Captivated by the Sheikh: For the Sheikh's Pleasure / In the Sheikh's Arms / Sheikh Surgeon

She shook her head. ‘But I’ve told you that I won’t—’ Her words ended on a hiss of indrawn breath as he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

‘Perhaps you may change your mind.’ His mouth moving against her skin was subtly erotic. She stiffened her spine against the need to slump in a wanting heap at his feet.

Now was the time to turn away and make her excuses. She wasn’t sophisticated enough to play these provocative games of seduction. ‘I’m not sure…’

Her words petered out into a sigh as he turned her hand and planted a tender kiss on the centre of her palm. A kiss that sent shockwaves of heat spearing through her. Her knees trembled at the force of them.

‘Nothing is sure,’ Arik murmured, caressing her with his lips as he spoke. ‘Can we not simply enjoy each other’s company for a few days and see where it leads us?’

To perdition, probably. Rosalie sucked a huge breath into her starved lungs, but it wasn’t enough to restore her equilibrium. Not when his hot breath hazed her skin and his lips hovered a bare centimetre from her throbbing pulse.

She tugged her hand free and whipped it behind her back, terrified she might beg him to kiss her there again.

‘You’ll be disappointed.’ She might be desperate for his caresses, but she wasn’t completely foolhardy.

‘Then so be it.’ His smile gave nothing away.

The morning disappeared rapidly once Rosalie focused on her work and not the insidious twist of excitement low in her belly, testament to Arik’s lethal attraction. But now and then, as she looked across the beach, his head would lift, his eyes meet hers and she’d feel the heavy throb of awareness in the crisp morning air.

Too soon the morning was over. Her canvas was taken to Arik’s home. They’d eaten lunch and now they were alone in the opulent marquee that passed for a beach shelter. For all their small talk about art and local sights, Rosalie was acutely conscious of their isolation. The undercurrents eddying in the lengthening silence unnerved her.

She shot him a look, relieved to find that for once his attention was elsewhere. He seemed absorbed in the view of sea and sand, the distant blue shadow of an island.

His profile was arresting, etched with stark, sure lines comprising a whole that was more than handsome. There was intelligence in his high brow, or perhaps that was because she’d learned how perceptive he was. His eyes were piercing, un-settlingly so when they rested on her. His mouth—there was something innately sensual about the curve of his lips—the way it quirked readily into a smile that invited shared laughter. Or pleasure.

Her stomach dipped. He was a man who understood physical pleasure. It was obvious in the way he caressed her hand, the sensuous light in his eyes when he spoke of desire. His look held a promise of gratification. And, if she wanted, he could share that knowledge, that expertise with her. She had only to say the word and Arik would take her to places, to pleasure, so long denied her.

The knowledge was heady, tempting. Frightening.

How could she even consider his proposition?

Because you’re lonely. Because there’s something missing in your life. Because there’s something about this man that overrides a lifetime’s caution and makes you long for the passion you’ve never had.

She looked at him and she felt hot. Her skin prickled as if it no longer fitted. Her lungs couldn’t process enough oxygen. There was a tingling, heavy sensation inside that kept her on edge, an aching sense of emptiness.

Suddenly his eyes were on her. Dark and gleaming with a heat that scorched her skin to a fiery blush. He knew what she felt, she realised in amazement.

He understood.

She read the reflection of her own burgeoning need in the haunted expression of his eyes. In the tic of a pulse at his jaw. Even the compressed line of his mouth mirrored the confused tension pulling her body taut.

His lips curved up in that sexy crooked smile but there was no humour in his gaze this time.

‘You feel it too.’ His voice was low and sure, sending a ripple of reaction through every nerve. ‘You feel what’s between us, don’t you, Rosalie?’

She shook her head in denial. But she couldn’t pull her gaze from his. It was as if some force trapped her.

‘There’s no need to lie,’ he said and there was a glimmer of amusement in his look. ‘You won’t be singed by a bolt of lightning for admitting the truth. There’s nothing shameful about desire between a man and a woman.’

Rosalie’s breath caught high in her throat as his words echoed through her head. Desire.

