Bedded By The Desert King. Susan StephensЧитать онлайн книгу.
Aban? Do you think he will have reached safety by now?’
Abbas looked pleased that she had remembered. ‘Yes, I checked on him while I was out.’ Pulling a satellite phone out of his pocket, he tossed it on to the bed.
She could have rung for help. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? ‘Could I borrow your phone?’ Her mobile was still in the Jeep.
‘There’s too much static for a call to get through now.’
She hid her disappointment. ‘How about the trader?’
‘He’s safe too—’
And then, before Abbas could say any more to her, a juddering blast made her exclaim with fright.
‘Don’t worry.’ Abbas ran his hand down the ballooning sides of the pavilion. ‘This dense fabric is made from camel hair. There’s nothing better for keeping out the weather. And these supporting poles may look flimsy, but they flex to accommodate the force of the gale just like the trunk of a palm tree.’ Wrapping his fist around one, he caressed it.
‘How long do you think we’ll be here?’
‘It’s impossible to know, so you might as well relax and get used to your confinement…’
Relax? That was easy for Abbas to say—her bones were turning to liquid fire at the thought of being secured inside the tent with him and her heart was vibrating frantically, though not from fear.
‘Well, I’m going to relax even if you won’t…’
‘What are you doing?’ Zara stared, unbelieving, as Abbas calmly began shrugging off his robe.
‘Getting undressed…’ His voice was casual.
‘Put your clothes back on again. Now,’ Zara ordered hoarsely. Abbas stalked about naked when he was relaxed? Beneath his Zaddaran dignity Abbas possessed an elemental quality that both frightened and excited her. She hadn’t got the measure of him and that frightened her too. And now he was testing her she was sure of it. She could lose her mask, tell him the truth—that she was more innocent than she seemed, that life had made her act a lot older than her age, or she could play it cool.
She was relieved when she didn’t have to make that choice. Having loosened his robe, Abbas stretched out on a bed of hides and closed his eyes. All she could see now was a glimpse of hard, tanned flesh above the topmost folds of his robe, though where it fell away she could see the loose-fitting trousers he wore beneath…trousers slung low enough to do more than hint at the toned athletic body underneath.
Sucking in a deep, shuddering breath, Zara was almost ready to believe she could feel the warmth of Abbas’s naked flesh reaching out to her—warm, fragrant, sandalwood-scented flesh that she longed to feel pressed up hard against her own. Shifting awkwardly on the couch, she knew she was slipping into an even deeper state of arousal. The thought of easing that frustration had crossed her mind…Everything was so unreal—like a day out of time…A day when she could allow herself to be seduced by a man for whom she felt an overwhelming attraction…To have Abbas make love to her…One night of passion with the lion of the desert…And who would know? She was sure Abbas would know everything there was to know about pleasing a woman.
Zara’s breathing grew more ragged as she developed her fantasy…A man she didn’t know—an older man, an experienced man, a man whose eyes promised exotic pleasures beyond her understanding, a man whose lips she longed to feel all over her body, even those secret places no other man had seen…
But Abbas was a man of principle. He had already proved that by his care for Aban and the trader. There was no way he would touch her while he was treating her as an honoured guest. The best thing to do was to act calmly and normally, as he was doing, and push the dangerous fantasies from her mind.
Reaching into her bag, she drew out a pencil. ‘Would you mind telling me what each item of clothing you’re wearing is called? I want to be sure I get everything right when I prepare my journal back home.’
Opening one eye, Abbas turned to look at her. An expression of faint amusement flickered across his face, but then he shrugged and, resting his head back on crossed arms, he started to talk.
While her heart hammered away, Zara took refuge in her professional eye. The decoration on his robe was a testament to the skill of the local needle-workers. The gold thread picked up the amber lights in his eyes, something that added to his attraction, and she hadn’t noticed before. The dramatic contrast of that and the black fabric of the main body of the robe was a perfect foil for his black hair and for his dark skin tone as well as for his strong white teeth…She could almost imagine them nipping into her flesh…
‘Do you have a problem?’
Zara realised she had stopped writing and was gazing into space with a dreamy look on her face. ‘No, no, I’m fine.’ She drew herself up. ‘It’s really interesting…’ She smiled to encourage him to keep on talking, while she indulged in her fantasy—her nice, safe fantasy.
‘Perhaps when you return to the city you will buy some eastern clothes to remind you of your time in the desert?’ Abbas suggested.
‘I’m sure I shall…’
‘Though you’re more than welcome to keep the robe you’re wearing now—with my compliments.’
‘This one? I couldn’t possibly.’ Zara’s gaze flew over the intricate workmanship. She guessed the silk robe must have cost a fortune.
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘I love it, but—’
‘But?’ Abbas pressed. ‘You don’t accept gifts from strangers?’ he guessed shrewdly. ‘So what if I sell it to you? Would you take it home with you then?’
She didn’t want to go home yet…And, as for selling the robe to her…Zara’s heart lurched as Abbas’s lips curved in a way she hadn’t seen them do before and her heart stormed into overdrive as she considered the price he might have in mind. ‘Do you accept travellers’ cheques?’
‘I’m a little short of banking facilities, as you can see…’ He laughed softly. ‘But you could owe me…’
‘I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that…’ She stood up as she spoke.
‘Where are you going?’ He sat up.
She had to get away. She had to take a moment to cool down. ‘To look outside—’
Springing up, Abbas stood in her way. ‘No…’
‘No?’ She looked at him, and then down at his hand on her arm.
His dark eyes flared, but he spoke softly as he lifted his hand away. ‘If you move that curtain the sand will come flying in. The entrance cover must remain as it is until I say it can be opened.’
‘So I’m a prisoner here?’ Turning away from him, Zara could feel the tension mounting.
‘You’re here as my guest,’ Abbas reminded her.
She could feel him behind her and her pulse responded eagerly to the remorseless beat of his virility. Abbas had thrown an erotic noose around her, which he then pulled tight. ‘Let me go,’ she warned in a whisper, hardly realising that he wasn’t even touching her.
‘Or you’ll…what?’
She could feel the sweep of his breath across the back of her neck and had to fight not to tremble. She didn’t start breathing again until he stepped away and felt as weak as a puppet when the strings had been let go. And had left her more aroused than ever.
Abbas understood everything about tension—tightening and releasing the invisible cord until it was she who was being driven to make the first move. The blood in her veins had turned to molten honey. Caught in the ambit of Abbas’s darkening stare, Zara had to wonder how long she could hold out if it came to it. Abbas was so hard,