Dark Oasis. HELEN BROOKS

‘Yes, I know I ride,’ she said more firmly. ‘I don’t know how I know but I do.’

      ‘Good.’ They had reached the trees now which she saw were fruit trees, mainly orange, surrounding the outside of a rosy pink extremely high wall in which two huge iron gates were set standing open ready for the Ferrari to pass through, but Gerard stopped the car just before the gates and cut the engine slowly, turning to her and touching her face gently with one finger as he turned her face to his. ‘Welcome to my home, little kitten,’ he said softly, seconds before his warm, hard mouth captured hers.

      CHAPTER THREE

      IF SOMEONE had poured boiling water over her head Kit could not have reacted more violently. For a split-second, just an infinitesimal moment of time, she had frozen as his firm sensual mouth had captured hers, the smell and feel of him all-encompassing, and then she jerked away so savagely that her head ricocheted off the car window with a resounding bang that caused the air to vibrate.

      ‘What on earth?’ Gerard looked as shocked as she felt as he surveyed her beneath dark frowning brows. ‘I was only kissing you, girl; what the hell did you think I intended?’

      ‘I...’ Her voice trailed away as she stared at him wide-eyed in the shadowed dusk, aware of the sweet odour of flowering jasmine being borne on the soft warm night air. ‘I don’t know, I’m sorry...’ As her voice petered out agam she took a deep breath as she tried to compose herself. ‘But I didn’t expect you to do that. I’m here as your guest, aren’t I? I thought—’

      ‘It was a kiss of welcome,’ he ground out tightly. ‘Nothing more, nothing less.’ His eyes raked her face angrily.

      ‘I’m sorry.’ There didn’t seem anything else to say and she was suddenly aware that she had made a terrible fool of herself.

      ‘Then let us try it again?’ It was the last thing she had expected him to say, and she stared at him with wide dove-grey eyes, the smudge of freckles across her nose standing out in sharp contrast to the pale creamy skin surrounding them. ‘A kiss, nothing more,’ he reassured softly as he leant forward again, his eyes liquid gold in the dim light. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

      As he lightly stroked her sealed lips with his hard, sensual mouth she began to feel herself tremble, the sensations the gentle caress was producing warm and sweet to her shattered senses, and as he felt her helpless reaction the kiss deepened, his tongue invading the sanctuary of her mouth as she opened her lips to gasp at the heat spreading through her body. A kiss? This was a kiss? If she had ever been kissed like this before she would have remembered, she knew it.

      One of his arms slid round her seat, his hand moving to the small of her back to urge her more intimately against his big frame, but he made no move to touch her beyond that, although she could feel the pounding of his heart against the solid wall of his chest. His lips left hers for a moment to wander languorously over her closed eyelids, her ears, her throat, before returning to her half-open mouth to plunder the soft interior yet again. And then he raised his head as he moved back into his own seat, and the departure was almost like a betrayal.

      ‘As I said, welcome to my home,’ he said softly as she opened dazed eyes to focus on the tawny brown gaze. ‘I hope you will be happy here.’

      He had started the engine before she could reply, and as they drove through the massive gates into the lush garden beyond she tried desperately to control the trembling that had taken hold of her limbs. This was a man she didn’t like, didn’t trust and barely knew, and she could react like that to his touch? What on earth was she? She didn’t dare look at the big dark figure next to her, trying to focus her eyes and her thoughts on her surroundings and nothing else.

      They appeared to be moving through an orchard, the wide winding drive snaking past olive, orange, almond and fig trees, and then the house was there in front of her, a magnificent white structure in traditional Moroccan design with delicate ornamentation and beautifully carved arches that looked as though they were covered in lace, so fine and intricate were the traceries on them.

      Gerard drew the car to a halt in front of the massive arched front door studded in brass, which was immediately opened from within to reveal a small, slender woman of thirty or so who moved out on to the top step, her brown face wreathed in smiles and her body swathed in the Moroccan jellaba, a long loose robe of cotton. ‘This is Assad’s wife, Amina,’ Gerard whispered quietly as he raised his hand in greeting. ‘Assad’s brother, Abou, also works here with his wife Halima and their family. Unfortunately Assad and Amina have no children, which has been a source of great grief to them, although Assad has resisted the temptation to take a second wife, which is quite permissable for him under Moslem law, especially if his first wife is barren.’