He was right. That was exactly what she felt. Raw, unadulterated desire for the man before her. She shivered.

‘But I’m not interested in becoming some playmate to keep a rich man from boredom.’ It came out in a rush.

His stare hardened to a laser-bright glitter, keen and cutting. She’d gone too far. His face drew tight with repressed anger, accentuating his aristocratic bone structure. The pulse at his jaw raced to a frenetic beat.

She’d blurted out the first thing that came into her numbed brain. But in this part of the world men called all the shots. Automatically she shrank back, expecting an explosion of outraged fury.

‘You Australians believe in directness, don’t you?’ One dark brow winged up at an arrogant angle. Then he frowned, as if noticing her shuffled withdrawal.

Instantly his expression of stifled fury eased, replaced by a watching stillness.

‘There’s no need to be afraid to express your opinions.’ His voice was calm but there was no mistaking its harsh rasping edge. As if he battled for self-control.

His eyes held hers and she knew he meant it. Relief relaxed her muscles. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wondering how he’d read her sudden fear. ‘That was insulting.’

‘You should not apologise.’ His words cut across hers. ‘You spoke the truth as you saw it.’

They stared at each other across the narrow space and once more Rosalie could have sworn he understood her confusion and fear. Understood far too much.

‘I regret that you see my interest as cheapening.’ He paused, as if the word left a sour taste. ‘I have always regarded my love affairs as liaisons between equals.’

What could she say? Embarrassment flooded her but she could survive that. She’d survived much worse.

‘Though I suppose,’ he murmured, ‘in this case it would be an unequal relationship.’

He was admitting it? Surely no man was that honest.

‘After all, the power is squarely in your hands.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Surely she was hearing things.

He shrugged those impressive shoulders. ‘Don’t be naïve, Rosalie. I want to become your lover.’ His voice dropped so low that she felt it resonate deep inside, creating a hollow, wanting ache. ‘I’ve said I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I’d stop at a single word.’

His eyes were so bright now they seared her.

‘So that means you have all the power in this relationship. You can ask for what you want. Whatever you want. And I’ll give it to you.’

There was no mistaking the look on his face. Sex. That was what he was talking about.

‘But,’ he continued, ‘you only have to say no and I’d be obliged to stop.’

Rosalie drew in a shaky breath, aware of moist heat blossoming across her skin. She bit her lip, striving for control against the illicit thrill coursing through her.

She shouldn’t want him. She didn’t need any man. Especially one as self satisfied and knowing as this one.

But that didn’t prevent a surge of excitement. She could ask for whatever she wanted. As much or as little as she chose and he’d respect her wishes. She’d be safe.

‘That wouldn’t be right or fair.’ Her voice was breathless, unsteady. ‘It’d be better if I left.’ But how would she find the strength to walk away and not look back?

‘I never took you for a coward, Rosalie.’ His deep voice fell like a stone in the silence between them.

She jerked her head around. ‘Just because I don’t want to play these games doesn’t make me a coward.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ Again one superior eyebrow lifted in query. ‘Then what are you afraid of, if not yourself?’

Rosalie sucked in a breath. She wasn’t afraid. She was cautious. He was far beyond her league.

Why then, did the idea of intimacy with him appeal so much? Why this excitement at the notion of exploring those sensations and cravings she’d so long repressed?

Her mother had hinted it was unhealthy for her to avoid personal contact with men as much as she had. What would her mum say about the unrelenting forces building within her right now? The temptation to say yes?

‘I’m not afraid,’ she lied.

‘Good.’ He leaned towards her till her whole world was encompassed by the brilliance of his dark eyes, the strength of his powerful shoulders blotting out the view and the warmth of his body reaching out to her.

‘It’s not fear I want from you, Rosalie.’ His words were warm against her cheek. But he came no closer. An invisible barrier remained between them. The protection of his promise. Power rested solely in her hands.

Black, burning eyes met hers. The flare of his nostrils told her he registered it too—the faint musky aroma. The scent of arousal. From her skin? From his?

And yet he didn’t move.

‘Ahmed will bring the four-wheel drive soon,’ he said.

