The Sheikh's Untamed Bride. Jackie BraunЧитать онлайн книгу.
sure it was true.
She wasn’t all right. With him so deeply inside her she felt shaken and unbalanced, as out of her depth as she had in the pool. Only this time instead of drowning in water she was drowning in sensation.
She didn’t know what was happening, but she knew she wanted this, needed this, and when he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his.
He eased back slightly and then moved into her again. She felt her body yield against the male thickness of him, discovered that if she relaxed it was easier, that when he shifted his angle the pleasure intensified and poured through her in long, wicked waves of ecstasy. He was deep, deep inside her, his hand locked in her hair as he controlled the rhythm, all the time kissing her. And she recognised nothing that was happening to her body, knew nothing—but he did, and he used that skill and experience to drive her higher and higher, until something strange happened, something unfamiliar and intensely exciting, until screaming ecstasy exploded into an almost unbearable shower of sensation that made her cry out despite her attempts to stay silent.
He trapped the sound with his mouth, kissing her through it as she felt her body tighten around the smooth, hard length of him. She felt the sudden tension of his shoulders under her fingers and then heard him groan deep in his throat as her body drove his over the edge. It was the most thrilling, explosive, intense experience of her life and afterwards Layla lay still, crushed by the weight of him and the knowledge that she had lived with herself for twenty-three years and yet not known herself at all.
She’d had no idea she was even capable of feeling that way.
Her illusions about herself had disintegrated. She’d never thought of herself as romantic, nor particularly physical. Nothing in her past had prepared her for what she’d just experienced. And she realised that delving into a book for information wouldn’t have made a difference, because there were no words that could adequately describe what she’d just experienced.
Nothing she’d read could have prepared her for pleasure.
Shattered by the experience, her expectations blown apart, Layla lay there, not knowing what words were appropriate. They’d shared the ultimate intimacy and yet outside the silken haven of his bed they were strangers.
She lay rigid, feeling as if she should say something, trying out various sentences in her head. But before she could utter any of them she felt him rise from the bed. Her burning skin chilled instantly and that chill spread through her bones as rapidly as the heat had done.
Shattered and confused, Layla lay still in the darkness, listening as he dressed. Was this normal?
Was it usual for a man to stand up and leave the bed afterwards?
Or did his response have something to do with his wife?
Was that why he’d blown out the candle? Had he been imagining that he was with someone else? Or was it that he couldn’t bear to look at her?
It sounded as if he were going to stride out of the tent without looking back, but then he paused, his hand on the heavy fabric that protected them from the heat of the sun and the cold of the night. Moonlight shone through the slit in the tent and in that moment Layla saw him. Saw the hard, savage lines of his handsome face and the emptiness in those cold eyes that were as black as a starless night.
She stared at him in silence, trying to read him, trying to understand what was going on and failing.
She had no idea what that look meant. No idea what was going through his head.
And now she wished she’d kept her eyes closed. Pretended to be asleep. Anything, to avoid a situation in which she was clueless.
Should she speak?
Was he waiting for her to say something?
And then, before she could decide whether to speak or not, he turned and strode out of the tent, leaving her alone.
HE RODE RAJA deep into the desert, trying to escape the weight of his feelings but failing, because wherever he went they followed. His mouth was dry with the bitter taste of betrayal, the past a deep ache inside him that wouldn’t heal.
There were so many issues demanding his attention, but the only thing on his mind was Layla.
He’d felt nothing but contempt for her family for so long that when she’d arrived in his camp and offered herself to him he’d treated her proposal with suspicion. Even when it had become clear to him that her life had been very different from the one he’d imagined for her, his feelings towards her hadn’t warmed.
But now?
The scent of her clung to his skin and her soft gasps echoed around his head, refusing to be silenced by his own vicious conflict.
As if sensing his tension, the horse under him stamped impatiently. Raz soothed him gently with his hands and his voice until Raja calmed and stood still.
He had a sudden vision of Layla smuggling the Kama Sutra from her father’s library before leaving the only home she’d ever known. He thought of her climbing onto a horse, even though she didn’t ride, and then going in search of him even though she knew exactly how he felt about her family.
And then he thought about her standing still and straight next to him, speaking her vows in the hope that the union would ensure the safety of her sister, and writhing under his hands as he’d shown her what her body could do.
The thought of it sent heat rushing through him and he cursed softly.
He told himself that respect and powerful sexual chemistry didn’t change the fact he wasn’t ready to feel anything for another woman. Nor did it change the fact that he didn’t want her feeling anything for him.
Nothing changed the fact that this marriage politically motivated.
Was she all she seemed to be, or was she a clever opportunist who had the sense to change sides for her own protection?
His suspicions were deep-set, rooted in a lifetime of bitter feud.
So why did the knowledge that he’d hurt her rub at his nerves like sand wedged in his boot?
Staring at the sunrise, he told himself it was a good thing.
He told himself that anger was a thousand times safer than those softer emotions that could fell a man faster than a samurai sword.
‘Your Highness.’
It was Abdul, never far from his side and as much a father to him as his own had been.
‘You should not be out here alone.’
‘I don’t appear to be alone.’
Ignoring the irony in his voice, Abdul touched his arm. ‘This is hard for you, but you did the right thing marrying her.’
‘Did I?’ He heard the harshness in his own voice and winced, because he wasn’t in the habit of revealing his weaknesses to those around him. ‘We need to keep an eye on Nadia.’
‘Yes. I can imagine she is very upset. But no doubt Her Highness will deal with that sensitively. She seems like a very sensible young woman.’
Sensible? Raz could have agreed with him, but he knew it wasn’t her logic or her ordered thought-processes that teased and tormented his brain.
It was something far more intimate and a thousand times more dangerous.
* * *
Layla awoke slowly, aware of the sounds of animals, the laughter of children, the hum of voices. None of them belonged to Raz.
The side of the bed where he would have slept was cold, the pillow smooth and untouched.
Her body ached from her night with him, making it impossible to blot it out