Historical Romance: April Books 1 - 4. Marguerite Kaye

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       Chapter Eight

      Christopher pulled his tunic over his head, revealing a deeply tanned, lean and very muscled torso, his ribcage expanding as he raised his arms, the muscles of his stomach rippling. There was a smattering of dark-gold hair across his chest, which arrowed fascinatingly down to the belt of his trousers. His nipples were flat, dark discs, completely unlike her own. A scar, a pale, jagged line on his left side marred the otherwise sheer physical perfection of his body. ‘How did you come by that?’ Tahira asked.

      ‘The result of a slight altercation with a pasha’s bodyguard.’

      Any other time, she would have asked him to elucidate, but right now, she was frozen, mesmerised by his body, so completely different from the illustrations in the explicit little textbook, so completely different from her own too. She wanted to touch him, but there was a world of difference between theory and practice, a world of difference between her fevered imaginings and the reality of this flesh-and-blood man.

      ‘Tahira, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You can change your mind at any point.’

      ‘I haven’t changed my mind.’ Embarrassment made her sound as if she had. If Christopher thought for a moment that she was unwilling, that she needed persuading—she knew enough of his demons to be certain it would put an end to the prospect of having even a swim together. I would never, ever take such vile advantage, he had said to her. That discussion had brought their perfect night to an abrupt end. This perfect night had barely begun. She would not make the same mistake twice.

      Tahira took a deep breath and unfastened the buttons which held her tunic in place. Blushing, but keeping her gaze fixed on him, she let the garment slither to the sand. There was no mistaking the flare of desire in the way his eyes widened, in the sharp intake of his breath as he looked at her. Her breasts would be clearly outlined under the flimsy chemise, she knew. As his gaze flickered down, she could feel her nipples hardening. He liked what he saw. She liked what it did to him.

      Gaining confidence, she kicked off her boots. Her toes curled into the cool, damp sand. She waited, casting him a challenging look and he laughed when he understood her meaning, kicking off his own boots. His feet were surprisingly slender and very pale. Tahira took a step towards him, untying the sash which held her trousers in place.

      Colour slashed his cheeks, but his hand caught her wrists. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

      She smiled then, knowing that her desire was reflected in her smile, confident now, despite her lack of experience. ‘Certain, Christopher,’ she said, and this time he believed her. His gaze was riveted on her hands as she untied the sash, letting the wide trousers drop to the sands. A sharp exhale again. He said her name, a low groan as he looked at her, clad only in her chemise and her short dizlik drawers, tied with lace at her knees. ‘Do you think this is a suitable costume for swimming?’

      ‘There is only one way to find out,’ Christopher said, closing the gap between them. Without warning, he scooped her up into his arms and began to wade into the oasis.

      Laughing, Tahira put an arm around his neck. Laughter and passion were a heady mix, she discovered as she looked into his eyes, bluer than the water. A blue she would never forget. He held her high against his chest. She dared to brush the soft smattering of hair with her free hand. Rougher than she had expected, his skin hot to the touch. ‘Kiss me, Christopher,’ she whispered, her mouth a fraction from his.

      He let her go, but only to pull her tight up against him. The water lapped around her knees, droplets splashed her back, but she barely noticed as he wrapped his arms around her. ‘Your wish is my command,’ he whispered. And then he kissed her.

      She kissed him back with a new abandon, desire fuelled by confidence, not of experience but of certainty. He wanted her. That was all the encouragement she needed to explore his body, to run her hands over his bare skin, the rippling planes of his muscles, the skin first smooth then rough with hair, hot, then damp with sweat and the cool waters of the oasis. His breathing quickened like hers. His touch became more urgent as hers did, his hands on her back, her bottom, her breasts. His mouth on hers, deep, scorching kisses that made her moan, that made her frantic. His mouth on her breasts now, that sweet tug on her nipple that made her insides knot.

      Their clothing was soaked through. Pressing herself against him, she could feel the hard ridge of his erect member, the potent symbol of his desire. That most intimate of unions was forbidden in every way, it was the line Christopher would never permit himself to cross, but she had already crossed a line. She would begin her wedding night a virgin, but she would be no innocent. There were so few ways in which she could rebel. It gave a sweet, lethal edge to her passion, to do this. One of the few choices she could make. Her secret. The man who would own her could never have this.

      She kissed the man she had chosen with renewed fervour. Kissed his mouth and then his throat, and then his chest. His nipple peaked when she sucked on it. He moaned. He said something in his own language as he scooped her back up in his arms, staggering through the deeper waters to the cascade, soaking them both with spray in his hurry. She braced herself for the heavy fall of water, but it was brief. Behind the waterfall was a cave, the floor soft sand. Christopher set her down, СКАЧАТЬ