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She cupped his face, dragged it down to hers and kissed him.
“This,” she whispered. “You. But we can’t. We can’t—”
His kiss was hot and hard. Her knees buckled; he swung her up into his arms, his mouth never leaving hers, and carried her to his bedroom.
Moonlight poured in through the windows, spilling over them in a pool of ivory iridescence. He put her on her feet beside his bed and his eyes locked on her face.
“Tell me to stop,” he said thickly, “and I will. But tell me now, before it’s too late. Do you understand, Rachel? Once I start to touch you—once I start there’s no going back.”
The room filled with silence broken only by the rasp of his breath. Then, slowly, she brought her hands to the top button of her nightgown.
Karim’s hand closed on hers.
“Let me undress you.”
He heard the catch of her breath. Her hands fell to her sides. He reached for the first of what were surely a thousand buttons, none made for male fingers as big and suddenly clumsy as his, but he wanted to be the one who bared her to his eyes.
One button gave way.
Two.
Three.
And finally he could see—ah, God—he could see the slope of her breasts.
“Karim,” she whispered.
He tore his gaze from her breasts, fixed his eyes on her face. Saw her parted lips, the flush of desire that streaked her cheeks, the darkness of her pupils.
His throat constricted. He leaned forward, kissed her mouth.
And undid the next button.
And the one after that.
Undid them, button by button, until there were none left.
Slowly, the gown parted.
And he saw her.
Saw all of her. Naked and incredibly lovely.
Her breasts were small and round, and he knew instantly that they were meant to fit perfectly in his cupped palms.
Her nipples were elegant buds, their color the dusty pink of the early-summer roses that grew wild in the valleys of the Great Wilderness Mountains.
Her hips were lushly feminine curves, the perfect framework for the soft curls at the junction of her thighs.
