Shamed in the Sands. Sharon Kendrick
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and due to dine at the Sultan’s palace in a little under two hours. There wasn’t time to make love to her properly—no matter how gloriously accessible she appeared to be.
So for God’s sake, get rid of her!
But the moment he chose to push her away was the moment she chose to wind her arms around his neck and to move her body against his and to whisper something breathless in a language he didn’t understand. The breath died in his throat as heat pooled in his groin and he was helpless to do anything other than deepen the kiss. He could feel the mound of her pubic bone pressing against his growing arousal—making his erection exquisitely hard and almost painful. Her tiny breasts were flattening themselves against his chest and, for the first time all day, his body felt warm instead of filled with the cold and aching memories of the past.
Tearing his mouth away, he stared down into her face, trying to ignore the provocative trembling of her lips. ‘That was a mistake,’ he said unsteadily. ‘And I think you’d better get out of here before I make another one.’
‘But what if I want you to?’ she questioned breathlessly. ‘What then?’
He felt another fierce stab of arousal as she looked at him. Her eyes were wide. Wide and bright. Shining as brightly as the aquamarine studs at her ears. He could feel his senses warring with his moral compass. Send her away before it’s too late. But he couldn’t stop looking at her or wanting her. Her lips were soft and gleaming. They looked as if they had been specially constructed to accommodate his erection and to suck him dry.
He thought about the dull pain nailed deep into his heart and how her soft body could alleviate it—even for an hour. Because sex could obliterate pain, couldn’t it? He could feel his resolve slipping away from him, like sand through his fingers, and wondered if there was a man on earth who could have resisted what was being offered to him now.
‘I’m giving you one last chance to get out of here,’ he said unevenly. ‘And I’d advise you to take it and go.’
‘But I don’t want to go anywhere,’ she whispered. ‘I want to stay right here.’
‘Then I make no apologies for doing this,’ he said. ‘Which I have been wanting to do ever since you first walked in.’
He started to unbutton her shirt, exposing the silken flesh beneath, and another fierce jerk of desire shot through him. She was perfect, he thought. Just perfect. Her olive skin was dark against a brassiere so white that it looked as if she’d put it on new that morning. He drifted his fingertips over the gentle swell of her breast. ‘So what have you got to say about that, Leila?’
Beneath the tantalising touch of his fingers, Leila grew weaker still. Where were the nerves she should be feeling? And why did it feel so natural? As if she had been waiting all her life for Gabe Steel to touch her like this?
‘I think it’s gorgeous,’ she said, praying he wouldn’t stop.
‘I want to kiss your breasts,’ he vowed unsteadily. ‘Each beautiful breast which is peaking towards me, just waiting to be kissed.’
A pulse was hammering at his temple and Leila jerked with pleasure as he lowered his mouth to one tightening nipple. His dark blond head contrasted against the snowy silk of her bra, and she could feel the fabric growing moist as he sucked her. She squirmed in time to each provocative lick of his tongue, as helpless then as she could ever remember feeling. And suddenly she understood what all the fuss was about. Why sex was so powerful. Why people did such crazy things to get it.
‘G-Gabe,’ she gasped, the word stumbling over itself in disbelieving pleasure.
He lifted his head to stare at her, and suddenly his grey eyes were not so cold. They seemed bright with pewter fire.
‘I think we’re going to have to skip the next few stages,’ he said. ‘In fact, if I don’t get you horizontal in the next couple of minutes, I think I’m going to go out of my mind.’
He caught hold of her fingers and led her straight into the bedroom she’d seen earlier—the bed still in rumpled disarray.
Now slightly disorientated, Leila looked around in faint bewilderment because she had never seen a room in such a state before. In her ordered and enclosed world, a servant would have attended to it while she’d been in the shower—making the bed all neat and pristine again and tidying away her discarded clothes.
She had never been lowered down onto untidy sheets which were still rich with the scent of the man who had slept in them. Nor towered over by someone whose mouth was tight as he continued to undress her. She stared up at him but he wasn’t staring back. He was too busy removing her trainers and then unzipping her jeans as if he’d removed countless pairs of women’s jeans in his life.
He probably had.
Of course he had.
Leila remembered what she’d read about him on the internet. Fragments of information about all the beautiful models and actresses he’d dated came drifting back. Women infinitely more experienced than she was.
She felt the cold shiver of insecurity reminding her to face facts and not be swept away by fantasy. She knew what men were like. How they were guided by the heat in their loins or the weight of their own ambition. She knew that they viewed women simply as possessions or as adornments—or as vessels to carry children.
She must not forget that.
This might feel as if she were living out a scene from a film, but it wasn’t a film. This was real life and Gabe Steel wasn’t suddenly going to turn into some fantasy hero and fall madly in love with her.
She didn’t believe in that kind of love.
Her head fell back against the pillow as she felt the slide of his fingertips brushing over her thigh and suddenly it was difficult to think about anything, other than how good it felt.
He tugged the jeans down over her knees and she could hear the soft rustle as they fell to the floor.
‘Nice knickers,’ he murmured before deftly removing her bra and shirt.
Leila blushed at his words, telling herself this was normal. This was natural. ‘Thanks,’ she said, as if men complimented her on her choice of underwear every day of the week.
He tugged off his T-shirt and stood up to unbutton his jeans, and Leila was mesmerised as he peeled them off. Her heart began to pound with excitement as his body was revealed to her, for she had only ever seen a horse from the royal stables in such a state of arousal before.
Yet he seemed proud and unashamed of his nakedness as he walked across the room and retrieved something from his suitcase. Leila saw the glint of foil and the reality of what she was about to do suddenly hit her.
Because that was a condom; she was certain of it. She might never have encountered one before, but what else could it be?
She felt the icy clamp of sweat on her forehead as reality suddenly broke into her erotic thoughts. Did all women feel this sudden sense of panic the first time? The fear that she might disappoint him?
He was putting the item on the table beside the bed, and while she knew that she should be grateful to him for being pragmatic, it destroyed the mood a little. Why was real life so messy? she wondered bitterly. In films, you never saw any of this. Couples seemed to find themselves in bed together almost by magic and then the scene cut to them giggling as they ran down a street, usually in Paris. Not that she and Gabe Steel would be running anywhere here in Simdahab—at least not without the Sultan’s guards giving chase. And if he didn’t come back here and kiss her soon, she was going to get cold feet.
But almost as if he’d read her mind, he came back and lay down beside her. His body was warm, but his face was sombre as he traced a thoughtful line around her lips.
‘Suddenly so serious,’ he said, his grey eyes narrowing. ‘As if you’ve started having regrets. Have you, Leila? Because we can stop this right now if that’s what you want.’
Leila