Page 10 of The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

Immediately he caught her by her upper arms and their bodies clashed. Both breathed fast as their eyes combated in iron-wills.

“Now you’ll do the right thing and your skin will be protected.” His voice so close his breath fanned on her cheeks, a lock of his obsidian hair falling on his forehead.

Her arms trapped between them, she found herself unable to move. His manly scent wafted to her and clouded her senses. She met his eyes head on, as a hot wave cut through her.

"How do you manage to squeeze all this fire in that senseless corset, Lady Lucinda?" His scornful whisper caressed her.

Her eyes burned on him, as much as her body responded to his proximity. "You don't have the right!"

“You may try, but you’ll not succeed in clamping your wit, your fire or your determination in those tasteless layers!” He provoked in an almost inaudible hot breath

She cursed his sharpness in assessing her. She doubly cursed her breath coming in short, insufficient intakes, triply cursing the unprecedented, unwelcome waves rippling through her, making her tear between mort

al anger and suicidal attraction.

If someone asked Tariq how they came to be locked in this jumble of arms, breath and storm, he’d never be able to recount it. The woman tested his sanity to breaking point. Anger and fiery desire mingled in him, shoving clear mind to the desert winds.

His cognac eyes perused her wide, fuming green eyes, her parted rosy lips and his gaze fell on the ivory skin that the dress and the chemise revealed for his torment. He’d never cared for that whitish, unhealthy shade on a woman, but now… Oh, now…it seemed the most compelling view since the beginning of time. His eyes continued pleasuring themselves with the view. Creamy and enticing. He tried closing his eyes, because, if he continued staring, he’d go mad. One short breath. Two short breaths, three… He never realized he’d moved, but his parted lips touched her impossibly soft shoulder and it threw him in an agonizing paradise. Her skin was soft, warm, her womanly scent setting him ablaze. His breath fled in a groan of delight and it was impossible to stop grazing that patch of what became the entire world to him. His head moved right, left, right, left in a feather-like caress, savouring every inch of that tormenting heaven.

The moment his stubbed lips touched her, a boiling wash of sensation poured over her. Chocolate hair fell back and a sigh escaped her parted lips. She wanted more, so much more, and she didn’t even know what more meant. But his stubbed lips incandesced her untried skin leaving want and fire in its wake. He softened his hold and her palms opened to feel his muscled chest over his white kaftan. She wanted her palms to rover over all of his tall strong body. She wanted to touch and see him with her senses, she wanted to dive in those sensations and never again surface. Society, conventions be damned!

“Tariq.” Someone outside the closed tent called.

Tariq startled and released her, with heavy, short breath. Something in Arabic came from him, eyes clasped on hers.

Lucinda almost lost balance with his sudden parting. Her gaze stared at him lost, her thoughts confused, a vague upset feeling at the interruption.

Tariq couldn’t get a hold of himself either. Dissatisfaction and frustration tore at him, causing a sour taste to emerge. No discernible speech was available and his hunger swallowed him. In a tense gesture, he raked his hand through his sleek obsidian hair, turned and left.

Lucinda’s weak legs gave and she sat trembling on the cushions. Her head in her hands, shaking from one side to the other. What kind of starving wanton was she anyway? All the man had to do was touch a few inches of skin and she reacted in shameful total abandon! She’d never behaved like this with any man in her life. Physical contact with the gentlemen in her circle did not survive in her memory, she’d never craved it and even less reacted to it. The desert sun must be frittering her brains. And it had to stop! At once!

Not that she didn’t understand the mechanics of what happened between men and women in intimacy. Her lady’s maid used to be very...graphic when Lucinda became bold enough to impart a few tentative question. But the reality of it had never stuck her as pleasant. Not until this day at least. The way she responded whenever Tariq neared her could only be described as astounding. Something she preferred to forget, though. Standing up, she tried to shake the thoughts and sensations from her whole being.

Tariq busied himself with whatever there was to do, but the warmth of her continued on his lips. The want was gnawing and he had not in the best of moods. He ate with his men around the fire and kept talking to them for a long time.

Lucinda ate the dinner Aziz brought, understanding that in his world, women were supposed to remain in secluded places. Naturally, women were who travelled with caravans in the desert, accompanying their husbands, fathers or brothers. They had a tent only for themselves and remained inside it the entire time of the camping.

So, Lucinda didn’t venture outside the tent. But the rug on the ground witnessed a great deal of pacing. She dreaded the time Tariq would come to sleep. And was damned excited about it. Apprehension at the incandescent intensity he made her experience nagged at her. All of this so new to her, as she’d never had these sentiments before. The desert put her away from everything familiar, in hostage, and without a clue as to what would happen next. This situation would interfere with the manner she reacted to it. And she wondered if she wasn’t overreacting. Possibly, yes. But this earthquake passion he suffused in her? No, it didn’t seem likely. She paced some more, with her chin on her joined hands. The lamp beside the mattress on the floor made her shadow long and gave a reddish glow to the carpeted space. The hour grew late, anyway, and he did take his time out there with his men.

She decided to take out her torn dress and corset and sleep in her chemise. It’d be more comfortable and Tariq always left the tent before dawn, too dark for him to see her in it. The night was chilly as she hurried to tuck herself under the blankets. To drowse off at once.

Tariq came in and tied the strings to prevent the opening from flapping with the night’s cool breeze. All his men had retired, except Mustafa, who was scaled for the first watch. There was no postponing lying down beside the woman he craved more than he ever thought possible. It’d be a hell of a night. He turned to the mattress, the lamp still burning on his side of it. Her dress and corset folded neatly beside her on the rug. He groaned inwardly. What did she wear? That lacy thing he saw under her dress? The image made his body react instantly at the memory of her skin against his lips. The glow from the light played on her dried-dates tress, lending it a copper glitter. This would be a very, very difficult night!

He lay down with his back to her and put off the lamp. The complete darkness and silence amplified the intimacy of their bed. He found it unfeasible to avoid remembering about what had happened earlier. He imagined how it would be to undress those tasteless layers and uncover her glorious hour-glass shape.

No. No. No! Stop it. Now!

But certain parts of his body responded eagerly and he became hard. He visualized himself in degustation of all of her. Oh, damn, he went rock-hard. He was ready. Ready to bury himself in her and end this agony. This couldn’t continue, with him on the fringe of losing control.

Lucinda had surfaced from her light doze the moment he came in. She pretended to sleep, but sensed all his movements around the tent. And when he lay down, her heart unleashed. His proximity bore steamy images in her head and a sharp sensation gathered in her core. She resisted an urge to move, to turn to him. And what?

Keep still! She ordered herself.

It was when she sensed him sitting up. Her breath caught. What now? Rustles told her he stood and left the tent. After a while he came back, but she had fallen asleep.

Tariq jumped from bed in an impulse and stepped out in the cold desert wind. He needed relief or he’d go mad. Maybe, he’d gone too long without a concubine. He’d take care of this as soon as he arrived in his villa in Tunis. For the time being, this provisory solution would have to do. As he held himself in his hand, dried-dates hair and pepper-mint eyes migrated in his fantasies.

CHAPTER FIVE

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