Trapped in His ocean

Chapter 6

It seems that his modest little bunny was not as timid as she had initially appeared to be, is that correct? She had gotten away from him in the Spice Market, and he was ready to let her go after she had done so.

However, there was a spirit there, despite the fact that he had to dig to find it, underneath that anxious appearance. However, it was present, and if given the opportunity once more, she would have chosen pleasure. At least she wouldn't be a complete waste of time throughout the time spent babysitting her.

It's not that he trusted her, despite all of her innocent protestations of not understanding the laws; after all, what else did foreigners claim when they were caught red-handed but tried to plead ignorance? Nevertheless, he didn't have to trust her because he didn't have to trust her. To successfully complete his mission, he needed to do nothing more than protect her from potential danger until he loaded her onto the tour bus and sent her on her way.

Given the plan he had in mind, it would not be difficult for him to keep her out of the path of unauthorized street vendors.

While they were walking, blond tendrils of her hair bobbed alluringly in the breeze, the leather of her jacket brushed against the sleeve of his coat, and when he turned his head towards her, he caught a whiff of her scent, which was floral and airy. He had never been one to enjoy smells of that nature. Although he wanted his women to be dressed in musk and spice and preferably not much more, the perfume seemed to make sense when she was present. chaste, but with a whiff of sexuality about it. A suggestion of potential.

He felt comfortable in it.

Even more to his liking was the promise.

He showed a grin. If his three pals could only see him right now, they would laugh so hard. They warned him to be careful since he was playing with fire and inviting disaster. He recalled the occasion of their most recent get-together, which had been Khan's wedding. He recalled the teasing that came from the two desert brothers who had recently wed. Who would be the one after that? Hassan and Khan both let out a chuckle. Whoever of Nabil and Bashir was next to get married was the one who fell into marriage first.

And Nabil and Bashir had both pointed at the other and laughed.

Of course, the very idea that the two remaining friends would soon follow was ridiculous. Hassan had married Princess Nafisah in order to secure his kingdom of Mareena and Khan had been reunited with Nafisah’s sister and his former lover, Asmau, along the way. Both marriages had been bound to happen, even if the idea that two of the desert brothers would be married in short order had been unimaginable once.

Well, it had been a good three years since Khan’s wedding and he didn’t know about Bashir, but he was no closer to marriage than he’d ever been. And why should he be?

The four men were as good as brothers, bound together by more than blood. They had met while they were in university in the States and, other from Mehmet, they were all the family he’d ever needed.

And at this point, while their connection was still quite strong, he did not experience any compulsion whatsoever to follow his buddies into the state of matrimony. People who were complete were the only ones who should get married. People who desired to have families. However, he had been on his own since he was six years old and was doing quite well for himself. He didn't see that changing any time soon, especially not when every woman he'd ever encountered was only too happy to move right along with him. He couldn't see that changing any time soon. So his buddies may think whatever they wanted, but he certainly wouldn't be the one to marry the next person who came along.

He had no intention of getting married, much less to a woman whom he had rescued from the polis's clutches earlier in the story.

Therefore, he was scarcely playing with fate when he just spent the night with her.

She was little more than a lovely visitor to the country.

A tourist in Tehran for a limited amount of time.

Nicole was almost immediately distracted from the fact that she had just agreed to spend the evening indulging in the sensual pleasures of the flesh when the aroma of roasting meat and the sight of two dozen dishes that looked incredibly delectable drifted out of the open door to tempt her. However, at this moment she was focused on other, more essential matters. ‘I guess I’m starving.’

He led her inside the building. "You can choose from this selection, or if none of these foods seem good to you, there is a menu over there."

She didn't have to give it much thought, considering that the woman's most recent meals had been those served on airplanes, in fast food restaurants, or that she hadn't eaten at all. She exclaimed, "No," as her mouth began to water, and she had no desire to wait for an order to be created when there was such a variety of options in front of her to select from. "This is great," she added.

After making their selections, they were led to a table on the upper level that was situated close to a window while their order was being prepared. And then, once more, she was awed. This time, it was by their vantage point, which offered a glimpse of the domed roof of Raja Toriah with its dancing fountain to one side of the window, and the minarets of the Blue Mosque to the other side of the window.

by the man who was sitting across from me who was now being greeted by a smiling waiter who was welcoming him back, a man who seemed larger than life with his menacing dark looks and heated eyes. She was able to discern that he had long-lashed eyes as she took advantage of their close proximity to examine him in greater depth. lashes as long as hell and satin black in color...

And by the realization that he had assured her that she would have no further run-ins with the law so long as she was under his supervision.

Where was the anger that she'd felt when he'd first revealed that small piece of information? Had she shrugged it off as easily as he had discarded his tailored black coat and handed it to the owner who was busy fawning all over him, or simply as a result of the fact that he had done so? Because what was hidden beneath would make it difficult to distinguish between different protests. A cozy knitted sweater in a dove-gray hue was gently draping over a chest that looked like it was carved from stone. She had to force her eyes away in order to prevent them from remaining fixed for an excessive amount of time because she was suddenly feeling hot. She undid the zipper on her jacket, removed it from her arms, and deposited it on the chair that was adjacent to her. The scarf that was around her neck was the next thing to come off. It was pulled out from behind her neck, which made her knot look even messier as more ends unraveled. She put a hand to her head, hoping it didn’t look as messy as it felt. And then she looked up and stilled when she saw him watching her, his expression deep and unfathomable, and she felt hot and bothered and confused and muddled all over again. ‘What’s wrong?’

