by Lisa Torquay
She must have dozed off because she woke up with Tariq dropping intense kisses over her face and neck. Wet kisses. “Lucinda.” He called in a silky breathy voice. “Is the idea of me so boring you fell asleep?”
“Tariq!” She awoke to enjoy his touch. “You’re wet and freezing!” He bent over her, hands propped on the sides of her head.
“Yes, jewel. I need you to warm me all night.” He’d discarded his soaked kaftan and sirwaal on the carpet, together with his coat. His magnificent naked body lit by the fire.
She removed the bed covers for him to come under them. “You shouldn’t have come with this weather!” She enveloped him in the covers and held him close to her. His scent of rain and the man which she loved, her senses taking in and recognising his presence, while her warm bed cocooned them.
“My bed was even colder!” His arms closed around her, making her shiver with his damp skin and with his ardent caresses. Their legs entwined while his dexterous hands untied her night rail. Shoulders and breasts bared, he rolled the hem up her legs. He merged his face in her hair, revelling in its perfume and smoothness.
His wet haired head came down on her breast, mouth licking the sensitive pebbled tip as she moaned in pure delight. “You have irresistible breasts!” He took it deep in his mouth and she soared almost delirious with the hot sensation. Her head bent back and her hands immersed in his obsidian wet hair. His desire rock-hard against her legs.
“Waiting the whole day for you has made me impatient, Lucinda.” He took her other breast between his teeth and his hand slid to her core. “I need you.” He found her hot and ready. “Now!”
Incredible how they needed merely to be near one another for their bodies ignite to combustion levels and drive them to utter derangement. The attack on her senses rendered her weak and pliant. His caresses on her breasts together with his torturous fingers inflicted a cross-fire on her body. She just opened for him to do whatever he wanted with her.
And he did.
With inexorable carnal passion.
As only he knew how.
He came to the cradle of her bent knees and invaded her with urgency in a long stroke to his hilt. He embraced her under her back as though he clung to a lifeline, with ragged breaths. His head buried in the curve of her throat, trying desperately to hold back as much as he could.
Lucinda lost contact with the world around her. The rain continued to whip the glass, the fire still burned in the fireplace, a distant thunder sounded, but she was oblivious to that. Only Tariq and the tormenting delectable way he moved in her existed in the night. She moved to take everything he offered, her craving escalating to unbearable point.
Tariq thrust in her deeper and deeper, never getting enough, in a frenzy of need. He’d given up, for his self-control had crashed. He grunted and plunged blindly, her taste, her womanly scent contributing to his imminent downfall.
But Lucinda reached the verge of crumbling as she sought him with increased eagerness, and her legs circled him as his thrusts mined her resistance more and more. A collision of hot waves erupted in her, and she had to clamp her lips not to cry out loud with dismaying pleasure.
Her contractions brought the end of him as he thrust towards his debacle shamelessly. He gave in to madness, grunting and losing himself in her, inundating her with his release. He fell on her defeated, their bodies given to each other, sated and breathless.
Peace took them at last and carried them to a slumbering rest.
In the small hours, Lucinda opened her eyes first. The rain had doused to a drizzle out in the world and the fire faded slowly. She looked at Tariq’s head on her breasts. Sleeping, he resembled a languid lion, his tousled obsidian hair falling on his forehead, his stubble tickling her skin and his arms holding her possessively. She wished they would enjoy such moments every night of her life, she sighed, and caressed his now dry sleek hair.
Tariq lifted his head and eyed her, still drowsy. Then he lay back and brought her with him. They remained like this for long minutes.
Suddenly, she lifted her head and sought his gaze. “I’m returning to London tomorrow.”
“Why?” His lazy silky voice thicker in the night.
She got up, rearranged her night rail and walked to the fire place. “I promised my parents I’d be there for Easter.”
“And then what?” He’d sat up on crumpled sheets.
She started putting logs in the fire. “They’d agreed to let me travel to Sicily, implying I should choose a husband when I returned.”
At this, he leapt out of bed as a hunting feline. He stalked to the fireplace without bothering to cover his powerful body. “No, you won’t!”
“Yes, I will!” She took the poke to pull the logs together. “I have to fulfil my duties.”
“I told you I’ll thrash any man who comes near you!” He said coming in front of her and glaring at her furious.
Exactly as she felt when she thought about any other man touching her but him.
She sighed wearily, leaving the poke aside. “We’ve been through this just this afternoon, Tariq.” She brushed a lock of dried-dates hair from her cheek, facing him. “It hasn’t changed since then.” She made a hopeless gesture with her hands.
He strode to where his clothes lay and dressed his sirwaal in brusque movements. “Right.” He lifted his hands in signal of understanding. “But promise me one thing.”
Their eyes met serious; his illuminated by the fire, which emphasized the cognac shade. “What?” She asked.
“That if you’re with child, you’ll come to me.” He neared her.
A difficult thing to promise. It depended on her knowing if she expected and when the signals would manifest themselves. “I cannot promise this, Tariq.” Her regretful tone wasn’t lost on him.
