by Marsh, Susan
‘The rich scent of black coffee.’
‘Raffa!’ Water bounced over the side of the bath as Casey shot out of it. Realising he only had a towel wrapped around his waist and she was completely naked, she splashed down again, sinking as low as she could go.
‘Combined with the earthy notes of native grass, temple incense and tree bark to lend a little warmth and woodiness,’ he continued. ‘Oh, and a touch of desert magic …’
‘Where has everyone gone?’ Casey demanded anxiously, looking around.
‘That desert magic I mentioned.’
‘Raffa—stop teasing me.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘You’ve frightened the women away.’
‘They bowed and left when I arrived.’
As they would to their king, she realised, trying to get her head around everything that was happening. Raffa’s expression, however, was anything but regal. ‘Arrogant—’
‘Brute?’ he suggested, his lips tugging with amusement as he moved closer to the platform on which her bath was resting. ‘Well, what do you think of it?’ he said, gesturing around. ‘Do you think the intrepid explorers you hope to attract to A’Qaban will approve of a desert spa?’
‘How could they not?’ What did she think? What did she think? There wasn’t a thought in her head that wasn’t X-rated. Hard-muscled, toned and tanned, with just the right amount of chest hair, Raffa had a tattoo running from just below his neck to somewhere she wasn’t prepared to look. If she had thought him sexy before, the ruler of A’Qaban half naked, with a rampant lion clambering all over him, was sin made flesh.
‘You can come up now,’ Raffa suggested. ‘I’ve seen it all before—or had you forgotten?’
No, she hadn’t forgotten, Casey thought, feeling deflated. The magic of the desert didn’t seem to be working in her favour, somehow. ‘So is this the end of my spa treatment?’ She was feeling thoroughly fed up as Raffa picked up a towel.
‘Not unless you want it to be …’
As he held it out, she demanded hoarsely, ‘Raffa, is this fair?’ And when he didn’t respond, she insisted, ‘Raffa, say something.’
‘Adam al-jawab jawab …’
‘Say something I can understand.’
‘Stand up first, and then I’ll translate.’ He jutted his chin when she hesitated. ‘You don’t want to catch cold, do you?’
Catch cold? She had enough heat for both of them. ‘You promised to explain,’ she insisted, as Raffa wrapped her warmly in a towel.
‘No answer is an answer—or, as you might say, silence speaks volumes.’
‘Well, that’s no good if I can’t understand your brand of silence,’ Casey pointed out. Her first thought was to keep the conversation going, distracting Raffa from her extremely aroused nakedness beneath the towel, but then the penny dropped. ‘Are you saying your being naked is fair?’
‘You’re naked, aren’t you?’
‘I’m here for a spa treatment.’
‘So am I. And you’re going to give it to me.’
Had the pussy cat found her claws? For a moment, as Casey gasped and looked truly alarmed, he wondered if she was ready for this. But then she gazed at him, and both challenge and determination crept into her eyes, and he changed his mind. He preferred a match of equals, but women constantly disappointed him. Casey was proving to be the exception to that. Money and status, in particular, were the last things on her mind.
Casey was searching for reality, one she could deal with. He wanted her to know a reality that existed beyond the pages of her parents’ books. That was one of the reasons he had brought her here. It was his intention to prove that there was nothing to be ashamed of in the naked body, that in all its exciting variations it was beautiful; he intended to start this tutorial with his own.
‘Come,’ he said, holding out his hand to her. He walked unselfconsciously, aware that Casey was trying very hard not to look at him.
He walked with her from the open-air bathroom into the main part of the tent where, at his instruction, the women had left the creams and oils she would need to perform the treatment he had in mind.
‘I’ll just climb up on the bed,’ he said, dropping his towel.
‘The bed?’ she gasped.
‘We’ll call it the treatment couch, if you prefer.’
‘I do prefer,’ she assured him, staring fixedly away.
He hid his smile to save her blushes. That he should meet a woman so fresh and challenging had really opened his eyes. He could share his life with a woman like this—a woman who could fulfil public duties at his side with the same enthusiasm that she should for other, more caring issues, closer to his heart. But he was wedded to duty and to A’Qaban, he reminded himself sternly. There had never been any room in his life for the self-indulgence of a love affair.
‘Well? Get up on the couch,’ Casey rapped impatiently, bringing his honourable thoughts to an abrupt close.
She plunged her arms up to the elbows in a tub of cream. She could do this. She would do this. Timid virgin or not, she had confidence. She just needed to dig deep and prove it—to herself and to Raffa. To herself mostly, Casey admitted silently.
‘Don’t forget to warm your hands up first,’ Raffa told her dryly, moving his face to one side as he eased his position on the couch.
‘Don’t worry—I will.’ They were warm already—very warm—and so was she.
She hadn’t looked at Raffa properly yet. She needed a moment to prepare before doing that. She glanced at his towel on the floor, and checked her own towel was securely fastened.
Casey’s breath caught in her throat as she took her first look at Raffa’s naked form.
‘Steady,’ he warned as she slapped two handfuls of goo on his back. ‘Half of that landed on the floor.’
