Then, that devilish gaze still locked with his, she leaned forward and took him straight into her mouth. And as his legs turned to water right there and then, Nikhil found he was powerless to do anything but let her do what she willed, whilst he thought he was about to die from need.
* * *
Pleasuring Nikhil was possibly the most sensuous thing she’d ever done in her life, Isla thought. Oh, she’d performed the act before, but it had never, ever felt so heady. So right. It had never made her feel as powerful as she did right now, with him.
As though she had all the control and he was simply at her mercy.
With every stroke of her tongue, every tightening of her fist, every graze of her teeth, she could hear his breathing grow all the more ragged and those hewn stone thighs of his tremble that little bit harder.
She drew him out to let her tongue swirl around his velvet-steel tip, then angled her head to take him in deeper. Her mouth, her tongue, her hands, all working in harmony, united in the same goal of making Nikhil give himself up to her completely.
And his taste. It was intoxicating. Stirring. It made her want to indulge all the more. Indulge for ever.
She was in so much trouble and she couldn’t seem to care.
The realisation dragged a low moan from deep in her throat, rumbling down Nikhil’s length and eliciting a curse from him as he speared his fingers deeper into her hair. As if he couldn’t help himself. Another shiver of excitement jolted through Isla.
Gripping him tighter, she let her fingers apply pressure at his root whilst her mouth worked some kind of spell she hadn’t even known she possessed. Until Nikhil’s breath came harsher, his legs less stable than ever. She was driving him closer and closer to the edge and the taste of victory, of power, was almost too delicious.
And still she wasn’t surprised when he found that last shred of strength to pull away from her.
‘Not like this.’ His voice was so thick, so gravelly, that it was almost unrecognisable.
It gave her an immense sense of satisfaction—almost making up for the sense of loss.
Then he was slamming off the shower, gathering her into his arms and carrying her back into the bedroom as if he couldn’t contain himself any longer.
He threw her down on the bed, stared at her for a long moment before offering a guttural sound of approval that juddered straight through her, and threw her legs over his shoulders. Then he licked into her greedily, urgently, without a single word spoken.
Bright and hot, like the sunlight bouncing off the waves outside her window every morning.
Better.
Isla wasn’t sure how she didn’t shatter in an instant. Because he didn’t merely lick her, he feasted on her. As if she was the last meal of his life and he was hell-bent on sampling every last morsel. And she was helpless to do anything but spread herself out for him, every sweep of his tongue making her shake that little bit more uncontrollably, her hands thrust into his hair, her hips bucking up to meet him.
She felt utterly wanton. And somehow she knew that only fired Nikhil up all the more. She was hurtling to the edge and there was no way she could apply the brakes, especially when he cupped her backside with his large hands, pressed down on her sex with his mouth and then sucked. Hard.
Isla fractured apart, his name tumbling from her lips—a song and an incantation. She splintered, and still he kept going, relentlessly pushing her from one high to the next. She arched her back, her fingers grasping his hair, his shoulders, the sheets, for some kind of purchase, and his low rumble of laughter shuddered through her like a new form of exquisite, magnificent torture.
And this time she didn’t simply hit another high; this time she hurtled off into space. And she could only hope that Nikhil would be her safety net when she fell back down to earth.
Isla had no idea how long it took her to come back to herself, but when she did she glanced around the room to check where she was. To make sure that it hadn’t just been a dream.
But it hadn’t. She was still here, in his room, and in his bed. She just didn’t understand how he could upend her world like this—so easily—and yet the room wasn’t equally torn apart.
Then he was moving up her body to cover it with his own as she reached for him, nestling him between her legs. A low gasp escaped her lips as she rolled her hips against him, revelling in the way his breath caught, the way they affected each other with barely a brush of heat against steel.
But wasn’t this supposed to be about her being in control? She had almost forgotten. Lifting her hands to his shoulders, Isla made a supreme effort and pushed him off her, onto his back on the bed, straddling him before he could move.
Nikhil’s expression flip-flopped between lust and amusement. ‘Like that, is it?’
‘Like that,’ she whispered, leaning forward to brush her mouth to his, her tongue teasing at the seam of his lips.
Her chest pressed to his, her nipples chafing deliciously against the fine layer of hair scattered across his chest. She was so close. Again. How could that be?
His hands splayed around her hips. Lightly. As if he was trying to resist taking the reins—but only just. She liked that he even tried. Her gaze caught his and, for another moment, she couldn’t breathe. Placing her hands on his shoulders, Isla levered herself slightly upright and, her eyes still locked with his, she slipped slowly—so slowly—down his length, taking him inside her.
Deep, and sure.
It was possibly the most provocative thing she’d ever done. And Nikhil seemed to think so too. His jaw was so tight she was half afraid he might break it.
‘See what happens when you give up control?’ she whispered, her eyes still held by his. ‘Even for this tiny moment.’
‘I only know that you’re killing me, pyar,’ he ground out.
