Australia: In Bed with a Sheikh!: The Sheikh's Seduction / The Sheikh's Revenge / Traded to the Sheikh

She had the sense he had forgotten what uncomplicated joy was like and was relearning it from her. It had made her feel good, useful, of some positive value, giving him something that had been lost from his life.

The next day there’d been a rapid escalation of good feelings. Too rapid. It reminded her of sugar candy being spun around a stick. One was so entranced with the fairy floss, the stick supporting it was lost in a cloud of pink.

Tareq had taken her to Smallwood’s Store and she’d wandered around the historic trading post, fascinated by all the relics of the past which had once been sold to the pioneers of the Everglades, coming in their boats which they tied to the piers of the old wooden structure at waterside. Furs and plumes were traded here for food and cloth and all manner of household goods from lamps to treadle sewing machines, medicine, books, every kind of working tool. The place was a treasure chest of past lives and Sarah revelled in the experience of stepping back in time.

Tareq had seen it all before but he wasn’t bored, wasn’t the least bit impatient with her journey of discovery. He shared the knowledge he’d picked up from reading local books, fed her interest, indulged her fascination, and watched her with a warmth that kept getting under Sarah’s skin.

There was something very intoxicating about approval. She’d had so little of it in her life. Yet she found herself wary of its bestowal from Tareq, not quite trusting it, looking for the purpose behind it. Was Tareq subtly plumbing her unfulfilled needs and wants to establish a deeper tie with him?

I don’t think any pretence will be necessary.

Better if the woman he used for confronting his uncle was very convincingly stuck on him.

The fifth day they’d spent on the beach. The sand was gritty with broken-up shells. They lay on loungers shaded by umbrellas, swam in the relatively warm waters of the gulf, picnicked from a hamper Rita had prepared for them. It should have been a blissfully relaxing day, if only Sarah had been able to keep her eyes off Tareq.

She couldn’t help it. In clothes the man was strikingly handsome. Virtually naked, for hours on end, lying beside her, walking in and out of the water, towelling himself, his physical beauty was almost mesmerisingly addictive, compelling her gaze to linger on his perfectly proportioned and powerfully muscled body. More disquietening was the desire to touch. His skin gleamed like rich, bronze satin and it was a continual strain to clamp down on the impulse to reach out and graze her fingers over it.

He caught her watching him slap oil around the calves of his long, strong legs. “Want some?” The blue eyes twinkled teasingly, knowingly, shaming her with the realisation he had to be aware of his effect on the opposite sex and she was proving no different from any other woman.

“No. I’m fine, thank you,” she’d answered stiffly.

He’d returned to his task, smiling to himself, and there was still a little curve on his lips when he lay back down on the lounger, his eyes closed to her. Was he amused that she couldn’t stop herself from being attracted to him? Satisfied it was beyond her control? Or was she being hopelessly neurotic, reading a connection to her into a smile which might simply be expressing gratification in a lazy, sensuous day.

Sarah’s gaze slid down over his taut stomach and fastened on the very male bulge at his crotch. She felt a point of sexual heat start burning between her own thighs and quickly turned away from him, squirming both physically and mentally from the wild desire to know what he was like as a lover, to feel that body intimately engaged with hers. She’d never actually lusted over a man before. It made her uncomfortably conscious of her own body, as well as his.

On the sixth day they’d gone fishing with Captain Bob, which had been another new and exciting experience until she’d had the misfortune to hook a very big fish on her line. She wasn’t strong enough or practised enough to reel it in. Tareq had stood behind her, his arms around her waist, one hand helping to hold the rod in its holster, the other closed over hers on the handle of the reel, showing her how to play the fish on the line.

It wasn’t a sexual embrace, merely a supportive one, yet it blew away all Sarah’s concentration on what she was supposed to be doing. It was Tareq who eventually landed the fish. All she remembered was his breath warming her ear as he gave instructions, the strength of his fingers pressing on hers, the electric excitement coursing through her body from the contact with his, the sudden scorching hunger to feel everything he could make her feel.

