Hidden in the Sheikh's Harem: Christmas at the Castello

But where was he?

Asleep on the deep divan in the adjoining room, as it turned out. His large frame was sprawled on his back, his bare feet hanging over the edge. At some point he must have changed because he was no longer wearing his wedding robes but low-riding sweatpants and nothing else... And, oh, but he was built.

Farah stilled, taking him in. She wanted to go to him and run her hands all over his gloriously golden-brown skin, petting the dark pelt of hair on his chest right where it arrowed down the centre of his lean torso like a tempting trail. Of course, she didn’t. She couldn’t think straight enough to unglue herself from the doorway for a start.

‘You’re awake.’

Farah’s eyes flew to his. So was he.

Obviously.

She swallowed, feeling vulnerable at having been caught staring at him. ‘Yes.’

He stifled a yawn. ‘It’s early.’ His eyes held hers, gleaming in the faint light.

‘I’m sorry did I...did I wake you?’

‘Not really. This sofa isn’t the most comfortable to sleep on.’

‘Oh, you should have...’ She gestured vaguely to the bedroom behind her. He was her husband. He would be sleeping with her from now on. Yesterday the thought had been horrifying but right now she couldn’t muster that same sense of dread.

‘Did you undress me?’ Her face flamed as soon as the words left her mouth. What was wrong with her? ‘I mean—’

‘Yes, I undressed you.’

‘Oh.’ She gripped the lapels of her robe together and glanced around, only vaguely aware of the beautifully appointed room cast in morning shadows. ‘I thought maybe you had servants.’

‘No.’ He swung his feet to the floor and stood up. Farah’s eyes returned to his large frame and her heart took off. ‘No servants here.’

Had he been that tall yesterday? That imposing? She suddenly felt very thirsty again. ‘Oh, well.’ She waved a hand around aimlessly. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’ Especially not when you’re only half-clothed.

‘I already said that you didn’t wake me.’

Right. So he had.

‘How’s the head?’

It took her a minute to realise he was referring to her drunken episode on the plane. ‘Um, good.’ His gaze dropped to the belt on her robe and she realised she was fidgeting with it. ‘So, thank you for taking care of me last night.’

A muscle knotted in his jaw. ‘My pleasure.’

The softness of his tone thumped into her breastbone, his tone full of sensual promise and a decadent passion she was finding harder and harder to resist.

But for some reason it seemed imperative that she did resist, some deep awareness warning her that it was too much. That he made her feel too much. And as if to prove her own point her nipples peaked beneath her robe as if he were already touching her, the delicate fabric of her bra chafing like sandpaper, yet not rough enough to ease the ache. Would his hands be able to do that? His mouth? Involuntarily her eyes lifted to his.

A gruff sound broke the heavy silence between them and Farah realised that her husband was no longer standing stationary across the room. He was moving, towards her, his long, panther-like strides eating up the space between them.

Farah didn’t move. She couldn’t. She just waited, and if she’d thought her breathing shallow before, that was nothing compared to now. When he reached her he stopped and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

The gesture tugged at her heartstrings. ‘Do you...do you want coffee?’ she asked on a nervous rush, her whole body taut with equal parts desire and dread.

‘Coffee?’ He shook his head. ‘No, my beautiful bride, I do not want coffee.’ He forked his fingers into the loose tumble of her hair. ‘I want you.’ He eased her forward until all that separated them was the thick cloth of her robe and his sweats. ‘Naked.’ She shuddered, completely mesmerised by the hunger burning in his eyes. ‘Untie the robe.’

Like someone in a daze, Farah fumbled with the knotted belt until the lapels hung straight down. She saw his nostrils flare and a thrill raced down her spine.

‘Now open it,’ he urged roughly.

Slowly, feeling as if she was in a hot whirlpool about to go under, Farah did, and then she was hard up against him, the tips of her breasts crushed against the solid wall of his chest. She made a sound, more like a whimper, and her knees gave out.

‘Yes,’ he growled right before he dragged her mouth up to his and kissed her.