Captivated by the Sheikh: For the Sheikh's Pleasure / In the Sheikh's Arms / Sheikh Surgeon
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‘No, I’m okay.’ Her lips quirked up in a perfunctory smile that tugged at something in his chest. ‘I just felt a little…’
‘Faint,’ he finished for her, angry at the frustration of knowing he wouldn’t get the truth from her now. Worried for her. Whatever had happened, she wasn’t going to trust him with it. But of one thing he was sure: Rosalie Winters hadn’t been on the verge of a faint, however stunning their kiss. He’d still been reeling from the impact of her mouth opening like a flower beneath his, the sensation of her warm, seductive body relaxing into complete abandonment beneath him, when he’d seen the look on her face.
Tears, that was what he’d seen. Tears and a flash of something he couldn’t pin down. Surprise? No, it had been stronger than that. Amazement? Horror?
Surely not. He could vouch for the fact that no woman he’d kissed had ever been horrified by him.
And that kiss had been completely mutual, after those first few moments when she’d hesitated. No way could she have faked that reaction. She’d been perfect. Responsive; almost innocently seductive and eager. So eager that he’d been tested to the limit, reining in his burgeoning lust. No woman had ever tasted that good or felt so inviting. And it hadn’t been the piquancy of their almost-caress, of knowing he shouldn’t, couldn’t trust himself to hold her and stop at a single kiss.
No, there was something…different about kissing Rosalie Winters. Something that left him with a gnawing, unsatisfied hunger deep inside. Hunger for her body. But for more too—for her smiles and her confidence.
He stared at her averted profile, lost for an explanation as to why this woman affected him so. Yet this wasn’t the time to fathom it out. There was something wrong. Badly wrong.
‘Would you like me to take you back to your hotel?’ He hadn’t known he was going to make the offer until the words spilled from his mouth. It wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was a repeat of that kiss. And to explore a little further, to hold her in his arms and learn the secrets of her body. Taking her back would put an end to those plans. And yet it mattered more to him that she recover from whatever had upset her.
Just as long as it wasn’t him. What would he do if he discovered it was he who’d made her cry?
‘Thank you, but I’m all right. It was just a passing thing.’ She flashed him a look from stormy grey-green eyes that cut right through him. He’d give so much to see the shadows fade from her face.
‘I’d rather go sightseeing—’ she paused and drew in a shuddering breath ‘—if the offer still stands?’
Arik knew a moment’s uncharacteristic indecision. Instinct told him he should press for more information, uncover whatever it was she kept hidden, for he knew it was important. But selfishly he wanted to spend the afternoon with her. If he pushed for answers then she could take flight and leave.
‘Of course the offer still stands. On one condition.’
Her widening eyes met his. He watched the tip of her tongue slip out and moisten her lips and wished he’d bargained for another kiss. The effect she had on his body was overpowering and immediate. Even now, worried about her, he was hard with lust.
‘What’s the condition?’
‘That if you feel faint again I take you straight to a doctor.’
Her smile this time was genuine and its impact hit him hard in the solar plexus.
‘Thanks, Arik, but I’m sure I’ll be okay.’
Watching her lips shape his name had to be one of the most erotic things in the world. Especially now, when her mouth was swollen from kissing him. The taste of her was still in his mouth, an addictive flavour that heightened his appetite for her. He stared at her lips a moment longer, wishing the old custom of wearing a face veil still prevailed. It was too distracting watching her mouth, inviting and lush, and not being able to take it again.
‘Come.’ He rose to his feet and held out an imperious hand to her. ‘I hear the four wheel drive. It’s time we were on our way.’
For an instant she hesitated, her eyes on his outstretched arm, and then she reached out and let him fold his hand around hers. Good. The trust was there still. Arik ignored the rush of relief he felt as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her outside. She was where he wanted her and that was what counted.
Late sunlight slanted down into the broad courtyard and glinted off Rosalie’s hair. As the afternoon had progressed and she’d become more engrossed by what she’d seen, she’d forgotten to push the strands back from her face or catch them up into her usual ponytail. Now her hair was a rose-gold halo, framing her delicate features. The perfect foil for her clear skin and lush pink mouth.
