Historical Romance Books 1 – 4. Marguerite Kaye

his lack of words making the depth of his feelings very clear. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘It’s what you brought me here to do.’

      He kissed her hand. ‘It is no excuse, but I find it difficult, at times, to distinguish between Stephanie and my Royal Horse Surgeon. When you quite rightly pointed out that I should have consulted you, rather than pay heed to Jasim, I was...’ He shrugged, shaking his head. ‘I could see I had hurt you, and I wouldn’t wish to harm a hair on your head.’

      ‘The important thing is that you showed faith in me.’ He was still holding her hand. ‘Rafiq, you are not the only one who has trouble distinguishing—may I ask if I am still talking to the Prince?’

      ‘The Prince has apologised to his Royal Horse Surgeon. The man wishes—hopes—to make it up to Stephanie. If she will allow him.’

      Her mouth went dry. ‘What do you have in mind?’

      ‘I’ll show you,’ Rafiq said, kissing her hand again, and this time smiling at her wickedly. ‘This terrace, you know, was once known as the Pool of Nymphs. When the palace was first built, it was part of the original harem. The library was formerly the changing room for the hamam.’

      He turned the key in the lock and ushered her in. ‘You may think it is luxurious now, but it was once fabulously ostentatious. Rich wall hangings, carpets from Persia, gold and silver embroidery on every cushion and covering, bone-china coffee cups and pots set with jewels. Would you like to see the next room?’

      Stephanie nodded, intrigued and excited and just a little bit nervous. Rafiq opened the door into a small ante-room made entirely of white marble. ‘This is where one would disrobe before entering the tepidarium. Would you like to recreate that experience, Stephanie?’

      Was he really suggesting they take a bath together? Naked. Rafiq naked. Now that was a very different proposition. She picked up the robe he handed her and retreated behind a screen.

      When she emerged, clutching her robe to her body, Rafiq had also changed. His robe stopped just short of his calves. He had very elegant feet. Slim ankles. When he kissed her lightly, she was acutely conscious of their flesh, separated only by two thin layers of silk. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

      She nodded, allowing him to lead her into the next room. The tepidarium was not, as she had assumed, an actual bath house. It was a white marble room set out with more divans, the marble cool underfoot.

      When he kissed her again, she closed the gap between them. Their tongues touched. He cupped her bottom, pulling her closer. Her hands slipped and slid on the silk of his robe as she flattened her palms on his back. When they broke the kiss, his robe was gaping, giving her a glimpse of the swell of his pectoral muscles, the rough smattering of hair which covered his chest.

      ‘Another step further?’ he asked.

      ‘Onwards and upwards,’ Stephanie agreed readily.

      Steam billowed out of the next room as Rafiq opened the door, obscuring her view at first. She stumbled forward. He caught her arm. The door closed. The steam cleared.

      ‘The Great Bathing Chamber,’ he announced.

      They were in a room with a high cupola lit by what looked like stars, though they must be lanterns of some sort, covering the whole dome, like a night sky. There were more lights set into the outer walls. No windows. The steam hissed gently from gaps between the marble tiles underfoot. The marble here was not white, but veined with grey and black. Around the walls were basins. Slim marble pillars supported the cupola’s arches, forming a circle in the centre of the chamber. And here stood the bath, a massive star-shaped construction edged with marble so wide it formed ledges, the bath itself a much smaller pool in the centre. There were other marble tables too, beside each of the fountains, and around the walls, benches had been inset.

      She was very hot. Rafiq’s robe was clinging to him. She could see the dark circles of his nipples. Looking down, she saw that her robe too was clinging, that her nipples were not only visible but quite obviously pert. And Rafiq had noticed too. His cheeks were flushed too. ‘Onwards,’ Stephanie said, pulling him to her.

      They kissed slowly, lingeringly. He led her to the back of the room, to a large, low table draped with a sheet. Another kiss, this time as steamy, as languorous as the atmosphere in the bathing chamber, before he lifted her on to the table.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      Rafiq untied the sash of her robe. ‘I am making it up to you. Apologising. Actions,’ he said, sliding her robe from her shoulders, ‘I have found, speak much louder than words.’

      He cupped her breast, his thumbs caressing the hard peaks of her nipples. Stephanie was a mass of fluttering, tingling nerves, wild with anticipation and at the same time drugged by the heat.

      She tugged the sash of his robe open, eyeing him blatantly as the garment slithered to his feet and he stood naked before her. His skin was damp, glistening with sweat. His muscles rippled as he breathed. He was already fully aroused. She ran her finger along his length. Satin smooth.

      He kissed her, easing her down on to the table. And then, when she thought he would join her, he rolled her on to her stomach. ‘My turn to act,’ Rafiq whispered. ‘Your only requirement is to enjoy the results.’

      * * *

      She looked so luscious spread before him on the table that Rafiq struggled to control himself. The lovely curve of her spine, the indent of her waist, the delightful swell of her buttocks, the intriguing shadow between her legs, he wanted to kiss every inch of her, to lose himself in her.

      He picked up the glass vial of precious oil, gently eased her legs apart, and knelt between them. The oil fell, drop by delicate drop, along the ridge of her spine. He applied it in sweeping motions, working along her shoulders first, where the muscles were tensest and strongest. Her breath came in little whispering gasps. He leant over her, his chest brushing against her back, the oil sleek between them. He kissed her nape. He nipped the lobe of her ear. She whimpered.

      More oil was applied, and he worked his fingers down the knots of her spine. A strong back. She was not soft, though she was becoming delightfully pliant under his kneading, stroking, sweeping, touch. And down, to the twin mounds of her buttocks, the flesh yielding, her shape so perfectly feminine. Up, sliding his hands up her sides, his fingers brushing her breasts, then down again. When he leaned over, his shaft nestled against that perfect rear. The sweetest torture. Up, slid his hands, his palms flat, and then down. He sat back. He dripped more oil on the base of her spine, working it into the little creases at the tops of her legs, easing her further apart, to slide down the soft flesh of her inner thighs, making her moan, her moan making his member throb, the responsive arching of her body giving him a tantalising glimpse of her sex.

      Down, his hands slid, from her thighs to her knees, to her slim ankles, then up again. The flesh at the backs of her knees was tender. He kissed it. Slid his hands back up again, his mouth resting on the base of her spine, a soft kiss there, the distinctive perfume of her arousal almost too much to bear, her little moans and whimpers constant now, her hands curled into the sheet. His fingers slid so easily into her. She tightened around him. She said his name, pleading with him in that smoky tone that was like nothing he had ever heard, pushing against his fingers, forcing them deeper inside her.

      But he wanted to give her more. He slid his hand out, down her thighs again, then back up her bottom, before easing her on to her back. It was almost too much. Her eyes glazed with passion. Her nipples dark peaks. Those auburn curls between her legs. And her sex, inviting him, tempting him.

      She said his name again. He used the sheet to pull her body towards him, standing between her legs. He leaned over to kiss her. Her breasts on his chest, nothing muscled here about her, she was all soft, lush woman. Another taste of her lips, and then another kiss, of a very different sort, between her legs, that made her cry out.

      He stilled her, his oiled hands on her hips, his mouth on her sex, willing her to hold on, wanting to taste her, to savour her. Slowly, he licked her, teasing, coaxing, taking