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

Their kiss held a different, richer quality now as she responded to his lead with a ready sultriness that urged him to deepen his caresses. The taste of her was designed to drive any man out of his senses. And the way she held him tight with her hands, the way her luscious body cushioned his, accepting and matching the insistent push of his erection against her, made his head spin.

At last he drew away, far enough that her hands broke their hold and slid slowly, provocatively down over his chest. Her eyes were closed, her lips plump and pink with the force of their passion. A wash of colour spread across her breasts and up her cheeks, highlighting her delicate features. She breathed deeply and for a moment he was riveted by the sight of her perfect breasts, rising and falling. Hair like dawn gold flared across the silk coverlet, softer and more enticing than any man-made fabric.

Who was this woman who’d appeared out of nowhere just days ago? Who’d taken over his life? Absorbed his every waking hour and burrowed deep into his emotions?

She was a miracle.

He pushed himself up and away on his arms, then knelt to strip the last of her clothes from her. The heady scent of female arousal registered in his nostrils, inciting him to move more quickly.

It was the work of a few moments to remove her clothes, and his own, and reach for the protection he’d promised her.

Rosalie’s world had tilted completely off its axis. She’d spun crazily out of control in Arik’s arms as he’d brought her to a juddering, mind-blowing climax. It had been all red-hot light and heat, searing her body till she’d thought there’d be nothing left of her but ashes. Only Arik, his gaze holding hers, his body anchoring her to the spot, had brought her back to something like safety again. If it hadn’t been for the link between them she felt she might have died from pure ecstasy.

His dark eyes had been the only real thing in her consciousness, other than the impossible burst of fire in her blood.

And now she felt…she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to give a name to the sense of wellbeing, of effervescent excitement that filled her, but she couldn’t.

Her body was weighted, yet tingling with life. She stretched, registering for the first time the slide of the luxurious coverlet beneath her body. Her bare body. Arik had peeled away the last of her clothes just a moment ago.

Rosalie snapped open her eyes, anxious now that she couldn’t feel him against her. But when she located him she swallowed hard.

He stood beside the bed, feet planted wide in a stance that was utterly masculine. He was naked, gloriously so, his dark olive skin the perfect foil for his athlete’s body. Every taut muscle and powerful curve was bare for her to see. She stared, fascinated, at the fuzz of dark hair across his pectoral muscles that narrowed and disappeared as it descended. He’d make a wonderful study for an artist. Magnificent proportions, latent power and pure energy from every angle.

But she couldn’t view Arik with an artist’s dispassionate eye. She’d lost that objectivity.

Instead she dragged in an unsteady breath at the image of rampant male libido before her. He thrilled her. And frightened her.

He was fitting a condom. Rosalie swallowed again, her mouth suddenly dry. Surely it would break…it couldn’t possibly…but it did. She felt her eyes widen.

He looked up and smiled at her, a tight, lopsided smile that nevertheless had the power to unravel some of the spiralling tension inside her.

‘Rosalie,’ he murmured as he took a single stride to the bed and knelt above her. ‘My beautiful golden girl.’ He raised her limp hand in his and kissed the palm, nipping at the fleshy part of it till a spear of heat arced straight from her hand to her womb.

How magnificent he was: so at ease in his flesh, each movement economical yet with an innate grace. The dark bronze of his body was in contrast to her own paler skin and as he lay down beside her she was fascinated by the sight of his large long-fingered hand splaying possessively across her body. Who’d have thought anything so simple could be so erotic?

Butterflies swooped in her stomach at the spreading sensation of warmth deep inside her. She felt his leg brush hers, the hair on his thigh wiry and tickling. Then he bent his head and planted a kiss at her navel.

Seismic waves spread out from the point of contact, making her shiver. The sight of his head bent over her so intimately made her conscious again of the moist heat between her legs. The empty, needy sensation.

He nuzzled her belly, planted a string of kisses across to her hip and set the butterflies dancing again inside.

She shifted uneasily, aware of a renewed urgency in the signals her body was sending to her brain.

He lifted his head and smiled, a knowing smile if ever there was one.