Arik leaned against a stone pillar, arms crossed as he watched her. It had taken a while but gradually the shadows had disappeared from her face. The tense grey glint of her eyes had faded, replaced by a deep jade-green as she’d forgotten whatever it was that had caused her so much pain.
He’d learnt that much about her, that her mood could be gauged by the shade of her eyes. Storm-grey for pain or anxiety. Green for pleasure.
Her eyes had glittered green as she’d stared up at him after their kiss. He could have drowned in those depths, had felt the rising tide of need tugging him closer so he could lose himself in her. It had only been the glint of sudden tears that had halted him.
There’d been pain there. And it bothered him that he didn’t know why. Could it have been their kiss? No. It had felt too right. Something from the past, then? He sensed that Rosalie Winters was a woman of secrets. And he knew an overwhelming urge to lay them all bare, uncover her mysteries and conquer her fears.
He’d been right to bring her here. She’d been at home almost from the moment of introductions. Obviously art had a language all of its own for most of the artists here had only rudimentary French or English and Rosalie’s Arabic, though surprisingly well accented for a beginner, was basic. Yet she’d made herself understood. In fact he’d been superfluous after the first half hour. He’d retired instead to take tea with the director, to discuss the school’s progress and its finances. Despite the funding arrangements that ensured the place ran smoothly, there were always more worthy initiatives for Arik’s money to sponsor.
‘It’s getting late,’ he murmured eventually, closing in behind Rosalie where she crouched beside a young mosaic maker. Her gaze was focused on the nimble play of the girl’s fingers as she selected another tiny glass tile, fitting it delicately into the pattern.
At first Rosalie didn’t hear. It was only when he let his hand settle on her shoulder that she looked up and brought him into focus.
‘I’m sorry; have I taken too long?’
He shook his head. ‘Not at all. It’s a pleasure to see your enthusiasm. But the school will be closing soon and you’ll want to phone your daughter.’
‘It’s that late?’ She gave her watch a stunned glance. ‘I hadn’t realised.’ Immediately she turned to the young woman beside her and, in a mixture of English and halting Arabic, expressed her thanks and good wishes. The girl smiled and told her how much she’d enjoyed sharing her work.
It took time to say their farewells but eventually they left, walking through the courtyard gates and out to the vehicle. Arik glanced at the lowering sun. Too late to suggest going elsewhere and he knew Rosalie would again reject an offer of an evening meal together. She was too wary about being alone with him. In fact, after her reaction to their kiss, he wondered if she’d find some excuse not to meet tomorrow.
‘Arik?’ Automatically he stopped at the sound of his name on her lips. Her voice was soft and tentative and a jolt of ice speared him at the thought that he’d been right. She was going to renege on their arrangement.
She stood beside him, her head just topping his chin, and he experienced a fierce urge to pull her close and not let her go, no matter what her objections.
‘You didn’t tell me that you funded the art school.’
He frowned, nonplussed at her words. Of all the things she might have said, that was the least expected. The frozen shard in his chest began to thaw as he relaxed.
‘What makes you think I do?’
‘One of the instructors mentioned it when he was showing me around.’ She paused, staring up at him. ‘You don’t mind me knowing, do you? It’s such a brilliant idea, fostering young talent and at the same time providing an education for kids whose families find it difficult to support them. I think it’s great.’
He shrugged, repressing his annoyance that his role in the enterprise had been raised. It wasn’t a secret; after all, he was involved in lots of schemes to support his people. ‘I didn’t bring you here to impress you with my work as a benefactor. I simply thought that, as an artist, you’d enjoy seeing the work of other talented artists.’
‘And I did. It was wonderful. Especially the ceramic painters and the mosaic makers.’ Her eyes shone with an enthusiasm that made her face glow. Her hand grasped his forearm, but he guessed she didn’t notice.
He did. He felt the imprint of each finger through the cotton of his shirt, the warmth of her palm, and wanted more. The craving for her touch against his bare flesh was so strong he wanted to tear his shirt open and plant her palm against his chest. Right here, right now, in the lengthening shadows of the school grounds, he wanted her hands on him, stroking, clinging as he embraced her.
