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Noses nearly touching, their eyes battled, uneven breath. Time stopped. Or rushed, they didn’t know. Tariq would never understand how a woman could throw him from fury to desire and make him hard in a matter of seconds. His other hand held the nape of her neck, as her head elevated to him. He kissed her fervently, despair dominating his guts.
Their tongues danced, their bodies combusted, carnality ruled. Lucinda didn’t have the ability to stop plunging her fingers in his sleek hair or moaning when he deepened the kiss. All she did was open more and more for him, an ever gnawing hunger overtaking her.
“Marry me, Lucinda!” Tariq murmured in his hoarse voice, as his lips caressed her long neck.
“No.” She whispered weakly.
He sucked the sensitive place between her neck and her shoulder. “Marry me.” He repeated more hotly.
Her head bent even lower back, eyes closed, a haze of pleasure in her. “We cannot.” She breathed.
“I don’t care.” His lips strolled up her neck. “We’ll find a way.” And he possessed her mouth again, more searing, more urgently, hungrier. His erection strained between them while liquid fire prompted her.
They kissed ardently until they must come up for air. Panting, they stared at each other. “Come home with me, Lucinda!”
Home, she thought. Yes, it’d be home, doubtlessly. With him, the most inhospitable corner on earth would become home.
But she lacked the luxury to forget her duties; this was not only about her. She disentangled from him, putting distance between them. She shook her head tremulously, unable to voice something that dilacerated her.
“You might be carrying my child. Have you considered it?” He breathed hard and his eyes were flints on her.
He had a point; the possibility dreadful and exciting at the same time. "It's my problem. I'll stay in the country manor, give birth and move on with my life." It’d be the happiest agony of her life to carry his child, with hair and eyes like his, possibly.
His brows pleated, his eyes narrowed. "My child won't be a bastard!” In his country, the children born by concubines were acceptable.
“There’s nothing to do about that.” Not there in England, at least.
"Would you shame your family with such a scandal? He appealed.
"What's the choice? That I shame my family with an outsider?" Her voice grave. It hadn’t been her intention to offend him, but that was the reality.
He didn’t have an answer to that. With her background, she was right. In his country, women also had to behave blamelessly, or their families would fall into disgrace too. He paced back and forth, hand raking his hair.
Surely too heavy a burden to carry. Women having to be spotless, so men would be free to play around inconsequently.
“It’d be better if we didn’t meet again.” She said in a strangled voice, her heart bleeding at the idea. Her whitish complexion told of her emotional distress.
His eyes snapped to her. “Never!” He paced to her, stopping inches form her face. “We belong together!”
“The world disagrees.” A simple, logical conclusion.
“To hell with it!” His hands held her face up to him and their eyes merged, breaths mingling. They stood there plunged in each other for long moments. “Leave the door open for me tonight.” He commanded, smoothly. Next second he mounted and disappeared.
Air flew out of her lungs as he turned his black stallion and rode towards the village. She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t continue this madness, it’d only turn worse. The more involved she got, the more difficult it’d be to leave it behind and follow through with her duties.
Lucinda rode home in a dispirited state of mind. Being with Tariq was desolating because there was no way of legitimating them. Being without him could only be named as the cruellest torture ever perpetrated in her life. The single sensible thing to do was to walk away from him and hope her feelings for him at least faded to a bearable degree over the years.
In the evening, Lucinda paced her bedroom restless, heart beating fast. She’d considered the possibility of locking her balcony doors and pretending not to hear him. She might just not acknowledge him. But the anguish that assailed her at the mere idea so excruciating. A world
worse than the hopeless encounters they might engage. She didn’t have enough strength to keep him away. Not today. Not tonight. Not in a million years.
She approached the balcony doors, the rain flagellated them mercilessly. The fire burned in the fireplace, bathing her bedroom in its warm glow. He surely wouldn’t be able to come in this weather, sadly. But she unlocked the doors, regardless. With a sigh she reached her bed, night rail rustling her legs. A sore hope no one discovered his night visits. In such a small village as this, the rumour would spread like wildfire.
She must have dozed off because she woke up with Tariq dropping intense kisses over her face and neck. Wet kisses. “Lucinda.” He called in a silky breathy voice. “Is the idea of me so boring you fell asleep?”
“Tariq!” She awoke to enjoy his touch. “You’re wet and freezing!” He bent over her, hands propped on the sides of her head.
“Yes, jewel. I need you to warm me all night.” He’d discarded his soaked kaftan and sirwaal on the carpet, together with his coat. His magnificent naked body lit by the fire.