Rosalie swallowed and swiped the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. His gaze flickered and held.

‘Is there anything you want before he arrives?’ His words were barely audible over the thunder of her pulse.

‘No. Nothing.’ Yet her voice sounded like a sigh of wind, an echo of the soft waves on the beach.

‘Are you sure?’ he whispered.

She bit her lip to prevent herself from saying anything stupid. Arik was seduction on two legs and she had precious few defences against him. ‘No,’ she muttered again.

‘No, you don’t want anything? Or no, you’re not sure?’

He was close enough for her to feel encompassed by the sheer strength of the man. His hands were planted on either side of her hips, his fingers splayed across the rich fabric of the carpet. His chest was like a wall, pressing her back, despite the fact that he didn’t touch her. His gaze held hers, like a bird enmeshed in a net.

‘I…’ The words died in her throat as she realised what she wanted. What she craved from him.

‘A kiss, perhaps? Just one to satisfy your curiosity?’ His mouth curled up in a smile that stopped her pulse for a beat. ‘Surely you’ve wondered what it would be like, just a simple kiss between us?’

If only he’d looked smug she’d have been able to summon the will-power to push him away. But there was only the glow of invitation in his eyes. The temptation to pleasure in his curving lips.

‘Yes,’ she heard herself whisper on a sigh of surrender. ‘I’ve wondered.’

‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘In that we are equals.’ His smile faded. ‘Relax, Rosalie. You are safe with me.’

He leaned even closer, paused with his mouth an infinitesimal fraction away. He waited long enough for her to absorb the scent of his skin, adjust to the power and heat of his body almost touching hers, for her to taste his breath on her lips and to want more.

Then he slanted his mouth over hers and the world disappeared into a whirling blur as he took her mouth with his.

Chapter Five

SHE kissed like a virgin.

Her lips were soft, pliant, clinging as he brushed his mouth against hers. Yet when he opened his mouth to slide his tongue along her lips she shivered, retreating a little.

So sweet. So enticing. He leaned closer, careful to keep his hands firmly on the floor. This time when he invited her to open for him, her lips moved against his, mimicking the gentle persuasion of his caress.

Instantly a surge of blood shot simultaneously to his head and his groin. A jolt of fire ignited in his belly, blasting his careful restraint to smithereens.

But somehow he managed to contain the compulsion to ravish her mouth, to pull her close to his needy body and plunder her depths.

He coaxed her mouth open, increasing the pressure slowly. Her breath was fresh and warm, her lips like satin, the scent of her skin heady and arousing. There was no artifice about her, not even so much as a manufactured scent. Yet her delicate kisses, her seemingly untutored response, had him clenching his fists against the impulse to throw caution and restraint to the winds and simply take what he wanted.

He’d never known such fierce need. He had to have her. Every atom of his being screamed for her. She was a temptress such as he’d never known before. A houri who seduced not with practised arts but with a tentative, natural eroticism that was unsurpassed in his experience.

What had he got himself into?

He pressed closer, his kiss more demanding. She melted against him, her sigh a muffled surrender in his mouth and instantly his blood thrummed an imperative to conquer. To take.

Yet he mustn’t touch. Not this time. This time he had to go slowly, not scare her into headlong retreat. She was skittish enough as it was. If he touched her the way he wanted to, palmed her breasts, learnt the firm curves of her body, discovered her secret femininity and tasted her flesh with his tongue, he wouldn’t be able to call a halt.

Instinctively he knew she needed time.

He wondered how long he could hold out before the visceral need that gnawed at his vitals overcame the last of his scruples.

He pressed closer still, the peaks of her breasts grazing his chest for an instant, sending a judder of erotic sensation straight to his groin. His erection was a heavy fretful ache that surged into full-blooded readiness. A groan of pain, of thwarted need, rose from his chest but he ignored it, fisting his hands tighter till the circulation ebbed and his fingers ached.

He’d started this and he owed it to Rosalie, as a man of honour, not to finish it here and now with a quick frantic coupling, no matter the cost to his fast-shredding self-control.

