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

She listened to his stream of small talk that reinforced the leisurely tempo of the meal. But there was no way she could relax. As each moment passed the tension in her stomach notched harder, tighter.

Arik passed her some rice flavoured with apricots, raisins and almonds.

‘This is one of Ayisha’s specialities and I can recommend it. Would you like some?’ The flash of his smile stole her breath and she found herself nodding, even though her throat had closed and she doubted she’d be able to swallow properly.

‘Here,’ he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, husky pitch that seemed to reverberate right through her, ‘tell me what you think.’

He lifted a fork laden with fluffy rice and held it out. Eyes as dark as her own midnight longings looked back at her and she felt something loosen and give way, deep inside her. Restraint? Caution?…Fear?

Obediently she opened her mouth, catching the flicker of expression in his eyes, unable to place it. She was too wrapped up in the…intimacy of having this man feed her to even try.

Taste exploded in her mouth—sweet, nutty, a perfect blend of flavours. But it was his gaze that had her attention. It was a palpable force, warming her skin, holding her still, waiting for his next move.

Finally she swallowed. ‘It’s delicious.’

‘Good.’ His one-sided smile sent a surge of pure longing through her. ‘Have some more.’

Again he held out the fork. Again he watched her open her mouth and accept the food. And once again she saw a ripple of something in his expression. Something at odds with the easy, relaxed pose of his big body and the slow smile on his face.

Hurriedly she chewed and swallowed. ‘Thank you. But no more.’

He raised one lazy dark eyebrow in enquiry. ‘You’ve had enough?’

Silently she nodded.

‘Ah, then we come to my favourite part of the meal.’

Something about the low burr of his voice, the infinitesimal strengthening of his accent, made gooseflesh rise on her skin. She shivered.

‘Really?’

He inclined his head, still focused on her in a way that made her conscious of the heavy beat of her pulse, the miniscule distance separating them.

‘Dessert,’ he said. ‘I’ve always had a weakness for sweet things.’

The words were innocuous. But not the way he said them. She knew he wasn’t merely discussing food. His very look was an invitation: flagrant, tempting.

Now was the time to leave. To say she really needed to be going. That she’d changed her mind and wanted to go home. Or that she had a headache. Anything to get her out of here, where this man’s ability to seduce with a look, a word, was the most potent force she’d ever known.

She could do it. She knew she could. If she wanted to.

‘I…’

‘Yes, Rosalie?’ He leaned a fraction closer—close enough for her to inhale the scent of his skin: hot, male, musky.

She licked her lips. This was her chance to escape back to safety. Arik wouldn’t stop her; she knew that with absolute certainty. She could scurry away to her private refuge from the world, turn her back on temptation and rely on the lessons of fear and caution she’d learned in the past three years. They would protect her from hurt.

‘I like dessert,’ she whispered after a long pause.

Immediately she was rewarded with the bright blaze of his smile, radiant with approval.

‘And you shall have it, Rosalie.’ His voice was lower, throatier than before, and she started when he reached for her hand, raised it to his mouth and placed a single kiss to the back of it. His thumb stroked her sensitive skin and she shuddered as awareness prickled through her, from the sensitive tips of her breasts to her neck, her thighs and deep in her womb.

He turned her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, let his tongue lave its centre, and a jolt of something white-hot and stunning burst through her. She felt a clenching deep inside as every nerve reacted. Automatically she tugged her hand, trying to break his grip, but he simply smiled and held both her hands in his.

‘There is no need for haste. We have all afternoon.’

Then he released her hand and reached out to a platter at the centre of the table.

‘Would you like some fruit?’

She stared at the plate, her mind slow, still catching up after the effect of Arik’s smile on her nervous system.

‘I…yes. Thank you.’ Her throat was dry, her voice cracked. She took refuge in a gulp of her iced juice as she frantically tried to get a grip on her churning emotions.

Had she done the right thing? Was she regretting the impulse to stay?

She waited for the icy finger of fear to trail down her spine, for the churning regret to unsettle her stomach.

