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Authors: Sharon Kendrick
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and it only partially blotted out the urgent clamourof her thoughts. She ought to stop him. She knew that. A whole lifetime of conditioning told her so.
But Isobel didn’t stop him, and the words which her mother had once drummed into her floated straight out of her mind. It no longer mattered that Tariq was the worst possible person to let make love to her. Because her body was on fire—a fire created by the blazing heat of his. She wanted him, and she wanted his kiss. She wanted it enough to turn her back on all her so-called principles, and now she gave in to it with greedy fervour, her mouth opening hungrily beneath his.
She could hear the small moan he made as the kiss deepened. He crushed his lips against hers and a fierce heat began to flood through her body, from breast to belly and beyond.
Frantically, her fingers slithered over his chest and began to knead at the silken flesh, feeling the mad hammer of his heart against her palm. She moaned into his mouth as his hand skimmed down from the base of her throat to her breast, slipping his fingers inside her pyjama jacket and capturing the aching mound with proprietorial skill. She could feel him stroking one pinpoint nipple between finger and thumb until she gasped aloud, wriggling uselessly as she felt the flagrant ridge at his groin pressing against her belly.
Tariq groaned. She tasted of mint, and her hair tickled him as the thick curls cascaded down the side of her face. She felt
amazing
. Was that because this had come at him out of the blue? Or was it novelty value because she was the last person in the world he could imagine responding with such easy passion? My God, she was
hot
.
He kissed her until he had barely any breath left inhis lungs, and it became apparent that her narrow sofa was hopelessly inadequate for two people who were exploring each other’s bodies for the first time.
‘This is getting a little crowded,’ he managed, pulling his lips away from hers with an effort.
He slid them both to the ground, barely noticing the hard flagstones beneath the thin rug. All that concerned him was the gasping beauty in his arms, her hair spilling out all over the floor like tendrils of pale fire and her eyes as tawny as a tiger’s.
‘Comfortable?’ he questioned, as he smoothed some of the wiry corkscrews away from the pink flush of her cheeks.
Heart thundering, Isobel gazed up at him, wondering why she didn’t feel shyer than she did. Was it because Tariq was staring down at her with such gleaming hunger in his eyes that in that moment she felt utterly desirable? As if almost
anything
was possible? ‘Oddly enough, yes, I am.’
‘Me too. Deliciously comfortable. Perhaps I can help make you more comfortable still,
anisah bahiya
.’ Pulling open her dressing gown, he began to unbutton her pyjamas—until two rosy-peaked breasts were thrusting towards him. Unable to resist their silent plea, he bent his head to suckle one. Slicking his tongue against the tight bud, he felt the responsive jerk of her hips and heard her gasp his name. ‘I’ve never seduced a woman in pyjamas before,’ he whispered against the puckered flesh.
‘Are you … are you going to seduce me, then?’
‘What do you think? That I’ve got you down here because I want to discuss my diary for next week?’
Thinking was the last thing Isobel wanted to do—because if she did that then surely she would realisethat what they were doing was crazy. Wouldn’t thinking remind her that Tariq was a cavalier playboy, and that there was a reason why men like him should be avoided like the plague? Wouldn’t it prompt her into doing the only sensible thing—which was to tear herself away from him and rush upstairs to her room, away from temptation?
She felt the graze of his teeth against her nipple and shut her eyes. Far better to feel. To allow these amazing sensations to skate over her skin and fill her with an urgent longing which was fast spiralling out of
But Isobel didn’t stop him, and the words which her mother had once drummed into her floated straight out of her mind. It no longer mattered that Tariq was the worst possible person to let make love to her. Because her body was on fire—a fire created by the blazing heat of his. She wanted him, and she wanted his kiss. She wanted it enough to turn her back on all her so-called principles, and now she gave in to it with greedy fervour, her mouth opening hungrily beneath his.
She could hear the small moan he made as the kiss deepened. He crushed his lips against hers and a fierce heat began to flood through her body, from breast to belly and beyond.
Frantically, her fingers slithered over his chest and began to knead at the silken flesh, feeling the mad hammer of his heart against her palm. She moaned into his mouth as his hand skimmed down from the base of her throat to her breast, slipping his fingers inside her pyjama jacket and capturing the aching mound with proprietorial skill. She could feel him stroking one pinpoint nipple between finger and thumb until she gasped aloud, wriggling uselessly as she felt the flagrant ridge at his groin pressing against her belly.
Tariq groaned. She tasted of mint, and her hair tickled him as the thick curls cascaded down the side of her face. She felt
amazing
. Was that because this had come at him out of the blue? Or was it novelty value because she was the last person in the world he could imagine responding with such easy passion? My God, she was
hot
.
He kissed her until he had barely any breath left inhis lungs, and it became apparent that her narrow sofa was hopelessly inadequate for two people who were exploring each other’s bodies for the first time.
‘This is getting a little crowded,’ he managed, pulling his lips away from hers with an effort.
He slid them both to the ground, barely noticing the hard flagstones beneath the thin rug. All that concerned him was the gasping beauty in his arms, her hair spilling out all over the floor like tendrils of pale fire and her eyes as tawny as a tiger’s.
‘Comfortable?’ he questioned, as he smoothed some of the wiry corkscrews away from the pink flush of her cheeks.
Heart thundering, Isobel gazed up at him, wondering why she didn’t feel shyer than she did. Was it because Tariq was staring down at her with such gleaming hunger in his eyes that in that moment she felt utterly desirable? As if almost
anything
was possible? ‘Oddly enough, yes, I am.’
‘Me too. Deliciously comfortable. Perhaps I can help make you more comfortable still,
anisah bahiya
.’ Pulling open her dressing gown, he began to unbutton her pyjamas—until two rosy-peaked breasts were thrusting towards him. Unable to resist their silent plea, he bent his head to suckle one. Slicking his tongue against the tight bud, he felt the responsive jerk of her hips and heard her gasp his name. ‘I’ve never seduced a woman in pyjamas before,’ he whispered against the puckered flesh.
‘Are you … are you going to seduce me, then?’
‘What do you think? That I’ve got you down here because I want to discuss my diary for next week?’
Thinking was the last thing Isobel wanted to do—because if she did that then surely she would realisethat what they were doing was crazy. Wouldn’t thinking remind her that Tariq was a cavalier playboy, and that there was a reason why men like him should be avoided like the plague? Wouldn’t it prompt her into doing the only sensible thing—which was to tear herself away from him and rush upstairs to her room, away from temptation?
She felt the graze of his teeth against her nipple and shut her eyes. Far better to feel. To allow these amazing sensations to skate over her skin and fill her with an urgent longing which was fast spiralling out of
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