by Lisa Torquay
Later into the night, it was Lucinda’s turn to wake up a find herself in Tariq’s arms. His now familiar manly scent entered her nostrils, and she sighed with pleasure. What harm could there be in laying in his arms like this? Let it be, she dismissed. Cocooned in his body she gave in to oblivion again.
When she woke in the morning, Tariq had been gone, as usual, the night shrouded in reveries.
Sexual frustration ate at him, he acknowledged, as the caravan neared the first village where he’d sell his goods and buy theirs to take with him. The night holding her wove in heaven and hell in a muddy mixture. So near her and yet, not able to touch her made his mood sour. He’d got to sleep out of sheer exhaustion, after the long ride and the sandstorm.
Fortunately, the caravan did not catch the storm, as it raided from east to west and didn’t hit where the caravan trailed.
He turned to his right side, where Lucinda rode on her camel, which reins he pulled. She appeared absent and immersed in her own thoughts, her veiled head turning, gazing the scenery. A desert princess sat on the saddle, he admired, a truthfully wanderer. This fact amazed him. He’d always thought English roses to be spoiled chits, full of ribbons and swooning. Not this one, by the looks of it. A sniff of pride surfaced to have her with him. What if it could be like this for a long time? He daydreamed.
Lucinda surveyed around as the desert unfolded before her. The days had been bearably warm, and the breeze mitigated the heat. Her tunic billowed, and her veil flapped behind her. At first, it caused strangeness at this foreign attire; the fabric thinner than what she wore in her country, with less layers. She’d felt almost naked in the beginning. But now, she’d got used to them. And pondered they hugged her much more comfortably, giving her freedom of movement and protection from the sun and wind she’d never realised possible. Or necessary for that matter. She wondered if she’d get re-used to wearing her formal dresses again.
The village came into view and Tariq pulled her reins, so their camels came abreast. “There will be no camp tonight, we’ll stay in the village.” He informed her.
As they entered the village, composed of one dusty lane, Tariq held her camel too close, as if to signalise his claim on her.
This new view absorbed Lucinda. The whitewashed flat squarish buildings built close to one another. At the end of the only lane she noticed a well. So, that’s why people lived here, she reflected, due to access to water. Men and women in their typical garb came out to see the long line of camels’ arrival.
Tariq made the animals sit as they dismounted. A veiled woman neared them and spoke to him in Arabic. He turned to her. “Go with her, she’ll take you to the lodgings.”
She looked sharp in his cognac gaze, her annoyance at being ordered around plain. He met her pepper-mint torches head on and didn’t back away. At last, she moved and followed the woman.
The lodging proved small but clean and neat. Not so different form the tent she slept in, it had a decorated rug on the floor. And a mattress on a low wooden platform, full of colourful cushions on it. A lattice worked window opened on one side. A chill coursed through her at the sight of the bed. Would Tariq share the room with her here?
The woman motioned for her to wait. A quarter of hour later lads brought an improvised tub and prepared a bath. The woman had a colourful bundle in her hands. She gave it to Lucinda and said Tariq’s name. Which meant he sent her clothes made by the villagers. The woman poured scented jasmine oil in the water and everyone left.
Lucinda enjoyed the bath with utter pleasure. A privilege to be able to get rid of all the soot.
She finished the bath and walked to the bed to see the clothes Tariq had sent her. On the pile rested a few sets of tunic, pantaloons and veils made in quite simple fashion with a little embroidery around the neck. One of them, though, revealed its sumptuousness, pure silk of a bright red shade, richly embroidered over the front in golden thread, beads and golden jewellery. A magnificent handcraft carrying centuries of tradition.
She’d just dressed one of the simpler tunics when Tariq came in the room. A jolt made her heart skip a beat. He had also bathed, his wet hair fell on his brow, looking even blacker. He had shaved and a sandalwood scent emanated from him. Perdition incarnated, his long-lashed cognac eyes on her as he closed the door.