Possibly because she had her eyes tightly shut. ‘I read somewhere that a firm touch is needed,’ she defended, wondering if the spasms of delight she was experiencing would ever stop racing from her fingertips to her arms, from where they spread outwards to every part of her body.
‘Firm, but not slapdash,’ Raffa agreed huskily. ‘Would you like me to show you how?’
Rippling with muscle, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere—which was quite a bit different from her own well-upholstered form. ‘No, that’s all right—I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.’
‘Rub the cream in well, but catch any dribbles on the towel first.’
‘Dribbles?’
‘Of cream?’
‘On my towel?’
‘On any towel …’
Leaning over him, she managed to hold onto the towel with her elbow and dab at him with the hem at the same time.
‘Don’t be so prissy—rub it in.’
Casey stared at Raffa’s sculpted shoulders before tentatively resting her fingertips against them.
‘Now, rub.’
Her whole body fired in response to the warm, firm flesh beneath her hands.
‘Use more pressure …’
She leaned against the couch, craving contact with Raffa in places that had never felt this much action before.
‘More …’
More? How could there be more than this? She felt swollen in certain places, short of breath, and hungry for Raffa in a way that made her throat tight and everything else rather too loose.
‘More pressure, Casey …’
‘I’m using all I can.’
‘Pathetic,’ he growled. ‘Try harder.’
Any harder than this and she’d explode. But she had to try, Casey told herself firmly. She couldn’t back down now. She explored the wide expanse of Raffa’s back with infinite care and absolute slowness. If she was going to do this, she was going to enjoy every minute of it. Closing her eyes, she used a little more pressure, and was rewarded by Raffa’s sigh.
‘Nice?’ she murmured.
‘Don’t distract yourself by talking—I’ll tell you when to stop.’
‘Okay …’ But he felt so good, so warm
and full of energy; she wanted to be a lot closer to him than this. She leaned over, pressing herself against Raffa’s side, longing to ease the pressure inside her.
‘That’s much better,’ he said, with the suggestion of a smile in his voice. ‘I think you’re getting the hang of it at last …’
His face was deadpan, and his deep voice was muffled against his powerful forearms as she worked on his back, but his sigh of pleasure gave him away—he was enjoying this as much as she was. She took a detour over his bulging biceps and on down each of his forearms, which gave her the opportunity to press her chest against his back …
‘Much, much better,’ he husked contentedly.
She was enjoying herself so much by this time she wasn’t prepared when he turned on his back. ‘Now feel me,’ he said.
‘Feel you?’ She gulped.
‘My chest … Feel it … Explore, Casey.’
She shut her eyes and started tentatively to do as Raffa had suggested. But as she explored she grew bolder. He was magnificent. Raffa was a magnificent fighting machine … or a lover.
‘And don’t forget there’s more to me than my chest …’
She was already incredibly aware of that. Luckily her towel was still in place to hide her arousal, though the friction of it against her painfully erect nipples was almost unbearable.
She had to brazen it out. She had to be brave enough to bear the pleasure-pain of pure arousal and distract herself by tracing the hard band of muscle above Raffa’s waist.
Could anything be more delicious that that? It was too soon to find out, and so she turned her attention to his feet. She’d work her way up. Well, part-way up. Two could play at Raffa’s game. He was not just acquainting her with his body, he was teasing her—and enjoying it.
He had extremely sexy feet. Moving on from there, she tested rock-hard calves, before moving on to the firmest thighs she had ever seen. Not that she had seen many, of course …
‘That’s enough,’ Raffa said, sitting up.
‘How did I do?’
‘Better than I imagined,’ he told her dryly. Swooping down, he picked up his towel. ‘And now it’s your turn.’
‘But …’
‘No buts—other than the naked kind. Climb up.’
‘On the bed?’
‘That’s the general idea—though don’t you prefer to call it a treatment couch?’ His voice was mocking.
She was supposed to climb up and lie naked on a treatment couch still warm from Raffa’s own naked body?
That’s the one, Casey told her timid self, clutching her towel tightly around her.
‘Without the towel?’
‘Without. How am I supposed to give you a massage if you’re wearing a towel?’
‘Er …’
‘Exactly. So, please lose it.’
Closing her eyes tightly, as if that meant Raffa couldn’t see her either, she chucked the towel on the rug beneath the treatment couch and scrambled up. Clinging onto it for dear life, she tried to ignore the seductive warmth already seeping through her veins and the violent heat painting her cheeks bright red.
‘Are you comfortable?’ Raffa asked.
With him staring at her naked body …?
‘Relax.’
‘I might be able to if you’d stop reading my mind.’
‘I’m reading your muscles—they’re all bunched up …’
The touch of Raffa’s hands was indescribable. He had a wonderful natural skill that banished all signs of tension within the first few seconds. Her only complaint now was that by confining his attentions to her back he perversely made her think very rude thoughts indeed.
She wanted a lot more than Raffa was prepared to give, Casey realised—this really was just a massage.
‘Is the pressure okay for you?’
As Raffa kneaded her all too compliant shoulders, she managed, ‘Perfect …’ Perfect for her shoulders, that was, but she wanted him to touch her intimately.
