She nodded and licked dry lips. Then sucked in a fortifying breath as she saw the flare in his eyes. That look sent need quaking through her. She’d spent ages grieving this man’s death and now he was here, so very alive. Contrary to what she’d told herself, absence hadn’t exaggerated her reaction to him.
‘I want you, Ash.’
It really was that simple.
Just as well that he held her, for his sudden smile undid her at the knees. She swayed and clutched his shoulders, her pulse sprinting at the sheer glory that was Ashraf’s smile.
He leaned so close that Tori thought he was going to kiss her, but he stopped a tantalising breath away.
‘Your wish...’ his words caressed her face ‘...is my command.’
Then he swept her up in his arms as easily as if she weighed no more than Oliver. He made her feel small, something she’d never experienced before, being on the tall side of average. And he made her feel treasured which, she realised in a flash of revelation, no man except Ash, her desert lover, had made her feel.
Tori wrapped her hands around his neck and smiled. ‘You do that very well. I think you’ve had practice.’
It was a sign of her infatuation that she didn’t care. He might have been a love-them-and-leave-them playboy once. But for this moment he was all hers. She’d given up fighting the inevitable.
* * *
Ashraf stared down into eyes the colour of heaven and thanked all his lucky stars that he hadn’t died that day fifteen months ago. One brief taste of this amazing woman was far too little.
Did she realise she’d called him Ash? As if time had peeled away and they’d just met?
In what he thought of as his exile years, deliberately courting scandal, he’d answered to Ash just to fit in more easily with the westerners with whom he partied. He’d automatically used the short form of his name when he met Tori.
But the way she said it, her voice soft with longing, was unique.
No other woman had made his name sound like that.
No other woman had made him feel this way.
He hauled Tori closer, losing himself in her bright smile and inviting eyes. In her scent, alluring and fresh as spring itself. In the sense of utter freedom, of triumph, that was his body’s response to her invitation.
His clothes clung to her wet body, but the dampness couldn’t douse the heat burning inside. He felt as if he’d waited for this moment half a lifetime.
Dragging his gaze away, he strode into the sitting room. Pillar candles had been lit in ornate lanterns and more candles were clustered on the table, where a feast was spread. The room looked romantic. Had Bram noticed Ashraf’s frustration and decided to play Cupid?
Ashraf gave the room one brief, curious glance but kept going. In the bedroom, he was about to kick the door shut when he remembered Oliver. They needed to be able to hear if he cried out.
At the bed he slowly put her down, gratified when her hands stayed locked around his neck. She swayed, and satisfaction stirred at her neediness. It matched his.
Lamps cast the room in a golden glow, yet Tori outshone it. She looked vibrant, delectable.
Ashraf’s hands slid up from rounded hips, past the inward sweep of her waist and around to her back. One tug and the back of the bikini top loosened. Her breath hissed but she didn’t move, just stood, her fingers clasped at his neck. Her expression notched his ardour even higher.
It was a moment’s work to undo the bikini top and drag it away. Now Tori’s hands at his neck shook and her breasts wobbled. He felt unsteady himself, his lungs cramping at the sight of the bounty of her pearly flesh. Some small part of him was surprised that he, once reviled by his father as a voluptuary, was undone by the sight of a woman’s breasts.
Reverently, greedily, he cupped them, their plump softness perfect in his hands. The rose-pink nipples were hard and trembling under the swipe of his thumbs. Tori bit her lip and he was torn between the need to capture her mouth again, to plunder her breasts or strip off the rest of her bikini and thrust himself deep inside her.
Ashraf bent to skim kisses around one breast. Tori’s weight on his shoulders grew as she sagged closer. With one arm he caught her around the waist, pulling her to him. Her breathing roughened, hoarse and aroused, as he closed his lips around her nipple and sucked.
‘Ash!’
It was a protest and a plea, possibly even a prayer. And it shot all the blood in his body to his groin. He was buried in her scent, her flesh, her yearning. Needy fingers clamped his skull, pressing him closer as if she feared he might stop.
He did stop, but only to lavish attention on her other breast, drawing a groan from her that tightened his belly. Ashraf’s need grew urgent, especially when Tori spread her legs around his and pressed close.
It was an invitation he couldn’t resist.