Those clothes fit her to perfection, Tariq thought, as he appreciated her, so beautiful in that simple blue tunic. Her wet hair falling along her back and shoulders, down to her waist. “No one will be watching you, but everyone saw us enter the village together.” He propped his shoulder on the wall and crossed his arms. “If you try anything, we’ll catch you at once.”
She glanced at him, shuttered eyes, knowing she couldn’t try anything now. Her exact location undisclosed to draw a route. “Is it so strange that I want to go back?”
He shrugged. “What’s the hurry?” His mocking grin distorting his sinful lips. “It’s not like you’re being ill-treated.” His velvety voice would always affect her, she wondered, as waves of awareness crossed her insides.
She had to admit, at least to herself, the truth of his statement. Nevertheless, her chaperone and Adriana must be worried. And if Mrs Croft sent word to her parents, even worse. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing her apprehensive, of course. “I’ve made plans upon my returning.” She threw instead.
He frowned, his cognac eyes piercing her. “Plans?” Why should it be so outlandish for women to think ahead? “What plans?”
She glared him directly in the eye. “I’m getting married.” Of course, she was in no hurry to choose a husband or to be leg-shackled. With eyes revelling in his tall powerful frame, the idea came as positively unattractive. Her body reacted to him shamefully, her cheeks flushing.
An invisible deadly paw clawed sharp inside Tariq. “Who are you marrying?” In a brusque movement, he pushed from the wall and stalked to her.
She lifted her chin in defiance. “I’m choosing from one of the offers when I get back.”
The knowledge she had more than one offer to choose from ate at his guts. No surprise there, beautiful as she was. There would be no shortage of suitors. At her marriageable age. And a blue-blood. And he couldn’t fathom why this fuming rage in him.
“Oh, one of those milk-sops.” He struggled to give a sardonic clink to his comment. He stepped forward.
Her hands flew to her waist, and she kept her ground. “They are gentlemen, a concept you cannot grab!” And she hoped he didn’t. The epithet milk-sop not so far from the truth after all.
He came closer, she raised her head to his cognac-against-fire eyes darting shards of anger. His broad shoulders domineering. The sandalwood scent alluring. Impossible for her not to step back, as her full breasts, pebbled, almost touched his kaftan.
“Oh, yes, sorry. Gentlemen.” The word dripped disdain. “And, prey, what’s so special about them?” He prowled predatorily once more.
His drawling silky deep voice drew like a caress on her skin. But danger underlined it. Her breath caught, her mind blurred as she struggled for coherent thought to prevail. She paced back again. “T-they are considerate, respectful and—” The remaining died in her throat as he moved again.
He came closer, as though he was about to pounce. “And?” He pressed.
She tried to step back once more, but her heels found the bed. “A-and polite.” Her eyes widened on him. He stood so close, she could see the golden rim in his eyes. Her mouth dried causing her to moisten her tingling lips. His eyes lowered to her parted lips and darkened.
“Tell me then,” He lifted one hand to cup her breast, his thumb caressing the hard tip, unleashing a fiery shot of sensation in her. A smug smile danced on his sensuous lips. “if your so highly praised gentlemen make you feel like this.”
The decadent thumb did not stop. But her breath did, arrested in her throat as her heated gaze locked on his. Waves and more waves of melting sensation zinged through her, weakening, wicked. Tempting defeat lay a second ahead. A
nd she could not care less.
Molten cognac surveillance watched the play of delicious surrender in her pepper-mint depths with not an ounce of victory. For he sank under the same wretched spell, unable to avoid his own fall.
Did she really need to answer his question? Because her mushy brain could solely conjure how she never wanted his finger to halt.
In a quick movement, his other arm laced her waist and pulled her to him as their chests clashed. His lips plundered hers as he kept his hand on her breast, caressing it daringly. His tongue looted her mouth ruthlessly.
Lucinda’s already failing reasoning fled, as only the heat of their bodies together overwhelmed her senses. Her palms found his muscled chest and slid up to his strong neck, to entangle his hair, making their bodies lock together in molten passion.
He deepened his kiss at the same time his thumb and forefinger started a slow agonising torture of the nipple, driving her to voracious pleasure. She opened more for him and he devoured her avidly.
