Ablah snorted, swished her tail. Shehab laughed at the dialogue between woman and mare. Then he bent to Ablah and murmured in her ear, his eyes on Farah. “Et’addebi.”
Ablah fell silent at once, stood motionless and stared ahead, like a soldier, all obedience and steadfastness.
Farah giggled. “What was that? A magic word?”
His eyes glittered pure onyx in the declining sun slanting through the wide-open doors. “Behave.”
She wanted to cry out that she was behaving, had already used up her courage in propositioning him, would never make a move again. Then she realized he’d just been translating.
But, no. He was also warning her not to try again to end the time he was bound on having together without sexual intimacy.
Before she could say anything, he swung up on Barq’s back and leaned toward her, lowered her sunglasses over her eyes, put his on, pulled Barq’s reins, rapped Ablah’s rump lightly, and the two horses fell into step with each other.
Shehab kept within an arm’s reach of Farah for the first few hundred feet, murmuring directions and encouragements until she was whooping in unbridled joy as she gained confidence, began to rise and fall with the rhythm of Ablah’s medium sustained gallop, the wind weaving its hot, dry fingers through her hair, sending it flowing behind her like living bronze fire.
And he again had to acknowledge that it was nothing short of a miracle. That he was out here, taking her on a tour of the island, instead of back in her bed, taking her, period. That he’d taken her riding, instead of having her ride him.
And she’d wanted to, had entreated him to let her.
The only way he’d accessed the unsuspected power that had enabled him to say no was that this torture had a flipside. In prolonging her seduction, he found himself reveling in the bittersweet anticipation, the burgeoning arousal.
Exhilaration bubbled inside him in answer to her unfettered enjoyment. He shouted to her over the whipping of wind and the staccato of hooves, “You’re a natural horsewoman, ya saherati.”
“It’s Ablah who’s a natural rookie mare,” she shouted back, giggling. “You were right. She is riding herself, so to speak, keeping me miraculously glued to her back.”
From then on they kept exchanging smiles and shouted comments, laughing at anything the other said.
He gave her a thorough guided tour, and she was the perfect tourist, gratifyingly interested and impressed. Then at the highest point on the island where both its sides could be seen, he brought them to a stop, carried her down from Ablah and to the spread beneath the shade tent he’d had erected for them.
He sat down, took her across him, one knee supporting her back, her breasts pressing against his chest, her buttocks against his erection. He took the lips she offered, thrust into the sweetness she surrendered, drew back only when torment lost the sweet edge, the bitter side beginning to cut deep, looked down into the emerald eyes that truly rivaled the crystalline shores of his island. So willing, so giving, so trusting…
No. Willing, yes. Giving, no. She wanted only to take. He must never lose sight of that.
Snatching his eyes away from her spell, he continued her education. “On that side of the island, the water is knee-high for over two miles before deepening very gradually. On the other, the depth drops hundreds of feet at once.” He cocked his head at her. “Do you swim?”
“I haven’t swum in over ten years, but I was quite the fish when Dad was alive…” She stopped, bit her lip.
Every time she mentioned the man she’d lived her life believing was her real father, her mood plunged. He wanted to probe, was burning to hear her version of why she’d so vehemently rejected the new father fate had sent her.
But no. At the merest slipup, she’d sensed she was being manipulated. He couldn’t afford another mistake.
He gathered her closer, cupped her breast. “So you’re a mermaid for real. I knew it.” He succeeded in distracting her as she melted in his hold, thrust her firmness in his hand for him to do what he would with it. He groaned as the dual-bladed weapon he used on her cut deeper into him. “It’s another perfection, ya aroosat bahri-my mermaid. By daylight, I’ll take you to the deep end, plunge you into the dimension of the coral reefs, and by moonlight, we’ll roam the shallows, soak in them.”
She shuddered at the images he evoked, and he moved to the next step in her sensory overload. He cleaned his hands, produced refreshments from the hamper he’d arranged, poured her some, put the tiny crystal hourglass-shaped glass to her lips.
She took a sip, moaned appreciatively, “Mmm-what’s that?”
“The famed Arabian coffee…a brew of lightly roasted special beans and cardamom. For best effect you eat this with it…”
She unquestioningly opened for the dried date he put to her lips, moaned as she described the incredible chewiness, the caramelized flavor. After he had her finish three cups and half a packet, he began fondling her lips, prodding her to lick his fingers clean of the stickiness. She was soon sucking him in earnest, every pull lodging in his erection, where he almost felt those lips performing the same abandoned ritual. He pulled his fingers out of her mouth, clamped her between his knees, stilling her movements before he exploded. “I said behave.”
The eyes that had gone smoky jade with arousal turned a disconcerted bottle-green at his growl.
It made him rush to add, “If you do, I’ll take you to see the burst of flowers and grass that followed the outpouring of rain a couple of weeks ago, before the green carpet dries and dies under the blistering sun. We might catch some of the island’s inhabitants taking a snack, wild rabbits, gazelles…”
She lurched in his arms, her forlorn expression burning away in a blast of delight. “Gazelles? You have gazelles here?”
He nodded. “A population of over 300 roaming freely.”
She whooped, spilled from his arms, jumped to her feet, pulled at him. “Get up, get up. Let’s go see them.” Her face fell again as soon as he stood up. “Oh, man, I don’t have a camera, not even my phone.” Her brightness dimmed completely as she exhaled. “They’ll probably run away when we approach, anyway.”
He produced his phone for her. “Capture everything to your heart’s content. And, no, they won’t run. They’re used to me and the horses. You can even feed them, if you like.”
“If I like?” she squeaked. “If a gazelle eats from my hand, I’ll just die, and die happy!”