When he moved away, admiring the catch netted by Captain Bob, Sarah was left trembling violently, shocked by the snaking intensity of sexual need which was still writhing through her. She dropped shakily onto the closest bench seat and stared at the fish, caught no matter how much it struggled. Like her, she thought, only Tareq was still playing her on his line.

“Let it go,” she’d croaked, then fiercely challenged the quizzical look from Tareq. “I want it released.”

“Your fish,” he conceded, nodding to Captain Bob.

It wasn’t really hers. He’d caught it. Perhaps that was why she felt such a savage surge of satisfaction, watching it swim free again, a silver flash in the water, escaping the painful confusion of being pulled into a different, alien world.

On the seventh day, Tareq had casually announced he was taking her shopping for clothes.

Defiance had leapt off her tongue. “No!” The thought of parading a range of outfits for Tareq’s approval, having his eyes measuring their effectiveness, how well each garment fitted her figure…her stomach had cramped. She couldn’t bear it.

Tareq had frowned at her vehemence. “I thought you would enjoy it.” His frown had deepened. “There is also the matter of feeling at ease when we start mixing with others, Sarah.” A quiet, gentle reasoning. “Inevitably, you will suffer considerable scrutiny as my companion. Critical scrutiny.”

Resentment at her enforced position had spilled out. “And you’d prefer me not to look the little brown mouse at your side.”

His eyes had sparked with amusement. “You’re more a lioness than a mouse. Protecting your cubs.”

His reminder of the children made this even more a cat and mouse game to Sarah. Except Tareq wasn’t a mere cat. He was a dangerous, dark, and very sleek panther, prowling around her, waiting to pounce, keeping her in almost intolerable suspense.

“It is irrelevant to me how you are dressed, Sarah,” he’d declared. “My main concern was to protect you from the bitchiness of other women. However, if you feel armoured enough against their barbs…”

She wasn’t. She knew she’d hate being looked down upon, hate looking like a fish out of water. “I do need some new clothes,” she’d admitted grudgingly, then in a proud show of independence, had added, “It’s just that I want to go shopping by myself, choose them myself, and pay for them myself.”

To her intense relief he had let her do precisely that…after the embarrassment of having to accept the thirty thousand dollars he put in her credit account, a three months’ advance on the salary he’d arbitrarily decided upon.

“But I don’t do anything!” she’d protested.

“That’s for me to judge,” he’d answered.

Recognising the futility of arguing, Sarah, nonetheless, had no intention of frittering away anything like that amount on clothes. Sam Bates had driven her to Naples, a shoppers’ paradise with its many fashion boutiques, and she’d managed to find quite a few bargains amongst end of season stock that had been marked down.

Temporarily freed from the turmoil Tareq stirred, Sarah had enjoyed acquiring a range of clothes she felt really good in, assuring herself she didn’t have to be competitive. As long as she was confident in her appearance, she’d be fine. Though she did wonder if Tareq was as uncaring about it as he said.

“Pleased with what you’ve bought?” he’d asked on her return to the house, eyeing the shopping bags with interest.

“Do you want to be shown?” she’d challenged.

He’d laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll see soon enough.”

But there’d been something—a cynical glint in his eyes?—that had made Sarah suddenly feel there’d been a purpose in letting her go shopping alone, a test in giving her so much spending power. The sense of being weighed on everything she did had her swinging from fierce belligerence—why should she care what he thought of her?—to sick panic, because she did care.

It was crazy to crave his good opinion, crazy to crave what could only be a self-destructive liaison with him. There might be physical satisfaction—even intense pleasure—in experiencing his sexual expertise, but there’d be humiliation, too, knowing she was letting down the ideals she’d clung to for so long. All the same, she hadn’t known how strong carnal desire could be…its raging demands, its dreadful distraction, its power to pervert any normal thinking.

Sarah closed her eyes to the brilliant light of this new day, wishing she could shut Tareq out as easily. Maybe it would be easier with the company of other people around them, drawing his attention away from her. Looking at the horses he wanted to see had to be a diversion, too. The trip to Silver Springs might be less of an ordeal than she’d initially thought.

