Postcards From Paris: Bound by His Desert Diamond / Amorous Liaisons / The Secret to Marrying Marchesi. Sarah Mayberry
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country as I see fit. His role is more that of a figurehead. He is temporarily unsuited to the rigours of leadership.’
So it was just as she thought. Zahir Zahani was the power and brains behind the success of Nabatean. She sat up a little straighter. ‘I hope that you will allow me to assist you?’ Determined that he should see some worth in her, she almost implored him. ‘I’m a hard worker and a quick learner. I’m sure I have skills that you can utilise.’
‘I’m sure you have.’ Zahir turned towards her, his eyelids heavy, thick, dark lashes lowered. ‘And I look forward to utilising them.’
The rasp of his words sent a tremor of anticipation through her. With the flames licking the shadows of his face, shining blue-black on his hair and gleaming in his eyes, she felt her heart pound, her body melt with the power of his raw sexual energy. There had been no mistaking the meaning behind his words. It pulsed from him, throbbed in the air between them, weakening her limbs with its promise.
Impulse made her reach for his cheek and gently run the back of her hand against it, feel the scratch of his stubble, the burn of the heat from the fire. Immediately he grasped her wrist, twisting her hand so that her fingers brushed his mouth and then, taking her index finger between his lips, holding it between his teeth, clenching down so that it was trapped, warm and damp from his breath, his bite hard but controlled. It was an action so unexpected, so intimate, and so deeply sexy that for a moment Anna could do nothing but stare at him, her whole body going into heart-stopping free fall.
She wanted more. She knew that with a certainty that thundered in her head, roared the blood in her ears and pulsed down low in her abdomen. She wanted him the way she had never wanted any other man in her life. She had no idea what would happen when it came to it, to the point where she had failed so pitifully before, but she knew she wanted to try. Right now.
THEIR GAZES CLASHED and Anna watched, spellbound, as the firelight danced across the surface of Zahir’s black eyes. Slowly, seductively, his tongue licked the tip of her finger, sending a wave of pure lust crashing over her. She waited, desperate for him to suck it into his mouth, and when he released his teeth and did just that she closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure, revelling in the rasp of his tongue, the powerful suck of his mouth, the graze of his teeth against her knuckles.
She craved more, the thought of the suck of that mouth against other parts of her body...against her nipples, her inner thighs, her most intimate place...building inside her like a fleeting promise that she had to grab on to before it was taken away from her, before it vanished into thin air. Opening her eyes, she saw him staring at her, solemn and unsmiling, but exuding enough sexual chemistry to decimate an entire country.
‘You leave tomorrow, Zahir.’ Leaning towards him, she placed her hands on his shoulders, running them over the rough wool of the thick army jumper he was wearing. She loved the feel of him, the strength of the muscles, the way the thick column of his corded neck carried the pulse of his veins. ‘I won’t see you again before the wedding.’
‘No.’ His voice rumbled, deep and low, between them.
‘If you wanted to make love to me...’ she hesitated, trying very hard to control herself ‘...beforehand—now, even, I mean—I wouldn’t object.’
‘Of course you wouldn’t.
Anna gasped at his chauvinistic attitude. But challenging it was going to be difficult when her body was still leaning in to him, inviting him, betraying her in the most obvious way.
‘Are you so sure of yourself that you think you can have any woman of your choosing?’
‘We are not talking about any woman. We are talking about my fiancée. You.’ He lowered his mouth, his breath fanning across her face.
Anna swallowed. ‘And that makes your conceit acceptable, does it?’
‘Acceptable, inevitable, call it whatever you like.’ His hand strayed to her neck, pushing aside the curtain of hair. ‘And as for having no say in the matter...’ Now his mouth was on her skin, the drag of his lips following the graceful sweep of her neck down to the hollow between her collarbone, muffling his words. ‘You and I both know that you’re desperate for me to make love to you.’
‘That is very...’ With her head thrown back to allow him more access to her throat, to make sure he had no excuse to stop lavishing this glorious attention on her neck, words were surprisingly hard to formulate. ‘Ungallant.’
This produced a harsh laugh. ‘I have never claimed to be gallant. Nor would you expect me to be. And, right now, I suspect gallantry is the last thing on your mind.’ He raised his head his eyes drilling into her soul. ‘Tell me, Annalina, which would you rather—a polite request to allow me access to your breasts, or an order that you remove your jumper?’
Anna gasped, the thrill of his audacious demand immediately shrivelling her nipples, producing a heavy ache in her breasts that rapidly spread throughout her body. It was outrageous, preposterous, that he should order her to strip.
‘I thought as much.’ Her second of silence was met with a growl of approval. ‘Do it now, Annalina. Take off your jumper.’
She stared back at him, dumbfounded by the way this had suddenly turned around. How her tentative attempt to initiate lovemaking had resulted in an order to obey.
But still her fingers strayed to the bottom of her woollen jumper and she found herself pulling it up over her head, taking the tee-shirt underneath with it, until she was stripped down to her bra, her naked skin gleaming in the firelight.
‘Very good.’ Zahir’s eyes travelled over her, his eyelids heavy, dark lashes flickering. Anna heard him swallow. ‘Now, stay still.’
Raising both hands, he held them in front of her, their span so large, their skin so dark, as they hovered over the lacy white material of her bra. They were shaking, Anna realised. She was making the hands of this warrior man shake. Slowly they closed over her breasts, the heat of them searing into her, roaring through every part of her, right down to her fingertips that prickled by her side. And when his fingers traced where the swell of one of her breasts met the lacy fabric, dipping into the hollow of her cleavage before moving to explore the other, she thought she would combust with the agony and the ecstasy of it.
‘Remove your bra.’
Reaching behind her, Anna did as she was told, any pretence of denying him or regaining control vanishing on the tidal wave of lust. As the bra fell to the floor, she kept her eyes fixed on Zahir’s face, determined that she should see, as well as feel, his every reaction. He let out a guttural growl that arched her back, pushing her breasts towards him, inviting him to take her.
And take her he did. Cupping her naked breasts, one in each hand, he touched her hardened nipples with the pads of his thumbs, starting a rhythmic circular movement that had her writhing in front of him. Then, lowering his head, he took one nipple in his mouth, his breath scorching against her as he slathered her with hot, wet saliva before moving to the puckered peak, teasing his tongue against it with a slow, drugging forcefulness.
Anna groaned, her body on fire, dampness pooling between her legs, her skinny jeans suddenly unbearably tight, horribly uncomfortable. She wanted to take them off—bizarrely she wanted Zahir to tell her to take them off. But first she needed him to attend to her other breast before she died of longing.
A ragged sigh escaped her when he did just that, his attention to her second breast no more hurried, no less glorious. Anna plunged her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to increase the pressure, to hold herself steady. She stared down, her eyes glazed, trance-like, as she watched his head rock against her, his mouth still working its incredible magic. And when he stopped, pulling away, ordering her to remove her jeans, she had no hesitation, falling over herself to stand up, undo the buttons and tug them down, cursing as they clung to her ankles and standing, first on one wobbly leg and then the other, as she