Asad.”

He did, a growl of desire sounding between them, his body moving over hers in that dominating way he’d always had. An aggressive lover, Asad filled her senses with his presence as he caressed her body with the clear intent to seduce and excite. He knew how to draw forth more than she ever intended to give and yet fill her with bliss in the way she responded to him.

She returned his touches, reveling in her ability to once again lay claim to the magnificent man above her.

Their kisses were incendiary, the fire burning inside her in no danger of being extinguished. Tense with need, her body remembered this man’s lovemaking and the capacity for pleasure he had taught her that she had.

He brought her to her first climax with his hand, his lips never leaving hers. Once he had swallowed all her cries as his due, he moved down her body, his mouth blazing a trail of heat and want that culminated in a renewed pulsing in the tender flesh between her thighs.

She found completion the second time with his mouth on her, his tongue lashing her clitoris with deft flicks, his hands roving her body and settling on her breasts as he manipulated her nipples to enhance her pleasure until she screamed with it.

She grabbed a pillow to stifle her cries, but he reared up and yanked it from her hand. “I want to hear every sound. I will have all of you.”

“But the tent walls…”

“Are far better at muffling sound than you would ever imagine, my sweet little Westerner.”

“That was the problem, wasn’t it?” she asked, her body still shuddering from the ultimate in pleasure, his resting between her wantonly spread thighs. “I was too Western for your people. Like your mother.”

“My grandmother was from the West, as well. She adapted.”

“But her son did not.”

“No. Why are we talking about my parents right now?” he asked as he thrust his hard and very impressive member against her.

“Because…” She let her voice trail off, unsure what she wanted to say, what she was willing to admit to.

Even though she didn’t want to be, she’d been trying to understand how he could let something so good go. What they’d had between them had been incredible, not just something that worked to relieve sexual tension.

“I might have been innocent, but even I knew we were amazing together. The sex was mind-blowing from the very first time.” And so had everything else between them been.

The dip of his head acknowledged the truth of her words.

“Why?” she asked, finally able to do so.

“I planned to marry Badra from the time I was eighteen.” And he was the type of man that when he had a plan, he stuck to it. Could it really have been that simple?

When she didn’t reply, he added, “There was no lack in you. Nothing missing from us.”

She just hadn’t been the Middle Eastern princess he’d wanted. “When you dumped me, I sure felt lacking.”

“No.” He kissed the join between her neck and shoulder, suckling up a love bite, and sent pleasure zinging through her. “You were the perfect lover.”

But not the perfect candidate for wife, even if Badra hadn’t been in the wings waiting. That much Iris understood.

Unwilling to dwell on a reality that she had no hope of changing, Iris offered, “You’re a pretty amazing lover, yourself, Asad.”

He moved over her body, reminding her of the stalking lion he’d been named for. “I would have you beyond amazed.”

“What, you want me passed out from pleasure?” she teased.

“It has happened before.”

Yes, it had. “Be my guest.” She waved languidly with her hand, as if it didn’t matter one way or another to her.

But they both knew it did. She’d never been indifferent to him. She never would be, but maybe, just maybe she would learn to move on from him.

“You have a serious expression I do not like,” he said with a frown. “You are not thinking of me.”

“Of course I’m thinking of you. Who else would I be thinking of while I am in your bed?”

He looked away, telltale color showing on his cut cheekbones. “I used to wonder.”

“What? Why?”

“You were not a virgin when you came to my bed the first time.” He met her eyes then. “I thought it mattered.”

Yes, he had, though she hadn’t known it. “If I recall correctly, it was my bed we used the first time, and I was as close to a virgin as you can get.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you think I’d had a string of lovers before you?”

“I preferred not to know details.”

Arrogant, possessive sheikh. Even though he’d had no intention of staying with her, he didn’t like to think of

anyone else with her, either. He didn’t deserve the truth, but maybe she deserved for him to know it.

Six years before, she’d thought her innocence obvious and had only learned otherwise when they broke up.

“I lost my virginity on a bet.”

“That is…a bet…” For the first time ever, she saw Asad bin Hanif al Sha’b Al’najid lost for words.

It made her smile despite the topic under discussion. “For my high school years, my parents placed me in a coed boarding school known for its science programs.”

At least they’d cared enough to take the advice of her middle school counselor on that.

“Yes?”

“There were the typical geeks and jocks, though most of the athletically gifted were highly intelligent, as well. It wasn’t easy to get placement in the school and required high marks on the standardized tests.”

“I imagine you did very well indeed.”

She had, but book smart didn’t equal people smart as she’d learned unequivocally her sophomore year. “I was the bookish, shy student who didn’t make friends easily.”

“Because you were afraid to let them in.”

“Partly.” And partly because she was socially awkward.

He gently tipped her head back toward him. “I would have been your friend.”