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It was his words that ultimately set her off. She was a firecracker set alight then exploding, the orgasm hitting her hard and fast. She gasped then cried out as she flew high, her inner muscles contracting and setting Mahindar off, too.
He groaned long and loud, his head falling back and a muscle in his jaw jumping into life as his seed rushed out, filling her with even more warmth.
Her chest heaving as she caught her breath, she gazed up at her magnificent husband, resisting an urge to run her hands through his thick, raven hair and get lost in his now warm, liquid black eyes.
He adjusted his position a little so that he his strong forearms rested on the mattress either side of her to stop his body from crushing her.
She should have been on top of the world, delighted they were so compatible in bed. Instead she was infuriated. He wasn’t supposed to touch her emotionally. It was her one safe place.
They might be married but she was more than just his wife, and she refused to lose that one part of herself to him. So why did emptiness assail her the moment he disconnected from her?
He cupped her chin and raised her gaze to his. His expression inscrutable, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”
“Would it really have mattered?” Damn it, her voice quivered like his answerdidmatter to her.
“You know it would,” he said with a distinct edge in his voice, like he couldn’t believe she’d question it. “I would have been gentler, more considerate.” He exhaled, then disconnected gently before pushing off the bed to stand looking down at her. “What you gave me is priceless, a gift.”
She clapped her legs together and tried not to feel exposed and awkward under his astute gaze. But though she might be physically naked, it was her stripped mental state that alarmed her. “I’m glad I was able to offer you something in this marriage,” she said hoarsely.
He bent a little and proffered her a hand, and after a split second hesitation, she accepted his grasp. He pulled her to her feet, and she resisted rubbing at the goose-bumps on her arms at how tall and powerful he was and how diminutive she was next to him. Her head barely reached his shoulders!
She couldn’t help but glance at his powerful nakedness. She swallowed hard. His ability to have sex with her again so soon was frighteningly obvious and all too tempting. But though a reckless part of her wanted him again, another part of her wanted to coldly dismiss any advances.
If only his masculinity wasn’t so damn pronounced! That he’d fit inside her seemed impossible now. Like a triangle slotting into a square.
His dark eyes held hers. But if he noted her flushed face and fluttery pulse he didn’t let on. Instead he said softly, “Don’t ever imagine you’re anything less than someone else. Not ever, my little bride. Your passion and your strength of mind mean everything to me.”
She nodded. What could she even say to that? Most sheikhs expected docile, obedient wives and lovers. But then Mahindar wasn’t an average sheikh. He was brilliant and startlingly popular with his people, a man who was surrounded by his adoring fans one moment, and reclusive and hiding away the next.
“Come,” he said gently, the back of his hand running down the side of her face. “Let’s get some sleep. You’ll have plenty of time to dissect me and our marriage once you’re awake again.”
Her face heated.Oh, crap.She’d beenthatobvious?
He chuckled as he pulled down the covers and she climbed into bed. When he followed her and his big, warm body tucked her close, she was a little surprised to realize she felt safe for the first time in forever.
Wriggling closer and only vaguely aware of his hissed breath, she closed her eyes and allowed the darkness to take her away.
Chapter Seven
Arabelle laughed with her friends as they entered the bar and grill. They were all in the mood to celebrate; after all, it wasn’t every day the pressure of final exams was behind them.
They were now ready to take on the editing world. That Arabelle had barely strung an English sentence together on arrival in the UK let alone become gifted in the written word still made her smile.
“My treat,” Scott announced after pulling his wallet out of his designer jacket pocket with a flourish. As everyone cheered in agreement, he added gleefully, his eyes catching hold of Arabelle’s, “But I get to choose the drinks!”
“Whatever,” Kiki said enthusiastically, her wild auburn curls bouncing against her shoulders, “if you’re buying we’re drinking!”
Arabelle smiled at her roommate’s gusto. But then Kiki never did anything by halves and sometimes it reminded Arabelle that she, too, was no longer constrained by the place of her birth.
She accepted her shot glass of tequila, then drank it down with the rest of her friends. Alcohol wasn’t something she indulged in often and by the fourth shot she was a little woozy and warm, and wonderfully relaxed. Not even Scott’s constant gaze on her could detract from her night.
Kiki giggled and whispered in her ear, “Scott is hot for you. You know he’s a great catch. Rich, good looking, charming. If you want to have a little fun you could do a whole lot worse than him.”
The band in the corner of the room started up, playing eighties rock and roll that blared from the speakers while the sultry, husky tones of the singer sounded remarkably like Joan Jett.
Scott proffered Arabelle his hand. “Dance with me?”
Arabelle accepted. What could one dance hurt? “Only if you promise not to step on my toes.”