Nothing was wrong. Everything was unfolding precisely as he had envisioned it would. On the other hand, she was the one who removed the jacket from her arms; he hadn't done it. But just as he’d imagined, he liked what he saw underneath.

He liked it very much.

Her breasts filled the fitted scoop-neck top to perfection without overfilling—without under-filling, for that matter—and he ached to run his hand down the side of her while she lay naked next to him on his bed, down that delicious slope of ribcage to the sudden dip of waist and up the jut of hip to thigh. He yearned to feel her curves through the palm of his hand as if he were drinking in her beauty.

As soon as he could, he would.

Their meals arrived and he raised his glass of sparkling water to her, managing a smile over the demanding pulse of need in his groin. He said, "There is nothing wrong," and he liked the way that the knot of hair behind her head was slowly unraveling, with the loose ends either floating free or dancing around her face and catching the light as she moved her head. "There is nothing wrong," he said. Bewitching. It would be no problem spending the night with her.

Just one night.

To ensure that she would be protected from potential danger had not been a selfless act in any way. Because he would keep her so occupied in his bed, she would not have the opportunity to cause any mischief. After that, he would give her a farewell wave as she went on her tour, then turn his back and walk away. And if she made the decision to get into more trouble, say by breaking Iranian law by smuggling a few trinkets out of the country, he would not be responsible for the consequences of her actions. If that were the case, she would be the concern of the tour guide.

Perfect.

‘In fact,’ he added, pulling out a smile from his arsenal that he knew from experience women couldn’t resist, ‘I could not be happier with the way things are turning out.’

Because of his words, the fire in his eyes, and the slow, seductive smile that spoke of the pleasures of the flesh, ripples of warmth spread throughout her. These ripples reached places and stirred sensations that caused her muscles to contract tightly under the table.

She had made a promise to herself that she would be bold, fearless, and confident like the Nicole from the past; nevertheless, she found that she was short of breath, disoriented, and completely out of her element.

His grin became more alluring as it widened. His eyes became gloomy and glowed with a fiery determination. The only thing I wish for you, he continued, is that you have a healthy appetite.

It wasn't about lunch that he was talking about. She swallowed. It was disarming. Unnerving. Because she was perfectly capable of handling the situation. She was struggling to stay afloat in the shallow water. Merely trying to maintain a conversation with this man was like being tossed by a wave and having to fight froth and sand and salt to work out which way was up and catch a lungful of air for an instant of respite before the next wave washed her over again.

She managed to utter in a whisper, "I'm famished," and all of a sudden, she wasn't talking about lunch either.

He pointed to her meal with a gesture. "Could you kindly eat? Enjoy.’

His invitation was a much-needed break, but she quickly realized that she had ordered far too much food for the meal that was placed in front of her. Chicken, okra, and a fluffy mountain of white rice are served atop a glistening red capsicum that has been stuffed with meat and rice and is nestled next to a chicken dish. It appeared to be incredible. It smelt great. It was a very pleasant alternative to the first choice, despite the fact that she would have been quite content to forget all about her lunch if he had recommended that they leave and satisfy a different and more pressing hunger instead.

As things stood, she took a mouthful of the delicious meat and rice, closed her eyes as the flavors exploded on her tongue, and felt as though she had died and gone to heaven.

He asked her, "Good?" and she opened her eyes to see him observing her. His eyes were fiery and reminded her all over again of the time at the Spice Market when their gazes had locked and they had been holding each other there.

‘Better than good,’ she said, feeling suddenly self-conscious. ‘Was it that obvious?’

"There is no need to feel ashamed. I admire how you take pleasure in the food that you eat. I like what it says about you.’

Her throat went dry. Before asking the question that was foremost on her mind, she took a swig of water, enjoying the sensation of the refreshing liquid as it made its way down her throat. At the same time, his eyes did not divert from hers. ‘What does it say about me?’

"That you are a woman filled with passion." that you don't hide the fact that you enjoy indulging your senses and aren't afraid to do so. I like that.'

Sensation careened down her spine. Nobody had ever talked to her way this man talked. She had never once been informed that she was a lady who was driven by her emotions by anyone. Not even Morgan; in fact, when she thought back on it, she wasn't even sure if the word "passionate" had ever been in his lexicon.

But while she was unschooled in knowing how to respond, she knew exactly what the man opposite was doing. He was enticing her with his words, which were almost as nice as touching her body, and he was kindling her desire with each laden sentence. She put her fork down and asked, "Who are you?" She was thinking that the only way she could keep herself anywhere near the surface and oxygen in this crazy, tumbling sea was to stop being on the defensive and to try to establish a foothold on the conversation. "Who are you?" she asked. "Who are you?" she asked, putting her fork down.