Under A Desert Moon. Laura MartinЧитать онлайн книгу.
stepped closer. There was still a good foot between their bodies, but he could almost imagine how she would feel in his arms.
‘Why do you think I came to Egypt, Miss Knight?’ he asked, his voice low and seductive.
He saw her swallow, the tiny muscles of her throat contracting in unison as she looked up at him. Then her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and Seb almost groaned. She was enticing, this outwardly prim young woman, and he would bet his year’s income she didn’t know it.
‘I...’ she started, her voice barely more than a whisper, then she seemed to compose herself. ‘I think you came here for the same reasons I did, Mr Oakfield.’
He cocked an eyebrow.
‘For the excitement and the mystery and the quest for knowledge of a civilisation past.’
‘Then you think we are alike?’ he asked, narrowing the gap between them.
She nodded, her eyes not leaving his.
Seb couldn’t help himself. He had to kiss her. Just the once. He couldn’t stop himself.
He dipped his head so their lips were inches apart and watched Emma’s face. Her lips parted ever so slightly when she realised his intention and her breathing became shallow. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away. If anything she swayed slightly towards him.
‘I just need to taste you,’ Seb murmured. ‘Just this once.’
If she’d protested, he would have pulled away. If she’d even looked a little unsure, he would have stopped himself, but if anything she inched even closer to him. In that instant she wanted to be kissed as much as he wanted to kiss her. Tomorrow morning she might regret it—hell, tomorrow morning he might regret it—but right now he knew he had to kiss her.
His lips brushed gently against hers, the touch feather-light. He felt her shudder under his touch and he lightly cupped the back of her head and pulled her closer to him. Emma’s lips parted slightly as Seb deepened the kiss and he dipped his tongue gently into her mouth. She groaned with pleasure and the sound went straight to the core of him.
Seb knew he had to stop. He was kissing a woman he barely knew only a few feet from the gossipmongers of Cairo. With one final brush of the lips he pulled away.
Emma looked even more desirable than before. Her cheeks were tinged pink and her hair had a slightly ruffled appearance.
Glancing over his shoulder to check they hadn’t been observed, Seb took a moment to compose himself. The kiss had meant to satiate his desire for the delectable Miss Emma Knight; instead it had stoked the flames. Now he wanted nothing more than to throw her over his shoulder and take her to his bed.
‘I should apologise,’ he said after a few seconds, ‘But I fear it would be insincere.’
Emma looked at him as though she were still trying to process what had just happened.
‘I can’t apologise for something I don’t regret,’ he said.
Suddenly she shook her head, and looked at him as if she were waking from a dream. Her expression went from one of contentment to one of horror. Lifting a hand to her mouth, she started to back away from him.
‘No, no, no, no, no,’ she was murmuring.
Seb frowned. He’d kissed plenty of women before and not a single one had responded with abject horror.
‘It’s all right,’ he said soothingly. ‘No one saw.’
She shook her head as if he didn’t understand.
‘How could I be so stupid?’ she whispered.
Seb kept quiet; he assumed she was talking more to herself now than to him.
Emma took a couple of deep breaths and closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she reopened them there was a steely focus about her.
‘That was a mistake, Mr Oakfield,’ Emma said in a tone that invited no argument. ‘I would appreciate it if you would leave. I will make your excuses to the Fitzgeralds.’
Seb knew there was no point arguing. The intimacy they’d shared during the kiss had been shattered, and Emma was not going to allow him another opportunity to relive it.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ Seb said quietly, taking her hand in his own and raising it to his lips. He felt a thrill of triumph when she didn’t pull away, but didn’t push his luck any further.
‘Goodbye, Mr Oakfield,’ Emma said with finality.
Emma hadn’t slept. No, that was a lie; she felt as if she hadn’t slept. She’d lain awake for hours tossing and turning, trying to banish Sebastian Oakfield from her mind. Then when she’d finally fallen into a fitful slumber, she’d dreamt about the annoyingly charming man. This morning she felt frustrated and unrefreshed.
She couldn’t believe she’d let him kiss her. She grimaced and silently corrected herself—she couldn’t believe she had kissed him. There was no point denying that she had been an active participant in the kiss. The worst part was that she’d enjoyed it, and she knew if he’d pulled her into a darkened corner and furthered the embrace she would probably have let him, she’d been so caught up in the moment.
Groaning, Emma buried her face in the pillow. She wished she could erase the past twenty-four hours—then she wouldn’t have ever met Sebastian Oakfield, and she would never have kissed him. Or spent the entire night reliving that kiss.
With an effort Emma threw back the light sheet that covered her bed and crossed over to the window. She looked out over the rooftops of Cairo and her mood lifted slightly. Yes, she might have done the exact thing she’d promised herself she’d never do again last night, but this morning she was waking up in Egypt, the land she’d dreamed about for so long.
Emma rested her elbows on the window sill and watched the hustle and bustle of the street below. Men were pushing carts of produce and women were carrying baskets. She wondered if they were headed to the famous Cairo market. Emma yearned to be down there with them, to follow them through the windy streets and explore this exotic city. Momentarily she wished she were a man. Then she’d be free to wander the streets at her leisure, not waiting for a suitable escort and chaperone to take her to only the appropriate sights for a well-brought-up young lady to see. She wanted adventure and freedom, not to have exchanged the constraints of English society for those of an expatriate in Cairo.
A light tap on the door made Emma spin around and she smiled as the young Egyptian maid called Dalila entered the room.
‘Would you like to get dressed, miss?’ the young woman asked in accented English.
Emma nodded, knowing the hour was already late and she shouldn’t waste any more of the day shut away in her room, ruminating over the events of the previous night.
‘Were you born in Cairo?’ Emma asked Dalila as she slipped the dress over her head.
The young maid nodded. ‘I’ve never left Cairo, miss.’
‘What do you think I should see?’ Emma asked. ‘I know the pyramids and the new Museum of Antiquities, but, as someone who’s grown up in Cairo, where do you think a visitor should go to get the authentic feel of the place?’
Dalila paused for a moment, considering. ‘The market,’ she said eventually. ‘Not the tourist antiquities market, but the real thing. Where we go to buy our food and spices. You’ll see everyone from the poorest beggar to the richest housewife.’
Emma allowed the maid to fasten the back of her dress and cocked her head to one side. She wondered if she could persuade Mrs Fitzgerald to take her to the market. She doubted it, but it was worth a try.
Making her way downstairs, Emma realised the hour was