Sighing, she closed her eyes, wondering how to transmit that feeling. Should she purse her lips like this? Or loosen her mouth just a little and stare at Raffa with her own particular brand of sultry? Should she try a little moue and then look away? Or just brazen it out? Maybe she should tease and run—
‘Have you done with all available facial expressions, or would you like to try for one more?’
She came to with a jolt, noticing that at sometime Raffa had pulled on his robe. ‘Is my treatment over?’ Must she sound quite so disappointed?
‘For now.’
For now? The real question was what next?
What came next was the biggest surprise of all. It seemed Raffa had no difficulty communicating his feelings, and he would quite like to kiss her too, she saw when he smiled faintly as he held her gaze.
‘How do you do that?’
‘Read your thoughts?’ As he spoke he lifted her into a seated position on the bed in front of him and brought his face within kissable distance of hers. ‘Years of dedicated practice …’
Casey frowned. Did she want to know that?
She could always join Raffa’s class, her bolder self suggested.
Join his class and then insist on private lessons, Casey concluded optimistically. ‘You’re obviously way ahead of me in that—so perhaps I need more tuition.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Raffa agreed. ‘Could you face another ride?’
A ride? ‘How will that help?’ She covered herself with the towel. Raffa might have no inhibitions, but it wasn’t catching.
‘I want to show you something. Are you up for it?’
‘What is it?’
‘A place I’d like to show you.’
‘Somewhere special?’
‘Somewhere that means a lot to me.’
‘Your palace?’
‘Come on—you can take a cushion with you.’ As he spoke he chucked her a cushion and she caught it.
‘What’s this for?’
‘For the horse,’ he said. ‘To protect his back from you bouncing up and down on it.’
Laughing, she chucked the cushion back at him, and somehow in between the tension between them disappeared.
‘Or,’ Raffa said as he thought about it, ‘you could ride in front of me. We’ll travel faster that way.’
‘Do I have to ride at all?’
His eyes darkened with amusement. ‘The more you ride, the easier it gets.’
‘Do I really look that gullible?’ Casey demanded, smiling at him as she planted her hands on her hips.
‘Shall we find out?’ Raffa challenged. ‘Come on.’ In his hands there was a shimmer of something blue. ‘Get dressed and we’ll go.’
‘What is this?’ Casey held up the exquisite silver-embroidered robe Raffa handed her. ‘This isn’t the robe I was wearing earlier.’
‘But you’ve been prepared for the Sheikh since then.’
‘Hah!’ Casey exclaimed, balling it up and tossing it back at him. ‘I’ll wear trousers for riding, thank you. And I should remind you—’
‘What?’ Raffa cut across her with a very wicked look indeed.
‘I’m pretty hopeless on a horse.’
‘But I’m not,’ he pointed out. ‘So no excuses.’
She had never felt safer or more at risk in her life. Seated in front of Raffa on his magnificent black stallion, it was impossible to feel she might tumble to the ground—but that was no help when it came to the far worse peril of falling in love.
The sensation of having her long hair streaming behind her as the stallion raced across the desert plain while Raffa held her safe was amazing. If he had decided to think up the most romantic journey on earth, he couldn’t have made a better job of it. The sky was littered with stars, while the moon lit their way, and the mountains were jagged fingers that seemed to beckon her ever deeper into the wild land that Raffa called home. He held the reins loosely in one hand and kept her close with the other. She could feel his warmth and his strength, could hear his heart bea
ting, while his fresh minty breath brushed her cheek.
Closing her eyes, she leaned back, allowing her hips to move to the rhythm of the stallion’s explosive gait. Far from hating horse-riding, as she always had, she was beginning to love it, and to hope the magical journey could last for ever.
It would last for ever in her memory, at least. How could it not, when she was riding through the desert night in front of a sheikh who encapsulated every fantasy hero she’d ever had? With his black robes flying behind him and his face hidden behind the mysterious howlis. She was wrapped in an erotic fantasy that far exceeded everything she could dream up.
And Raffa’s palace? Casey wondered. What would that be like?
It would be located far from the public gaze, she decided, and protected by the granite peaks they were riding towards. It would be hard to find—it would be an eyrie, a fortress, a lair fit for the golden lion of the desert. There would be sumptuous rooms protected from the relentless desert sun beneath cupolas of solid gold, and there would be intimate courtyards where lovers could meet unobserved. On the walls inside the palace there would be painted erotic scenes, and of course a sheikh-sized bed, over which a softly whirring fan would turn lazily to cool the lovers on their tangled sheets. Jewel-studded walls would bear silent witness to their lovemaking, while fountains in the garden beyond the windows would sing a siren song to the rhythm of their sighs …
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AS HE reined in, slowing the pace to allow the stallion to pick his way along the rocky approach to the mountains, he wondered what Casey was thinking. She had been quiet for a while now, and she was such a dreamer. He hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed by what he had to show her. He was opening up part of his life to Casey, because the hunt for someone to work for him had become so much more, and he was hungry to find out everything there was to know about Casey Michaels.
Urging his stallion Raad—the word meant thunder in A’Qabani—up the first incline, he noticed the great stallion’s ears prick up as he scented the place they both loved—the place they both considered home.
