‘That’s them,’ he told her.
‘You have flamingos here? In a desert country? The leopards haven’t eaten them?’
Now he laughed at her disbelief and the little joke, and his laughter dispelled the last of his tension.
‘The leopards live in the mountains, the flamingos by the lagoons that are not far inland from the sea. Their habitat, too, is protected.’
He lifted off, and headed for the lights of the city, flying low above it so she could see the mix of old and new that made the capital of Al Janeen unique.
Alex peered down, fascinated by the square and rectangular buildings beneath her, the lights on the roofs showing people preparing to sleep beneath the stars, then, beyond the older area, clustered like jewels in a crown, a clutter of high-rise buildings, brilliantly lit, the new part of the city.
She turned to see this glittery grouping from another angle, then realised they were flying over nothingness again, although now she looked ahead she could see what looked like a huge, shining mirror.
‘It is called Shahlah because the birds, when they are there in numbers, turn it pink, and shahlah means a blush.’
‘A blushing lagoon? None of our fairy stories can compare with that,’ Alex told him, as he set the little aircraft down far enough away from the lagoon to not disturb the birds she could now see clustered on its shore.
Were they sightseeing here?
Or had this magic land more surprises to offer her? A fancy restaurant hidden behind the dunes? She’d slipped the fine-spun cloak that went with the gown into the handbag that matched her silver sandals, just in case she needed it, but now she peered around her, she wondered if she should have brought her sneakers instead. Just how practical would silver sandals be, for walking in the sand?
Well, she could always slip them off…
Azzam opened the door and, looking at him as he stood just slightly beneath her, she felt her heart turn over. He was a good-looking man at the best of times, but out here, with the darkening dunes behind him, he looked like a prince—the prince of all he surveyed! Was that phrase from a fairy story as well?
He held her hand to help her from the little aircraft, easing her down, not onto the sand she had expected but—she should have guessed—onto a carpet. This one wasn’t red but it was patterned and long, like a beautiful path leading her into the night. It was only as they drew near that she saw a darkened area ahead, then lights came on, revealing a long, low tent, as dark as the night itself but lit by filigree lamps, their fractured light, patterns of gold and emerald and crimson, beckoning the visitors closer.
Outside the tent, beneath one raised side of it, more carpets had been spread, with huge soft pillows like the ones in the colonnade plumped down on them.
‘Madame!’ Azzam said, leading her to the pillows, offering her the choice of where to sit with a sweep of his white-clad arm.
Alex sank down into the largest part of the pile, and realised they were stacked in such a way she could sit, or recline just a little. She chose to sit, bemused by the surroundings—an Ali Baba tent, flamingos turning a lake blush-pink—but not wanting to miss anything.
Which was just as well, for now soft light lit up the lagoon so she could see the pink shapes of the sleeping flamingos clearly now.
‘This is a night light for viewing them in the evening, but you must come in daylight to see them picking their way through the shallow water to fully appreciate their beauty and see the mud mounds they build to lay their eggs on.’
Now Azzam had mentioned them, Alex could see the strange-looking mounds clustered together at one end of the lagoon, but although she wanted to learn more about the habits of these beautiful birds, Azzam was explaining something else—explaining the delicacies a silent servant had set down before them on a huge silver platter.
‘What you might call appetisers,’ he said, ‘so don’t eat too much or you won’t want your dinner.’
Alex felt herself relaxing, although she’d been extremely nervous about this outing with Azzam, about being alone with the man who was occupying so much of her thoughts and disturbing her body.
‘Try a date—not an ordinary date like you might buy in your supermarket but a date from the family grove. Most of our traditional food traces back to our Bedouin ancestry, when our people roamed the deserts so food had to be easily transportable.’
He was sorting through a bowl of shiny, red-brown dates as he spoke and finally selected one.
‘The seed has been removed, so you can bite into it.’
He held it to her lips, and their eyes met, messages that could never be put into words passing between them—provocative messages that sent heat coursing through Alex’s body.
She bit into the date, her lips just grazing the fingers that held it, so, before he took the remainder of it to his own lips, his little finger flicked her lip, making the heat spiral downwards.
You’re sharing a piece of fruit, for heaven’s sake, her head was yelling at her, but her body was way beyond the control of her head, whatever common sense it might be preaching at her.
A small ball of cheese came next, milky and tart, a perfect contrast to the date.
‘Labneh,’ Azzam explained. ‘A cheese made from fermented goat’s milk.’
He was telling her the tastes of his country, yet the words came into Alex’s ears not as words of love but definitely words of seduction.
Or was she imagining it?
She had just decided she must be when he wiped the water dripping from the labneh off her chin then once again brushed her lips, this time with his thumb.
Her body was zinging now, so alert she felt he must be able to hear it, the way you could hear the wind through electricity wires in a storm.
And was she in a storm!
She should draw back, choose food for herself—the little meatball kind of things looked tasty, but now Azzam’s eyes were meeting hers again and she was pinned within this sensual bubble he had woven around them, powerless to resist.