‘I’d love to try mosaic work. But I don’t know anyone with that sort of expertise at home to teach me.’
‘You could learn here. Stay a little longer. There’d be no objection to your taking tuition here.’
Her head tilted back and her bright eyes met his. The force of their impact sent heat sparking through him.
‘It’s tempting but, no, I couldn’t. I have responsibilities.’
Her daughter. Of course.
Suddenly the prospect of their short relationship ending, as it naturally would, loomed on the horizon, far too close. The thought unsettled him.
Could it be that he wanted more than a few days with Rosalie? More than the pleasure of her body for the time it took him to recuperate and resume his normal routine?
‘Perhaps during another visit, later?’
She hesitated for a moment. Long enough for him to be appalled at how he hung on her answer. Did her presence mean that much to him?
‘Maybe one day,’ she said at last, slipping her hand away. ‘In the meantime I need to work on my painting skills. I’m so rusty.’
‘Then it’s a good thing you have time in which to work on them.’ He gestured for her to precede him towards the gate. ‘We will meet at the same time tomorrow?’
‘Yes, same time tomorrow.’ Her voice was light and breathless, as if she were nervous. But that didn’t bother him. She intended to meet him again, despite her…faintness earlier. His bloodstream fizzed in anticipation.
Whatever had happened to make her wary, Rosalie Winters kissed like a woman blind to everything but him. And he intended to capitalise on that enthusiasm. Very soon.
Chapter Six
ROSALIE looked around the huge room with its magnificent view over the sea and knew she’d stepped straight into a world of wealth that most people never experienced.
There was nothing gaudy or ostentatious here but Arik’s home was imbued with the luxury only serious money could buy. Generation upon generation of riches and privilege. And hard fought battles, she realised, noting the pair of antique muskets mounted over an arched doorway. They were decorated with the finest silver embossing, making them fit weapons for a sheikh.
‘It’s breathtaking,’ she said, turning slowly around. And it was. From the spectacular panorama along the coast to the superb silks of hand woven rugs and tapestries. From the fine-grained leather of low modern lounges to the high vaulted ceiling tiled in a mosaic the colour of lapis lazuli, complete with a sprinkling of golden stars.
‘It pleases me that you approve of my home.’ Arik was his usual urbane self as he watched her take in her surroundings. His eyes were unreadable, his tall body relaxed. Again she wished he wasn’t quite such a perfect host. She longed for a glimmer of the passion she’d seen in him two days ago. That she’d felt in the erotic caress of his mouth against hers.
Heat burned across her cheeks at the memory and she swung round towards the wide terrace that hung out over the cliff.
The memory of Arik’s kiss. She’d been unable to put it from her mind. Or forget her reaction to it.
She’d gone to the beach the following day, half nervous, half secretly thrilled at the thought of him kissing her again. This time he’d pull her close in his arms, let her feel his strong body against hers, alleviate her burgeoning curiosity to know his touch.
She’d gone expecting another lesson in seduction from this man who was obviously a master of the art. She hadn’t even considered not going—and that was the most telling thing of all. Despite her past, despite the fact that she hadn’t trusted a man in years, the need to see Arik again, to be with him, overrode all else.
Perhaps, as her mother promised, time did heal. Maybe she was ready to take a chance on life.
Rosalie stared through the plate glass doors to the terrace and, beyond that, the vivid aquamarine of the sea.
It had been a momentous thing for her, deciding she wanted what Arik offered: the chance to experience passion, to ease the unceasing hollow ache deep inside her that told her she wanted a man—wanted him. That had been a revelation of her own femininity. Proof that she really had moved on from her troubled past.
In the long ago days when she’d indulged in daydreams she’d pictured a future with a man by her side. Someone she could rely on, who’d love her always. But times had changed and she knew that what Arik offered was perfect for her now: a way to explore her feelings, assuage these new found sexual cravings in safety. For he would be tender. He could be trusted.
And he was experienced enough to teach her all she longed to know. She shivered and crossed her arms at the thought of what she wanted from Arik.