And suddenly his perpetually dark expression cleared, if only for a moment, and she saw something in those depths that she had never anticipated. Something that called to her so loudly, and so clearly. A jagged puzzle piece, like those pieces of jewellery that were two halves of a whole. And, not that she’d ever realised it before, the matching piece lay—just as deeply buried—inside her.
It called to her, clawed at her and, even if she couldn’t bring herself to answer, there was no way she could stop her heart from swelling in her chest. Insane, and dangerous, and just as undeniable.
And then she wasn’t in control any longer. Nikhil’s hands tightened around her hips and he began to set the pace. Slow yet inexorable, beating in her chest, her belly, and through her very veins. Building deliciously and carrying her higher still as her fingers bit into his shoulders as she matched him, thrust for thrust.
‘Nikhil...’
‘Forget about control, pyar,’ he muttered, his voice gratifyingly strained. ‘Forget about everything and just let go.’
‘You first,’ she murmured, scarcely recognising her own voice.
Her entire body was fizzing as she began to move again, riding them both towards the edge. And suddenly it didn’t matter who had fallen first as they toppled together, over the edge and into the gloriously endless abyss beyond.
* * *
It was an hour or so later when Isla swung her legs heavily over the side of the bed as Nikhil lay sleeping. She ached everywhere. A delicious bone-deep ache that reminded her of every last second of that glorious time together.
An ache that made her hesitate as her feet made contact with the wooden floor, wishing she didn’t have to force herself to get up. To sneak out.
It was supposed to have been about quenching her thirst for Nikhil. How could it be that, instead, the more she had of this man, the more she seemed to crave?
Well, either way, it was too bad. They’d had their indulgence; he wasn’t going to welcome her still being around when he woke. Nikhil would be about business, the way he was always about busi
ness. But this afternoon had been something special. Just between them. A moment where he had relaxed his control...and a memory she would have for ever...where Nikhil had been at her mercy—if only for a few hours.
She tucked it away as something precious.
Leaning forward a fraction, Isla placed her fists either side of her bottom, pushing into the mattress, and levered her reluctant body up.
‘Going somewhere?’
She swung around quickly.
God, he still looked so impossibly beautiful. It wasn’t fair, really.
‘It’s nearly dinnertime. I thought I should get changed for the evening.’
He frowned. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
Her heart faltered in her chest. Could he possibly want her to stay? Her blood pumped harder in her veins and she tried to quell it. Even if he did want her to stay, she shouldn’t. It was already starting to become too difficult to separate the sex from the emotion.
‘I’m the scheduled doctor on call,’ she offered instead, chewing on her lower lip, almost frightened of saying too much and spooking him.
‘You have your pager?’
‘Of course.’ She looked around for her clothes, flushing when she saw them lying haphazardly on the floor, and remembering Nikhil’s impatience at removing them.
The moment had been intoxicating. The memory still was, if she were to be honest. And yet she swept up the garments and held them to the front of her body, as though that provided her with any more dignity than standing here, completely naked, in front of him.
‘Then they can reach you if they need to. You don’t have to be down there with everyone else.’
‘Right.’ Isla swallowed.
She could barely breathe right now. Standing here, waiting—silently begging—for him to spell it out. But Nikhil just lay there, his hands locked behind his head, his bare muscled chest on display and the white sheet low over his abdomen, just concealing himself from her.
Teasing her.
Was he daring her to crawl back onto the bed and repeat what had happened earlier?
Her mouth actually watered, even as insecurity gripped her.
‘So... I should stay?’
His eyes changed, something flashing through them that she couldn’t quite identify, and then they darkened, looking more sensuous than ever.
‘Are you waiting for an invitation?’
What was it about his tone that made her suddenly so bold?
‘I wasn’t presuming,’ she teased. ‘I’ve learned that can be a mistake where you are concerned.’
‘And I’ve learned that no matter how much I try to resist you, pyar, I cannot. But there is a lesson to be learned there, I think.’
‘What lesson?’ Isla asked, trying to hold herself together. Trying not to read too much into the fact that he’d called her pyar. Again. Which, if she wasn’t very much mistaken, was a term of endearment.
It was both terrifying and stirring that she should react so viscerally to the term. No matter how much she kept trying to remind herself that this was casual, that it didn’t mean anything, that she didn’t want it to mean anything, Isla was very much afraid her head and her heart weren’t quite singing the same song.
Perhaps reading that all over her face, Nikhil suddenly took hold of her upper arms. Not roughly, but enough to make sure she was listening to him.
‘Isla, you understand that I can’t offer you anything more than this?’ His voice was gruff.
‘I don’t want anything more.’ The words slipped out easily enough. Yet she was still suspicious of her own traitorous heart. ‘You forget, I don’t believe in love. Or relationships.’
‘So you said,’ he confirmed.
But he didn’t look entirely convinced and she knew how he felt.
‘The point is, this isn’t dating. It’s just...’