Could she feel it? Was she as aware of him as he was of her? Azzam knew he should stop feeding her, for it was also feeding his need, his hunger for this woman. Nothing could come of it, for all she was his wife. She was a visitor, heading home to her own life as soon as the children were settled.
Heading home considerably richer, he’d make sure of that, for she’d served his country well, and even misyar marriages demanded a dowry, although he hadn’t mentioned that to her.
Because thoughts of money made him doubt her?
Not anymore!
Whatever suspicions he’d harboured about her when he’d heard of her arrival in his country had been dismissed when he’d seen her in action. He’d come to know she was giving and unselfish, not grasping and avaricious. His doubts had been destroyed by her behaviour…
He offered her the plate of sfiha, tiny pies, being careful not to touch her in any way now, for the conjunction of his thoughts—of wanting her and payment—had shamed him so much the fires inside him had…not died, but certainly ebbed.
He began to explain the food, pointing out how each piece was made.
‘The dates, grains and legumes, along with dried fruit and nuts, were carried by the tribes, who also had their animals for milk and meat. Because the Bedu acted as guards for the caravans from India and China, they could barter for spices, although saffron was a local spice, and salt a local commodity.’
Had she stiffened when he’d touched her lips?
Alex felt the shift in the atmosphere between them, and felt a sense of loss out of all proportion to the situation, but she hid it behind questions and became fascinated by the answers as he talked of the history of his people.
They ate mysterious meat dishes, drank juices of fruits she didn’t know, and finished with a type of sweet, made from yoghurt and honey, so delicious she didn’t deny herself a second helping. Then the shadowy serving people were gone, vanishing as mysteriously as they had appeared, leaving another si
lver platter behind them, this one laden with the finest fruit. She and Azzam were alone on the carpet with moonlight touching the dunes and turning the lagoon to a shimmering silver, weaving a spell of enchantment about them.
Azzam broke the silence.
‘Do you know how beautiful you are? As silver as the lagoon, as beautiful as the moon.’
He half reclined on the cushions beside her, and held a bunch of grapes above her, close to her lips.
‘There is an illustration in one of our fairytales of a man feeding a woman grapes in this manner.’
Alex, bemused by the compliment he’d paid her, and still caught in the moonlight’s spell, bit a grape off the bottom of the bunch and felt it explode with juice and sweetness in her mouth.
‘Looking at the picture,’ he said, holding the bunch above his own lips and taking one, pausing while he swallowed it, ‘one imagines they are lovers.’
It’s the spell, the situation, the magic of it all, Alex told herself, but her body rebelled and, aware in some instinctive way that the first move would have to come from her, she took another grape in her lips, then leant over the man beside her, transferring it to his mouth.
‘Ahh…’
The soft sigh seemed to go on forever, floating above them like steam from a boiling cauldron, then Azzam’s arms drew her against his body, and his lips, still tasting of grape, brushed against hers.
‘I wondered if you felt it,’ he whispered between kisses so light they were like the touch of the moonlight. ‘For me, the attraction was so strong I thought surely you must, but you hide your feelings well, Alexandra Conroy.’
She knew no words for this situation, so she answered with a kiss, a proper kiss, capturing the lips that had been teasing hers, pressing hers against them, hard and demanding, greedy now for more, although she wasn’t entirely certain what more was.
More was a response like nothing she’d ever felt or imagined, for Azzam took control of the kisses, deepening the contact by sliding his tongue along her lips, delving into her mouth, darting flickers at first, then thrusting in mimicry of what she knew was sex, although she was discovering that knowing something, even viewing it on screen, was very different to the actual thing.
His hands slid along her arms, touching her so lightly the nerve-endings shivered beneath her skin, then his hands moved to her back and explored the contours—her shoulders, sliding to her waist, finishing up on her buttocks, cupping them and pressing her against him so she felt the hardness of his erection.
Should she tell him?
Would it matter?
But how to explain the weird vows she and David had taken, as high-school kids on a youth camp, deciding marriage lay in their future so they would wait…?
David hadn’t waited…
She hadn’t known it at the time, hadn’t even considered he might not be faithful to her, not that it worried her because once he had decamped she’d been so busy there’d been little time to think of him or his betrayal.
Now, here in the present, in the moonlight, one of Azzam’s hands still held her close, while the other was moving higher, lifting her hair so he could press kisses on her neck, shifting the strap of the dress so he could kiss the skin on her shoulder.
So far, apart from that first kiss, she’d been the receiver of sensation, but now she wanted to join him in exploration. But could one remove a headdress from a prince to feel his hair? Could one slide a hand beneath the sleeve of his gown to feel his skin, and the muscles beneath it?
Sensing hesitation in the woman in his arms, Azzam drew back, turned her so she lay against the coloured cushions. With unsteady fingers, he spread the silver hair around her head.
‘We are at a point, Alexandra Conroy, beyond which there will be no turning back. You must know I want nothing more than to make love to you, here in this beautiful place, in this peaceful setting. You are my wife but that does not bind you to me, neither does it mean you must consent. I would never take a woman against her wishes, but your body tells me you want this as much as I do. Am I right?’
