Midnight in Arabia. Trish Morey

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       CHAPTER EIGHT

      FOR the second night in a row, Iris found herself walking with Asad toward her room at bedtime. It was much later this night though, the last of Asad’s guests having just left.

      “There is one chamber you have yet to see in my home,” he said as they reached her door.

      She’d spent the last hours of the party wrestling with what to do about Asad and had come to a decision.

      One thing was certain—he wasn’t giving up. She knew how determined he could be and was under no illusions that this time would be any different. He wanted her. He would do his best to get what he wanted.

      She could spend the next few weeks doing her level best to avoid him and stifle her own desire for him, but she was not convinced of her own ultimate success.

      If she let herself love him again, she was lost. There was another option though, wasn’t there?

      She’d come to believe that sharing his bed again would help heal her heart. Sometimes the only way to rebirth in life was through the fire. Just like a Phoenix. She would be the one to leave this time and because of that she would not spend the next six years seeing his face every time she looked with interest at another man.

      She’d come to the conclusion that the way out of the isolated existence her life had become was the same way into it. Through Asad. This time she knew he wasn’t looking for a future with her and she would not allow herself to look for one either … or fall in love with him again.

      That would dictate the difference in the outcome. It had to.

      “You’re right.” Her voice was husky, but not tentative. One thing her feelings about this man had never been was tentative. “I haven’t seen your room.”

      “Would you like to?”

      “It will not offend your grandparents?” Iris was not naive enough to believe they would not figure it out, even if she left Asad’s bed in the wee hours as she meant to.

      This kind of thing always seemed to get out eventually. Physical intimacy had a way of showing itself, even when those involved did their best to hide it. And Asad was too proud and arrogant to even try.

      Iris was no good at hiding her emotions, even if she wanted to. She would show the change in her relationship with the sheikh, even if she did her best not to.

      He pulled her around to face him, his expression dark and serious. “I am sheikh now. There is no offense in me doing as I see fit in my own home.”

      She took leave to doubt that culturally it was easy as that, but then this man lived by his own rules, no matter how traditionally Bedouin he could be at times.

      “Your arrogance is showing again.”

      “I am certain of my place.”

      She nodded, for the moment equally certain of hers. “Show me.”

      His nostrils flared and his eyes burned her. “It will be my pleasure.”

      “If I remember right, the pleasure was always very mutual.”

      “Yes.”

      He led her into his room and she was surprised to discover that the chamber was the same size as hers, but the bed was much bigger. Covered in pillows and a silk quilt embroidered with a roaring male lion in the center, it was easily twice the width of her bed. Between it and the sparse furniture, there was no extra room as in her chamber.

      The sound of rustling clothes had her looking back toward him only to discover he was already disrobing, his kuffiya discarded, revealing dark hair that framed his fierce features even better than the head covering had done. He’d also tossed off the ornate robe he’d worn to the feast. Under it he had on the traditional loose trousers and … an Armani shirt?

      She grinned.

      “What?” he asked, arrested in his movements while looking at her.

      “You’re wearing Armani with your traditional garb.”

      He shrugged. “I prefer their shirts.” He dropped his trousers. “And their shorts.”

      Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his muscular legs. Darker than they used to be, and rippling with even more muscle she wanted to touch.

      There was a time when she had believed that body belonged to her. She knew now that it did not, but she could still revel in the knowledge that as long as she shared his bed, for all intents and purposes, it might as well be hers.

      “Nice,” she said, unable to hide the catch in her voice.

      His hardness pressed against the black silk of his Armani boxers, letting her know that his desire for her was real. He unbuttoned the shirt, letting it fall open to reveal the sprinkling of black curls that lightly covered his chest and abdomen.

      “You used to shave that,” she observed.

      He frowned momentarily. “I was trying to be more urbane.”

      “But why would you want to? You were always so proud of your heritage.” It was one of many things about him that had impressed her.

      Asad had known who and what he was in a way she had still been trying to achieve for herself. But maybe, he hadn’t had it as together as she’d believed. That knowledge cast the past in a different light once again, one that eased old hurts even further.

      She’d made the right decision to let him make love to her. This coming together would be healing … it already was.

      “Another time, we will discuss these things.” He moved toward her. “But now is not the time for talking.”

      She wouldn’t argue. It had been six years since she felt the level of excitement coursing through her body now and he hadn’t even kissed her yet.

      He rectified that with a swift movement, bringing their bodies flush and their mouths together in perfect union. Passion and need exploded inside her with nuclear power.

      Everything she’d been suppressing for six years, but especially over the past two days broke through her mental restraints, making her body strain against his even as her lips gave him kiss for kiss, caress for caress.

      He broke his mouth from hers, gasping. “It’s been so long. Too long.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