Then there’s the fact she’s eleven years my junior, and considerably more sheltered and innocent. I do not like her family but I know I will hate myself if I sacrifice my own morals and behave unscrupulously towards her. We need boundaries and I need to make sure she feels in control, at least when it comes to our physical relationship.
Amy
He pulls away from me and I stifle a groan. He was so close, I’d honestly felt like he was going to kiss me, or more, and I’m not going to lie to you, more than half of me wanted that desperately. The kiss in the church had awoken a need in me and while I’m terrified of answering that need, I’m far more afraid of ignoring it.
What is wrong with me? I didn’t come to Qabid to sleep with my husband! That’s not what our marriage is about. So why can’t I stop thinking of him naked?
Grinding my teeth together, I step out of the car, pulling my handbag over my shoulder.
His look is mocking. “Whatever you have in there, you will not need it now.”
“My phone,” I point out.
“No reception.”
A shiver runs down my spine. We are completely alone.
His voice is a low growl and he paces towards me, something in his expression I do not understand. “You do not need to look at me as though I am a wolf about to rip you from limb to limb.”
I suck in a shallow breath.
“Not to say the idea doesn’t hold some appeal.” His voice is throaty, and it’s like he’s wrapping some invisible string around me, making breathing almost impossible. “But I have never touched a woman against her will and I have no intention of starting now.”
I try to breathe normally. “You said you need a baby.”
“Yes,” his eyes lance mine. “And you agreed to this in our contract.”
“So you intend to have sex with me now?”
He doesn’t smile. “Right now?”
My nerves are vibrating to breaking point. I wait on tenterhooks for him to speak, preparing myself, my body at fever pitch as I imagine leaning forward and losing myself in his arms. What the hell has come over me?
“Let us make a deal.”
Impatience screeches through me.
“I will touch you here.” He presses a finger to my chin, lifting my face to his. “And here.” He pads his thumb over my lower lip. I have to hold back a deep, throaty moan. “And here.” His other hand lifts to my hip, his fingers tapping against the soft curve of my buttocks. Heat surges inside of me. “But if you want me to touch you anywhere else, you will ask me.”
I should be reassured by that and yet it feels like a trap – a cunning way to make me admit that I want him to touch me. “And if I don’t?”
His smile pours lava into my bloodstream. “You will.”
I force a smile of my own. “You don’t know my stubborn streak.”
His eyes hold mine as he strokes my thigh slowly, rhythmically, until my blood is awash with heat. Pleasure explodes at the prospect of what he’s offering. “There is not much I do not know about you, Amy Al Adari.” It’s the first time I’ve heard my married name spoken.
My eyes scan his. “What does that mean?”
He drops his hands and steps back. “Come. Enough talk. I’m starving.”
I ignore the disloyal pang of disappointment.
“Is there food out here or do I need to hunt something for us to eat?” I can’t help quipping. When he draws back the thick calico curtain of the tent, anything but surprise is pushed from my mind. This place is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
No, that’s not true. “In the picture books my father used to read me, there were tents like this.”
He’s very still, but I barely notice because I’m so absorbed in cataloguing the beauty of this space. From the outside, it’s reasonably unassuming – large, certainly, but plain calico. Inside, it’s a luxurious palace. Thick, bright carpets are spread over the ground, each overlapping the next to keep sand at bay. The furnishings are regal and ancient. A low set timber bed with bright cushions and quilt, a sofa, ottomans spread over the ground. In the corner there’s a table with a little lamp, the shade made of fine brass, cut in a detailed pattern.