After all, she didn’t know the people she’d be meeting. What they thought about her didn’t really matter. Here today, gone tomorrow. Tareq was the unavoidable constant. Somehow she had to learn to live with the way he affected her.

A knock on the door. “Sarah?” His voice calling out.

Her eyes flew open. Her heart catapulted around her chest. She had to work some moisture into her mouth before answering. “Yes?” It came out high-pitched and quivery. He hadn’t entered her suite all the time they were here. Was that about to change?

“There’s a letter from Jessie. Do you want to come and read it?”

So much for her fevered imagination! On a wave of sheer delight, Sarah leapt out of bed, thrust her arms into her light silk wraparound to cover up her satin slip nightie, and raced to the door. She’d bought and sent postcards to Jessie and the twins but they couldn’t have received them yet. It was a lovely surprise to get a letter so soon.

Her face was lit with happy anticipation as she opened the door, her smile spontaneous as she held out her hand for the expected envelope. Tareq grinned at her, his eyes taking in her dishabille and obviously savouring the lack of restraint apparent in her appearance. In sharp contrast, he was immaculately groomed and freshly clothed in body-hugging blue jeans and a white and navy Lacoste sports shirt.

Fighting a prickling sense of vulnerability, Sarah stared pointedly at his empty hands. “You said…”

“Tousled hair becomes you.”

Was he checking how she looked first thing in the morning? Her teeth clenched. It was a non-effective action in stopping the rush of heat to her face. “Tareq…” she bit out.

“The letter came in on E-mail. You’ll have to read it off the monitor screen in my study.”

“E-mail?”

“Much quicker than the postal service.”

Incredulity billowed over her confusion. “Jessie’s using E-mail?”

“It’s not difficult once you’ve learnt how. Follow me and I’ll show you.”

He set off, taking it for granted she would do as he dictated. Sarah hesitated, torn between having her curiosity immediately satisfied and wanting to bolt back into her bedroom and get properly dressed so she wouldn’t feel at such a disadvantage. the drawcard of modern technology won over fears that seemed silly with Tareq’s back already turned to her. Tying her belt firmly to prevent her gown flying apart, she trailed after him to the study which was furnished with every form of communication.

Tareq waved her to the swivel chair at his desk. The monitor screen above a computer keyboard glowed invitingly. Sarah could hardly believe her eyes as she sat down and began reading the printed script.

Dear Sarah,

I bet this surprises you. I’m writing this on my very own computer. It came the day after you left and a tutor has been showing me how to use it. I can do drawings on it, too, and colour them any way I want. If I don’t like one colour, I can use my mouse to change it to another colour. Isn’t that marvellous? And so quick. Tareq said it would be a lot of fun and it is. It’s the best present. Please thank him for me…

Her mind spun in shock. Her gaze jerked up to the man standing beside her. “You bought Jessie a computer? And lessons?”

He nodded. “Children take to computers very quickly. Here she is, up and running already,” he said, clearly pleased with her progress.

“But why?” The extravagance of the gesture stunned her, even as she recalled the conspiratorial smiles he and Jessie had swapped, and his insistence that he kept the promises he made.

“I took you away,” he answered with devastating simplicity. “This puts Jessie in easy touch and has the added benefit of keeping her well occupied. It’s a great educational tool for a handicapped child.”

Dear God! She had thought him ruthlessly manipulative while all the time he’d been thinking and planning how to help a crippled little girl over the absence of her big sister and give her something good to go on with.

“I’ll show you how to reply once you’ve finished reading,” he offered matter-of-factly.

She couldn’t read. Her eyes were blurred with tears. She shook her head helplessly.

“Sarah?” He gently tilted her face up, his eyes questioning her distress.

“It’s so kind…so generous,” she choked out.

His mouth twisted into a self-deprecating grimace. “A bit of thought, an order given, and the cost meaningless to me. Nothing compared to the two years you gave.”

“I love her.” Reason enough to give anything.

“I know. After what happened to you as a child, it amazes me you didn’t lose the capacity to love.” He tenderly brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Her heart contracted at the sense of enticing possibilities hovering. “Did you lose your capacity to love?” she whispered, the softness of the moment prompting the impulsive question, the wish to reach into the inner man and know what he was truly made of.

