Louise Allen – Desert Rake (страница 2)

The breeze ruffled her thin skirts around her legs, caressed her unveiled face like the touch of soft hands, warm fingers stroking languidly down her limbs, teasing and soothing. Involuntarily her own fingers tightened on the rail as her breasts became heavy with the memory of skilled kisses and, stirring from long months of celibacy, the achingly familiar, intimate pulse of desire began to throb.

In a sensual daydream Caroline was scarcely aware of the tip of her tongue running over the fullness of her lower lip, of the soft flush rising in her cheeks. I wish I had a lover. The thought whispered through her mind. A tall, handsome, charismatic man.

It is incredible how powerful the imagination is, she thought hazily. It was conjuring him up even as she dreamed. Her heavy-lidded gaze, which had fallen to the deck as she mused, travelled up a pair of long, well-muscled legs to narrow hips and a flat belly. Her fantasy was even obliging by responding to her in a way that the cut of his snug-fitting trousers made quite outstandingly clear.

Caroline felt the pulse in her throat beat harder and let her eyes drift up, away from that disturbing piece of imagination, up to a white shirt exposed by a carelessly open coat, up to broad shoulders, a firm chin and a mouth that was curved in a slow smile of lazily erotic recognition of her needs. Oh yes.

With a little sigh Caroline met the grey eyes. The grey eyes fringed with black lashes. The very amused, very real grey eyes, belonging to the very real, completely non-imaginary man who was leaning against the rail six feet in front of her.

Oh my God… Caroline could feel the blush flooding her face and stared round wildly for some sort of salvation. A tidal wave, a pirate attack, a raiding party of Circassian slavers. Nothing. And the man was straightening up and coming towards her.

She was the most beautiful, most desirable, most erotic thing he had seen in a very long time. And, given years spent in one of the most exciting and cosmopolitan cities in the world, that was saying something. Drew kept very still, willing the tall blonde to hold the trance she was locked in. He did not flatter himself for a moment that he was the object of her heated—very heated—thoughts. If she could see him at all through that haze of desire, then her imagination had taken over and was superimposing some other man on his form.

But, even so, it was a thoroughly arousing experience to be on the receiving end of all that carnal longing, and Drew felt more than a twinge of envy for the lucky man who would benefit from it.

He was aware of the very physical effect she was having on him, and tried, without any success at all, to control it by making himself focus on those wide, mistily unfocused blue-grey eyes. They were wandering up his body like a caress, and the soft lips were parted, with the tip of her tongue just touching the fullness of the lower one. He tried to ignore the enticing swell of her breasts and the long, slender legs outlined as the breeze whipped her muslin skirts tight against them.

Hopeless. Sooner or later he was going to have to break this spell, or they were both going to faint from the sheer strain of it. Despite the potential embarrassment of appearing in public in a state that could only be described as seriously over-excited, and an increasing feeling of jealousy of this woman’s lover, Drew’s sense of humour was beginning to get the better of him. He knew that, despite his best efforts to remain both still and expressionless, his mouth was curving into a smile.

That delicious gaze moved to his mouth, hesitated. There was an answering curve of her own full lips that nearly had him moaning aloud, then the grey-blue eyes met his and he caught the precise moment that she came to herself, snapped out of her daydream and realised she was staring lasciviously at a real flesh-and-blood man—and a complete stranger.

How would she react? She was experienced; there was no doubt of that. Whatever had been going through her mind it had not been the romantic daydreams of a virginal young lady. He found himself hoping against hope that this delicious girl was not going to turn out to be a hardened woman of pleasure, and was rewarded by the wide-eyed shock in her eyes and the furious blush which stained her face.

She was exquisitely confused, her eyes darting round in search of escape or rescue. Drew got his face under control, straightened up and strolled over to close the narrow gap between them.

He was going to speak to her. Caroline’s hands closed together in an agonising grip, as though the pain might punish her for her wanton thoughts, and as a reward this man would vanish. It did not work. He kept coming.

