Trapped in His ocean

Chapter nine

‘Wow,’ she said, knowing it was totally inadequate, but unable to find any other words to do the view and the poetry and the sheer wonder of it all justice.

And she sensed rather than heard Nabil behind her.

‘Some people say Paris is the most beautiful city in the world.’

His voice was low and rich and she felt his words in the movement of air and the vibration in her bones. She felt them in the sway of hair at the nape of her neck and every part of her tingled.

She felt it all, even though he did not touch her, and the absence of his touch made her more conscious of him than ever, like an ache that needed to be massaged.

She sucked in air.

In all her twenty-five years, Nicole had never considered herself bold. As far as she was concerned, she had been born risk averse.

Sensible.

Boring.

But today, with this man and in this place, and in the shadow of a woman who had been brave enough to venture here a century and a half before, she wasn’t going to wait. She turned and lifted her chin and met his dark, impenetrable gaze head-on.

‘What do you say?’ she asked as if there were any doubt, her voice a bare whisper.

‘There is no question,’ he answered as he tucked a stray wisp of her hair behind her ear and let his fingers linger on her cheek, his touch was electrifying. And his eyes were dark like Iranian coffee, rich and strong, as they searched her features, her eyes, her mouth, only pausing when they found her lips.

‘Tehran,’ he said, his voice like a rumble as his fingers trailed down over her jaw and curved behind her neck. ‘Tehran is the most beautiful city on earth.’

His own mouth was beautiful. A wide cupid’s bow made masculine. She could watch his mouth form his words for ever. She could listen to his deep voice and play the game of trying to pick where he was from for ever.

He was like the city itself. Exotic. Exciting. Full of mystery and adventure and all of the world mixed together, and he was hers and hers alone for the night.

Her breath caught, her lips separated he drew her closer. ‘I believe it,’ she said, her eyes on his mouth, bare inches away from hers, because there was nowhere in the world she’d rather be right now, than right here, with him. With the man she so much craves for.

‘Beautiful,’ he said, and he drew her closer, his lips slanting across hers, a silken touch, a teasing caress, followed by a kiss so soft and gentle that it left her dizzy and breathless and she would have collapsed against him but he had already wrapped his other arm around her and gathered her close against his hard chest.

And he tasted so good, of spice, and heat and the promise of a night of the pleasures of the flesh.

His kiss deepened, ratcheting up her need as she answered the heady demands of his hot mouth and seeking tongue, as she clung to him, breathless, her head spinning in the whirlwind of desire.

He heard a growl—his growl—as he pulled his head back and she looked up at him to see him frown and his dark eyes conflicted.

‘I hope you have a strong stomach,’ he said, and his voice was gruff and contained more than a note of bitterness.

She blinked, confused, an ounce of fear wending its way into the warmth of her arousal as she realised. Nobody knew where she was. Nobody but the police who had all but handed her over to this man. And she had nobody but herself to blame for being seduced by the promise in his words.

He was a stranger. a total stranger.

He’d promised pleasure.

But there was nothing to say that his version of pleasure equated with hers.

She shivered. What did he have planned for her?

And that flash of fear must have been reflected in her eyes.

‘I will not hurt you,’ he said, though his voice was barely gentler, as if he realised the fears he had triggered, ‘but I warn you now, what you see will not be pretty.’

He had to warn her, he told himself.

His usual kind of woman was worldly-wise. His usual kind of woman could forgive anything, be it age, obesity, or deformity, given the right incentive. A night or two in a five or more star resort with all the trimmings. A gown. A trinket. Great s*x.

He knew this for a fact.

Because his usual kind of woman blinked and looked away and pretended nothing was wrong and then was only too happy to move on.

This woman wasn’t his usual kind of woman. She might not be innocent in the strictest sense of the word, but she was still more ingénue than sophisticate.

That was why she was now biting her lip. That was why she had run from him in the Spice Market.

And if she had run from him then, what would she do when she saw?

Perhaps he should have let her go after all.

But letting her go wasn’t an option any more. She was his responsibility and now she had chosen what course she wanted for the night. s*x and Pleasure, rather than duty, it was clear in her eyes that she was expecting some kind of perfect night. A night to take away as a souvenir of her trip. A vacation fling to tell her friends about when she got home. She was still nervous and shy, but she had convinced herself that this was what she wanted and she was brimming with anticipation, and so responsive and eager in his arms, her mouth so much like a siren’s song, that it had been almost impossible to pull away.

But she was unpractised. Unworldly. And he would not take her to bed without warning her that things might not be as rosy in reality as the light of an Tehran sunset.

She looked up at him, only the slight tremble in her bottom lip now betraying her hesitancy. ‘I’m a big girl, Nabil. I can cope.’

