Who was there to hear it but him and the empty desert? The desert and the night. The night and the stars. The stars and Nikos.
Nikos—who, alone of all the men in all the world, seemed to possess what no man had ever possessed before.
The power to enthral her. Entice her. Tempt her. Tempt her to do what she was doing now—what she must do, it seemed, here, now, on this soft silken divan under the burning desert stars, where nothing else existed but themselves and the night and their desire. His for her, hers for him.
I want him so much... So much...
She did not know why—did not care—only knew that her hand was lifting to feather at his temple, to graze the sable hair and drift down the planed cheek to edge along the roughened outline of his jaw.
Her eyes were still half closed, her body still filled with that incredible heaviness. And as she touched him she made that little sound in her throat again, felt as if in a dream that her breasts were tightening, quickening under the second skin that was her precious, priceless gown. The gown given to her by a princess—a princess who’d asked for this desert love-nest to be theirs. For now. For tonight.
It wasn’t what their marriage was about—she knew that—but she couldn’t think of it now. Could only think and feel what was happening to her here, beneath the desert night burning with myriad stars.
Yearning filled her, and an instinct so powerful she could not resist it. She had no wish to resist it—not here, not now, not under these burning desert stars, not under the heavy-lidded gaze of the man whose mouth was now lowering slowly, infinitely slowly, to meet hers.
His kiss was like silken velvet—infinitely soft, infinitely sensuous. Infinitely arousing. That little sound came from her again, deep in her throat. She felt her neck arch, her loosened wanton hair sliding like satin, felt the hot pulse at her throat strengthen. She felt her hand slip around the nape of his neck, draw him down to her as she rested slowly backwards, moving down upon the waiting cushions, her hair now spilling out across them.
He came down with her, his kiss starting to deepen. She felt her breasts cresting, straining against the bodice of her gown, and still he kissed her as if he would never release her. Desire was sweeping up inside her. A desire whose power she had never known, had only glimpsed in brief glances, crushed thoughts, whenever she’d looked at the man she had married—who was not hers to glance at like that, not hers to think about, not hers to desire...
Except for this night.
She could have him for this night only! Here, where the rest of the world had ceased to exist, seemed as if it might never exist again, might never have existed at all. For only the stars were burning in their own eternity. An eternity she could share for this one night only...
Nikos—the only man to arouse her, awaken her. The only man to whom she was a woman—a woman who could feel what other women felt.
Never... Never have I felt this desire before! Never!
But now she did—now she knew its power, its force and strength. It was arousing and inspiring her, sweeping her along with its tide so that she could not resist, taking her to a new land—a land she had thought was not for her, had never found before.
But she had found now...with him...with Nikos.
The land of sweet desire.
Desire that was mounting in her now, quickening in her blood, in her heating body, in her shallow, hectic breath. She felt her fingers mould his nape, spear into his hair, felt her body turn towards him like a magnet.
Bliss was seeping up inside her at the drowning sweetness of feeling his lips grazing hers—lips that were slowly, remorselessly, teasing from her a deeper response now, a response that began a restlessness inside her, a sense of going over the edge, giving up all control. Giving it up to the feelings filling her body, her mind, her very being.
Of their own vol
ition, in their own mounting need, her lips parted and she gave that low moan in her throat again—of relief, of pleasure, of wonder and bliss as she tasted to the full all that Nikos was offering, all that he was doing, giving to her, with a touch so skilled, so arousing, that she was blind with it.
He was murmuring her name even as he kissed her, tasted her, his hand slipping down, sliding slowly and sensually over the bodice of the dress to mould the contours of her body. Her spine arched into his caress. She was aching for his hand to close over the straining mound of her breast, and when it did, his palm grazing the straining crests, she felt another surge of unbearable desire. And yet another. And another. Each one stronger, more urgent than the last.
She wanted this with all her being. Madness though it was. She didn’t care—could not care—could only go on yielding endlessly, urgently, to the hunger that was growing in her with every passing moment, every yearning press of her body into his.
And then suddenly, abruptly, his hand was lifted from her—and his mouth. With a muffled cry of loss she tried to reach for him again, her eyes blind to all but the overpowering need for him that had brought her to this point. But he resisted her reach and instead, with a gasp of shock, he flipped her over so her face was pressed into the pillows.
She tried to raise herself.
‘Lie still.’
There was a growl in his voice—a growl that melted her bones. For she knew at a level so deep she did not understand it that this was a command that was for her, not him. And a moment later she realised why.
His hands were at the back of her dress and his fingers were working assiduously, steadily, at slipping free the myriad tiny hooks that fastened the exquisite gown. It seemed to take for ever, and she felt herself grow restless, filled with a sense of frustration that it was taking so long for him to ease the delicate fabric from her skin, exposing, hook by hook, the long line of her spine. She felt her fingers clutch at the silk of her pillow, felt a heat building in her—a heat she could not cool, did not want to cool.
She wanted only to feel as she did when finally the fabric fell aside, and then his long velvet fingertips were easing beneath, splaying out with the most leisurely arousing touch, so that her fingers clenched more tightly, the restlessness in her mounting, wanting more of him, more of his feathered touch, more of the way his mouth was now lowering to her spine, grazing each sculpted contour as swirls of pleasure began to ripple through her.
As his lips grazed down her spine, teasing those swirls of exquisite sensation from her, she felt his hands spread out, easing the gown completely from her until it was all but falling off. Gently, but with a strength that made it effortless, he lifted her from the gown so that it lay like a discarded thing beside her. Gently he lowered her back upon the silken divan, turning her towards him.