Chameleon Page 9

  What a waste. What a fucking crime. As he listened to Fleur’s account of her marriage, Ethan knew that if the vicious bastard had still been living, he might have considered killing him. Or perhaps her late husband was to be pitied. Youssef had been offered a precious gift, something beyond price, and he couldn’t fucking see it. He’d attacked it, wrecked it, trampled it into the dirt. Ruined her. No, on reflection, Ethan would have killed him.

  It was too late now, though. The damage was done. Fleur was set on her course, hiding under her vanilla comfort blanket. Given more time together, he might have coaxed her back out from under it, but he didn’t have that luxury. The best Ethan could offer her was a night of shit-hot sex.

  Satisfied at last that his companion was under control again and ready to resume her meal, Ethan signaled the waiter to bring their mussels in Roquefort sauce. The food was delicious and the mini army of serving staff attentive and discreet. Always appearing out of thin air to top up a water glass, to pour wine, to clear empty plates, but never in evidence otherwise. This was the peculiar quality of the Totally Five Star. The hotel prided itself on offering absolute luxury, comfort, privacy, peaceful, quiet efficiency. The surroundings were palatial, the architecture inspired, but the true quality of the experience lay in the impeccable service offered by the highly trained staff. Exuding competence, always in just the right place, where and when needed and invisible otherwise. It was a fine art, the product of meticulous training, carefully honed over years of practice. The staff melted into the very walls of the place. They were its lifeblood.

  The lovely woman sitting across the table from him was a part of all this, yet seemed separate from it too. Perfectly at home, yet set apart. There was a rare and unique quality to Fleur Mansouri. Submissive or not, she truly fascinated him. He looked forward to having her to himself later but was in no particular hurry to get her back to his riad. He was content for now to watch her, to listen, to enjoy.

  “Tell me about your family. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “I have both. Two older brothers and a younger sister. You will meet Yasmine when you come to our home the day after tomorrow. She is twenty-five.”

  “I see. Is she a doctor too?”

  “No. A lawyer. Like my eldest brother, though he practices in the USA. Omar works for an organization called Amnesty International. You may have heard of them?”

  Ethan nodded. “I do know of their work. They campaign on behalf of political prisoners, yes?”

  “That is correct. My other brother is an electronics engineer, here in Morocco. He owns a telecoms company based in Casablanca. You would have much in common with Anas. You would like him, I believe.”

  “I expect I’d find all your family as fascinating as I do you. Are any of the rest of the brood given to riding donkeys in the desert?”

  Fleur laughed. “I can tell this bothers you. Poor Agwmar does not fit your image of me now, just as my iPhone and the fact I could drive your car did not fit your image of me yesterday morning.”

  “Agwmar? Ah yes, I remember. Named after a stallion. Did he get home okay?”

  “He did. My cousin collected him and he is safely back at my grandmother’s farm.”

  Ethan entertained the notion that he would like to visit that farm himself, reacquaint himself with that noble beast and try to understand this facet of Fleur. He contemplated extending his stay in Morocco, but knew that it was not realistic. He could delay his flight for a couple of days, but no more than that. He was needed back in the UK and he had meetings the following week in Faro, then on to Seville. It was a pity, though.

  Their main courses arrived, and the conversation gave way to appreciative tasting and sharing. Ethan offered Fleur a sample of his lobster, his cock solidifying nicely as she wrapped her lips around his fork. Would she? Maybe? He thought so.

  He accepted the offer of a forkful of monkfish, not a dish he’d tried previously. It was good, so he mentally chalked it up for another time. They lingered over their meals, enjoying the delightful flavors, the efficient service, the perfectly chilled wine—and each other.

