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Authors: Lynne Graham
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Loneliness and lust would be a more honest description of their motivation.
Zahir stepped forward, lean brown hands reaching up to curve to her cheekbones and centre her gaze on him. ‘If that’s true, I find it sad. I want to give you passion.’
‘No, you don’t,’ she whispered. ‘You said it yourself. I’m the one who got away and you can’t live with that.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ Zahir growled, protest etched in every hard, angular line of his powerful bone structure while he clashed with her beautiful blue eyes, knowing that no other eyes had ever been so very deep a blue that they reminded him of the sky on a hot summer day.
‘Don’t make it complicated,’ she urged, her breath hitching as he angled down his tousled dark head and her lips tingled like a silent invitation.
‘It was always complicated with us,’ Zahir argued, stubborn to the last.
And Saffy rose up on her toes and angled her lips up to his, eager to stop him talking and treading all over her memories with hob-nailed boots in that obstinate, all-male, infuriating way of his. He kissed her and her heart seemed to jolt to a sudden halt inside her chest. He stole her breath with a kiss of such unashamed passion that she felt light-headed and her legs went weak.
He carried her back to bed, yes, carried, her bemused mind savoured, for very few men were physically big enough or strong enough to lift five-foot-ten-inch Saffy off her feet as if she were of tiny and delicate proportions. He captured her mouth again with intoxicating urgency, his tongue delving deep between her lips, and her body sang. Even while doubts and fears about how she would react to what came next were circulating madly in the back of her head, she could feel the supersensitive awareness of desire infiltrating her, sending prickling spasms of warmth across her breasts and a kick of heat down into her pelvis.
‘I assumed I would have to seduce you,’ Zahir admitted, staring down at her with those amazing eyes and the kind of honesty she had once loved him for.
‘It’s no big deal,’ Saffy countered a tad shakily, wondering if he would assume that she was a slut, always up for the possibility of a little fling with an attractive man when she was on her travels. But what did it matter what he thought? she demanded angrily of herself, because what she was planning to do was entirely for her own benefit and nothing whatsoever to do with him. That he would also be getting what he apparently wanted was only an accidental by-product of her decision. She was the one in control, full control. This was sex, nothing to do with the softer emotions, because she simply refused to let him screw up her emotions again.
Taken aback by that statement, Zahir frowned again, ebony brows drawing together.
‘Call a spade a spade, Zahir!’ Saffy snapped, out of all patience. ‘Isn’t this why you brought me here?’
‘You’ve changed,’ he condemned.
‘Of course I have...I grew up, realised fairies and unicorns didn’t exist, got divorced,’ Saffy recited tightly.
And then he kissed her again, his mouth crashing down on hers with angry fervour and, even though she recognised the anger, she was exhilarated by his passion. He tugged her up into a sitting position and before she even knew what he was about he had swept the kaftan off over her head, leaving her naked but for the cloaking veil of her long blonde hair.
‘You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,’ Zahir declared.
And she still wasn’t comfortable being naked around him, Saffy registered in dismay, fearful that the embarrassment enveloping her was only a small taster of the discomfiture she had felt in the past with her own body. Casual nudity was the norm behind the scenes at catwalk shows where fast changes of clothing were a necessity and that didn’t bother her, but being naked in front of Zahir bothered her on a much more visceral level. As he studied her a veil of hot red
Zahir stepped forward, lean brown hands reaching up to curve to her cheekbones and centre her gaze on him. ‘If that’s true, I find it sad. I want to give you passion.’
‘No, you don’t,’ she whispered. ‘You said it yourself. I’m the one who got away and you can’t live with that.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ Zahir growled, protest etched in every hard, angular line of his powerful bone structure while he clashed with her beautiful blue eyes, knowing that no other eyes had ever been so very deep a blue that they reminded him of the sky on a hot summer day.
‘Don’t make it complicated,’ she urged, her breath hitching as he angled down his tousled dark head and her lips tingled like a silent invitation.
‘It was always complicated with us,’ Zahir argued, stubborn to the last.
And Saffy rose up on her toes and angled her lips up to his, eager to stop him talking and treading all over her memories with hob-nailed boots in that obstinate, all-male, infuriating way of his. He kissed her and her heart seemed to jolt to a sudden halt inside her chest. He stole her breath with a kiss of such unashamed passion that she felt light-headed and her legs went weak.
He carried her back to bed, yes, carried, her bemused mind savoured, for very few men were physically big enough or strong enough to lift five-foot-ten-inch Saffy off her feet as if she were of tiny and delicate proportions. He captured her mouth again with intoxicating urgency, his tongue delving deep between her lips, and her body sang. Even while doubts and fears about how she would react to what came next were circulating madly in the back of her head, she could feel the supersensitive awareness of desire infiltrating her, sending prickling spasms of warmth across her breasts and a kick of heat down into her pelvis.
‘I assumed I would have to seduce you,’ Zahir admitted, staring down at her with those amazing eyes and the kind of honesty she had once loved him for.
‘It’s no big deal,’ Saffy countered a tad shakily, wondering if he would assume that she was a slut, always up for the possibility of a little fling with an attractive man when she was on her travels. But what did it matter what he thought? she demanded angrily of herself, because what she was planning to do was entirely for her own benefit and nothing whatsoever to do with him. That he would also be getting what he apparently wanted was only an accidental by-product of her decision. She was the one in control, full control. This was sex, nothing to do with the softer emotions, because she simply refused to let him screw up her emotions again.
Taken aback by that statement, Zahir frowned again, ebony brows drawing together.
‘Call a spade a spade, Zahir!’ Saffy snapped, out of all patience. ‘Isn’t this why you brought me here?’
‘You’ve changed,’ he condemned.
‘Of course I have...I grew up, realised fairies and unicorns didn’t exist, got divorced,’ Saffy recited tightly.
And then he kissed her again, his mouth crashing down on hers with angry fervour and, even though she recognised the anger, she was exhilarated by his passion. He tugged her up into a sitting position and before she even knew what he was about he had swept the kaftan off over her head, leaving her naked but for the cloaking veil of her long blonde hair.
‘You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,’ Zahir declared.
And she still wasn’t comfortable being naked around him, Saffy registered in dismay, fearful that the embarrassment enveloping her was only a small taster of the discomfiture she had felt in the past with her own body. Casual nudity was the norm behind the scenes at catwalk shows where fast changes of clothing were a necessity and that didn’t bother her, but being naked in front of Zahir bothered her on a much more visceral level. As he studied her a veil of hot red
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