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Authors: Iris Johansen

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BOOK: Touch the Horizon
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“You’ll be disappointed,” she said shakily. “I’m not exactly voluptuous.”

“I won’t be disappointed.” He was pushing the dress carefully down to her waist, his eyes burningly intent on her small naked breasts. “Lovely,” he said softly. “Round, firm, and perfectly shaped, like creamy tulips with delicate pink centers.” His hand cupped her gently, his probing fingertips engendering a throbbing that spiraled in intensity. “I want to feel you respond as I suck the nectar from those pretty flowers,” he said thickly, lowering his lips to her nipples, which were already budding in invitation. His fingertips pressed over her heart with a light testing pressure as his lips closed on her. He gave a low growl of primitive satisfaction as her heart jumped wildly when he began the tender pulling suction that sent a rioting flame to the center of her being. The thumb and forefinger of his other hand began to roll the taut crest of her other breast, alternating gentle and rough pressure in tempo with the suckling of his mouth and tongue.

She cried out and arched up against him, her hips searching blindly. “You like that?” he muttered, his teeth nipping gently at her. “Oh, God, so do I. I love to touch you. I wish I could have you like this always. Naked and swollen and just waiting for my hand and lips. I don’t see how I’m going to get through the next few days without taking you.” His warm tongue brushed the other tip held between his fingers. “I’m going to need something to hold me. Don’t put anything on between us. Okay? I want to know there’s just you, sweet and warm and clean beneath your clothes. And when I can’t take it any more, I want to be able to unbutton those clothes and take these pretty things out and hold them. Will you let me do that, Billie?”

“Yes, if you like,” she murmured, her face flushed and languid. She would have promised him anything at that moment. She felt as if she were melting inside, liquid and flowing with emotions that were burning her with a blue-white flame.

“I like.” The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened as he suddenly grinned. “And that’s a hell of an understatement, love.” His hands left her as he sat up and rapidly unbuttoned his shirt. “And now I’d like to feel all that soft roundness against me. Will you oblige me there, too, Billie?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, but jerked open the cream shirt. The triangle of hair on his chest was a deeper gold, almost tawny, and looked invitingly soft and springy. “Sit up,” he urged, his arms going around her to pull her up into his arms. The scent of spice and musk wafted around her as she buried her face in the soft, downy pelt. Then he was pressing the center of her back, arching her to meet warmth with warmth, softness with smoothness. So alike, yet so different. She could feel herself swell and burn as he rubbed against her like a sleek, sinuous cat. “When I’m inside you, I’m going to do this,” he said, closing his eyes and holding her very still against him. “I’m going to lean over and love you with every inch of me. Can you see it, Billie?”

She could see it so well, it stopped her breath. “Yes,” she said haltingly. It was hard to speak over the lump in her throat. She was so charged with emotion, she didn’t know whether it was passion or something else that caused that odd poignant ache. “I can see it, David.”

He was curiously taut and stiff for a long moment, and then she felt him make a conscious effort to relax his rigid muscles. He pushed her away from him, and his lids flicked open. His eyes were no longer glazed, but brilliant and warm. So warm. He kissed her gently on the forehead. “Then, keep on seeing it, Billie.” His hands were pulling up the bodice of her dress and slipping the slender straps over her shoulders. “See it. Hold it. Remember it. Until the blossoming.”

“Until the blossoming,” she repeated softly. There was a wrenching ache deep inside her, and she knew David was probably hurting with a frustration as intense as her own. Yet she wasn’t even tempted to try to alter his decision to wait for the growth that would fulfill the promise of what they’d known tonight. She was filled with a strange glowing serenity like nothing she’d ever known before. She pulled away from him and began to button his shirt while he watched her with that tender half smile.

“You’re still trembling,” he said quietly. He touched her cheek lightly with a forefinger. “But then, so am I. It was beautiful, wasn’t it, windflower?”

“Yes, it was beautiful,” she said softly, meeting his eyes steadily. “Very beautiful.” She tried to smile. “And now I think I’d better leave you and say good night.”

He frowned and obviously was about to protest. Then he nodded slowly. “You’re right.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “I’d better get you out of here right away. I just didn’t want to let you go.” He slipped his arm around her waist with a casual familiarity that was both affectionate and endearing, as he accompanied her to the door. “I’ll walk you to your suite.”