  Fleur asked about Ethan’s family, his business, his life in the UK. He answered her questions, told her of his childhood, growing up in an ex-mining village in south Yorkshire. Ethan only vaguely remembered the miners’ strike of 1984 having been just five years old then. The miners’ struggle was a doomed attempt to preserve a dying way of life. The pit had closed and his father had never worked down a mine since. Robert Savage had retrained as a warehouseman, but he’d always hated that work. His bitterness had never ebbed, divided pretty much equally between the Thatcher government, which he’d felt had decimated his life, and the handful of miners who’d broken the strike and had never never forgiven. Although the mining industry was gone forever following the strike, the life had been bred into Ethan, and he’d found his way back into it by training as a minerals engineer. He didn’t dig for coal, but he dug all the same, extracting a good living from the bowels of the earth as his father and grandfather had. His father would have been proud of him, he thought, had he not died of emphysema just ten years after he’d been forced out of mining. Robert had always blamed Margaret Thatcher for his illness too, though Ethan had privately felt that was stretching a point somewhat.

  Their main courses were cleared away and the dessert menu discreetly presented. Ethan convinced Fleur to share a crême brulée with him. They dawdled further over coffees. Ethan called for refills, still in no rush to get Fleur’s clothes off. He knew, as she knew, they had all night.

  Fleur regarded the handsome, charming man across the table and wondered whether perhaps she might have been mistaken. Could she have taken the chance? He knew what had happened with Youssef. He knew all about her so-called perverted habits and was apparently unconcerned. He seemed to consider her preferences perfectly acceptable. His anger at Youssef’s treatment of her had been palpable, not unlike her father’s reaction. She had never told Said the whole truth, but she had little doubt that he had pieced it together from what her husband had told him in a pathetic, self-serving attempt to justify his brutality. Her father’s attitude toward her had been unwavering, as had her mother’s. The whole family had closed ranks around her. Then, when she was healed, physically and emotionally, enough to contemplate picking up her life again, they had encouraged her to get out there.

  The Mansouris were wealthy—she knew that and realized that this made a difference. But it was more than just the money and the freedom that provided. Her parents were enlightened, tolerant, forgiving. They loved her, as they loved all their children. So it was simple to them. She had made a bad decision. She had suffered as a result, but they had picked her up, dusted her off and put her back on course again. Maybe one day she would have children of her own. She hoped she’d be half as good a parent.

  But in the meantime, she was in for a night of hot and fulfilling sex of the purely recreational variety. She appreciated Ethan’s laid-back approach, the fact that he didn’t hurry her. She wasn’t prevaricating or playing for time—in truth, she was as keen to go back to his riad with him as he was to have her there. But it was good to savor, to anticipate, to enjoy the company of an attractive, attentive man. Ethan made her feel special. She knew she was attractive enough, but he made her feel beautiful. It was there in his words, but also in what he didn’t say, the way he looked at her, the heat that glowed in his eyes. She had long since given up worrying about the state of her wardrobe. Her skirt was surely ruined and her pussy was quite simply out of control. She needed him to take action. Her desire was getting urgent now. She was ready.

  “More coffee?” He made the offer, but she was quite sure neither of them wanted to eat or drink anything else.

  “No, thank you. I am finished.”

  “Are you ready to leave?”

  “Yes.” She smiled at him, a curious tingling starting in her lower abdomen as a flock of butterflies took flight. It was now. And she was ready. Excited, nervou
s, but ready.

  Chapter Seven

  Ethan dropped a healthy tip on the table as they left Le Jardin Français. He’d welcomed the discretion of the staff earlier, when Fleur had been struggling to get her story out, and he liked to reward good service. There was much to appreciate here at the Totally Five Star. The pair made their unhurried way through the rabbit warren of corridors leading to his private riad. There, Ethan unlocked the door and gestured Fleur inside. He dropped the key card in the designated slot and followed her through the foyer and out into the courtyard.

  Fleur’s outline was dimly lit by artfully subdued floodlighting as she leaned against the central water feature. Ethan could make out her slender figure outlined by the soft folds of her skirt, now fluttering in the late evening breeze. The warm desert wind rippled the surface of the pool where the fountain didn’t reach, balmy and rich, itself almost a caress. Ethan watched as Fleur stretched, easing the kinks from her muscles after having been seated for nearly two hours. The time had flown by. He’d lost track certainly and rather thought she might have too.