But all she felt was a hot eagerness. An avid expectation that soon, very soon, she’d be in Arik’s arms. She bit down on the small secret smile that curved her lips at the thought.

No, she had no regrets.

‘Peach?’ he offered and she turned her head. He held up a neat sliver of fresh fruit to her. It smelled like summer and it tasted like sunshine as she let him slip it between her lips. There was the faintest brush of his fingers against her mouth and then his hand was gone.

Her lips tingled from that fleeting touch.

‘Aren’t you having any?’ she said as he held out another piece to her. This time his touch lingered against her mouth a second longer. Time enough for her to take in the slight salt tang of his skin and feel the passing caress of his thumb against her bottom lip.

Heat bloomed deep inside. Darts of sensation shot through her, pulling her straighter in her seat, eager for his next offering.

‘That depends,’ he said, letting his gaze slide from her face to her hand, grasping the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip.

Depends? Rosalie looked from her hand to Arik and then to the neatly sliced peach on the plate before her.

It depends on me she realised with a thrill of daring. Tentatively she reached out and picked up a wedge of fruit. It was ripe, slippery with juice, and her fingers trembled.

Did she really mean to be so…provocative as to feed him?

She took a slow breath, trying to regulate the rhythm of her racing heart. But when she looked up into his fathomless eyes, her pulse pounded harder than ever. His gaze was so intense that she felt it graze her features, brush over her throat and linger on her lips.

Rosalie offered him the fruit, the tremor in her hand so pronounced that she was barely surprised when he closed his fingers around hers while he slid the peach into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, smiled, and then licked the juice from her fingers.

A shudder of pure longing swept through her. Her nipples peaked, pebble-hard against her bra as she watched him suck the sticky sweetness from her thumb, her forefinger. Incendiary heat shot straight to the pit of her belly and to the moistening core of her desire.

Oh, my.

‘Delicious,’ he whispered in a throaty voice so deep it resonated within her.

Still holding her hand, Arik selected another segment of peach and held it to her lips. This time he didn’t draw his hand away and she had to slip it from between his fingers. Heaven! It tasted of him. Or did he taste of the fruit? His thumb pressed against her bottom lip and she slid her tongue along it, watching the glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. Cautiously she parted her lips a little wider and took his thumb into her mouth, sucking the sweetness from it.

The searing pleasure in his expression reflected her own excitement, told her this was a mutual delight.

That was a heady realisation. For the first time she felt a thrill of power, knowing she could affect him so.

He might be the master at this, but even the novice had something to offer.

She reached for another piece of fruit and felt an unravelling, unsettling sensation as she watched him eat from her hand, then use his tongue to swipe up the juice on each of her fingers.

Her eyelids drifted down on a wordless sigh. She felt…everything. Her skin had grown so sensitised that even the lap of his tongue over a fingertip, the caress of his lips on her palm, was enough to seduce her into ecstasy.

‘Rosalie.’At the sound of his voice she opened her eyes and found him leaning closer, offering her another piece. Obediently she took the segment but she was clumsy and juice dribbled from her lips.

He still held her hand in his so she lifted her other one to wipe away the moisture. But she was too late. Already he’d moved, tilting his head to catch the droplet of juice with his tongue.

She shuddered at the sensual impact of his mouth on her flesh, smoothing along her chin. She felt his breath on her, scented him in her short, urgent gasps and shut her eyes against the dizzying onslaught of awareness. He kissed her jaw line, the corner of her mouth, across the sensitive spot beneath her ear that sent arrows of heat to every nerve in her body.

Her head lolled back as he pressed his lips to her throat, evoking the most exquisite sense of abandonment. If he put his hands on her now she’d welcome his touch. Revel in it.

And then, suddenly, he was gone. Rosalie opened her eyes to find him watching her, so close that she had only to lean forward a little to bring her lips to his.

For a heartbeat she stalled in thought, wondering, wishing. And in that instant Arik moved, shifting back in his seat and half turning away.

Panic shot through her. Had he changed his mind? He must know she wanted him. She sat up straighter just as he turned and held out a small damp cloth.