She frowned at him, and Azzam wondered what she was thinking. Had he put it badly? Should he have asked first if she would stay here in Al Janeen and be a real wife? For he felt that things could work well between them for all his misgivings about marrying a foreigner. But telling her that might put extra pressure on her, and this woman had already done so much for his country.
Still frowning, she reached out and touched his head scarf.
‘Will you take this off?’ she asked, and the smile she gave him told him her answer.
‘One piece of clothing each,’ he challenged, and though he thought a look of shock had crossed her face, he dismissed the idea. She was a grown woman, no doubt experienced with men.
‘Why not?’
She had answered his challenge but now sat up, slipping the ribbon from her hair.
He removed his headdress, then his gown, casting it down on the carpet near their feet.
‘Your turn,’ he said, as desire burned so fiercely inside him it was a wonder he could speak at all.
She shifted, shuffled, lifted the hem of the beautiful silver dress, then slid out lacy white undies, throwing them on top of his gown.
‘That might be cheating,’ he whispered, his voice husky with the hunger he felt for her. ‘But I will let you get away with it and do shoe for shoe.’
He took off his sandals, setting them aside, then slid off one of hers, his hands drifting up her leg, feeling the swell of her calf, the hardness of knee bones, the soft back of her thigh.
She was shivering, her skin covered with goose-bumps, and that excited him even more, so with the removal of the second sandal he ventured further, sliding his hand high beneath the dress to touch her between her legs, feeling the soft, silken hair there, imagining it, burning to see it—
But she had stiffened, and he knew he’d gone too far, too fast. Slow down, he told himself, standing up in his wuzar, the white cloth his people wore as underwear, moving to be close to her again, to kiss her and touch her and feed the fires he knew burned as brightly inside her as they did within him.
She returned his kisses with a fierce need that raged through his blood, and her hands pressed against his naked back, fingers digging into his muscles, fingernails scratching against his skin, so desperate was her touch.
‘The dress,’ he whispered, when he knew she was riding the excitement once again.
‘You do it,’ she murmured back, softly acquiescent now, tremulous beneath his questing hands.
He wondered if his hands should be shaking this way as he eased the shoulder straps away, found a zip, then slowly pulled the dress down along her body so bit by bit her pearly skin, luminous in the moonlight, was revealed, and the shape of her body, of small, pert breasts, a tiny waist and swelling hips, was laid out before his gaze.
‘You are beautiful.’
He breathed the words then followed them with kisses, not hard and hot but worshipful, kissing the hollow of her neck, her chest, her stomach, leaving the breasts for last then running his tongue across first one and then the other.
She moved now, abruptly at first, as if the caress had startled her, but then she lay back and reached out to pull him closer, kissing his chest as he’d kissed hers, while his hands now found a peaking nipple, and his fingers played with it, her little whimpers of delight exciting him beyond endurance.
Lost in wonder at the delight of Azzam’s touch, at the magic of his kisses, at the response of her body to his exploring fingers, Alex drank it in with the thirst of someone who’d been lost too long in the desert. Her body was responding in ways she’d never imagined it could, and a tension beyond anything she’d ever felt was building up inside her.
Now his mouth had taken over the teasing of her breasts, sending fiery pulses down to the place between her legs where his hand worked a subtle new magic. He was touching her so lightly, so gently, yet the heat that had been building inside her had seemed
to plateau, and she hung, suspended, in some other world.
Now his fingers probed, but gently, and she knew she must feel hot and wet for all sensation in her body was now concentrated in that one small area. His thumb moved, touched a part of her she would never have considered sensitive, yet her body jolted beneath him, like someone who’d been hit with an electric charge.
Now he calmed and soothed her again in some way—with kisses on her lips—while she wanted to scream at him to keep going, to show her exactly what she’d been missing out on all these years.
‘Soon,’ he whispered, as if he sensed her impatience. ‘Lovemaking is too special to hurry.’
And once again he took her to that other place, but this time, as she hung there, her body taut with wanting, though what she wasn’t sure, his fingers continued touching her, moving into her, his thumb again brushing her clitoris, then one more touch and the world went black, stars exploded in this inky darkness, and her body dissolved into a puddle of sensation too unbelievable for there to be words to describe it.
‘Ah,’ he said, nothing more, but his hand remained cupped around her and, as more tremors rent her apart, he held her safe.
But this wasn’t all—she knew that—and now she’d experienced one part of this sex business she wanted all of it. Boldly she felt for him, found the iron-hard penis that had taunted her earlier, and ran exploratory fingers of her own over it. Of course she’d felt David’s excitement, back when they’d been courting and sex had been a fumble in the back seat of his car, but touching David had never made her hot and anxious, never made her move restlessly against him, her body begging to be taken.
Azzam shifted until he was lying above her, his body supported on his strong arms, his undergarment gone. He was so magnificent in the moonlight she could barely breathe for the wonder of it.
‘Guide me in,’ he ordered, and she hurried to obey, gasping at first as her body opened to accommodate him, gasping again as a fierce thrust caused a jolt of pain, then she found the rhythm of his movements and moved with him, aware of something primal, something elemental, in this mating dance beneath the stars and moon.
Sheikh, Children's Doctor...Husband Page 12