‘You like it when I kiss you here?’ He dropped his mouth once more to her waist, her stomach.

She reached out and tried to pull him up, edgy again and unsure of herself. She shouldn’t feel like this again, surely.

‘You don’t like my kisses?’ His tone was teasing but his face was set in harsh lines of desire. The flame of arousal was hot in his eyes.

She opened her mouth to answer, but something stopped her: a knot of hard, tight emotion that blocked her throat. He was so gentle, so tender. He treated her as no man ever had before. Heat glazed her eyes and she shook her head.

‘Rosalie?’ His tone was abrupt as he levered himself higher, the better to see her face.

For answer she wrapped her arms round his shoulders and lifted her lips to his, opening her mouth and giving herself up to the ecstasy that beckoned. Giving herself to him.

For a long moment he held himself rigid above her. Then, as her tongue danced against his and her hands swept in wide circles down over his back, he settled closer. She revelled in the smooth texture of his skin against her hands, and in the sensual friction of his chest hair brushing her breasts. It was…arousing. The press of his large body against hers was an exciting weight. She felt the hot, heavy throb of him between her legs and fascination mingled with trepidation.

‘Rosalie,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘You drive me wild with wanting.’ Now their kisses were more urgent and the caress of his hands heavier, more possessive. He gripped her hips and pushed forward and she felt the hard length of him intimately against her. Instinctively she tilted her hips up towards him and he growled deep in his throat. ‘You’re a houri sent to bewitch me.’

He raised one hand to her breast, squeezing gently, and she let out a cry of excitement as a flaming arrow of sensation shot through her body. Above the drumming in her ears and the rocking tension in their almost-joined bodies, she heard the whisper of his deep voice in her ear. He spoke in his own language, a lyrical intonation of syllables that flowed like music around her. The words were soothing yet somehow unsettling, urging her closer as he rocked harder against her.

All she knew was him. The clean, earthy fragrance of his skin, the taste of him on her tongue, the feel of him everywhere, and still that yearning, aching sensation that couldn’t be denied.

She barely noticed when he moved, hooking his arm under her thigh and lifting her leg up and over him. But she did register the pressure as he pushed between her legs, nudging up against her, into her.

She froze, absorbed in the sensation of him filling her.

Arik drew back a fraction. She had an impression of flashing dark eyes surveying her, then his head dipped to her breast and all capacity for coherent thought fled. His tongue was on her. His mouth. His teeth. She cried out, a muffled shout of bliss, and cradled him closer, arching her back as he wrought his magic on her body once more.

There was nothing but Arik and the dazzle of stars behind her closed eyelids.

But then, suddenly, there was more. One single, smooth, never-ending surge of movement drew him forward, impossibly filling her. She opened her eyes to see him poised above her, his face almost unrecognisable from the tension that held him so tight in its grip.

For an instant there was no movement but the rise and fall of their chests, each breathing deeply, struggling to find equilibrium.

‘Lift your other leg, sweetheart.’

Slowly she complied, and then it seemed automatically he slid forward a fraction to rest deep within her. Rosalie’s eyes widened.

‘That’s it, little one.’ His kiss was a reward, a glorious, sensuous caress that made her bones melt, even as he moved again, rocking against her.

It felt…it felt…wonderful.

Rosalie slid her hands over the bunched muscles of his shoulders and down to wrap her arms around his back, to hold him close as he pushed forward again. There was something sparking between them, something that made her rise up to meet his next thrust and the next: eager, ready for him.

Their tempo increased, their bodies grew hot, slick from excitement and exertion. Rosalie felt again the welling, tingling sensation in her blood. She heard her pulse roar in her ears, heard Arik’s breathing. Then his mouth closed over hers, his tongue thrusting deep even as he rocked into the centre of her being.

She tasted him, dark and rich. Scented his skin. She was part of him, his body sliding with hers, drawing her into a whirling, rushing storm of glorious commotion.

And then it came—a crashing wave of fulfilment, breaking over both of them. Desperate, she clung to Arik like a lifeline in a stormy sea. He was the one solid reality as her world shattered, bursting apart in a conflagration that shook her to her core. She had no words to express what she felt, only knew it was beyond her expectations, her hopes, even her fantasies.

