Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride by Marguerite Kaye Page B

kissing the stars. Dazzling, fiery, she blinded him to everything but his desire. Her lips were so soft, she tasted so sweet, he could swear her scent was distilled essence of moonlight. He had dreamt of this kiss, he had wanted this kiss, longed for this kiss, since that first gentle touch of her lips on the beach three days ago. Her mouth opening to his, her kiss both tentative and bold, a combination that made his pulses race and his blood heat. He rolled her onto her back, running his fingers through her hair. How could curls be so silky? He kissed her eyelids, the line of her jaw, her throat, but the allure of her mouth could not be resisted. Her hands were in his hair, on his neck, on his shoulders. Her breath was coming in soft little gasps. When his lips claimed hers again, it was she who deepened the kiss, her tongue touching his, making his heart skip a beat, his pulse roar.
    She lay on the cushions, her hair spread out like a wild halo. Her breasts rose and fell, rose and fell, beneath the filmy silk of her robe. He kissed her again, and she moaned, and his already stiff member throbbed. Her hands fluttered over his shoulders, his chest. He kissed her throat, and then the hollow at the base. And then her mouth again, because he could not get enough of her mouth.
    He ran his hand down her side to the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip. ‘Captivating Constance,’ he whispered, kissing the tender skin just behind her ear.
    â€˜Captivated,’ she said, rubbing her cheek against the stubble of his beard. ‘Captivated Constance,’ she said, ‘quite utterly captivated.’
    Their kisses became passionate. He stopped thinking, desire taking hold of him, breaking the iron bands of control which had been squeezing the life out of his body for days, weeks, months. It was such a relief, such a wild relief, just to be two bodies, to revel in the melding of flesh, to allow the simmering need which had been there since Constance first walked into the Royal Saloon to boil over, to envelop them both. He inhaled her kisses, he devoured her kisses, falling half on top of her, his leg between hers, groaning as she arched closer.
    Her robe had come undone. She was covered only by a filmy night garment, revealing the sweet swell of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples. Breast warm and heavy in his hand, nipple a hard bud, and Constance, eyes wide, suddenly still as he touched her. He lowered his head to take her nipple in his mouth through the sheer fabric. She sighed, a sound of pure pleasure that made his groin tighten. He sucked. She whimpered. And then she sighed. A very different sound. Her hand on his shoulder. A tiny shake of the head, and Kadar finally came to his senses.
    He sat up, thankful that his tunic more or less covered his modesty. Constance lay perfectly still, gazing up not at him, but at the stars. ‘Will they be shocked by our wanton behaviour, those people looking up at us?’ Before he could answer, she sat up, pushing her hair over her shoulder. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘“Look at that sky,” they will say. “Look at those stars. Is it any wonder that such a thing happened?” I don’t think they will be at all surprised. It was bound to happen. It may even be a good thing that it did, because now we will stop wondering.’
    Kadar, shifting on the ground in an unsuccessful attempt to get comfortable, was forced to laugh. ‘Very true. I can now stop asking myself whether your kisses can possibly be as delightful and arousing as I have imagined them. The problem is I will now move on to asking myself whether making love to you would be as delightful and arousing as I am very sure it would prove to be. I would imagine,’ he added hurriedly.
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜I’m sorry. I should not have...’
    â€˜No. Now I know what it’s like for you, to be on the listening end of my raw thoughts. I’m just surprised that