His expression was tight, almost hard, as he wiped the cloth across her chin and then her hands, removing the last sticky traces of peach. Then he flung the linen on to the table and fixed his eyes on hers.

What she saw there stole her voice. Gone was the laid-back insouciance she’d come to expect from Arik. The teasing half smile. Even the enigmatic stare.

Now his face seemed cast in hard bronze, drawn tight with the force of a compulsion he couldn’t hide. On any other man that look would have frightened her.

On Arik it excited her.

‘It’s time,’ he said, reaching out and enfolding both her hands in his. ‘You’ve decided, haven’t you, Rosalie?’

He paused, awaiting her response. Words were beyond her, so she nodded.

‘Good.’ Already he was drawing her to her feet. ‘At last we will be lovers.’

Chapter Seven

THE light sea breeze from the open windows cooled Rosalie’s flushed cheeks as he drew her through the arched doorway into his private domain. His bedroom was large, light and airy. At the centre of the back wall was a low bed, wide and sumptuous with its richly patterned coverlet. That was where Arik led her, slowly, inexorably, till it lay before them, a blatant invitation to pleasure.

She swallowed hard, faced with the reality of her desire. Did she have the nerve to go through with this?

But then Arik’s hands were on her, gently compelling, drawing her down to the bed, and there was the promise of heaven in his touch. The lure of long-denied fulfilment. Of joy. Rosalie sank down beside him, leaning in against him without a second thought. For now it was her body responding, not her mind. She acted on instinct alone.

Their kiss was perfect. Growing passion tempered by a fierce restraint she sensed in him. And this time it wasn’t just a meeting of lips and tongues. As he slanted his head to gain better access to her mouth, she felt his hands skim over her. Even through her clothes his touch ignited a desire that sparked and seared. Over the bare skin of her face and neck, across her shoulders, her back, her arms, down her sides and back up to her face. Wherever he caressed her he left a trail of sizzling excitement. It burned across her skin, coiled hard and tight inside her, till she was on fire, desperate for something to assuage the raging need.

Then the welcoming heat of his big body encompassed her, the hard strength of bone and taut muscle.

Automatically she clung to him, revelling in the sensation of his torso pushing her down into the soft mattress. Breathlessly she registered the way his broad chest flattened her breasts, but there was no pain, only a growing edginess, a delicious awareness tingling through every centimetre of her. She wanted to rub herself against him, explore his hard muscled form with her hands, her lips, her body.

She wanted to imprint herself on him and to feel his flesh against hers. She wanted…

‘Rosalie.’ His deep throaty murmur against the corner of her mouth was enticing, seductive. Did she hear it or feel it? His lips brushed her own, caressed the sensitive corner of her mouth, dipped down to the pulse point low on her neck, and she arched up involuntarily, gasping with delight.

The impact of that kiss reverberated to every pleasure point in her body. There was effervescence in her blood, a surge of energy so strong she felt almost faint with it.

‘I’ve waited so long for you,’ he whispered and now she felt his hands move, deftly unbuttoning her shirt.

She opened eyes she hadn’t realised she’d closed and stared up at Arik. He was breathtaking, each severe line of his face, each angle and plane contributing to a whole that was compelling. He was handsome, beautiful even, in a hard, ultra-masculine way. But it was the inner fire, the spark of his personality, and of his desire, that overwhelmed Rosalie. There was a single-minded intensity about him that would have scared her a week ago.

Now she revelled in it.

She wanted Arik so much. Needed him. His expression: eyelids hooded, nostrils flared, mouth a taut line, made something leap inside her.

Then she registered the caress of cool air as he spread wide the sides of her shirt, baring her from the waist up to his gaze.

His eyes lingered on her bra, tracing its curve over her breasts. His gaze was smoky with desire.

‘You are beautiful, Rosalie.’ He lifted a hand and feathered his fingers along the upper edge of her bra.

She jolted at the unexpected intensity of that light touch. Her breath was a gasp of pure pleasure. Without thought she arched her back, silently begging him to repeat the gesture.

‘And so exquisitely responsive,’ he murmured as he again stroked the upper curve of her breasts and her eyes fluttered shut.