Her tongue entwined with his, her throat sighed with the pleasure it gave her, trying to come closer to him. He groaned with her hips moving on him. Their entire bodies touched, the bulk of him printed on her belly. A gnawing hunger in her core, so intense it hurt.
He lifted his head just enough to look in her now opening pepper-mint eyes. “I’ll kill any man who comes near you!” He muttered hotly. His blood had turned to lava in his veins and all he wanted was to grab the neckline of her tunic and yank it, tearing the fine silk. But a feeble shred of rationality remaining in him predicted she’d be scared. So, he sultrily lifted her tunic, revealing her full breasts, crowned with dusky, appetising nipples. He stared mesmerised at her beauty, unable to stop himself from doing what he had fantasised about multiple times.
She gasped at her exposed breasts and his mouth came down on them hungry. An avalanche of heat sieged her. Her head fell back with a moan and she pressed his head on it, wanting his mouth to caress her forever. And he did. Repeatedly.
Lucinda vaguely registered the cushions touch her back, her hair everywhere, and now her torso lay bared at his mercy. He feasted on her. Each hand full of one of her breasts and his lips taking turns caressing the dusky-peaked mounds. She was going to die, she was sure of that. This, or the fire in her skin would burn her to ashes.
The sun faded through the lattice work on the window and Tariq didn’t stand a chance of stopping savouring her jasmine scented skin. At boiling point. Passion. Heat. Urge. He needed her. Now. He needed her so much, he might perish.
The ache in her core so acute she opened her legs to ferret out a semblance of relief. But all she succeeded was to extricate a groan from Tariq as she inadvertently nestled him in her. He kissed her savagely again and she followed, arching to find more of him.
His head lifted and cognac eyes plunged in her pepper-mint darkened ones, surrounded by her dried-dates hair. The overflowing response to him abraded his restraint. His hand crept down her belly and she startled when his fingers found her ready, heated core inside the pantaloons. She should repel him, indignant, but long fingers started tantalising circling movements and she melted, moaning, her head falling back almost in delirium.
Without even noticing it, she rotated her hips against his hand, trying to hold on to something eluding her. And she continued the chase. Sensations intensified, her parted lips sighed, her closed eyes enjoyed. He circled his hand terribly more and she exploded in a multi-coloured prism, crying out her vertigo.
Tariq hadn’t taken his attention from her a single second. Even in the dim twilight he drank on her drowning in pleasure. It consumed all his strength not to take her there and then. His flesh so hard, it wept in readiness. He didn’t know what he’d do with it. Well, he did but…
After a while, Lucinda emerged from her haze flushed and spent. She raised her eyes to him. “Tariq,” she breathed, “more.”
“For heaven’s sake, Lucinda!” Desperation in his tone. “You test me to maddening levels!”
But her curious hands already sneaked inside his loose pantaloons, finding his hard, sticky shaft. "Lucinda…” He pleaded when she closed her hand around him and moved to measure him. Her touch so delicious, he didn’t have the strength to make her interrupt her track.
“Tariq!” Her caress merciless as he reached the verge of perdition. “It’s too big!”
Painfully, he mustered a raspy murmur. “I assure you you’d enjoy it exceedingly were it in the right place.” He moaned again when she dared to stroke him further. “Don’t stop. Ever!” His head fell on the curve of her neck in pure delight.
Who wanted to stop? Not her, for certain. His texture like warm steel and silk in her fingers and she wished it could quench the hunger which renewed in her core. Her exploration continued to breaking point. He grunted as he undulated in her hand and then he was spilling his warm content. He pressed his hips on her, wanting so much more than that. Panting, he held her close to him.
Tariq and Lucinda sat on cushions in a hall at the villagers’ gathering in their honour. Tariq was a popular merchant in that route, respected for his honesty and fairness. The women in these villages dreamed of catching his attention one day.
Leaving the lodging had been one of the most tearing difficult thing for Tariq. If he was to follow his desires, he’d have locked that damn door and thrown away the blasted key, never to find it again. But in the end, they washed in the remaining bath water Lucinda had used and came to the whitewashed hall.
