He checked them in and followed the night manager to their room.
Tonight, she thought as the other man explained about the hotel amenities. They would be together tonight. She was tired of waiting, tired of being the student.
She wanted to be his equal—a lover he found fascinating.
“Here is our presidential suite,” the manager said as he opened one side of a double door.
Kiley looked at Rafiq. “I didn’t book this.”
“I know. I had my travel agent take care of it.”
The room was lovely, with a view of the city, a spacious living room and two bedrooms. For her it was totally upscale, although she had a feeling that Rafiq normally traveled in more style.
Their luggage was brought up. He tipped the bellman, who left with the manager.
She crossed to the window and he followed. He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She snuggled into his embrace.
“Thank you for staying over,” she said.
“We had to. There’s brunch tomorrow at your parents’ house. I’m looking forward to it.”
She smiled, then turned in his arms and touched a stain on his shirt. “I think the baby spit up on you.”
“I am sure of it.”
“You didn’t mind being run over by toddlers or dragged into family arguments about where to go on vacation or the state of the roof.”
“I enjoyed myself today. They are good people and they didn’t have any expectations of me.”
“A pleasant surprise?”
“You don’t know how much.”
She could imagine, though. The night of the fund-raiser had shown her that she wouldn’t have enjoyed growing up in his world, always on display.
She studied his face, the handsome lines and masculine features. She touched his mouth and remembered how he’d touched her on the plane.
He smiled. “There are two bedrooms,” he said. “Which would you prefer?”
She pointed to the master, with the large bed and marble bathroom. “That one.”
“Then I’ll take the other one.”
“I don’t think so.”
His eyebrows rose.
She shrugged. “Unless it’s really important to you, of course. I’m not going to force you to sleep with me.”
“Kiley?”
“You said to let you know. So I am. I’m ready, Rafiq. I want us to make love tonight.”
Chapter 9
Her words made Rafiq hard in an instant. He ached to claim her right there, to strip off her clothes and bury himself inside of her. Control seemed unimportant in the face of his growing need.
But he held back. As much as he wanted to plunge himself inside of her, he wanted to make this good for her more. There would only ever be one first time for her. He would always be the first man to make her his. He wanted to make sure every moment of their lovemaking made her tremble with delight.
Without speaking, he took her hand and led her into the bedroom. Once there, he turned to her and pulled her close, then lowered his head so that he could claim her with a kiss.
He felt her instant surrender. She melted into him, parting her lips and clinging to him. Her br**sts pressed into his chest, her thighs brushed his.
He slipped his tongue into her mouth and tasted her sweet heat. She welcomed him, circling, rubbing, dancing. Each stroke, every brush, even the lightest touch of her fingers on his back inflamed him. Need pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He had never been one to simply take what was offered. He prided himself on reducing his bed partners to whimpering puddles of sexual satisfaction, but he had never wanted this much before.
It was as if the ancient blood of his heritage, of those long-gone desert warriors, now controlled him. He wanted to tear off her clothes and gaze upon her naked body. He wanted to move inside of her, filling her until they both cried out in ecstasy.
But she was a virgin and patience was required.
He forced the erotic images from his mind and gently stroked her back. He deepened the kiss, but made no other attempt to move things along. There would be plenty of time, he told himself.
She was the one to pull away and kiss his jaw. As she rubbed her body against his, she nibbled on his neck, then sucked his earlobe. His erection pulsed.
“You’re going slow,” she said, speaking into his ear.
“Yes. It’s your first time.”
“Don’t.”
He stiffened. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t go slow.” She looked at him, and he saw the desire in her eyes. “I meant what I said. I’m ready. Touch me.”
As she spoke, she unfastened the button on her jeans. He accepted the invitation and slid down the zipper, then eased his hand between her panties and her soft, warm skin.
Then he swore. She was hot, wet and already swollen. He rubbed the engorged center of her pleasure and made her moan. He eased a finger inside of her, and her hips arched toward him. He withdrew and she whimpered.
It was too much, he thought, battling animal urges. He could have held back if she’d been cautious or afraid or hesitant. He could have waited longer if she’d needed more time. But her blatant invitation was more than he could resist. More than he should have to.
He dragged her to him and kissed her again. But this time he claimed her as his.
As he entered her mouth, he began unfastening the buttons on her blouse.
She reached for his shirt, but her inexperience slowed her down. He had her blouse off and her bra open before she’d managed two buttons. He broke the kiss and stepped back.