His tone was appreciative, knowing. It reminded her for an instant of the gulf of experience between them.

‘I’m not protected,’ she blurted out, then bit her lip as a fiery blush rose in her cheeks.

‘Of course it will be my responsibility to protect you, little one.’

His gentle tone persuaded her to open her eyes. His gaze met hers and suddenly the embarrassment she’d felt a moment before was gone. She took a slow breath, saw the way his expression flickered at the deep rise of her breasts, but forced herself to go on.

‘I don’t have much…’ Experience, she’d been about to say. But then she’d been pregnant, had given birth. He wouldn’t understand. And she didn’t want to enter into long explanations, not now. ‘It’s…’

‘Been a while?’ he finished for her, his gaze piercing. ‘Don’t worry, Rosalie. Once learned, the lessons of love aren’t forgotten.’

That was what she was afraid of. Maybe she’d better tell him. She opened her mouth reluctantly but he forestalled her.

‘Between us, little one, it will be easy.’ His deep voice was reassuring and his slow smile reminded her that she could trust him. His eyes glowed with an excitement that matched her own. Could she ask for more?

Again his hand traced the outline of her bra, then dipped lower to find and tease her nipple through the cotton fabric.

She sucked in her breath in a hiss of surprised delight. Who’d have guessed such a touch would make her feel…?

‘Perfect,’ he murmured as he lowered his mouth to hers. ‘It will be perfect with us.’

Then there was no more thinking. No more worries. No embarrassment. There was only the hot dark velvet of his kiss, the rising excitement as his hand grew heavier, more demanding at first one breast and then another.

She could grow addicted to Arik’s touch. So sure, so sensitive. Her body clamoured for more, pushing up against his hand, his body, relieved and yet unsettled at the weight of him over her. It was what she wanted, but it wasn’t enough.

When he drew back a fraction, her hands clung to his shoulders, her mouth throbbed from the passion that had soared between them. A passion reflected in the blaze of his eyes and the heave of his chest with every breath he took.

The last lingering shadow of doubt fled. She knew this was right.

‘I want to touch you, Rosalie.’ Arik was surprised at how steady his voice sounded. He teetered at the edge of his control, fiercely resisting the relentless urge to rip her clothes away and bury himself quick and deep in her soft waiting warmth.

He’d known urgent desire before, had more than enough experience to be able to temper his urges to ensure his partner was satisfied. Until now. The intensity of each sensation, the effect of watching Rosalie come alive at his touch, breathless and eager and somehow vulnerable, was something completely new to him.

His body felt as if it were on a rack, stretched almost to breaking-point by the weight of restraint placed upon it. Each muscle and sinew was stretched to the limit. But there was no alternative. He remembered the instant of doubt he’d seen in Rosalie’s face and knew he had no choice but to love her slowly. Even it if killed him.

Gently he pushed her shirt from her shoulders. She shrugged out of it and he tossed it away.

‘Touch me,’ he ordered, hungry for the feel of her against his bare skin. For a moment she didn’t move and then, slowly, so slowly he wanted to reach out and yank her hands against his chest, she reached up to him. Her fingers fumbled with a button. And then another. And then her hand slipped into his shirt, right over the spot where his heart pounded its message of hunger and painful control.

His eyes closed as he absorbed the sensation of her hand across his chest.

‘More,’ he demanded. The gentle exploration faltered and then, a moment later, her fingers worked his shirt buttons again. This time quickly, nimbly, and he sucked in a breath of relief. Another hurdle passed.

He waited till his shirt hung open, then shrugged his shoulders and shook it away. Opening his eyes, he found her staring, absorbed, as if committing to memory the sight of his bare torso. The look in her eyes did dangerous things to his ego. He felt like a hero, a god, not an ordinary man, when she looked at him like that.

She moved her hands over his chest, up and across, then circled down over muscles that spasmed at her touch. His arms trembled at the effort of remaining still under her caress.

‘You’re beautiful,’ she breathed.

‘No, Rosalie. But you are.’ He couldn’t resist the lure of such temptation any longer. He reached out and slid his hand behind her, making short work of her bra clasp, drawing her plain white, ridiculously seductive bra away in his hand.

