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Authors: Michelle Reid
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following as she pulled him behind her.
Back in their stateroom,
now magically cleared of all evidence that they had eaten, they parted at the
end of the bed, one stepping to one side of it, one to the other. Eyes locking
in a needle-sharp, sensual love game, they disrobed together, climbed into the
bed together and came together.
Hot, slow and deep, they
made love into the night and didn't have to worry about empty spaces in between
because one loving simply merged into another until—finally—they slept in each
other's arms, legs entwined and faces so close on the pillows that the sleep
was almost a long kiss in itself.
Leona came awake to find
the place beside her in the bed empty and felt disappointment tug at her
insides. For a while she just lay there, watching the sunlight seeping in
through the window slowly creep towards her across the room, and tried not to
let her mind open up to what it was bringing with it.
After a night built on
fantasy had to come reality, not warm, like the sun but cold, like the shadow
she could already feel descending upon her even as she tried to hold it back
for a little while longer.
A sound caught her
attention. Moving her head just a little, she watched Hassan walk out of the
bathroom wearing only a towel, his sun-brown skin fashioned to look almost like
skillfully tanned leather. For such a dark man he was surprisingly free of
body hair, which meant she could watch unhindered each beautifully toned muscle
as he strode across to one of the concealed doors in the wall and sprung it
open at a touch to reveal a wardrobe to provide for the man who had everything.
A drawer was opened and he selected a pair of white cotton undershorts, dropped
the towel to give her a glimpse of lean tight buttocks before he pulled the
shorts on. A pair of stone-washed outer shorts followed. Zipped and buttoned,
they rested low on a waist that did not know the meaning of spare flesh to
spoil his sleek appearance. A casual shirt came next, made of such fine white
Indian cotton she could still see the outline of his body through it.
'I can feel you watching
me,' he remarked without turning.
'I like to look at you,'
Leona replied. And she did; rightly or wrongly in their present situation, he
was a man to watch whatever he was doing, even fastening buttons as he was
doing now
Shirt cuffs left open, he
turned to walk towards the bed. The closer he came the faster her heart decided
to beat. 'I like to look at you, too,' he murmured, bracing his hand on either
side of head so he could lean down and kiss her.
He smelt clean and fresh
and his face wore the smooth sheen of a wet razor shave. Her lips clung to his,
because she was still pretending, and her arms reached up so she could clasp
them round the back of his neck. 'Come back to bed with me,' she invited.
'So that you can ravish
me? No way,' he refused. 'As the wise ones will tell you, my darling, too much
of a good thing is bad for you.'
He kissed her again to
soften the refusal, and his mouth was smiling as he straightened away, but as
his hands reached up to gently remove her hands she saw the toughening
happening behind his eyes. Hassan had already made contact with reality, she
realised.
With that he turned away
and strode back to the wall to spring open another set of doors which revealed
clothes for the woman who wanted for nothing—except her man. And already she
felt as if he had moved right out of her reach.
'Get up and get dressed,'
he instructed as he walked towards the door. 'Breakfast will be served on the
sun deck in fifteen minutes."
As she watched him reach
for the door handle the shade of reality sank that bit deeper into her skin.
'Nothing has changed, Hassan,' she told him quietly. 'When I leave this room I
won't be coming back to it again."
He paused, but he did not
turn to glance back at her. 'Everything has changed,' he countered grimly.
'You are back where you belong. This room is only part of that.' Then he was
gone,
Back in their stateroom,
now magically cleared of all evidence that they had eaten, they parted at the
end of the bed, one stepping to one side of it, one to the other. Eyes locking
in a needle-sharp, sensual love game, they disrobed together, climbed into the
bed together and came together.
Hot, slow and deep, they
made love into the night and didn't have to worry about empty spaces in between
because one loving simply merged into another until—finally—they slept in each
other's arms, legs entwined and faces so close on the pillows that the sleep
was almost a long kiss in itself.
Leona came awake to find
the place beside her in the bed empty and felt disappointment tug at her
insides. For a while she just lay there, watching the sunlight seeping in
through the window slowly creep towards her across the room, and tried not to
let her mind open up to what it was bringing with it.
After a night built on
fantasy had to come reality, not warm, like the sun but cold, like the shadow
she could already feel descending upon her even as she tried to hold it back
for a little while longer.
A sound caught her
attention. Moving her head just a little, she watched Hassan walk out of the
bathroom wearing only a towel, his sun-brown skin fashioned to look almost like
skillfully tanned leather. For such a dark man he was surprisingly free of
body hair, which meant she could watch unhindered each beautifully toned muscle
as he strode across to one of the concealed doors in the wall and sprung it
open at a touch to reveal a wardrobe to provide for the man who had everything.
A drawer was opened and he selected a pair of white cotton undershorts, dropped
the towel to give her a glimpse of lean tight buttocks before he pulled the
shorts on. A pair of stone-washed outer shorts followed. Zipped and buttoned,
they rested low on a waist that did not know the meaning of spare flesh to
spoil his sleek appearance. A casual shirt came next, made of such fine white
Indian cotton she could still see the outline of his body through it.
'I can feel you watching
me,' he remarked without turning.
'I like to look at you,'
Leona replied. And she did; rightly or wrongly in their present situation, he
was a man to watch whatever he was doing, even fastening buttons as he was
doing now
Shirt cuffs left open, he
turned to walk towards the bed. The closer he came the faster her heart decided
to beat. 'I like to look at you, too,' he murmured, bracing his hand on either
side of head so he could lean down and kiss her.
He smelt clean and fresh
and his face wore the smooth sheen of a wet razor shave. Her lips clung to his,
because she was still pretending, and her arms reached up so she could clasp
them round the back of his neck. 'Come back to bed with me,' she invited.
'So that you can ravish
me? No way,' he refused. 'As the wise ones will tell you, my darling, too much
of a good thing is bad for you.'
He kissed her again to
soften the refusal, and his mouth was smiling as he straightened away, but as
his hands reached up to gently remove her hands she saw the toughening
happening behind his eyes. Hassan had already made contact with reality, she
realised.
With that he turned away
and strode back to the wall to spring open another set of doors which revealed
clothes for the woman who wanted for nothing—except her man. And already she
felt as if he had moved right out of her reach.
'Get up and get dressed,'
he instructed as he walked towards the door. 'Breakfast will be served on the
sun deck in fifteen minutes."
As she watched him reach
for the door handle the shade of reality sank that bit deeper into her skin.
'Nothing has changed, Hassan,' she told him quietly. 'When I leave this room I
won't be coming back to it again."
He paused, but he did not
turn to glance back at her. 'Everything has changed,' he countered grimly.
'You are back where you belong. This room is only part of that.' Then he was
gone,
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