Heart Craving by Sandra Hill Page A

The tiny bells on her trousers jingled.
    Blinking, barely able to focus through the haze of her inflamed senses, Paula watched as Nick drew away from her and leaned against a tent pole, folding his arms casually over his chest. But there was nothing casual about his pale eyes, glistening like beautiful pools of blue passion, or his full lips, parted sensually.
    She couldn’t believe he was going to just stop. How could he? Nick had never been so cruel.
    “Will you dance for me now, Zara?” he asked in a low, erotic growl.
    “I don’t know how,” she protested weakly, but already her hips swayed seductively to the rhythm of the Arab music. The bells jingled softly as she moved.
    She found she could dance. For Nick.
    Raising her hands to the nape of her neck, she lifted her hair. She looked back at him over her shoulder and saw that he’d shifted back into his role-playing. He watched her intently, his face an expressionless mask, like some caliph viewing a harem girl. And that bothered her. A lot. Hah! She’d show him.
    Paula turned and lifted her own breasts. Oh, Lord, did I really do that?
    A muscle twitched near his lips.
    Good! She rolled her shoulders. Slowly.
    His lips parted.
    So, the caliph isn’t a eunuch, after all? She picked up a set of finger cymbals and clicked them in tune with the music.
    He gasped softly.
    So, he’d like to lock her in a harem, would he? Well, maybe she was more woman than he could handle. She undulated her hips.
    He began to smile.
    All the time, she held Nick’s eyes.
    He began to disrobe, showing her how very much he wanted her.
    And Paula forgot where the game ended and reality began. The molten heat that had been centered in her breasts gushed in a torrent to all the extremities of her body and pooled in a simmering mass between her legs. She felt hot, and desirable, and all woman. She would do anything for Nick. Anything.
    “And does this slave please her master, Raschid?” she whispered, coming up close to Nick, circling him, teasing him with swaying hips, trailing fingertips across his wide shoulders.
    When he reached for her, she slipped away, laughing gaily. The second time she approached, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her hard against his body, chortling triumphantly. Pressing his lips to the wildly beating pulse in her neck, he rasped, “This slave pleases her master mightily.” And he took her hand, curling her palm around his “might.”
    Desire licked like hot flames through Nick’s body as his wide palms swept over his wife’s bare back. He nuzzled the shadowy hollow of her neck and savored the familiar scent of her lemony cologne.
    This was Paula, the woman he loved more than life. And this was Zara, the alluring houri, who could enchant a Bedouin raider. They were one and the same.
    Slipping his hands into the back waistband of her trousers, he cupped her buttocks and pulled her hard against his erection, lifting her feet off the carpet. “I want you,” he rasped.
    She undulated her hips against him. “I know.” Her eyes sparkled teasingly.
    He laughed. “You take to your role very well, slave. I wonder, will you be able to hold my attention all through the night?”
    “Hah!” she said, ducking under his arm and stepping out of her trousers to stand before him, proud and unashamed of her nudity. “I wonder if you will be able to hold your attention all through the night.”
    Then she amazed him by walking to the bed of cushions and lying down on her back. She raised her hands above her head and parted her legs slightly, posing for him with an abandon he would have never thought possible for his Paula. “I yield to you, my master. You may have your will with me now. Your wish is my command.”
    Nick dropped to his knees. Then, nudging her legs farther apart, he moved on top of her. Braced on his elbows, he slanted his lips over hers and began to enter her body, whispering, “My wish is to make love to my wife. My wish is that you surrender