She shook her head as she opened the door and turned to face him. “I’d rather be on my own. I’ve got to find my way around this labyrinth sometime. It might as well be now.”

He nodded wryly. “I think you’ll always be able to find your way, Billie. I don’t want to lead you or follow you. I just want to walk beside you.” He touched the tip of her nose gently, with a teasing finger. “But I can wait. Be as independent as it pleases you to be tonight. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at about eight and we’ll have breakfast in the bazaar before I take you on that sight-seeing tour I promised you.” He gave her another warm smile before gently closing the door.

She turned and walked slowly down the corridor, a tiny frown knitting her forehead as she realized the forlornness she was feeling was born of an emotion she’d never before let herself experience. How odd after all these solitary years at last to know loneliness.

FOUR

A
RE WE TO
be so honored as to see the treasures you’ve gathered in the back of your shop, Hassan?” David asked with solemn formality, gazing down at the eggshell fragility of the demitasse cup full of mint tea that he held. “I have heard wonderful stories of the Kirmans and Harizs you save for the eyes of only the chosen few.”

Billie choked and tried to mask her giggle with a dignified cough, carefully keeping her gaze on her own cup. Oh, heavens, here we go again. She’d no idea David had such an impish sense of humor, until this afternoon.

“Certainly, Lisan, it is my pleasure,” Hassan answered eagerly. “Naturally I was planning on showing you nothing but the best of my humble merchandise.” He set his own cup down on the elaborately carved tray, uncrossed his legs, and rose from the cushions to his feet. “If you will follow me, I will show you carpets that will dazzle your eyes.” He bustled toward a rich paisley wall hanging.

“Another back room?” Billie murmured, setting her cup down on the tray.

“Why not?” David asked blandly. “Everyone knows that all the real quality stuff is always kept away from the crude gaze of the hoi polloi.” He stood up, looking down at her with a mischievous grin. “You did want to go on a real Mideastern shopping trip, remember?”

“I was just thinking of browsing in the bazaar again.”

“Uh-uh.” David shook his head as he took her hand and pulled her up from the enormous cushion. “We did that yesterday. You nearly walked my legs off, and the day before that we had to go sight-seeing.” He grimaced. “Hell. I never knew a small city like Zalandan could have so many sights. You must have found every historic site and tourist trap since the town was founded.”

“I told you I wanted to see everything,” Billie said with a grin. “What’s the use of visiting a place unless you can capture a little of the flavor and atmosphere?” She wrinkled her nose teasingly at him. “Besides, I’ve never been escorted around a city by someone who had the honorary key to it. All doors are opened to Lisan. They even overlook your peculiar preference for ladies who wear jeans and look more like boys than women.”

“That’s not all that peculiar here in the Mideast,” David said, sapphire eyes twinkling. “And I thought I’d convinced you that you definitely have no resemblance to a boy, windflower. I think it’s about time we headed for that back room. You need another lesson.”

“Again?” Billie’s lips were twitching. “This is the third one we’ve been in this afternoon. First there was the perfumery.” She sniffed delicately at the sleeve of his blue, oxford-cloth shirt. “You still smell a little of lilacs. Then there was the coppersmith…”

“That was a mistake,” David admitted. He slipped an arm around her waist and propelled her toward the hanging where the obsequiously smiling Hassan was waiting. “How did I know there’d be all those copper pots and cooking utensils hanging from the ceiling? I was the one who nearly knocked myself out. After that, I figured that a carpet shop would be just what the doctor ordered.” He pushed her gently through the arched doorway and answered Hassan’s low salaam with a polite one of his own. Then the paisley hanging slid gracefully into place. “Alone at last.” He whirled and pushed her down on the pile of exotic carpets in the center of the room. “Now,
this
is what I call an interesting shopping trip.”

The tiny room was dusky, and the rich carpets hanging on the walls gave off an aura of timeless intimacy. Billie was choking with laughter as she gazed up at him. His blue eyes were dancing, and a lock of sun-burnished hair was hanging rakishly over his forehead. He looked so like a little boy who had put some deviltry over on the grownups that she experienced a sensation of melting tenderness. “It’s certainly a different one, anyway. Are we actually going to look at the merchandise this time?”

