Desert Sheikhs Collection: Part 1. Jane Porter

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      ‘Not quite,’ he commented sarcastically. ‘But I should hate to puncture the little bubble-picture you’ve invented in your head!’

      ‘Now you are making fun of me.’

      ‘I thought that all women liked to be teased?’

      He was making her feel gauche and unsophisticated. And she didn’t like his constant references to what ‘women’ liked—it made her feel one in an endless line of them—which, when she stopped to think about it, she probably was. But this isn’t about you, Lara, she reminded herself—it’s about him. And Maraban. ‘But you were poor?’ she questioned bluntly.

      His eyes grew flinty. ‘Do you want me to give you a breakdown of our weekly finances?’

      She heard the distaste in his voice, and she didn’t blame him—her questions were crossing over the line between good taste and bad, and unless she gave him some kind of explanation she couldn’t possibly keep on asking them. What on earth was she going to do? Tell him, or tell Khalim first?

      ‘You’re right. I’m sorry—I was just being nosy. Don’t worry, I won’t ask any more.’

      Darian studied her, noting the way her blue eyes were suddenly looking haunted. The vulnerable little tremor of her lips made him want to kiss them. ‘You know, you really are very sweet, Lara,’ he said softly.

      A pain stabbed at her heart. What would he say if he knew? And how could she suddenly just blurt it out— Darian, I am almost certain that you are the illegitimate brother of the Sheikh of Maraban?

      ‘I am not sweet,’ she contradicted, and bit her lip.

      ‘And so modest, too,’ he teased. ‘Now, don’t frown. Relax.’ Casually, he reached out to capture a handful of her hair, and began to trickle his fingers through the silky curls so that they touched and tickled the back of her neck. ‘Relax,’ he whispered softly.

      ‘Darian, don’t,’ she said weakly.

      A woman didn’t cross and uncross her legs in quick succession and then wriggle her head back into your hand if she meant don’t.

      ‘Don’t what?’ He moved closer, moved his hands from her neck to her shoulderblades. ‘You’re tense,’ he exclaimed softly, and began to gently massage the tight flesh. ‘Very, very tense.’

      If only he knew why! ‘This…this isn’t such a good idea—’

      ‘What isn’t? A simple massage? I’m very good at it, you know.’ His fingers continued to knead away, lulling her into a dreamy and hypnotic state. ‘Relax, Lara—if you don’t like it, then I’ll stop.’

      Which made it even worse. He was giving her a let-out. The decision was completely in her hands. She could stop him whenever she wanted to, and she should stop him now. Except that she did like it; that was the trouble. She liked it a lot. It’s only a massage, she told herself dreamily.

      ‘Is that good?’ he whispered.

      Helplessly, she closed her eyes. ‘I, oh…yes.’ The decision wasn’t in her hands at all, she realised—he had all the power.

      ‘Why not lie down?’ he suggested. ‘You’ll be more comfortable that way.’

      It was, after all, only a massage. She tried to tell herself that as he was gently pushing her back against the sofa. But the word ‘push’ implied force, and there was no force involved—merely a delicious compliance as she sank down onto the leather, her cheek resting on its soft surface, her eyelids fluttering to a close.

      Darian worked on her neck and her shoulders, gradually feeling some of the tension released by the rhythmical movement of his fingertips. ‘Is that better?’

      ‘It’s…heaven,’ she mumbled.

      It felt pretty good from where he was sitting, too. A little too good. Darian shifted his body slightly as the tight-ness easing away from her body was replaced by a growing tension in his own.

      Lara’s limbs felt as fluid as water, her blood as thick as warm honey, and the pulse-points around her body began to deepen and speed. She could feel their slow and relentless pounding in her temple, her wrists, and somewhere deep in her groin. This is sheer craziness, she told herself. But she couldn’t move; she didn’t want it to end.

      He heard her sigh, and his hard mouth glimmered in a brief smile, his eyes drifting over the tight, firm curve of her bottom.

      ‘Am I sending you to sleep?’

      ‘Well, yes,’ she murmured drowsily, knowing that was only half the story.

      ‘Then I’d better stop. We can’t have that.’

      He took his hands away. ‘Oh!’ Lara whispered disappointedly.

      ‘Turn over,’ came the soft command.

      Somehow she managed to, even though her body felt so deliciously lethargic that it took all her energy.

      Her hair was all mussed, her cheeks pink and flushed, and behind her half-hooded eyelids her blue eyes glittered hectically. He read in them self-doubt and utter confusion and, almost without intending to, dipped his head and brushed a featherlight kiss over her lips, felt her shiver in response.

      ‘Darian—’

      ‘Shh.’ He kissed her again.

      This was dangerous. The brush of his lips was barely there and then gone again, only to return. Tiny, butterfly kisses which coaxed and maddened. ‘Oh,’ she murmured instinctively.

      His mouth smiled against hers, and this time his lips stayed longer, teasing and caressing until hers opened beneath his and her arms came up to wind around his neck, like tendrils of ivy clinging to sun-warmed brick.

      ‘Darian—’

      ‘You don’t like it?’

      She grazed her lips over his, unable to stop herself. Just once, she told herself. She would kiss him just once. But she kissed him again, and again, and then again, and his low laugh of delight made her want to do it some more.

      She tried to speak, but her lips were so dry and her head so spinning that the words came out as a parched kind of whisper. ‘It isn’t a question of not liking…’

      ‘But that’s the only important question, darling. Nothing else is worth asking.’ He drifted his mouth along the line of her jaw. ‘Is it?’

      Her head fell back and his lips moved immediately to her neck. Lara shuddered. In her befuddled state of desire his words seemed to make perfect sense, and this was dangerous indeed. Very dangerous.

      She should pull away and ask him to take her home. If he wanted her that much then he would be prepared to wait—and wouldn’t that be what any woman in her right mind would do? Wait at least until she had told him the momentous news she had?

      So why were her fingertips running over the back of his head as if learning him by touch? Why was she doing nothing to stop him when he ran the flat of his hand СКАЧАТЬ