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So why was she wishing so desperately that Jehan would pull her into his arms?
Why was she longing to feel the press of his muscled, hard body against her?
Why was the coil of smoldering need within her winding tighter, all of her nerve endings on fire and eager for more of his touch?
Eager for his kiss and everything that was certain to follow...
But he didn’t kiss her.
A snarl curled up from the back of his throat. An animal sound. An otherworldly sound.
One of denial.
He shook his head, sending the thick waves of his dark hair swaying where they brushed his broad shoulders. His hand dropped away, down to his side. On a slow exhale, he stepped back, creating a cold vacuum of space between them.
He stooped to pick up the pool of red silk from the floor. He was retreating, yet when his gaze lifted to hers, his eyes still blazed with fiery desire, so hot it seared her. His fangs still glittered razor-sharp and hungered behind his lips.
He wanted her. It was written in his fierce expression and in the arousal that made itself obvious when she glanced down at the sizable bulge tenting his loose linen pants.
And he knew that she wanted him just as badly.
She could see that knowledge gleaming in his arrogant, knowing stare.
Damn him. He knew very well, and he was enjoying her torment!
He placed the mound of silk into her hands, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight, Seraphina.”
eartbeat ticked frantically in the side of her neck, drawing his blazing eyes. The urge to stroke that tender pulse point—to touch and taste every enticing inch of her—nearly overwhelmed him.
Clamping his molars together, he fought to keep a grip on those urges. When he finally found his voice, it came out in a gravelly rasp. “There you go. All finished.”
Seraphina paused, letting her hair fall. She turned a glance over her shoulder at him. “The wrappings too?”
Shit. He scowled and began a quick search for one of the ends of the lengths of silk. He tugged it loose and began to unwind it from around her bodice and waist. The damn thing was too long to pull free.
He swore and shook his head. “You’ll have to turn with it.”
“Like this?” She obeyed, pivoting in front of him. He nodded, then pulled the silk taut, letting the tail of it collect on the floor as she slowly spun before him. Around and around and around, her springy brown curls dancing as she turned, the beads threaded through the strands twinkling under the soft lights of the bedroom.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
In some primitive part of his brain, he was the conquering desert warlord and she was his mesmerizing captive. His irresistible, stolen prize. He watched her spin, watched the ribbon of scarlet silk unwind, revealing more and more of the beautiful woman wrapped inside.
He wanted to keep undressing her.
When he looked at Seraphina, when he breathed in her cinnamon-sweet scent and felt the warmth of her skin with each dizzying turn she took in front of him... Damn him, but being near her like this, there was so much he wanted.
The drumming beat of her pulse vibrated in the small space between their bodies, and it made his own blood throb in answer. It made him hunger in a way he’d never fully known.
It made him want to burn the pact between their families and take her right here and now, willing or not.
Claim her.
Possess her in every way.
Make her his.
Dangerous thinking.