Too bad he’d obviously changed his mind.
She was ready for more. But now he behaved like a perfect distant gentleman. He avoided so much as touching her hand, had clearly pulled back from intimacy. Dully she’d wondered if she’d kissed so badly that he’d decided she was no longer worth the effort of seducing. It wouldn’t surprise her.
But he was a man to whom a promise was important and it seemed he was determined to stick to their bargain. Lunch yesterday had been a short affair. Then in the afternoon he’d driven her round part of the coast road, pointing out towns, historic sites and scenic vistas that should have caught and held her imagination. But she’d been too deep in disappointment to care.
How did you tell a man you wanted him to make love to you? Was it really that simple? And what if, like Arik, he’d clearly decided he was no longer interested?
Last night in her lonely bed had been the worst. She’d been so edgy she hadn’t slept. Even after a long phone chat with her mother and Belle. Even after a relaxing bath. All that had achieved was to remind her that her body was…aroused. Ready for Arik’s touch.
Heat scalded through her. Even now, after a second morning of polite decorum from Arik while she’d painted, she couldn’t banish her craving for him. It was shaming, this relentless need, the breath-stealing suspense as she watched his every move and hoped he’d reach out to touch her.
Sensual awareness had come late to her and she hadn’t yet mastered the art of controlling it. Why else was she standing here, breathless with the forlorn hope that even now, after two days of scrupulous distance, Arik might continue where their kiss had left off?
Blindly she groped for the door handle, swung open the glass door and stepped out. She needed air. She needed sanctuary. She’d been an idiot to agree when Arik had suggested they lunch at his home today. What she really needed was to get away while she had some shred of self-respect left.
She leaned heavily on the stone balustrade, her fingers gripping tightly, her chest constricting as she fought for control.
Laughable, wasn’t it? Finally to decide to take up Arik’s seductive promise of a no-strings affair and then to discover the option was no longer on offer. She shook her head miserably. Just another of life’s disappointments.
In the overall scheme of things, this surely didn’t rate such profound regret.
‘Rosalie?’ He stopped just a pace behind her and saw the tension stiffen her spine when she realised he was so close. The sea breeze fanned her hair and he shoved his hands deep in his pockets rather than reach out and fondle the silken tresses.
‘It’s a magnificent view. You’re so lucky to have this.’ Her gesture encompassed not only the beach far below but the ancient fortress that was his home. Yet he was more interested in the high uneven tone of her voice and in her averted profile.
She was doing it again, shutting him out.
Damn it! After two days of superhuman restraint, he deserved more. He’d read the pain so clear in her expression after their kiss and he’d respected her need for space. It had almost killed him, reining in the drive to claim her. To bind her close in his arms and not let her escape till he found satisfaction. That kiss, a mere taste of her treasures, had only titillated.
He needed more. Far more.
What had begun as an idle amusement had become a raw compulsion. He’d recognised her wariness, her fear, and gone slow. But he’d seen the hot desire in her unconscious responses and now it was time to act.
‘Yes, extremely lucky.’ He took another step towards her, close enough to feel the heat she generated and hear the hasty breath she sucked in. ‘My ancestors fought long and hard to win this territory and keep it safe for their people.’
‘And now you enjoy the benefits.’
Still her head was averted. Was she afraid of what he might read in her face? The thought spurred him. He leaned forward and placed one hand on the balustrade beside hers. There was a neatness to it—her hand, small and delicate, yet, he knew, clever and capable, beside his own. She’d be like that all over: skin pale and soft, dainty and feminine. In his mind’s eye he could picture his own darker, larger hand moving slowly across her bare flesh, sliding, caressing, discovering. He could almost hear her sighs as he located each sensitive spot on her body and claimed it for himself.
‘I make it my policy always to enjoy the benefits on offer.’
Her head swung round then, her eyes wide and confused. Her lips parted and he wanted to duck his head and taste her. Instead he took a slow breath and reached for her hand. It slid into his unresistingly and he felt his mouth kick up in a tight smile of satisfaction.
‘Come, Rosalie. Our lunch will be ready. You can admire the view later.’