Then suddenly the moment wasn’t soft anymore. His hand dropped from her face, erasing the warmth. A hardness glazed his eyes. She could almost hear the armour he wore being locked into place. No cracks.

“Let’s say it was whittled away very effectively,” he answered sardonically. “To the point where I prefer horses to people. Horses are always beautiful. You can establish an empathy with them. And on the whole, they run true to form.”

The cynical comment drove her to protest. “But you cared about Jessie.”

“I always try to balance what I give and what I take, Sarah. I pride myself on playing fair.”

“By whose rules?” she flared, afraid that what he might take from her could never be given back.

He laughed. “My own, of course. In the end, we have to live with ourselves so it’s best to stay true to what we personally believe is right.”

It was a sobering reminder of what she knew in her heart. Somehow she had to steel herself against the temptations inherent in being with Tareq al-Khaima. There was no love on offer, only bargaining chips. If she didn’t stay true to herself…yet what was true? Since she’d been with Tareq, a Sarah she hadn’t known before was emerging, a stranger with needs that swamped common sense.

While Tareq—damn him!—was always in control.

“You don’t need to stay. I know how to use E-mail,” she said curtly, focusing her eyes on the screen again.

“Very well.”

His withdrawal hurt, which was utterly stupid since she’d more or less asked for it. She tried to ignore the thud of his footsteps, concentrating fiercely on the words Jessie had written to her.

Please thank him for me…

She hadn’t.

“Tareq…” She spun the chair around to face him.

“Yes?”

He paused in the study doorway, half turning to look back, so supremely composed, so arrogantly confident, so totally self-contained, so frustratingly untouchable, it stirred a wilful streak in Sarah that furiously dismissed the danger of courting trouble. He touched her whenever he felt like it. She wanted to know how he’d react if she touched him, if he’d still keep his armour intact.

Her feet sped across the room. Her hands lifted to splay over his chest. She went up on tiptoe. “A thank you from Jessie,” she said, and kissed his cheek.

The next instant her hands were trapped by his, preventing their removal. Her palms were forcibly pressed to his body heat, transmitters for a sensory power that charged up her arms and exploded through her body, making every cell tingle with awareness of imminent and possibly cataclysmic change. His eyes blazed, scouring her soul of the petty vengefulness that had driven her, searing it with white-hot needs her mind could not even begin to encompass.

She stared back, helplessly caught in the thrall of his power, fearful of what she had triggered so heedlessly. She felt herself begin to tremble, shaken by the whirlwind of sensation beating through her. Her heart seemed to be thumping in her ears. Her breasts were swelling, tightening. A heavy, dragging feeling in her thighs was transforming into a melting heat.

Most shocking of all, he saw…he knew…and he said, “Don’t tempt the devil unless you want to play with fire, Sarah.”

Harsh, challenging words. No intent to seduce. No forcing anything. Demanding an unequivocal decision from her. And her memory spewed out the words…I’ve never taken an unwilling woman to bed with me.

Living by his rules…

Dear God! What were hers? How could they be so easily lost, overwhelmed? In sheer panic she clutched at safety. The alternative was too frightening.

She swallowed hard and forced out the one weak excuse for her behaviour she had. “I was only thanking you.”

“Were you?”

Her skin burned.

The searing fire in his eyes slowly retreated to a mocking simmer. “So be it then. Consider me thanked.”

He carried her hands down to her sides, released them, then walked away…a man of rigid principle.

Sarah was left feeling bereft…foolish…relieved. The truth was scorched indelibly on her brain. She could and had tapped into a furnace of feeling that would swallow her up if she opened the door to it. Touching was very different to loving, powerful but extremely perilous and not to be played with. Unless she wanted to be completely consumed by Tareq al-Khaima.

Surely that would be the ultimate madness.

Or would it be the ultimate experience?

CHAPTER EIGHT

TAREQ CURSED HIMSELF for being a quixotic fool. He could have taken her then. He could have spun her into a sexual thrall so fast, resistance wouldn’t have occurred to her. Instead, his body was screaming against the restraint he’d imposed on it.