There was a hiss of frantic breath. A moment of stunned appreciation, and then he was touching her, stroking his index finger under the curve of her full, luscious breasts, up between them, then down and across the rose-pink nipples that tightened into buds at his touch.

She was exquisite. Perfect. And the little tremors vibrating through her at his caress were delicious proof of her incredible sensuality.

He palmed one breast, felt its weight in his hand, smiling at the exact fit. Hadn’t he known she’d be just right? His fingers tightened on that sensitive bud, twisted just a fraction, and her whole body jolted.

It was as if she’d been waiting just for him. The thought was ridiculous, but an inviting fantasy, one he couldn’t quite shake.

Her breath came in shallow pants, the sound of it igniting a heat deep in his loins. He was hard with desire, had been since lunch, when he’d tasted her in his mouth, had invited her to taste him. But now he’d reached a point where control was almost impossible. He let himself move across her body, insinuating his thighs between hers till he lay cradled against her, his erection throbbing its intent.

He didn’t know if he could hold out much longer. But then he looked into Rosalie’s face and read the stunned blankness there. She wanted him, but something, the furrow of surprise on her brow, gave him pause.

So he did what he’d wanted from the first—lowered his head to her breast. The fresh scent of her rose in his nostrils and her velvet-soft skin was a living caress against his chest.

He kissed her nipple, holding her tight in his arms as she almost came up off the bed in response. It was as if he’d triggered an earthquake deep inside her. The shudders echoed through her as he laved her breast. When he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked, her moans grew frantic. Her hands clenched against his skull as he tasted her sweetness, then moved to her other breast.

Restlessly her legs shifted against his and he allowed himself the luxury of pushing down against her, feeling her intimate heat against his erection, even through their clothes.

Soon.

His control was shredding, spinning away as his pulse thundered louder in his ears.

‘Arik,’ she whispered, ‘please…’

Without thought his hand arrowed to the button on her trousers, the zip, pushing it down. He lifted himself a fraction from her as she tilted her hips and he stripped the cotton material down her thighs—enough to give him free access to the place he most wanted to be.

‘Please,’ she whispered again and he planted his palm between her thighs, pushing up against her sensitive core.

‘Arik!’ Her voice had a husky, sensual quality he loved, but when he raised his head to see her face he wondered if it was panic or delight he read on her features.

‘Shh, it’s all right, Rosalie. Just relax.’ Her blind eyes turned to his and gradually focused. A jab of something that had the force of lightning struck right through him, making his heart leap.

Her hands slid down to cradle his neck. They were unsteady, shaking but warm and gently sensuous as they massaged his stiff muscles.

He searched her most secret place, circled and found the point he was seeking. She was hot, wet, ready.

‘Arik? I don’t—’

‘Trust me, Rosalie.’ Whatever her past sexual encounters, it was clear her experience hadn’t included much pleasure. The realisation brought anger. And a deep protectiveness, a need to ensure this was absolutely right for her.

She opened her mouth to respond as he stroked her slowly, surely, and suddenly she gasped. The light tremors that had been racing through her body became shudders. She bucked up against his hand with a force that belied her small frame. And her gaze clung to his—jade-green, brilliant and intoxicating. He could drown in that gaze, watching her come apart just for him. The thrill of it, of her body arching into his, the sound of his name on her lips again and again as she sighed out her delight, was better than anything that had gone before.

Her eyes drifted shut as the last of the vibrations subsided. His own body was on fire, desperate for release, after the heady sensations of Rosalie’s climax. He slid his fingers between her legs and another aftershock racked her.

So incredibly sensual.

Gently he leaned down and took her mouth with his. Her response was instant, her lips opening to his, even though her movements were slow, languorous. He delved deep into her mouth, allowing himself the freedom he hadn’t yet had with her body.

She moaned and tilted her head towards his, her fingers spreading out over his shoulders. Automatically his lower body pressed in against hers, right into the hot centre of her, and light spun behind his eyelids at the sensations of pleasure coursing through his body.