Arik was all she’d dreamed he’d be. And more. The dance of his tongue against hers, languorous and innately seductive, the taste of him on her lips, the scent of his warm skin so close—it was a heady combination that blasted any logic right out of her brain. The sheer bombardment of physical pleasure assailing her senses made her dizzy.

She wondered how it would feel if he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close to the aggressive heat of his body. She longed to know. Could almost imagine the heavy weight of his strong torso against hers.

Rosalie shifted, edgy with an aching, empty sensation that would only be satisfied with more. More of Arik. More of the magic he created just with his lips and tongue against hers.

He pushed closer, still not close enough, and she almost sighed with relief as she felt the soft luxury of piled cushions behind her. He adjusted the angle of his mouth slightly, giving even better access to hers, and she knew with a faint last coherent thought that surrender wasn’t so bad after all.

If only he’d touch her, lift his palm to her face and stroke her there, as she longed to be touched.

But, despite the intensity of their meshed mouths, of the spiralling desire between them, he took no further advantage. Only their mouths met and held, in a kiss that contained all the potent intoxication of pure need.

The pressure built inside her until she could ignore it no longer. She lifted her hands, tentatively skimmed them between his heaving solid chest and her over-sensitive breasts, up to his shoulders. Her hands lingered there indecisively till she heard a sound like a low growl in her ears, felt him shudder against her hands.

Without thought she responded to his primal maleness, the raw sound of his desire. She cupped the heated skin of his neck, revelling in the hint of racing pulse she discovered, the smooth, enticing sensation of his flesh against her hands.

She speared her fingers up through his hair. It was like rough silk to her touch. She cradled his skull as she drew him closer. But still it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

The primitive rhythm pulsing in her blood, drumming in the dark, hidden core of her body urged her on. She needed more.

Then Arik moved.

Not in against her body as she craved. Instead he pulled back, ending the kiss so suddenly that her eyes snapped open and she lost the comforting sensual darkness.

What had happened?

Her lips were swollen, throbbing with the force of his mouth against hers. Her breasts were full and heavy, her body weighted with a languor she didn’t recognise. She blinked, trying to bring him into focus. Trying to engage her brain.

He breathed deeply, as if starved of oxygen, and she felt his breath on her sensitised skin. Maybe that was why she felt dizzy, she was panting as if she’d run a marathon.

Her hands still held him close. The sensation of hard bone and flesh and soft hair beneath her hands was exquisite. She saw her raised arms, her hands clutching him and realised, muzzily, that she should let him go. But her brain couldn’t seem to conjure the appropriate command.

She stared up at him. His was the strong, burnished face of seduction. The epitome of every secret, scandalous desire she’d ever harboured. His lips were fuller than before, from the taste of her. The knowledge sent a thrill of excitement straight through her. His eyes gleamed brighter than ever under those heavy hooded lids, as if he understood her yearning. His high cut cheekbones and the strong lines of his jaw, even the slashing angle of his nose, seemed more pronounced, as if the flesh had been pared back to reveal only stark desire.

If sensual need had a face, it was here: bold and utterly captivating.

Against him, against her own rising need, her defences were crystalline: transparent, brittle and easily splintered. She felt them crack and shatter under the heat of his flagrantly wanting gaze. But it was the force of her own desire that finally destroyed them. The knowledge that, however wrong, however dangerous, this was what she wanted. This man.

The epiphany was instant and complete. For all her fear, her caution, her longing for a safe secure life, she couldn’t escape the truth.

She wanted Arik. In the most elemental way a woman could want a man.

She should have been embarrassed, swimming up out of her sensual haze to discover that she’d succumbed so completely to him. That, without lifting a finger, he’d enticed her back to lie before him in a pose of wanton invitation. With his mouth alone he’d coaxed her into a new reality, where all that mattered was the present, the all-consuming hunger for sensual pleasure.

Later, she knew, she’d wince at the image of her hands clutching him close, a symbol of her complete abandonment.

If he’d been less trustworthy, if he’d taken advantage as he so easily could have, she might not be lying here fully clothed. The thought created a twist of horror deep in her belly. She’d invited trouble when she’d lost control. But, amazingly, Arik had retained his. He hadn’t faltered in his promise of a kiss only.