‘Enjoying each other’s company,’ Isla jumped in, though whether she was trying to convince Nikhil or herself wasn’t entirely determinable.
Still, the words were the right ones. And, whether he believed her or not, it was enough to allow him to continue.
‘Enjoying each other’s company,’ he muttered, already pulling her back to him and claiming her mouth with his own. As if he couldn’t help himself any longer.
And didn’t that say something all of its own?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WHAT WAS IT about an all-you-can-eat cruise ship buffet that induced a passenger with a known allergy to decide to sample the very food that could kill them? In this case, a newly married fifty-year-old gentleman with a shellfish allergy who had nonetheless decided to sample the aphrodisiac qualities of oysters with his new wife.
In a way, she could almost understand it. The past few weeks with Nikhil—ever since that night back at the hotel in the rainforest—had been incredible. Special. How many times had he reached for her that night? After that thrilling moment when she’d been about to sneak out of his room, when he’d told her that he couldn’t offer her anything more than enjoying each other’s company.
It had been more of a promise than she’d ever imagined she would hear from his lips. And he’d made good on it, giving her the key to his cabin every night they happened to be off together. Trusting her.
Because, as discreet as she’d tried to be, she knew that even if only one person spotted them, it would ruin the reputation he’d spent a decade building. He was risking it for her. It was more of a declaration to her than all the words he’d avoided saying. And one day, when she had the courage, maybe she could point that out to him and prove that he was wrong for thinking that he wasn’t the kind of person who could love, or be loved.
Maybe. One day.
And Nikhil wasn’t the only one who had changed this past month. How many times had she caught herself thinking and feeling differently? How many times had she felt wild, and daring, just because of the way this one, wonderful man affected her?
She was growing; she could sense it. She just wasn’t quite sure what it meant yet.
But, either way, perhaps it wasn’t such a shock that the new marriage made her latest patient feel as though he was invincible—even where shellfish were concerned. Taking the stairs two at a time, she raced to the main restaurant. Hopefully, he would have his allergy pen on him and his new wife would have administered it.
She might have known it wouldn’t happen. Even by the time she’d elbowed her way through the rubber-necking crowd, the patient was deteriorating rapidly. His face had swollen up at least twice its usual size, contorted and red, and threatening his airway with every passing second. His breathing was already shallow and rasping, and even the guy’s hands were swollen where he’d picked up the offending item.
His wife was evidently so distraught that it took Isla several moments to calm her down enough to discover that her husband’s name was Stewart.
Clearing a space around her patient, Isla picked out an epinephrine injector from her bag and prepared to administer the medication, talking to where the eyes should have been on Stewart’s distorted face. She was only glad that it was a lunchtime and the man was wearing shorts.
It was fortunate that, just as she finished, Lisa arrived with antihistamines and an oxygen mask, the mobile gurney not far behind.
‘Let’s get you to the medical centre, Stewart.’ Isla smiled at her patient, wondering if he could even see her. He seemed to be able to, but it was still too hard to tell. This was always the worst part, trying to deal with a frightened patient and equally frightened loved one when a hundred or more people were crowding around, trying to get a good view of the action.
It was several hours before Isla finally finished up the last of her paperwork, handed it to Gerd, who was on duty for the night, and slipped out of the medical centre.
Quickly and quietly, she hurried through the ship, grateful for the l
ate hour if only because it made it easier to sneak to Nikhil’s room without being seen. Not that the past couple of weeks hadn’t been just a little bit thrilling, sneaking around the ship, snatching as many precious nights together as they could without anyone realising what was going on.
Not that they got that many between his work and hers, but in a way that only made them feel that much more delicious.
Some feat on a ship like this, and for Isla, who’d never done anything remotely illicit like this before, it was impossible not to get a bit of a kick from it.
No doubt it helped that the only two people who might possibly notice that something was amiss were either in some secret location with the other Dara brother...or holed up with the Captain on his downtime.
Ironic, really. Isla stifled a gurgle of laugher.
She had slipped inside Nikhil’s cabin when he was there, and he was drawing her into his arms and to him.
‘I wasn’t sure if you’d still be on the bridge,’ she breathed between scorching, devilish kisses.
‘I got back here a few minutes before you did,’ he muttered. ‘I heard about the drama with the seafood roulette player. He’s okay?’
‘He’s okay,’ she confirmed, her fingers making their way to his waist to tug his already half-undone shirt out of the trouser band.
‘Anything I need to know?’
‘Nothing that can’t wait for the report in the morning,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘Good,’ he approved, pulling her up to wrap her legs around his waist and carry her across the room to drop her—both of them laughing like intoxicated teens on their first night out—onto the bed.
* * *
Isla was just finishing in the shower an hour or so later when she heard a soft knock on Nikhil’s cabin door and the low exchange of voices. She paused, trying to stay quiet and discreet and not really trying to listen. Not that it mattered; the voices were too low for her to hear what was being said.
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