  Fleur turned to face him, her small hands going to the top button of her blouse. Despite the heat here and the thoroughly Westernized backdrop of the hotel, she still covered her shoulders and arms in traditional fashion. It added to her unique allure. She’d loosely captured her long hair in a claw, tendrils trailing seductively across her neck and breasts. Before she could open her button, Ethan closed the distance between them.

  “Not yet, honey. I want to unwrap you myself, but let me look at you first.” He framed her face with his hands, sweeping the loose wisps of dark hair back from her cheeks. Fleur tipped her head back to continue to meet his eyes, and seemed faintly surprised not to be undressing immediately. Whatever she might have anticipated, Ethan had no intention of rushing.

  He lowered his head to nudge the end of her perfect little nose with his as she reached up to place her now redundant hands on his shoulders. He smiled then lightly brushed his lips across hers. He felt rather than heard her sharp intake of breath. He settled his mouth fully over hers. She parted her lips immediately and he slid his tongue between her teeth. She widened her mouth to accept him and he slanted his head to deepen the kiss. She reached higher, now tangling her fingers in his hair. He returned the compliment by releasing the clasp and letting her thick tresses fall as they would across her shoulders.

  Ethan tunneled his fingers through the mass of almost black silk, musing that it reminded him of the deep Moroccan night. The perfect darkness of the desert. It suited her, and she suited him. She was perfect.

  He dropped his hands to her hips and lifted her to place her bottom on the waist-high wall surrounding the fountain. Then he returned his hands to her hair to tilt her face up for his kiss again. He explored her with his tongue, tasting and teasing until she joined in, twisting her tongue playfully around his. Ethan was delighted, loved the artless response, the sense of fun as well as the heady sensuality of the kiss. He was aware of the spray from the fountain speckling the backs of his hands—it must have been wetting her clothing too, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or if she did, she didn’t care.

  Ethan trailed his fingers across her neck, the backs of his knuckles caressing that tender spot below her ear. She shifted, tilted her head to allow him access. He replaced his fingers with his lips, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses across her throat.

  “Ethan…?”

  “Mmm?” He didn’t lift his head, just growling his response against her neck.

  “Please be quick. I cannot wait.”

  “Somewhere you need to be?” He muttered the words against her ear, pulling the lobe into his mouth to suck on it.

  “No. But I need this now. I need you. Quickly. I want to come. And I want you to be inside me when I do.”

  “I will be inside you. Eventually.”

  “Now. Now, please.” Her tone held a growing note of urgency.

  For a moment, Ethan considered doing this her way. He dismissed that notion quickly. She was no virgin, but he’d back his own experience against hers any day. She might think she needed quick. He knew better.

  “Hush, love. Let me do this. You’ll love what I have in mind for you, I promise.”

  “But I…”

  “Honey, we agreed just vanilla but if you prefer me to tie you up and gag you, I’d be just as happy with that.”

  Shit, where did that come from? He had not intended to make any reference to the great elephant in the room. He’d promised himself that he would leave all that well alone. Amazingly, though, his words had the desired effect.

  “That will not be necessary. I apologize.”

  Or did it? He wanted the playful lover, not the contrite, whipped puppy.

  “No apologizing now, love. You can say anything you like to me. Do anything you like. But we go at my pace. Yes?”

  He lifted his head to look into her eyes, needing to know she was all right with this, with him. He was rewarded by her slight smile.

  “Yes. Yes, Ethan. Your pace.”

  He could think of nothing especially pertinent to say to that. So he kissed her again.

  I might faint. I might just dissolve into a puddle, right here at his feet. Or I might simply trickle away into the fountain.

  Fleur’s head whirled with a kaleidoscope of emotions and sensations as Ethan returned to kissing her, seemingly in no rush to divest her of her now soaked knickers. She shifted in his arms, felt the warm wetness of the spray from the fountain seeping through the light silk of her blouse. The fabric clung to her skin, cooling as the water evaporated. She could not suppress a shiver.