He raked his hands through his obsidian hair, cut with bluish streaks in the firelight. “What can you promise, then?”
She crossed her arms, lowered her head, buying time. She rose her eyes and met his again. “Nothing.” She said with finality.
They stared at each other for a long time. The fire played on his rugged face, making his cognac eyes shine brighter, the fire lending a rakish glow to his manly features.
“Tariq.” She called and paused when his marvellous eyes lifted to hers. “Sooner or later you’ll go back to Tunis.” The possibility of him away from her hurt like a spear in her heart. “Maybe find a suitable woman.” The spear buried deeper as she twisted her fingers together.
As much as his was a polygamist culture, imagining himself touching another woman didn’t appeal to him in the least. In fact, it turned him to ice. “Is this what you want?”
Want? She thought quizzical. What she wanted was to be with him to the end of time. “This is not a question of what I want. It’s a question of tackling reality.”
“We can change reality.” His eyes strolled to her perfect face, to which the fire yielded a fairy shade, her eyes made even greener, her magnificent hair with reddish streaks; the light delineated her body through the diaphanous fabric of her night rail. How was he supposed to stop this mad…yearning for her?
“Yes, but we cannot change our backgrounds, not overnight at least.” Her arms extended along her body and her eyes intent on him.
His hands came to her shoulders, and he pulled her to him, their bodies touching hotly. “You’re the most exasperating woman ever born on this earth!” He muttered as their noses almost touched, their breaths mingled and their eyes locked. “But I can’t help wanting you.” His mouth came on hers with desperation.
Neither could she, Lucinda responded inwardly as her heart swelled with his kisses, with his touch. His presence.
This time they didn’t make it to the bed. They lay before the fireplace, moving in acute surrender.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
She reached London with her maid in a watery sunshine luncheon time. She climbed the stairs to her room in a light pink day dress. Well, now it was a matter of following through
with what she must do. Soon she’d have to talk to her mother.
In her room, Megan undid her baggage as she sat by the window, looking at the garden, her eyes absent. Her memory replayed the last week so vividly it became hard to accept it ended.
Tariq wasted no time. Before dawn he’d gotten up, taken his belongings and ridden his Arab stallion to London, with Aziz. He had a house to find and rent.
Still in Tunis, he had received a letter from Pietro Graziani, apologising and willing to make amends. So he’d sailed his ship to Syracuse and met the old man. He’d given up the idea of demanding a payment for the losses Graziani had caused him. Presently, he needed something else. He’d asked for a recommendation letter to one of Pietro’s acquaintances in London. The missive would afford him to go into society and to rent a house in town. He’d build connections, they’d be useful, he reckoned. Due to his European tutors, he had a notion of the mechanics of their culture. With this accomplished, he’d sailed his ship north impatiently.
Thanks to his strategy, by mid-afternoon he was comfortably installed in a house in the same fancy neighbourhood as the Lancefields. He stood at the balcony of his bedroom and regarded the park. Yes, right. Comfortably could be a matter of discussion, he much more preferred rugs and cushions and low-platform beds, richly adorned by fine silk curtains and…and her.
If someone had told him he’d cross half a hemisphere to a cold and wet land as this because of a woman, he’d have laughed out loud at their faces. But she wasn’t any woman. She was Lucinda, his Princess of the Desert. His most inadequately perfect match. In every possible way. Without her he became like a…carcass, a shadow of himself. Her defiance and determination brought spice to his life. Away from her he… Blast! He fell in love with the woman! There was no denying it! These mad emotions that lacerated his guts could only be love. He hadn’t even realised it. Damn it! He deemed he’d been immune to it, being this so foreign a concept. But he found himself wrong. He didn’t have immunity against it and now she’d crept into his blood, his heart, his mind. He was lost! They were. Because he wouldn’t give her up, no, sir. Ever!
It hit him why he craved her with so much despair. By physical contact with her he expressed his love. It’d been a carnal act, as much as a manifestation of his feelings. When she lay in his arms, it was as if all of him got consumed, assuaged. Dissolved.
He turned from the window as Aziz came in with the correspondence.
The Duchess of Gosforth’s annual ball stood as the highest event of the season. Everybody who was anybody would attend. Naturally, the Lancefields had received an invitation.
The Earl and the Countess arrived with Lucinda, her siblings being still underage. Lucinda had chosen a dark green velvet evening gown that contrasted with her ivory skin and gave a special spark to her eyes. She climbed up the entrance steps bracing herself to a deadly boring night. Little seemed to appeal to her these days, except… But that, him, had to be left behind from now on. She’d have to get prepared for the tasteless life she’d never wanted. Starting with this ball was as good as any other occasion.
As soon as she joined the multitude of people, Olivia Wilmington came to meet her all giggles and secrets. Olivia had been one of her school mates, together with Adriana. “Come, Lucinda! I want you to meet someone.” She hooked her arm to Lucinda’s and walked to where her parents, Baron and Baroness Wilmington, stood.