He lifted the wide-brimmed straw hat he was wearing to reveal black hair and a tanned face. He was still smiling that devastating smile, half gentle mockery, half unblushing recognition that she was a woman and he was a man and that there could be consequences of that fact.

‘Sir—’ Her voice quavered and she shut her lips tightly before she could add squeaking like an idiot to her tally of embarrassments.

‘Madam,’ he rejoined gravely, replacing his hat. Even shadowed, the grey eyes sparkled with emotions she did not dare contemplate. ‘Might I make a suggestion?’ His voice was deep, easy, like warm honey running over her skin, with beneath it the hint of strength he was keeping tightly under control. His accent told her he was English—and yet something about him had convinced her he was not. She gave herself a little inward shake. What on earth did it matter what nationality he was?

‘Mmm?’ she managed. Oh, heavens, what is he going to say? Is he going to proposition me? He hardly needs to, does he? I must have been looking at him as though I wanted to tear his clothes off. I do want to tear his clothes off, here and now. Shameless… I wished for this, and now I do not know what to do…

‘If you move to the rail on the other side you will get the best view of the city. We are approaching the Sarayburnu, the Seraglio Point. You can see the Topkapi Sarayi clearly now. This is your first visit to Constantinople?’

What? ‘Mmm! I mean… yes. Thank you…’

‘Enjoy,’ the tall man said, with a smile that seemed to touch her mouth. He raised his hat again and strolled off across the deck, to where a man in robes stood guard over a trunk and a pile of portmanteaux.

Enjoy, indeed! Caroline made her shaking legs take her to the spot he had indicated. Mercifully, she found herself screened from the rest of the main deck by a stack of casks. He did not mean Enjoy the sights or Enjoy the food or even Enjoy the shopping. He meant Enjoy doing what you were dreaming about. I wish I could! He must think I have a lover on board, or a husband, or I am travelling to meet one or the other. Could that possibly have been any more embarrassing and awful?

Well, yes it could, she realised ruefully as the hectic colour began to ebb from her face and her thoughts became a little more coherent. He could have come across and made a very crude proposition—or even a tactfully worded one, come to that—and she would not have had the slightest justification for resenting it.

CHAPTER TWO

‘LADY MORVALL?’ The voice at her elbow made her jump.

‘Yes, Mr Lomax?’ It was her courier. Caroline smiled upon the rotund figure with something like affection. Certainly with relief. No one could ever find themselves incorporating Mr Lomax into an improper fantasy, bless him. He was a head shorter than she, with a shiny bald pate under his straw hat, a pince-nez perched on the end of his nose and a little pot belly.

He was also an experienced and knowledgeable courier and had shepherded her and Gascoyne, her maid and dresser, all the way from England with impeccable organisation and without the hint of an unpleasant incident. Unfortunately, he could not be expected to save her from the consequences of her own torrid imagination.

‘I must apologise for having been away so long, Lady Morvall, but the canvas cover of your larger travelling trunk had been torn in the hold and I have had to stand over the ship’s sail-maker to make sure he repaired it properly. Gascoyne has everything packed, and our luggage is over there.’

Caroline followed his pointing finger and located the maid, waiting watchfully by a pile of familiar baggage—right next to where That Man’s robed attendant was standing. Hastily she turned back.

‘Please point out the major buildings, Mr Lomax. I do not wish to go and stand in the crowd before I need to.’ That Man’s directions had been enough for her to orientate herself, given all the reading she had done, but she wanted an excuse to stay apart. Her heart-rate was slowly returning to normal, and she had no intention of raising it again.

‘Of course, my lady. The large mosque on the left is the Blue Mosque, in the centre is Aya Sofya mosque, which was built as a Christian church, and all the rest of the buildings as far as the point are the Topkapi Sarayi—the Sultan’s palace. Very soon we will sail into the mouth of the Golden Horn.’