The Sheikh Who Married Her: One Desert Night / Strangers in the Desert / Desert Doctor, Secret Sheikh. Maggie Cox
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saw that Farida was no longer ensconced in the armchair. Someone else had taken her place. It was Zahir.
Her heart thudding, she tried to rub the sleep from her eyes to focus better on the dark, haunting face that was almost in complete shadow.
‘I could not stay away, rohi. Did you think I could?’
He got up from the chair and came to the bedside. To Gina’s captivated senses his shoulders seemed extra wide tonight, and he was tall—so tall. His hypnotic dark eyes and disturbingly handsome features had never been so powerfully affecting and beguiling. With his unbound ebony hair and the black robes that covered his strong masculine form he resembled nothing less than a mythical prince—a prince who had perhaps reigned here at the same time as the necklace that held the Heart of Courage was created.
‘I’m glad you came,’ she whispered.
The tips of his fingers softly grazed her cheek. ‘I want to take you somewhere. Are you up to making a small trip?’
‘A trip where?’
‘Not far.’ Gentle humour briefly stretched the corners of his mouth.
Needing no second bidding, Gina swung her legs over the side of the bed. Some time between her eating her meal and falling asleep Farida had helped her into one of her long white cotton nightgowns. The material clung to her bare body underneath, then fell away down to the floor as Zahir helped her to her feet.
‘You will need your slippers,’ he instructed, smiling. He held her hand as she reached down for the soft sequinned shoes beside the bed and slipped them on.
They walked beneath the shadowed light of a crescent moon through the gardens. The powerfully drugging scents of jasmine and orange blossom infiltrated Gina’s blood as they moved silently beneath grand mosaic arches towards a destination that was unfamiliar to her.
Ahead of her, in an enclosed private garden, an open fire glowed fiercely, hissing sparks like the forge from a smithy. Just behind it an imposing Bedouin tent rose up. Above them the inky night sky was peppered with a million, zillion stars … too many to count.
She glanced sidelong at Zahir. His hand still firmly held onto hers. ‘Who sleeps here?’
There was a glimpse of strong white teeth amid the dark shadow of his face. ‘I do.’
At his instigation, Gina preceded him inside the tent. She gasped at the wondrous atmosphere that greeted her invitingly—an atmosphere created by the hand-woven walls and ceiling, the medley of satin and silk pillows liberally scattered, and the colourful, intricately patterned hand-stitched rugs that covered the floor. Apart from the glow of the open fire, a single Moroccan lamp with a flickering candle burning inside was the only illumination. The shadows it threw onto the material walls mesmerised and danced like ghosts.
Moving across the soft rug-covered floor, she turned to rest her back against one of the sumptuous pillows. ‘It’s so beautiful …’ Her voice was respectfully hushed, as though she had sneaked inside a church in the middle of the night. ‘Magical.’
Saying nothing, Zahir reached for the topmost corner of the tent flap and closed the opening that had been there previously. Then he took off his long leather boots and, briefly opening the tent flap again, put them outside. Crawling over to her on all fours, he carefully, silently removed Gina’s slippers and laid them aside. Then, bending his dark head, he reverently kissed her feet.
That simple, astonishing act released the flood of emotion she’d been desperately trying to hold back for days, and when he raised his gaze to hers she could hardly find her voice to speak. Instead, she simply held out her arms for him to fill them. His kiss when it came was satin and fire, summer heat and electrical storm. It was pure undiluted heaven.
When his lips left hers, to bury themselves against her throat and then the shoulder his hand had left bare by tugging down the sleeve of her nightgown, her body was so restless for his possession that she had to bite her lip to quell a desperate plea for him to simply just take her. But Zahir’s burning eyes told Gina that he knew what she needed, what she ached for in the deepest core of her being, and he knelt in front of her, lifted her gown above her head and let it fall softly against the rug.
Lightly shaking his head, he sat back on his heels to survey her nakedness with something that looked like wonder. ‘You are ravishing. I am all but stunned to silence at seeing you like this. One thing I know for sure … your beauty is beyond compare,’ he uttered, low-voiced.
The tips of Gina’s breasts prickled hotly, as though glanced by a burning brand. They seemed to grow hotter and harder still beneath his uninhibited hungry examination. When he put his mouth first to one and then the other to suckle Gina dragged her hands through the glossy strands of his hair greedily, to keep him there, moaning softly as the edges of his teeth nipped her. By the time he hauled her against him, she sensed his desire was at breaking point.
‘Undress me,’ he ordered huskily.
Almost crying with need, Gina started to carry out his order. But when he was bare-chested her busy hands grew still for a moment. Her gaze had fallen on the wound at his side, covered with a clean white dressing.
Cupping her face between hands that were warm and callused, suggesting that he wasn’t unfamiliar with hard physical graft, Zahir dismissively shook his head. ‘Do not be concerned that you might hurt me. I have waited too long for this moment to let anything stop me now. You are in my blood like a fever, rohi. I am like a starving man at a banquet, seeing you like this. Now I will wait no more.’
The sheer beauty of his sculpted masculine physique made Gina gasp. Bare, his shoulders, torso, abdomen, hips and long well-shaped legs were pure hard muscle and bone, shielded by supple bronzed flesh, and on his chest swirled dark soft hair. Here and there were healed nicks and cuts that confirmed her opinion that he was a man who revelled in the physical challenges of life—whether it be riding his stallion through the hills and plains, as Farida had told her he liked to do, climbing high into the mountains to fearlessly confront a band of rebels, or practising sword-fighting with his guards.
But any further thoughts were stemmed as he laid her down amongst the satin pillows, passionately stroked his warm tongue into her mouth and kissed her. The deeply stirring caress had the effect of an incendiary device imploding inside her. As she reeled from the impact, molten heat like lava flowed through her bloodstream. She couldn’t bear to have her body apart from his for another second.
Moving her hands from the firm flanks between his ribs and hips down to the proud, silky manhood that nudged against her belly, Gina hungrily clasped him. Zahir couldn’t suppress a groan, and his answering smile was lascivious and knowing.
Paying her back in kind, he boldly prised apart her thighs, to plunge his fingers inside her moist silky heat. Her breath was all but punched out of her lungs for a moment, and dizzyingly she voraciously welcomed the bruising urgency of their mouths, teeth and tongues as his deeply rhythmic exploration took her higher and higher, winding her so tight that she almost couldn’t bear it.
When her violent release came she collapsed, shuddering beneath him, emotion swamping her like an unstoppable tide. Hot, helpless tears streamed down her face, and Zahir gathered her into his arms. As he held her his lips rained kisses on her mouth, cheeks and unbound hair, until the tearful spasms slowly died away. ‘It is all right. There is nothing to fear any more, my angel. I am here with you, and I will hold you and keep you safe all night.’
Hiccoughing, Gina laid her head against the warm silky hair on his chest and sighed. Through the weave of the fabric tent walls the dance of bright flame from the fire outside gradually dimmed. Inside, here in Zahir’s strong arms, she realised she’d never felt safer. An intense feeling of calm suddenly came over her. The spectre of the man who had sought to abduct her faded away. He wouldn’t haunt her dreams any more—not tonight at least.
Her hand drifted idly down over Zahir’s flat taut abdomen, then lower still. If she’d thought that her desire had been spent in that wildly emotional release just now, she realised how wrong she’d been.