Coming closer, the group opened and in its middle Tariq. A ball of fire bombarded Lucinda’s heart. Would she ever get peace? She needed to forget the impossible man! It was too late to back away. He’d seen her and his cognac eyes burned on her as if they touched her very skin.
“Oh, my dear Lucinda.” Olivia’s father greeted her. “Come meet Mr Tariq Al-Fadih!”
She blushed, her mind numbed with his presence. She managed to curtsy. “Mr Al-Fadih.” His name came all too breathy for her taste. She wanted to punch him and ravish him at the same time. The man was a strategist!
Without taking his eyes from her, he bowed. “London seems to be full of delicate flowers.” He flattered refined in his silky accented tone like a feather caress on her skin. The other women in the group on the verge of swooning. Lucinda had to make a conscious effort not to roll her eyes. So he made an impression on the ton. She had nothing to do with it, but something acid spread inside her, and she prayed it wasn’t jealousy with the reaction of the other women.
A few more pleasantries exchanged and Lord Wilmington walked ahead to introduce Tariq to other acquaintances.
Olivia turned to her exhilarated. “We have a barbarian among us today! I was speechless when he came to our house with a letter of recommendation from Adriana’s father!” She giggled even more.
Lucinda still tried to recompose herself and barely drew breath, let alone speak.
“Imagine him taking me to his exotic land to live in a tent, or wherever they live!” Olivia sighed dreamy. “How romantic it’d be!”
Lucinda wondered what her friend would say if she revealed she’d been to his country and slept in tents, treaded the desert, seen his home and that they’d… Oh, no! Don’t go there! She would tell nothing, naturally. If possible, she’d say reality came in much less romantic colours.
They headed to the ballroom, as crowded as they came, where the orchestra played. A gentleman invited Olivia to dance and Lucinda stood on the fringes watching the couples swirl on the dance floor. As a waltz began, she smelled his sandalwood scent before she saw him.
“Lady Lucinda.” His formality didn’t lessen the effect of his voice on her. “Would you give me the privilege of this dance?” He extended his hand to her. Touching a woman in public would feel awkward every time he did it because it was so different from the custom in his country. But this presented a unique chance to be near her and he’d grab it.
Was the man crazy? Lucinda inquired indignant. Didn’t he know they would be playing with fire? If they so much as crossed eyes, they ignited, if they touched they’d go up in flames! Her heart jumped, her skin felt feverish. But she had to accept the dance invitation, or she’d incur in unforgivable rudeness as he very well understood. So she curtsied, plastered a smile on her face and offered him her gloved hand.
Tariq would never get used to women squeezed in ungraceful English attire, but he had to admit she was beautiful tonight. He only wanted to take her to his rented house, snatch off her dress and have her all night. He had been aware that, if they touched, they might lose control. The temptation arose too great though, he mused as he took her in his arms and they twirled around the ballroom in a haze of enchantment.
They moved as if in a cloud floating with the tune, her head bent back, his bent down, their eyes locked, their expressions captivated. The multitudes of people vanished and only they remained enveloped in the waltz. Lucinda’s heart flooded of a melting sentiment that overtook her mind and her body altogether.
Suddenly the waltz ended, and they had to descend from heaven. Lucinda blinked several times, trying to find lucidity in her fogged mind. She curtsied blindly and turned to look for refreshments.
Tariq ended up no better. Her nearness took him off balance and made him crave more, crave everything. As he left the dance floor, Lord Wilmington approached to introduce him to more people, whose names he’d never remember.
Lucinda gulped down her refreshment and rushed to the ladies’ in search of a modicum of respite. And got none, obviously. The girls twittered abuzz with the barbarian, weaving all kinds of comments and fantasies that enraged her to no end! The only solution was to leave their blabber.
This behaviour from her countrymen shamed her. They had no knowledge or respect for different cultures and their people. Worst still, she must admit she had been the same before traveling the desert with Tariq. Travelling proved to be an eye-opener, being it the reason she had become so keen on it.
She sailed back to the ball, intending to find Olivia, but her attention spotted Tariq talking to one of the most beautiful widows
London had ever produced. Beautiful and full of affairs. Wheat blond hair, slim, sky blue eyes, and meaningful glances at him. Lady Easton stood too close to him, touching him with her fan at every tiny opportunity. A massive attack of jealousy hit her. This stomach of hers churned, and she feared getting sick and shaming herself in front of the whole of London ton. The need for fresh air urgent. She rushed through the throngs of people to the double doors, pale and trembling.
Tariq would never understand why anyone would deem this woman beautiful. She had the strangest and most unbecoming colouring and too pale skin. It seemed to him unnatural and unappealing. The woman openly flirted with him. He liked to be the hunter and that’s why Lucinda aroused him to combustion; she made him chase her round the globe. His attention detected said lady passing by, her behaviour uncharacteristic. He happily excused himself and followed her.
Lucinda rested her hands on the parapet, head bent down, breathing hard. She tried to abate nausea and her foreign feelings. Someone approached, sandalwood scent coming first. He placed his hands on her upper arms.
