Part 12 (1/2)

She moaned as he struck up a gentle rhythm against her body, his big rod sliding against her wetness, caressing her mound with every stroke. She arched against him, holding onto his waist.

”Touch me,” he commanded.

She did. Lowering her hand down into the heated s.p.a.ce between their bodies, she molded her fingers over his thrusting member. She shuddered to find him wet with her, but now, guided by her touch, his every stroke stimulated her pebbled center while her hand simultaneously pleasured him each time he moved his hips, back and forth.

It was perfect.

Well, it was good enough.

His moan seemed to say he thought so, too.

”Gabriel-kiss me.”

He accepted the invitation with depth and ferocity, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth.

If only he would make the hunger stop.

Again, the inner precipice she had almost fallen off earlier beckoned ahead. The banked sensations she had first begun to sense in the other room came creeping back, stealing over her awareness.

She moved with Gabriel in a feverish trance. He kept on kissing her, his magnificent, fevered body still undulating rhythmically against her.

All of a sudden, she cried out, her shocked exclamation m.u.f.fled under his relentless kisses. She fairly sobbed with the blinding release. Through the fiery haze of her climax, she felt Gabriel's hand cover her own, still wrapped around his steely shaft. He quit kissing her to let her breathe, and she could hear his groans, his harsh panting by her ear as he coaxed her hand to keep stroking his needy member.

Still gasping with pleasure, she gripped him harder and clenched her teeth, determined to show him she wasn't half bad for a virgin.

”Oh, G.o.d. Sophia...” In mere moments, her renewed efforts drove him over the edge.

He suddenly threw back his head, an enraptured grimace on his face; with a low shout, he exploded in her hand, his whole, powerful body straining in a series of ma.s.sive pulsations. Racked by each wild wave of release, he covered her quivering stomach with the hot flood of his seed.

”Sophia,” he groaned softly as the storm of climax finally eased from him.

She lifted her lashes and looked up dazedly into his eyes. By the candlelight, she could see they had darkened to a deep indigo shade. But it was their heart-melting sweetness that made her quiver in the aftermath of pa.s.sion.

”Sophia, Sophia,” he whispered. He shook his head at her with a fond but chiding half smile. Then he kissed her gently on her big Greek nose.

She was not the easiest woman in the world to figure out.

A while later, having tidied themselves up from their exertions, they lay spoon-fas.h.i.+on in his bed. They faced the window, and Gabriel could see the stars. Sophia nestled sweetly in his arms. They were not exactly sated, but at least now they should both be able to sleep.

Gabriel found himself in the oddest mood, all possessive. G.o.d, he had not expected any of this. He had not been with a woman since he was wounded, and after such a long abstinence, he did not mind refraining from full coition. It could wait. In a way, it was almost as if he had reverted to a state of innocence himself. The closeness he felt with Sophia, however, it had been a very long time since he had experienced anything like this.

He understood now why his brother had chosen her for him. Derek had selected her not for debauchery's sake-not because she was a virgin, but in spite of it. Gabriel had to admit she was the perfect sort of companion for him. It was rare to find a female who could hold her own with him.

He had a strong inclination to keep her around, perhaps as his mistress.

Maybe...if they got to know each other better, if she ever saw fit to tell him the truth about herself, and if, over time, they ended up becoming a bit more...attached, he thought hesitantly, then perhaps just this once he could bend his own rules against deflowering virgins. He had too many d.a.m.ned rules, anyway...

But he was getting ahead of himself.

For now, she was a question mark to him, an irresistible puzzle, with her flas.h.i.+ng dark eyes and her strong, lithe, delicately sculpted body. Hot-blooded? She was a fireball. He savored the still-fresh memory of her eagerness, but he barely knew what to do with her.

She was a tough little fighter, but she needed someone looking after her. Keep her out of trouble. As for him, well, maybe the truth was, he needed someone, too.

They seemed to suit.

More important, ever since her arrival, a strange sense of new hope had been born in him. Perhaps the answers he sought would finally come if he stopped looking so hard for them and entertained himself for a while with this luscious young thing.

”Sophia?” he murmured in a low tone, all too aware of the soft curve of her backside against his groin.

No answer came.

He listened to the soft, even sound of her breathing and realized she already slumbered. A faint smile curved his lips as he buried his face in her rioty curls. d.a.m.n, he was already craving her again, but, ah, well. He'd let her sleep. She had worked hard today.

He still did not know how much of her Gypsy tale to believe, but at the moment, it didn't matter. The feel of her in his arms was real, and right now, that was enough.

He closed his eyes, savoring her smell and the warmth of her silky skin, and the rea.s.suring rhythm of her breath.

Stay with me. He smiled faintly at his own errant thoughts. I'm going to want you again tomorrow. He dozed off with his arms around her.

The men had not slept since the target had slipped through their fingers.

Where was she? Where had the little b.i.t.c.h run off to?

Late that night, worn out from searching, the Tunisian took a mouthful of what pa.s.sed for coffee in this cold, miserable land and spit it out again in disgust.

He was in a bad mood for he had lost his favorite dagger in the fight, but more than that had certainly not expected failure after all his precise planning. His timing had been perfect, as well, but the girl had fought back with a ferocity that none of them had been prepared for.

Though no one cared to admit it, they all felt slightly unmanned by her little victory.

But it would not last.

His men were talking quietly amongst themselves nearby, cleaning their weapons; they wanted her blood now, especially Ahmed, for the royal witch had shot his brother Abdul point-blank in the head.

Kemal stared into the darkness, musing. He had never seen anything like it. Indeed, he had never heard of a female acting in such a manner. But such was the foulness, the perversion the West brought to his people.

And to think that men like Sultan Mahmud should be blind to the danger, even learning to converse in French like an aping fool! He shook his head. Well, there would be changes in due time.

Their first attempt had failed, costing them three of their own, but no matter. Their brothers were martyrs in heaven now, but back here on earth, Kemal and his men would simply try again.

They had little choice. Having backed the wrong contender for the Ottoman throne, the rebel Janissaries were outlaws now. There was no way for them to go but forward.

Their faith in the rightness of their cause was undimmed. G.o.d willing, the Porte Sublime would be purged of these evil influences-but first, he and his men had to prove themselves to Ali Pasha.

The Lion of Janina was their last great hope, but he would not agree to their proposal until they had persuaded him of their capabilities, showed him a little of what they could do.

Which was a great deal, indeed.