Every month, Dani and her sisters received money from the family trust, and every month, Dani donated 90 percent of it to various causes. Considering that charitable history, her agreeing to this fake relationship scheme was entirely in character: she was doing it, clearly, for the sake of the children.
Technically, that implied she was going to kiss Zafir in front of a group of spying undergrads for the children, too, but Dani had other reasons. This physical contact seemed a sensible way to determine whether Zaf might be seduced away from his romantic ideals and into her bed—temporarily, of course. Until she got bored of him. Or until he met someone else, someone serious, someone who didn’t accidentally work through their partner’s birthday parties or, when asked what day it was, respond with “The date of Sylvia Plath’s death” instead of “Our anniversary, of course, darling.”
Ahem. For example.
So, yes: kissing Zaf was entirely practical. Until it wasn’t.
One minute he was staring down at her with a slightly astonished expression; the next his endless eyes were hooded and one of his big hands was cupping her nape, the other grabbing her hip. It was around that point when Dani forgot the definition of the word practical, and also how to spell it, and also whether it was English or French or possibly Latin. One slight, restrained squeeze from Zaf, and her thoughts were thrust toward bare, sweat-slicked skin and gasping breaths, moans intermingling and thrusts timed with the pounding of her heart.
Then his lips brushed hers, and everything changed completely.
So soft, so sweet, that butterfly graze. A cautious, barely there kiss that made something in her belly seem to sparkle and fizz, that made her hands shake as she slid her fingers through the rough silk of his hair. Zaf tasted like rich, warm comfort and straightforward sweetness, sherbet-sharp and almost, impossibly, familiar. She could feel the tip of his nose against her cheek, could feel his eyelashes brushing her own. Time suspended, like he’d cupped the sands of an hourglass safely in his palms, and the sensation was so breathtakingly strange that she might do something awful, like crack into a thousand tiny pieces, or ask him for more.
He angled his head, increased the pressure, and parted her stunned lips easily, his tongue a dart that sampled her in little, teasing sips. The way he touched her, the way his big body curved around her, all that said possession. But the way he kissed her, slow and gentle, tiny gifts of pleasure rippling the surface of her still lake—the way he kissed her said care.
And it worked. Dear fucking Lord, did it work. Dani was helpless and hopeless and mindless in seconds, tilting her head and opening for him, rubbing her aching breasts against his chest because she knew without a doubt he was the source of all relief, pressing her thighs together as liquid heat ruined her knickers, clinging to him as the race of her heart and the thick honey of her pulse joined forces to make her breaths faint and her knees weak.
Then everything stopped.
Zaf pulled back, and awareness came to her in slow waves. First was the sound of him panting as if he’d run a mile, and that was satisfying enough to make Dani almost forget that he’d just wiped her mind clean with his mouth. Almost.
Second came the realization that her feet weren’t on the floor anymore. Apparently, he’d gotten tired of bending down for her and had simply wrapped an arm around her waist and . . . picked her up. Only a little bit, until their mouths were level. Now he put her down just as easily, her body sliding over his as he lowered her to the floor. There was a close, dark world between them, made up of shadows and those goddamn, dizzying pants. Of the hitch in Dani’s breath and the rigid line of Zaf’s erection, jabbing her stomach.
As far as seduction went, that was a wonderful start. Now, if only she was more certain of who had just been seduced.
“That was fun,” Dani managed after a moment, hoping she sounded more in control than she felt.
Zaf blinked rapidly, each flick of those long, dark lashes almost hypnotic. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough at the edges, crumbling like brick. “Okay. Yeah. That. Fun. You—think so?”
“Yes,” she repeated slowly, because he’d clearly gone a bit dizzy. At least she wasn’t the only one who’d temporarily lost control of her