She was silent as he led her into the house. Silent as he took her through room after room, giving her a potted history of the fortress-cum-palace that had been built by one of his ancestors hundreds of years ago. He had no idea if she took in his words; he barely registered them himself. He was more absorbed in the feel of her, hand in his, the proximity of her so close beside him as he took her deeper into the palace.
‘Your home is huge,’ she said at last as they approached the end of a long passageway.
He didn’t tell her that they’d eschewed the public dining rooms, all three of them, in favour of a meal in his private suite. Even with his well-trained staff, he had no intention of being disturbed this afternoon.
His fingers tightened fractionally round hers, then released their grip as he gestured for her to enter his chambers.
‘After you, Rosalie.’
For an instant her eyes lifted to his and he felt the now familiar jolt, like a bolt of electricity, sizzle through him. Then she stepped over the threshold and into the suite. He fought to keep the anticipatory smile from his face.
Her exclamation of delight masked the soft click of the door closing behind them and he turned to see her standing in the deep semi-circular window embrasure that jutted out over the cliff-line. She reached out to brush her hand across the continuous round seat that lined it and then lift to the silk hangings, tied back to reveal the view.
His body thrummed an urgent message of need. He’d imagined her here so often, naked on that padded seat, or leaning back against the window frame, her bare arms outstretched invitingly towards him. The images were almost his undoing. Tension knotted his muscles and he felt the strain of imposing control in every cell of his body.
Deliberately he turned away and walked further into the sitting room, towards the drinks tray positioned beside one of the sofas.
‘Would you like a cool drink?’ he murmured in a voice rough with repressed desire.
‘Yes, please.’
He glanced over his shoulder and found she’d moved, bypassing the circular table laden with food, and was investigating the large telescope positioned before the next window.
‘You look at the stars?’
He shrugged, remembering the day—was it only a week ago?—when he’d first seen her through the telescopic lens. He’d known even then what he’d wanted from her.
‘Or the ships at sea. There’s a lot of activity in the shipping lane further off the coast.’ He put ice in a couple of glasses, then filled them. ‘I was in plaster with a broken leg and looking for any diversion. I’m not used to being cooped up.’ He turned and offered her a glass.
‘How did you do it? Break your leg, I mean.’
‘An accident on an oil rig. It happens. But, fortunately, not often.’ An explosion on a rig was disastrous. And this time it had nearly claimed the life of one of his men. If Arik hadn’t realised in time and turned back to look for him as they’d been evacuating, they might have had a fatality on their hands instead of mere fractures.
‘It sounds dangerous.’ She looked up at him so seriously that he wanted to pull her close and reassure her. But he couldn’t take her in his arms. Not yet.
‘Most of the time it’s no more dangerous than being on land. It was just a matter of bad timing.’ He turned towards the table that almost filled the window embrasure. ‘It looks like Ayisha has been busy.’
‘Ayisha?’
‘My cook. She seems to have decided we must be starving after our exertions on the beach.’ From the corner of his eye he saw Rosalie start. He wondered if, like him, she’d been thinking of exertions other than riding and painting. The suspicion pleased him. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’
Personally he was ravenous. But not for food. At least the meal would force him to take his time and not ravish her immediately. ‘Please, take a seat.’
He watched Rosalie settle on the wide padded seat beneath the windows and then pushed the round table in closer, within easy reach. He slid in beside her, close but not touching, and placed his untouched drink on the table.
The food was delicious. Subtly spiced, fragrant with herbs and unnamed spices, melting in the mouth at each bite. And yet Rosalie found it almost impossible to concentrate on the fare before her.
Instead it was the man at her side who took all her attention. Surreptitiously she watched his strong hands reach for dishes, lift covers, offer delicacies. A shiver slid across her skin as his fingers brushed hers. She loved his touch, had secretly dreamed of it all over her body. Now the sight of his hands mesmerised her into a haze of fascination and longing. She wanted to reach out and draw Arik’s hand closer, close it over her breast so she could feel its strength against her softness.
Rosalie swallowed down hard on a morsel of grilled fish and tried to concentrate on the meal.