Her eyes widened as she stared into the impenetrable blackness of his gaze. He wanted her. He’d spelled it out more than once. Yet he’d taken no more than she’d agreed to. Despite the fact that he could have plundered her for so much more than a kiss. Despite the fact that she’d wanted him pressed against her, his hands on her body, his arms pulling her close.

Her brow furrowed as her foggy brain worked through the implications. Her hands grew lax and slid down his neck, past the iron-hard tendons and scorching heat of his shoulders. The heavy thud of his heart pounding against his chest reinforced the knowledge of his arousal and her hands dropped away.

Even in the sudden delirium of her new-found physical desire, she would have called a halt—eventually, but probably too late, if he’d decided she was willing.

She could barely believe she’d let herself go so far.

He could have pushed her even further into intimacy. Could have taken all that he wanted with very little persuasion.

Yet he hadn’t.

She stared up at him, the throb of her racing pulse deafening in her ears.

He was a man of his word, she realised.

Against all the odds she’d found a man who could be trusted, even against his own urgent desires.

After the dark phantoms that crowded her past, that should be impossible. A man she could trust.

Rosalie’s chest tightened suddenly as if constricted by metal bands. Her breath sawed in her lungs and a ball of burning emotion rose in her throat. She tried to swallow it down, combating the searing ache at the back of her eyes.

Stupid to be upset now, when everything was all right. She was safe, after all. Unharmed. Untouched, but for the heady caress of his mouth against hers.

Yet the sharp pain of unharnessed emotions accelerated rather than dwindled. She gulped down hard on the knot of sensation as she blinked against her blurring gaze.

‘Rosalie?’ His voice was rusty, harsh. ‘What’s wrong?’

She shook her head. She couldn’t speak. And no way could she explain the surge of emotions churning within her: the relief and incredulity, the self-disgust and remembered pain. There was more too, a tumble of pent-up feelings that had more to do with the past than with what had just happened. Somehow their kiss, the intimacy between them, had unleashed the demons she’d kept at bay for so long.

Rosalie bit her lip and turned away. She felt him move to give her more space. He probably thought she was off her rocker! To get teary over a kiss. A first class mind-blowing kiss, but still, as far as he knew, just a kiss.

She planted her hands against the richly patterned carpet of the floor and tried to concentrate only on what she saw. On the delicate whorls of colour in the stylised pattern of flowers and tendrils in the silk and wool. Flowing lines, clear ruby tones with a fine tracery of azure and cream and indigo. Buds and leaves and arabesques of gold.

‘Rosalie.’ His voice was lower this time, husky and deep. She felt it roll across her shredded nerves, soft and powerful as the surge of the tide.

Even his voice had the power to seduce!

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, finding her voice at last. ‘I just felt a little…faint,’ she lied. How else could she explain the unstoppable force of raw emotion that had hit her, just when she was at her most vulnerable? She couldn’t explain it to him. She could barely understand it herself. She just knew that she’d experienced something…wonderful. And it wasn’t just Arik’s expertise at kissing or the taste of mutual enjoyment. It was the tentative rekindling of faith in another.

It had been a long time coming. Until today she’d never thought it would happen.

And it was overwhelming.

She lifted a hand and surreptitiously wiped away the tears that had overflowed on to her cheeks. With her shoulders hunched and her back to Arik, she hoped he wouldn’t notice. But she doubted he’d miss anything. His eyes were as keen as an eagle’s. Which meant she had to brazen it out.

‘Here.’ She looked down to see his squared hand hold out a gilt-edged glass to her. ‘Drink this.’

It was tropical fruit juice. Cold, sweetly tart and refreshing. The everyday act of sipping and swallowing helped. So did the immediate sugar boost. Slowly she drained it.

‘Thanks.’ She held the glass out, darting a glance at his set face, and then away from his intense scrutiny.

‘Are you ill?’ Arik took the empty glass and placed it on the table. ‘Do you need a doctor?’

She shook her head and the wispy tendrils of bright hair swirled round her face, framing features that were only gradually regaining some colour.