  “Cold?”

  “No. Just wet.”

  “Ah. But you’ve been wet all evening.” Despite the warmth of the evening, his low, sexy voice caused her to shiver as he made the intimate but accurate observation.

  Her pussy clenched again, as it had been spasming almost without let-up for the last two hours. She would have to be patient since he was obviously not to be hurried. But she needed him inside her—fast.

  “I know.” And more to the point, she no longer felt hesitant about admitting it. Ethan desired her response. He demanded her honesty. Her arousal was his goal and he was working his way toward it with consummate skill. She was close to melting and so far, not a button out of place, not a zip lowered.

  “I would like to be undressed. Please.”

  “Mmm, I’m beginning to think that might be nice. Please feel free.” He released her from the circle of his arms and lifted her from the wall. He set her on her feet and stepped away. Just a couple of paces, enough that he could lean against an ornamental pillar and watch her. She saw him fold his arms and regard her from under his lowered eyebrows.

  “I thought you said… I mean, did you not want to unwrap me?”

  “I did say that. But now I find I’d like you to unwrap yourself, if you don’t mind. And I’ll watch you.”

  Oddly, she would have been less self-conscious before he had kissed her nearly senseless. Now, this was hard, more intimate somehow—more studied and deliberate. She had no doubt that he was perfectly aware of this as he lounged a few feet away, his gaze intent, unwavering.

  “Problem, Fleur?”

  “No. Not a problem, exactly. But I am not accustomed to doing this.”

  “You did it yesterday. In my bedroom. I seem to recall on that occasion you displayed a degree of enthusiasm best described as sluttish.”

  Fleur started to bristle, opened her mouth to protest, but Ethan’s upraised finger silenced her.

  “Sluttish is a good word. Sluttish is what I want from you. For you. Your modesty is natural, but inhibitions have no place here. They’ll get in your way. Leave them by the fountain. With your clothes.”

  Long moments passed as they gazed at each other, neither looking away. At last, Fleur was the first to move, turning slowly so her back was to Ethan. She lifted her hands to her top button again, but this time she flicked it open. She continued
down the front of her blouse, opening each button before slowly sliding the sheer fabric from her shoulders. The silence behind her told her that Ethan was not moving. He remained motionless, watching her across the courtyard. Resisting the urge to look back over her shoulder at him, Fleur continued with her quest. She unfastened the waistband of her long skirt and lowered the concealed zip. She hesitated for just a moment then allowed the soft material to fall to her ankles with a soft whispering sound, landing in a pool of dark purple around her feet. She stepped over and away from it and wondered if she should lose her strappy sandals at this stage too. She decided she was more comfortable barefoot. It was her preferred and natural state for the most part, so she toed them off.

  Wearing only her underwear now, she wondered if she should turn to face him. She decided against it and reached behind her, intending to unclasp her bra. Her fingers fumbled with the fastening. It was awkward, especially as her hands were now shaking.

  A footstep, a rustle of movement, and he covered her hands with his. “Allow me.” He unhooked the bra expertly but left it to Fleur to slide the cups forward and away, freeing her breasts.

  The night air provided a cool caress on her naked skin. She knew this to be a totally private place, absolutely secluded, but still she felt exposed, decadent. To strip for a man was daring enough—well, for her it was. But to do so in the open air was quite outrageous.

  Even so, she was doing it, loved doing it. Her awareness of his attention on her body aroused her. She knew that he watched, admired, that he took his time as he explored her visually. Soon he would be touching her. She wanted that, craved it more than anything. Fleur murmured her thanks for his assistance with the bra, then hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her matching white silk panties. She drew those slowly down, past her hips, her knees, bending slightly. Then she let them go, dropping them to her ankles before stepping out. She did not bend to pick them up, preferring instead to turn to face Ethan.