The Desert Lord’s Bride

His voice was tight with control when he murmured, “We’ll spend what remains of the day roaming the island. What we don’t cover today, we will in the days to come.” His voice dropped an octave. “We have all the time in the world.”

He’d read her mind again. And this was his answer. Showing her that he was starving for her, too, with the incontestable evidence of his body. But his words were equally clear.

When he’d said they’d go slow, he’d really meant it.

And suddenly it scared her.

She’d thrown away her wariness at Shehab’s first touch, would have braved any recriminations or repercussions to be one with him, once, in those gardens. When he’d offered slower, more, she’d snatched at the offer that was so much better than what she would have happily settled for.

Even when he’d invited her here, she’d had no expectations beyond the satisfaction of her unstoppable desire for him. She’d been ecstatic that someone like him existed, that she provoked the same desire in him, delirious at anticipating what she’d given up on ever experiencing, a man who set her every cell singing with life. She hadn’t hoped for a second the affair would last for longer than it took for him to move on. She’d accepted it without the least resentment or longing for more. It would have been enough to last her a lifetime.

But now he was offering her what she’d never dreamed any man would-time. And not just time spent seducing her, but time to savor her, her, not her body. As he’d promised, as she hadn’t understood, or believed. As she now did.

And she knew what that time would do.

Time would destroy the simplicity of the equation. She wouldn’t be satisfied with the purity of a physical and transient relationship. If she got to know the man inside the male, undiluted by physical involvement, she might start to think there could be even more. This was a hurt she wouldn’t come back from.

She wanted to beg him not to compound the addiction she could already feel taking hold within her, not to set her up for frustration. For devastation. But for once, something stopped her from confessing her thoughts, her vulnerability. She had no right to burden him with her fears and frailties, to demand that he modify his behavior to observe them. But she could modify her own behavior. If she were sane, she’d lay down her rules and leave if he refused them. But she’d lost her mind…

She should still try to change his.

She slid up his body, rubbing against his unyielding steel, tasting his neck, biting into the sculpture of his lower lip, groaned her plea when he opened to her on a growl of pleasure. “We can explore tomorrow. Today, I only want to explore you…”

He stemmed her entreaty, thrusting into her recesses, draining her until she sagged in his arms. “And you will explore me. And I will explore you, claim you, do everything to you.”

He surged up, sweeping her around and beneath him and her eyes stung, filled, with relief. And disappointment. There’d be no more waiting. There’d be no more.

But he rose from the bed, in one impossible movement scooping her up in his arms and striding to the other end of the room, entered a huge, exquisitely outfitted dressing room.

He laid her down on a sofa facing a wall-to-wall mirror before heading to the closets paneling the walls. Through a sliding door he gathered clothes that looked like replicas of his, and came back to her. Then he kneeled in front of her. He held one foot after the other, slipped off her sandals, then, as in the gardens, he pressed one to his heart. This time when his lips hovered over her flesh, they descended, made contact.

She arched on a spasm of emotion, at the sight of him, the feel, the very idea of him kissing her foot.

“I’ve never waited for the gratification of my desires, ya galbi.” His voice was gruff, driven as he dragged his lips and tongue over the arches of her feet, the backs of her calves, the insides of her thighs. She was quaking, begging when he withdrew, swept the clothes over her lap. “But I can wait if it’s for you. I can wait until everything is perfect.”

Just perfect.

Farah glowered at the Byzantine-style woodcarving that hung at the entrance to Shehab’s stables. The thermometer nestling in its intricacy stood at 112°F. In the shade. She wondered if it was reading the atmosphere’s temperature or hers.

Even an hour after that episode in her bedroom, after a perfect meal and a real shower and a change into the clothes he’d picked out for her, she was still sizzling. Everything he did or said kept her simmering. Before leaving her to go and deal with some details, he’d urged her to go inside the stables out of the heat and given her a kiss that had her a breath away from meltdown.

She stumbled into the interior, seeking its coolness. The sun was merciless even during its descent, but Shehab had made sure she was protected from all its dangers. Cool, flowing clothes, constant hydration and her every exposed part covered in sunblock. He’d seen to that himself, with meticulousness that had left her feeling more burned than any ultraviolet exposure could have caused. She’d assured him from distant memory that she’d always handled sun and heat well. He’d countered, not sun like this. She hadn’t been built for it, hadn’t been drenched in it from birth like he had been. He had to acclimatize her to it gradually, would never forgo any precaution. He couldn’t be too careful with her.

She thought he could be. He was. Too careful with her. And it was starting to mess with her sanity.

She pushed her sunglasses over her head. As her vision adjusted, a silver mare materialized out of the gloom, patiently standing in the aisle wearing a saddle and bridle. She was looking straight at her, and, Farah could swear, was stunned to see her. In the next second she whinnied and tossed her head. And, wow, what a beauty.

She’d seen enough Useel, purebred Arabian mares, in her father’s stables to recognize one. This one was remarkable even by his fanatical standards. Which figured. There was no way Shehab had anything but the best. The horse stood at least 15 hands, with an impressive depth of chest. Her short head had a beautiful concave profile, a broad forehead and wide jowls.

Farah’s admiring scrutiny faltered. The mare was trotting toward her, ears tucked, nostrils flared, snorting an unmistakable threat…

“Ablah.”

At Shehab’s admonition, the mare at once stopped and perked up her ears, her prominent eyes all but grinning sheepishly.

Farah swung around to him. “I hope that’s not your most accommodating mare.”

“Actually, she is.” He caught his lower lip in his teeth, his face ablaze with wickedness. “I like my horses spirited.”

“Yeah, and it seems you train them as guard dogs, too.”

“She doesn’t usually see strangers. She was probably wary of you.”

She smirked. “She didn’t seem wary to me, and I’m no longer sure I want to reprise my long-bygone equine experience.”

He gave her a considering look, then turned to the mare. “Ablah…ta’ee hena.” Ablah trotted to him at once, nuzzled him in the shoulder. He held her face in his hands, murmured in Arabic. Ablah shifted uncomfortably, looking positively shamefaced.

Farah was incredulous. “What did you say to her?”

He gave Ablah a stern look. “That I was upset with her because she wasn’t nice to you, that you’re the woman I crave.”

“That’s supposed to make her more amenable toward me? I bet that’s why she wasn’t nice. She’s jealous as hell.”

He huffed a chuckle. “She’s a horse, Farah.”

“She’s a mare, Shehab. I bet you have females of every species swooning within a hundred-mile radius.”

He flashed her a smile that left her wanting to flip down her sunglasses. “Though I’d be appalled to think every female rat and shrimp around were wiggling their whiskers at me, I’ll snap this up as the compliment I’m sure you meant.” She narrowed her eyes at him, stuck out her tongue. He laughed, pinched her cheek softly. “I can assure you Ablah won’t try to get rid of the competition. But if you’re not comfortable, I’ll ride her, and you can ride Barq.” He patted the neck of the other horse, which a stable hand had just led up to them, placing the reins in Shehab’s hand. “He’s taken with you.”