For what? She wanted her curiosity satisfied. She wanted to know what he’d be like as a lover. She was so transparent…

And so was her innocence, he reminded himself savagely.

He headed out to the pool, stripped off and dived in, threshing through the cool water for several lengths, using up the explosive energy that had been denied its natural outlet. When he finally paused for breath, the needling tension had gone but he was still at war with himself.

He’d thought to give Sarah a good slice of life while he had the satisfaction and pleasure of knowing her in every sense. A fair exchange, he’d reasoned. She’d get to experience all she’d been missing out on and he’d enjoy giving her pleasure, showing her the world, being her teacher.

She was different to the women who usually peopled his life and he’d wanted to savour the difference. The bitter irony was the very difference that appealed to him, defeated the purpose he’d started out with.

It was cruelly obvious her loving heart would attach more to sexual intimacy than the physical satisfaction he had in mind. If he took advantage of her vulnerability, how would they both feel about it afterwards? She’d already suffered a miserable pile of disillusionment in her life. He had a gutre-coil to adding another heap of it.

Yet he wanted her, wanted the full experience of her. He was so damned jaded, her freshness had a compelling appeal and with her giving nature, her artless honesty, whatever he had with her would be very special. He knew it and he wanted it more than anything he’d wanted for a long, long time.

So what the hell was he to do?

The quandary was killing him.

He had to find some way around it.

CHAPTER NINE

THE CALM AFTER the storm, Sarah thought ironically, sitting through breakfast with Tareq. His usual gentlemanly manner had been resumed without the slightest suggestion of strain. Sarah worked hard at holding a natural approach to today’s activities, asking about the ranch they would be visiting, the horses that interested him, the people who owned them.

She fixed their names in her mind—Jack and Miriam Wellesly-Adams—suspecting the double-barrelled surname represented an amalgamation of two very wealthy families. She’d taken her cue from Tareq, dressing casually in jeans, a black pair which had a matching battle jacket she could wear if the afternoon turned cool. Her lime green polo-necked top went well with it. Since no critical comment was forthcoming from Tareq, Sarah concluded she was suitably attired, regardless of her hostess’s fashion standards.

Although dinner this evening was somewhat trickier. She and Tareq were to be overnight guests. “Classy casual,” he’d advised when she’d asked him what to pack for it. How classy and how casual were left undefined. Sarah hoped her new lemon pants-suit fitted the requisites.

Cluttering her mind with superficial details kept more fretful thoughts at bay. Sarah almost managed to pretend she felt no tension at all. Logic insisted that as long as she didn’t touch Tareq, he would respect whatever distance she chose to hold. Pouncing was not on his agenda. He was playing a waiting game. Though if she let herself think about that, her nerves would start screaming again.

She was glad when it was time to go. She wanted to put the confrontation in his study behind her, a long way behind her, physically as well as mentally. Once they were on the road she could immerse herself in the role of travelling companion and hopefully find lots of distractions.

Tareq surprised her.

A gleaming red Cadillac convertible was sitting outside the house and Sam Bates was loading their overnight cases in the trunk. Sarah stopped and stared. They’d been riding around in a silvery grey BMW all week. This car had certainly not been in evidence. Anyone would have to be blind not to see such a flamboyant vehicle.

“Where did that come from?” The question spilled from her lips.

“I hired it for this trip,” came the matter-of-fact reply.

Sarah shook her head. It made no sense to her. Tareq spared no expense on his comfort and convenience but she didn’t have him tabbed as a show-off sort of playboy. The red Cadillac convertible shouted Look at me! I’m king of the road! She tore her gaze from the glittering, extrovert attraction of the car and searched Tareq’s eyes for the purpose he had to have for it.

“Why?” she asked.

He grinned, totally disarming her and sending a flock of butterflies through her stomach. “For fun,” he answered and held out the keys to her. “I thought you’d enjoy driving it.”

“Me? But I can’t, Tareq. I’ve never driven on the wrong side of the road.”

He laughed. “Here it’s the right side. And you won’t find it a problem on the highway. You just drive along in a lane as you do at home.”

She was torn between caution and temptation. “What if I make a mistake?”