Heart Craving by Sandra Hill Page B

to me . . . everything.”
    He saw the brief flicker of fear in her eyes, felt the tightening of her arm and thigh muscles. “No, no, darling, don’t be afraid. All I ask is your complete trust.” He knew she wondered if she would be surrendering to more than one night’s madness. But, gradually, she relaxed and gave herself up to him.
    Nick controlled the pace of their lovemaking then. He slowed his thrusts, even as she urged him with throaty cries to end her torture. When her body began to convulse around him, he held himself rigid until her orgasm stopped. Then he began the rhythm again.
    “I’m dying,” she moaned as she writhed from side to side.
    “Then we are dying together.” Desperate and obsessed, Nick fought to make this night last forever. He had to convince Paula, if only with his lovemaking, that they belonged together.
    His caresses became frantic. He lay beside her, over her, under her. Touching and exploring every inch of her body. Memorizing. Her heat and the intensity of her orgasms and regenerating arousals enveloped him and spurred him toward his own climax. Relentlessly, he resisted the release.
    But the force of his need eventually overpowered him.
    Sucking in deep, soul-drenching draughts of air, he hurtled toward a mind-blowing pinnacle. Bracing himself on straightened arms, he threw his head back, feeling the cords in his neck stand out, and cried out triumphantly as he exploded inside her body’s convulsing folds.
    He must have passed out for a few moments, or slept, from the intensity of his climax. When his brain emerged from its fuzzy state of confused satiety, he felt Paula’s hands caressing his shoulders and back, crooning soft words of pleasure and encouragement . . . love words. Even though he lay heavily on her, she didn’t protest. Tears burned his eyes, and he blinked them back. He didn’t think he could love his wife more than he did at that moment.
    He raised his head. “Paula, honey, I love you so much.”
    “I know, Nick. I know. I love you, too.” She brushed a wisp of hair off his brow, sweaty from their exertions. And the gesture displayed as much caring as the most intimate caress.
    Hope blossomed like a desert flower in his heart. “Paula, does this mean that—”
    “Shhh, not now. No talking,” she said. “If we talk, I’ll have to think. And I don’t want to think. Just feel.”
    “Well, then, my desert flower, perhaps I can help you feel some more,” he said, rolling to his side and propping himself on one elbow, gazing down at her. Lightly, he ran a forefinger from the curve of her neck, down over the peak of one breast, over her belly button, to the damp curls of her womanhood.
    She sighed. “I don’t think I’m capable of any more feeling.”
    He quirked an eyebrow. “Ah, that sounds like a challenge to me. We Bedouin warriors have a reputation to uphold.”
    She giggled.
    “You doubt me, wench? Hmmm. Well, since we have no female harem girls here to serve you, I will have to act as your handmaiden. Turn over on your stomach, Zara. I will minister to your weak body . . . bring it back to life.”
    He stood and picked up the beaker that was warming on the far side of the brazier.
    “What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.
    “Warm oil to massage your muscles, which are sadly out of shape from lack of use.”
    “So you think I’m out of shape, do you?” She stretched lazily, and he felt a part of his body stretch, too.
    “No, not you, Zara. Just certain muscles.” He jiggled his eyebrows as he spoke. “Lie on your stomach, slave, and stop asking questions,” he ordered in a mock stern voice.
    Surprisingly, she did as he demanded. Hey, maybe that’s where I went wrong. I didn’t do enough ordering.
    “GR-ONK! GR-ONK!”
    Oh, no!
    “What was that?” Paula asked, her head jerking up with alarm.
    “Just the camel,” Nick said, setting the beaker on the ground.
    “Camel! I thought I saw a camel out there. Nick, you’re going