An array of deliciously prepared dishes lined the rug in the centre on large decorated copper round plates. On a corner, a group of musicians played the oud, a type of guitar, the tabla, a percussion instrument and the zukrah, a flute.
The group of women, veiled, sat separately and, with them, Lucinda. She’d decided to dress the richly embroidered tunic set and stood out among the group. She absorbed the scene around her and marvelled. Not even in her wildest reveries had she imagined she’d be in the middle of such a tableau somewhere in Tunisia. The experience came baffling. The air wafted the smell of spices and so many different ingredients of the food. The foreign music rhythm, involving, the torches on the walls coloured the walls in fiery shades. Tariq sat with the men. Even if they dressed their complete white garb, he stood out for his tallness and attractiveness. She couldn’t help noticing the other women in her group slipped glances at him surreptitiously. The fact made her strangely disquiet.
If she allowed her mind to wander to their moments in the lodging, her body would go aflame. The way he made her…implode in unprecedented pleasure. His kisses, the feel of him glued to her, his manly scent. She didn’t have the faintest idea of how she’d resist him in the future. Now that she knew what he could do to her, with her. Her insides hungered for more already.
After eating, the women stood up to dance. They pulled Lucinda with them, even if she tried to gesture she didn’t dance that style of music. Had never listened to it, to tell the truth. But they pushed her to the front, near the musicians. The other women started dancing and she was at a loss what to do, utterly self-conscious. After a few minutes, she decided it didn’t do to stand there motionless while every woman danced. She studied them, mimicking their moves.
English bodies learned to grow rigid and ram-rod straight. The dance came sinuous, fluid, flexible, but Lucinda managed to follow. As she twirled about, she caught Tariq’s darkened eyes. He ogled fixedly at her. Even better. She applied even bigger effort to do it more sensuously. She got in the mood and danced in sheer joy. Another twirl and he’d disappeared. Bewildered, she didn’t know what to think or where he might have gone.
Tariq must leave, or he’d have ravished her there and then. She didn’t dance perfectly, of course, being it her first time. She danced it well enough to tempt the hell out of him. How was he supposed to keep her untouched when he burned down for her? He raked his both hands in his obsidian hair. And no choice but to sleep in the lodge, moreover, to protect her from other men, who took noti
ce of her, if their appreciating looks were anything to go by at dinner. He cursed the day he drew the feeble plan to kidnap Adriana for atonement. Because he ended up with the most infuriating, desirable and off-limits woman on earth.
The hour much advanced when he finally came to the lodging. The men sat talking and drinking tea. Those women had retired earlier as the custom. An oil lamp still burned when he came in and Lucinda lay tucked in the blankets as the cool night air came in by the latticed window. Her frame still, too still for sleep. It held a tense quality incompatible with relaxed slumber.
He lay down on his side with his back to her. Sleepless, counting the minutes for dawn. Then he’d be able to go about preparing to leave. When the first light came at last, he got up from the damn bed. He hadn’t slept a wink. He’d done a herculean effort to keep motionless and not to give in to doing everything his sleepless mind and hard flesh demanded. With her. His mood in shambles, sexual frustration kept him irritable to the point of being nasty even to a grain of sand.
The moment Tariq had gone, Lucinda got to doze for a while. She’d lain awake the whole night, her insides in flames for him. First, she didn’t find sleep in the expectation of what’d happen when he came to the lodge. When he did, his nearness proved too much for her peace of mind. It was all she could do not to turn to him and give in to the things she imagined doing to him. By the time she sat on her camel, she was unfit for the day ahead.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Days later, they’d left yet another village where Tariq had a bath prepared for her. Where they’d shared a lodge for a badly slept night after the usual gathering in the village’s hall.
The caravan weaved through rocky hills elevating from the sandy ground. Big rocks on the way, made the caravan serpent around them. The sun already tilted towards the west when Tariq gave orders to settle camp. Too late to reach the next village or to pass the difficult terrain ahead. So, Tariq decided to stop, as a clearing opened among the rocks and the hills. He hoped it to be safe enough, the geographical setting not the friendliest, he worried.
