The Chatsfield: Series 2. Кейт Хьюит
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lifted her shoulder. “I suppose I might. It is very cold.”
“You could take it off.” His voice was rough, and it brushed against her nerves, sending a shower of sparks through her.
She nodded wordlessly, catching the hem of her top and tugging it over her head before she could think twice. For some reason, it did not seem embarrassing. For some reason, it seemed as natural as breathing.
She pushed the linen pants down her legs, and stepped out of them. She was only wearing her underwear now, Zayn’s eyes sharp, intense, as he looked her over.
Her hands shook as she reached around behind her and unclasped her bra, discarding it along with the rest of her clothes.
Zayn bent and picked up a blanket, holding it out to her. “Get warm.”
It was a command, and one she felt compelled to obey, even though she thought it was strange he wanted her to cover up now that she had uncovered.
She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, closing it in the front. And then she looked at Zayn, her mouth drying. He had pulled his shirt off, leaving him standing half-naked in front of her, his broad chest and slim waist on display. Every muscle was clearly defined, brushed lightly with the perfect amount of dark body hair. She’d been around half-naked men at pool parties, of course, but for some reason she had never been quite so conscious of all the skin on display. Perhaps because she had not been standing less than a foot away from them completely naked. Perhaps because she had not kissed them.
And perhaps because they hadn’t looked at her as though she was dessert and they were starving.
She started trembling again, and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.
He turned away from her, and pushed his pants down to the floor, her eyes widening when she saw his backside, the fabric of his dark underwear clinging tightly to his skin. Some mature, sensual part of her recognized that he was a work of art. While a much more prurient side of her nature only registered that he was hot and she wanted to touch him.
Of course, if she did touch him, she would have no idea what to do with him.
Really, she had only just got her first proper kiss a few moments ago. She didn’t think she was ready for more. She didn’t think she could possibly pull off more.
He turned back to her and she tried to redirect her gaze. “I think we would both be warmer if we laid down.”
“Sure.” She nodded dumbly, not entirely sure if she’d spoken, or if she had just stared at him like a dazed marmoset, all wide eyes and soaking wet hair.
He went over to the nest of blankets that was in the corner of the tent, and rearranged the pillows. She swallowed hard and went to where he was, sitting down alongside him, her blanket still wrapped firmly around her.
“You know, the quickest way to get warm is to be skin to skin,” he said, his tone grave.
She opened up the front of her blanket and adjusted herself, throwing one side over him and drawing herself beneath the same one he was under. Heart pounding she folded herself into his embrace. She rested her cheek on his chest, felt his heart raging against his skin. The hair over his skin was rough, the flesh beneath smooth and hot. She raised her hand and pressed her palm flat against him, reveling in the feel of him. In the differences between their bodies.
This moment should have been surreal, and yet it wasn’t. It was too sharp, too all-consuming. She was wholly in this moment with him, completely aware of who he was, who she was and what they were doing.
She lowered her head, resting it in the curve of his neck. He tightened his hold on her, one hand rested between her shoulder blades, the other on her lower back.
His breathing was ragged, fanning over her temple.
“I want...” She didn’t know quite what to say, because she didn’t know quite what she wanted. She only knew that her heart was raging out of control, that she felt shaky, that she felt needy. And she knew he had the answer. “I want—”
He cut off her words with a kiss, a gentle one, a soft one. This wasn’t a claiming, but a tasting. A question.
She slid her hands up his chest, and locked them around his neck, deepening the kiss. She could feel his arousal, hardening beneath her hip. She shifted, bringing his hardness between her thighs.
He moved, bracing his weight on his arms, settling between her legs. His dark eyes bored into hers, his focus unwavering.
“Sophie—” his voice was rough “—do you know what you’re asking for?”
Pressure built in her chest, built in her body, squeezing her throat tight. All she could do was nod. And she hoped she was being honest.
This seemed like the right time. It seemed like the right place.
He seemed like the wrong man. Engaged to another woman, the ruler of a country worlds apart from her own. A man who controlled the fate of the nation, a man who held the fate of millions in the palm of his hand.
He seemed like the wrong man, but at the same time he seemed like the only man. Because no one else had come close to this, no one else had made her feel this way.
Attraction, lust, it always seemed like something terrifying to her. Something to be avoided. It had seemed like great bouts of weeping, depression and a stalled-out life that was enslaved by one person who held all the control, all in the name of something that was supposed to be love.
But this wasn’t like that at all. This had been so easy. So easy to kiss him. So easy to take her clothes off for him. So easy to lay down with him, and let him take her into his arms. It was right in a way she had never imagined something like this could be.
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before lifting his head and looking into her eyes, sweeping her hair out of her face. Yes, when she looked at his face it made it all feel very easy.
She had to wonder at who she was right now, at who this woman, lying in a desert tent in the arms of a man who should feel like a stranger, was. Because a week ago this wouldn’t have been possible. A week ago she would never have been able to imagine this.
She didn’t know what she was doing, and it was okay. For the first time it was okay. Because she had stripped off her clothes in the tent, but she had stripped off her armor down at the bottom of the mountain. And now she could feel everything. Every touch, every whisper against her skin, unprotected, vulnerable, exposed. But it wasn’t scary.
It was right. It was everything.
“Sophie,” he said her name again, “I need you to say you want this. I need to know.”
“Of course I do, Zayn.” She put her hand on his cheek, kept her eyes on his. “How could I not? I think this was always going to happen. From the very first.”
Whether it made sense or not, there had been something compelling about him from the instant they’d laid eyes on each other. Something different. Whether it made sense or not, knowing him had begun changing her from that very first moment.
“Nothing is inevitable. Isn’t it all about choices? Weren’t you just saying that?”
Something shifted inside of her, an avalanche of feelings pouring through her. “Yes, it is about choices. I had a choice when we met. If I had told you I was leaving, you would have let me go. I’m confident in that now. You didn’t force me, even if you did manipulate the situation. I chose to come with you. I’m choosing to be here now. I’m choosing this.”
“I shouldn’t,” he said.
Her heart squeezed tight. “I know.” Because she did know, she knew that this didn’t make sense. But she also knew she needed it. Needed him. “Doesn’t it feel like we’re the only ones in the world?”
“Out here it’s easy to believe,” he said.
“Yes, a little bit