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‘That’s because you’re a sensualist and I’m a modern woman who’s got more sense.’
‘So quick sex in a corner is enough for you?’
‘I deplore this sort of thing.’
The corner of Sharif’s mouth kicked up. ‘You’re such a liar, Britt. You have an enquiring mind, and even now you’re wondering—’
‘Wondering what?’
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘You don’t know.’
‘That’s no answer to that.’
‘Other than to say, you’re wondering if there can be pleasure even greater than the pleasure we have already shared. Why don’t you find out? Why don’t you throw your prejudices away? Why don’t you open your mind to possibility and to things we modern-thinking people may not have discovered if they hadn’t been treasured and preserved by tribes like this.’
‘There can’t be much that hasn’t been discovered yet,’ she said, gasping as she snatched her hand away when Sharif touched it.
‘Did you feel that?’ he said.
Feel it? He had barely touched her and her senses had exploded.
‘And this,’ he murmured, lightly brushing the back of her neck.
Her shoulders lifted as she gave a shaky gasp. ‘What is that? The sensation’s incredible. What’s happening to me?’
‘This is happening to you.’ Sharif explained, gesturing towards the golden dish of cream the women had used to massage her skin. ‘This so-called magic potion has been passed down through the generations. Not magic,’ he said, ‘just a particular blend of herbs. Still...’
They had a magical effect, Britt silently supplied. The scratches she had acquired during her ordeal in the desert had already vanished, she realised, studying her skin. She shivered involuntarily as Sharif’s hand continued its lazy exploration of the back of her neck, moving through her hair, until she could do no more than close her eyes and bask in the most incredible sensation.
‘They put lotion on your scalp as well as on your body, and that lotion is designed to increase sensation wherever it touches.’
And they touched practically every part of her, she remembered, though the women had taken great care to preserve her modesty. She looked at Sharif, and saw the amusement in his eyes. So he thought he’d won again.
She stood abruptly, and became hopelessly entangled in her gown.
‘I’ve heard of veils being used as silken restraints and even as blindfolds,’ Sharif remarked dryly, ‘but why would you need those when you can tie yourself in knots without help from anyone? Here—let me help you...’
She had no alternative but to rest still as Sharif set about freeing her.
She wasn’t prepared for him being so gentle with her, or for her own yearning to receive more of this care. She wanted him—she had always wanted him.
She was still a little tense when he unwound the fine silk chiffon gown—exposing her breasts, her nipples, her belly, her thighs, with just a wisp of fabric covering the rest of her. She concentrated on sensation, glad that Sharif was in no rush. Everything he did was calculated to soothe and please her. He took time preparing her, which she loved. She loved his lack of haste, and his thoroughness, and knew she could happily enjoy this for hours. Sharif’s hands were such delicate instruments of pleasure, and so very knowing where she was concerned.
‘And now the rest of you,’ he said in a tone of voice that was a husky sedative.
Each application of cream brought her to a higher level of arousal and awareness, so that when he slipped a cushion beneath her hips, she understood for the first time what they were for, and applauded their invention. And when he dipped his hands in the bowl of cream a second time, warming it first between his palms...
And when he touched her...
‘Good?’ he murmured.
‘Do you really need me to answer that?’
And at last he touched her where she was aching for him to touch, but his attention was almost clinical in its brevity.
‘Not yet,’ he soothed when she groaned in complaint.
He sat back, and she heard him washing his hands in the bowl of scented water and then drying his hands on a cloth. ‘You need time to appreciate sensation, and I’m going to give you time, Britt.’
She sucked in a shocked breath. Words failed her. Being on the ball in the office was very different from being...on the sheikh’s silken cushions.
‘Why confine yourself to once or twice a night?’ Sharif said, his eyes alive with laughter.