He kissed her then, mostly because she looked so vulnerable and uncertain and only a little because there was a tiny part of him that feared she might change her mind when she saw, and, God only knew, he didn’t want her to change her mind. Only to be aware.

‘Then come,’ he said, ushering her inside, closing the sliding doors on the fading sky. ‘And I will show you.’

The day had been intense. The evening was proving even more so.

And Nabil, the man who had moved her, the man who had rescued her, was at the centre of it.

Nicole’s emotions hovered between excitement and fear, and fear now had the edge. Her body hummed as he shrugged off his coat and took her hand to lead her to the big bedroom.

He flicked a switch and it was just as she imagined. A wide bed with a gold coverlet, drapes in rich jewel colours and Iranian rugs on the floor that brought all the shades of the room together in a splash of silken splendour.

But the furnishings earned no more than a glance, not when it was the man before her that held her interest. He slipped off his shoes and she held her breath, wishing she could do something to slow the beating of her frantic heart.

She had never had a man strip for her before. But he wasn’t doing this to excite her. It was challenge she saw in his eyes, rather than desire, as he peeled off his knitted sweater and his trousers and the black band of underwear until he stood naked before her.

No, he wasn’t doing this to excite her—but how could it not? Even while she feared what could be so horrible that he must show her, it was impossible to stand impassive while he bared his body to her.

And as each item was removed her excitement grew, and with it her confusion.

Because without his clothes, he was beautiful. His bare shoulders and chest and the hair that swirled a pattern that drew the eye southwards to the nest of dark hair from which his member hung, thick and heavy. A sizzle zipped down her spine.

A sizzle that ended on a question, because it was only then that she realised the welt of skin. The redness. The scar over one hip.

Her eyes lingered, her focus tightened, and, knowing he had her attention, he turned slowly. Breath hissed through her teeth.

His back, from his right hip up to his broad shoulders, was a mess of scarred skin, reddened and angry, pulled excruciatingly tight and wrapped over itself in places, left puckered and swirling in others, as if it had melted and been stirred and left to set.

Whatever had happened to this man had happened a long time ago and had been shockingly brutal and she could only imagine the pain he must have suffered not only then but in the months and years afterwards.

‘Do I repulse you?’

She looked levelly at dark eyes cast over his shoulder.

‘Do you want me to be repulsed?’

He spun around. ‘What?’

‘You’re burnt. Scarred. It’s impossible not to notice. So now that I have noticed, do you want me to ask how it happened, or to ignore it?’

‘Ignore it.’

‘Fine. Then that’s what we will do. And in that case,’ she said, with her hands at her jacket, ‘I think one of us in this room is overdressed.’

It was the most brazen thing she’d ever said. A second later her jacket was flung to the floor and that was the most brazen thing she’d ever done. Until she followed it with her top and boots and jeans and stood there less than a minute later, in her perfectly serviceable, totally unsexy underwear.

That was when she faltered, wrapping her arms around her midriff and looking up at the ceiling. Good grief, what was she thinking, making out as if she were some kind of striptease artist? She was way out of her depth. Way out of her league.

It was his hands that tugged her arms open. ‘Why did you stop?’

She shook her head and lowered her eyes to his. ‘I’m no good at this. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.’

‘No good?’ he said, and took one hand, and guided it to his erection, hard and wanting. This time air rushed into her lungs. She looked down as he bucked under her hand. God, he was so beautiful. So big and rock hard. ‘Do you still think you are no good at seduction?’ She blinked up at him as his hands reached behind her and eased free the tie holding her hair, letting her hair tumble over her shoulders. ‘You are a beautiful woman, Nicole. Beautiful and desirable. Believe it.’

With this man’s hands in her hair, with her hand cupping the weight of his thick erection, she almost could. And then he kissed her again, and his hands skimmed over her shoulders and back and he was easing her bra straps down her arms and air stroked her breasts and tightening n*****s as her bra fell away.

She gasped into his mouth as his hands encircled them, unable to stop herself from trembling, while his thumbs stroked her n*****s, coaxing them still harder, and her senses buzzed and sparked, and the aching space between her thighs pulsed with an unrelenting need.

God, had she felt this breathless before? This utterly boneless?

He scooped her into his arms, as if sensing her weakness and her nervousness, but confusing her when he bypassed the bed. ‘Where are you going?’

‘We have the entire night. There is no rush. A shower will relax you.’

Her body sizzled at the thought. She’d be surprised if she didn’t damn well steam when the water hit her skin.

The bathroom was like nothing she’d ever seen before. There was a huge shower stall with a marble shelf on three sides and a big basin carved from alabaster under a tap that he started to fill. A decorative metal dish held a block of soap and a rainforest showerhead sat above.