“Of course,” David dropped down beside her on the bed of carpets, took her in his arms, and bore her back on the cushioned softness. “I intend to examine them very carefully.” He ran his fingers through her hair before he spread the copper curls out on the cream-and-spring-green pattern of the carpet. “See what careful attention I’m paying to the colors and textures of the weave?” He rolled her over so that she was facing him. “How I’m testing the resilience of the pile?” His hands were on the front of her shirt, rapidly unbuttoning it. “Now there’s only the final examination of softness.”

Her eyes widened as they flew to the paisley hanging. “David, I don’t think—”

“I told you it was considered bad manners to disturb a buyer while he was examining the merchandise,” David said soothingly. “Hassan would cut off his arm rather than barge in here.” He shook his head ruefully. “If you recall, old Said didn’t even come to the rescue when I ran into the copper samovar and yelled like a banshee.” He had her shirt open, and his hands were cupping and fondling her affectionately. “Sweet, so sweet.”

It was sweet, she thought, gazing dreamily at his tanned, skillful hands on her paler flesh. For the moment there was nothing particularly sexual in the caress. In the past three days she’d found David was one of the most tactile persons she’d ever met. She’d remembered what he’d said about liking the wind and sun on his face while he was gardening. She could understand that now, after being the object of that sensual tactility. He was constantly touching her hair, playing with her fingers, running his hand in a long caress down her thigh, whenever they had a moment of privacy. In another man it might have been an annoying imposition, but this wasn’t the case with David. It was all done with such loving affection and simple delight that it made her feel like a precious treasure being polished and caressed to a mellow luster by those sensitive hands. At times she felt the sexual tension radiating beneath that gentle fondling, but he’d kept it so damped down, she’d been aware of it only on a subliminal level. It was as if, since that first night in his suite, he’d been carefully preparing the ground, nurturing their relationship with humor and tenderness, sprinkling it with understanding, and protecting it from the brash intrusion of the weeds of dissension and uneasiness.

“I’m glad you don’t wear a bra,” he said, nuzzling her throat like an affectionate puppy. “Is it because I asked you not to?”

“I’d like to give your ego a lift and tell you it was,” Billie said, her violet eyes twinkling. “But the truth is, I never wear one. I find them uncomfortable and I’m not big enough to really need one.”

“And I thought it was because you liked my hands on you,” David murmured, lifting and weighing her gently. He looked down at the mounds in his hands. “That you liked me to look at you.” He chuckled mischievously as he saw the unmistakable tautening and swelling, and bent to kiss one breast tenderly before nestling his head against her contentedly. “You smell of lilacs too.”

“I should; you put enough of it down there,” she said, remembering with a sudden tingle of heat the way he’d stroked the crystal stopper of the vial of perfume teasingly over her bare breasts before bringing her close to rub against her with lazy sensuality.

“I like lilacs,” he said logically, “and warm, sweet breasts, and soft, sensitive lips, and—”

“I think I get the message.” She laughed.

“And I think you like me, too, don’t you, windflower?”

How could she help it? she thought, with an odd tightening of her throat. He was so dear. Part mischievous little boy, part sage, and all golden, virile male. “You have your moments,” she said huskily.

“And so do you,” he said, his arms going around her and pulling her close. “And this is one of the special ones for both of us.” He brushed his lips against her temple. “Let’s just lie here and hold each other for a while. Doesn’t this feel wonderful, Billie?”

“Wonderful,” she agreed softly. The smell of lemon, musk, and spice; warm, strong arms; the crisp feel of the blue, oxford-cloth shirt beneath her cheek; the rich blur of Oriental rugs in the dim room…it was all so beautifully evocative, she could have stayed forever. “You’re right. This is much better than the coppersmith’s. Do you suppose we could stay here for an hour or so, or do you think Hassan would get suspicious?”

He didn’t answer, his arms tightening about her with a possessiveness he’d never known. Always before when he’d cared for people, he’d been able to understand their need for personal freedom. He’d been able to let them go and let them flourish and develop and he’d known a joy just watching them grow and gain serenity and contentment. Bree, Alex, Karim, his parents—he’d never wanted to shackle them. Why, then, did he have to force himself to overcome an almost irresistible urge to possess and hold this woman in his arms, the one person who’d fight against that restraint more fiercely than anyone else?

