way. Martin himself wished to be alone with her. He simply did not want to admit it.
***
MARTIN tightened his jaw against further lapses of control. He might have succeeded had he not recalled those long black gloves peeling down her shapely arms. They were foreign, those gloves, Western, a symbol of everything he'd turned his back on.
Just as his father had turned his back on him.
The gloves' removal should not have inflamed him, should not have dried his mouth or thickened the restless organ between his legs. They should not have aroused him even more than the sight of her skin shining through her filmy shift. As to that, he should not have cared if she did resemble a goddess in a temple, her breasts impossibly buoyant, her belly a creamy curve. The body was simply a vehicle for experiencing earthly life. It was nothing to worship, nothing to lust over until one ached in every part.
But her beauty shattered his efforts to stay aloof. She was a lake at sunset, a mountain touched with gold. Her skin glowed in the lamplight and her hair… her hair made him clench his hands and break into a sweat. She smelled of violets and he wondered if all her kind shared this not-quite-human scent. But all her kind did not matter. Only she did. He wanted to burrow against her and breathe her in. She made him forget what he meant his life to be. For that alone he would have kept his distance.
That is, he would have if Geshe Rinpoche had not left them by themselves.
"Well," purred his tempter, "why don't you show me how it's done?"
You know how it is done, he thought, far better than I.
"You seem to know what goes where," she said with a satiny smile and a pointed glance at his loins.
The insinuation hardened him even further, his shock at odds with his arousal. She must have seen the pictures in his mind, the union of god and goddess in the flesh.
It seemed a travesty that this woman could read him as easily as his guide.
"You were thinking very hard," she explained, her amusement gentler than it might have been. "Perhaps you were too distracted to shield your mind. I will stop listening if you prefer."
"No." He squared his shoulders. "Shielding my thoughts will not erase them. And you will learn better if you put no walls between us."
"As you wish," she said.
Her lashes fell in acknowledgment, then rose. Despite his reluctance, he could not look away. Her eyes were a rich, pure green, the color of innocence and nature, of drives both simple and complex. He forced himself to meet their unspoken promise. Whatever her experience in the sexual arena, he was her equal in many others. More to the point, he had faced lust down before. He was a man, after all, not a rock.
"Here." He took her hand, slipping it under his upper robe. "Keep your palm pressed lightly above my heart."
Her pupils dilated at the contact and the softest of flushes stained her cheeks. She licked her lips. The tip of her tongue was small and sharp. In spite of his resolve, he was not prepared for the strength of his reaction. His penis jerked upward, just once but hard, as if her tongue had wet its tip. Without warning, he became aware of the steady throb of an artery in his neck.
Her fingernails pricked his skin like a kitten's claws.
"Your chest is very hard," she said huskily, then shook her head with impatience.
The gesture reminded him she was hungry; that to her a man was more than a partner for her bed. What would it be like, he wondered, to gratify all those needs at once?
"Focus on your hand," he instructed, striving to keep both their attention where it belonged. "You must concentrate on the energy swirling above my skin. It will feel like the currents of a lake in which you are submersed while very still, or perhaps like a sort of tingle. I am going to meditate, to draw on the life force of the earth. You should feel the flow change. If you are able, I want you to
***
MARTIN tightened his jaw against further lapses of control. He might have succeeded had he not recalled those long black gloves peeling down her shapely arms. They were foreign, those gloves, Western, a symbol of everything he'd turned his back on.
Just as his father had turned his back on him.
The gloves' removal should not have inflamed him, should not have dried his mouth or thickened the restless organ between his legs. They should not have aroused him even more than the sight of her skin shining through her filmy shift. As to that, he should not have cared if she did resemble a goddess in a temple, her breasts impossibly buoyant, her belly a creamy curve. The body was simply a vehicle for experiencing earthly life. It was nothing to worship, nothing to lust over until one ached in every part.
But her beauty shattered his efforts to stay aloof. She was a lake at sunset, a mountain touched with gold. Her skin glowed in the lamplight and her hair… her hair made him clench his hands and break into a sweat. She smelled of violets and he wondered if all her kind shared this not-quite-human scent. But all her kind did not matter. Only she did. He wanted to burrow against her and breathe her in. She made him forget what he meant his life to be. For that alone he would have kept his distance.
That is, he would have if Geshe Rinpoche had not left them by themselves.
"Well," purred his tempter, "why don't you show me how it's done?"
You know how it is done, he thought, far better than I.
"You seem to know what goes where," she said with a satiny smile and a pointed glance at his loins.
The insinuation hardened him even further, his shock at odds with his arousal. She must have seen the pictures in his mind, the union of god and goddess in the flesh.
It seemed a travesty that this woman could read him as easily as his guide.
"You were thinking very hard," she explained, her amusement gentler than it might have been. "Perhaps you were too distracted to shield your mind. I will stop listening if you prefer."
"No." He squared his shoulders. "Shielding my thoughts will not erase them. And you will learn better if you put no walls between us."
"As you wish," she said.
Her lashes fell in acknowledgment, then rose. Despite his reluctance, he could not look away. Her eyes were a rich, pure green, the color of innocence and nature, of drives both simple and complex. He forced himself to meet their unspoken promise. Whatever her experience in the sexual arena, he was her equal in many others. More to the point, he had faced lust down before. He was a man, after all, not a rock.
"Here." He took her hand, slipping it under his upper robe. "Keep your palm pressed lightly above my heart."
Her pupils dilated at the contact and the softest of flushes stained her cheeks. She licked her lips. The tip of her tongue was small and sharp. In spite of his resolve, he was not prepared for the strength of his reaction. His penis jerked upward, just once but hard, as if her tongue had wet its tip. Without warning, he became aware of the steady throb of an artery in his neck.
Her fingernails pricked his skin like a kitten's claws.
"Your chest is very hard," she said huskily, then shook her head with impatience.
The gesture reminded him she was hungry; that to her a man was more than a partner for her bed. What would it be like, he wondered, to gratify all those needs at once?
"Focus on your hand," he instructed, striving to keep both their attention where it belonged. "You must concentrate on the energy swirling above my skin. It will feel like the currents of a lake in which you are submersed while very still, or perhaps like a sort of tingle. I am going to meditate, to draw on the life force of the earth. You should feel the flow change. If you are able, I want you to
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