Lying so docilely against him now, it seemed impossible to remember what a wary, independent, wild thing she really was. Yet even while she was here in his arms and he could feel the warm, loving tenderness of her reaching out to him, he knew she would panic and fly away if he didn’t move with the greatest of care.

But he would move with care. He couldn’t do anything else. Because he’d realized in that first moment what Billie was going to be to him. Recognized. Yes, that was the word. It was as if he’d known she was out there somewhere waiting for him, and when he’d finally caught sight of her on that hilltop, he’d felt a deep, serene sense of completion. It hadn’t even surprised him. It was all a part of the beauty and rhythm of life. Part of the cycle that was as natural as growth and love itself. He’d just have to be patient and try to teach Billie the value of what they’d found together.

But he needed time, and he couldn’t be sure when that wariness in her would trigger the restlessness that he knew was his worst enemy. At times he wondered if he should have taken her that first night and wrung at least a sexual commitment from her that might have bound her for a time. No, they both deserved more than that, and if he could channel desire and desperation into patience, they had a chance of getting it.

His clasp loosened reluctantly, and he pushed her away from him. “Much as I’d like to test old Hassan’s patience to the limit. I’m afraid we’re going to have to get back to the Casbah, sweetheart.” He sat up and began deftly buttoning her shirt. “I’m expecting a package to be delivered by Karim’s Marasef Express this afternoon and I’d like to make sure there’s no slipup.”

“Marasef Express?” Billie sat up and tucked her shirt firmly in her jeans and began to tidy her hair. “What on earth is that?”

“There’s a helicopter landing pad on the grounds of the Casbah, and Karim has dispatches and deliveries arriving every few days from Alex and Bree”—his eyes twinkled—“as well as from sundry informants and corporate board members. So much for his so-called abdication.”

“Clancy said he couldn’t resist wheeling and dealing.” Billie said. “I didn’t know about the helicopter pad, though.”

“How could you? You’ve been so busy running me ragged exploring Zalandan, you haven’t had time to tour the Casbah and grounds.”

“Tomorrow,” she promised cheerfully as she took his hand and was pulled to her feet. “I gather you’ve had your fill of shopping for the time being?”

“Not necessarily. I think I’m developing a taste for it. Now which one of these rugs would you like?”

“I took the lilac perfume. I’m not about to accept a handwoven carpet,” she said firmly.

“You wouldn’t take the copper samovar either,” he said sulkily. “I don’t see why not. It couldn’t have been all that valuable with that dent in it.” He shrugged. “Oh, well, maybe I’ll send it to Bree. She can always use an extra samovar.”

“She can?” Billie asked skeptically. “Just what does one do with a samovar in this day and age?”

“Fill it with fruit? How do I know?” He made a face. “Bree will think of something.” He was scanning the carpets hastily. “I think I’ll take that ivory-and-slate Hariz. We’ve got to thank old Hassan some way for the use of his back room. I’ll send it to my mother, in Texas. She likes that shade of blue.”

“Your parents are still alive?” Billie asked, surprised. She couldn’t remember his speaking of them at all the last three days. He’d been open and affectionate, sharing his memories and experiences with Alex, Bree, Karim, and the Rubinoffs as if he wanted her to know and love them as much as he did. But they were all experiences that were rooted in Sedikhan. It seemed he’d never lived any other life than the one he’d known here.

He nodded. “They still live on that ranch in the Rio Grande valley where I grew up.” He took her elbow and was pushing her gently toward the paisley door hanging. For a moment there was a shadow on his face that could have been pain. “We don’t get together much anymore.” Then the shadow was gone and he was grinning down at her. “You’re sure you don’t have a use for one slightly dented samovar? Where else could you get one with a personalized head print? I might even be persuaded to autograph it for you.” His nonsense continued, and soon she was chuckling so hard, the memory of that fleeting pain on his face was lost in the sunlit spell he wove so well.

         

Yasmin was waiting in her suite when she arrived a little over an hour later; a worried frown on her usually serene brow signaled definite trouble. She was no sooner in the room than the housekeeper bustled forward, took her shoulder bag and packages, and gave her a nudge toward the bathroom.

BOOK: Touch the Horizon
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