And the fact that it was Arik gathering her close in strong arms that trembled with the force of their climax, holding her as if he’d never let her go, was most important of all.

How could this happen between two strangers?

It was far more surely than a union of bodies. It felt like a communion of souls.

Rosalie drew a deep shuddering breath, inhaling his heat and his musky scent.

Casual sex wasn’t supposed to be this…perfect, was it?

What had she got herself into?

Chapter Eight

‘THAT sounds like fun, Amy. What are you doing with Grandma tomorrow?’ Rosalie shifted her grip on the phone as her daughter began a breathless description of her planned visit to puppies in the stables and a pony who took carrots from her outstretched hand. Obviously they were far more interesting to a toddler than the grandeur of the centuries-old palace where she was staying.

Though she had been impressed with Uncle Rafiq, the tall, smiling man who swept her up in his arms and swung her round till she squealed.

Rosalie’s mum was right. Amy was having a great time with her family fussing over her. Not only that, but Rafiq’s small army of royal servants were spoiling her too, apparently besotted by Amy’s grin and sunny temperament.

The door to Rosalie’s left opened and the smile on her face slipped a little as Arik came into the room. His gaze caught hers and that gleaming dark look made her mouth dry. Like her, he wore a long, loose robe. But, far from making him look effeminate, the outfit somehow accentuated the width of his shoulders, the whipcord strength of his body, his innate masculinity.

Just a single stare from this man sent a wave of heat roaring through her. She watched him pace into the room and her palms prickled in excitement as she remembered the way he’d loved her this afternoon. The world of sensual pleasure he’d opened up for her.

Finally, half an hour ago, he’d pressed a last bone-melting kiss to her lips before leaving her, saying she’d no doubt want to telephone her daughter. Only then had she realised the afternoon had sped by as she’d lain in his arms. Shame had washed through her, that it was he rather than her who’d remembered her responsibilities. That she’d been in danger of forgetting her call to Amy.

And now, just the sight of him made it hard to concentrate on Amy’s chatter.

What sort of mother was she? Surely there was something wrong with her priorities. Nothing was more important to her than her daughter.

What was happening to her?

Arik didn’t approach. He gave her a slow smile that sent liquid heat spilling down her spine. Then he disappeared through the door to the huge bathroom. It was a relief when he was out of sight and that sensual connection was severed.

An instant later she heard the sound of running water. She blinked, trying to bring her mind back to her call.

‘I have to go now, Mummy. G’anma says it’s time to hang up.’

‘All right, sweetheart. You be a good girl for Grandma and Auntie Belle and I’ll see you soon.’

‘I will, Mummy. Bye, bye.’

‘Bye, darling.’

Slowly Rosalie switched off the phone and put it beside the huge bed. Another sign of Arik’s generosity, or more likely his enormous wealth. He didn’t know Amy was actually in Q’aroum rather than at home in Australia. He would have assumed when he’d offered Rosalie the use of the phone that she’d be making an international call.

It only highlighted the difference between Arik’s world and her life of stretching to make ends meet. Despite persistent offers from Belle, Rosalie had been so determined to stand on her own two feet she’d accepted little financial help. The holiday to Q’aroum was an exception.

‘You didn’t need to end your call just yet.’ Arik’s deep voice interrupted her reverie and she looked up to find him framed by the doorway, watching her.

The look in his eyes made her shiver. Or perhaps it was remembered delight. She’d never experienced that incandescent burst of joy, that absolute sense of oneness with another person in her life. Arik had been all her fantasies rolled into one—strong, passionate and indescribably gentle. She felt as if she’d unwittingly given up part of herself to him through the act of making love. At the time it had seemed right—more than that, it had seemed perfect. Now the idea created a niggle of unease deep inside her.

She was in danger of getting in too deep. It was one thing to think in terms of a holiday fling with a gorgeous man: a safe way to experience passion and then move on, back to her ordinary life, her curiosity satisfied.

But this was something else altogether. It was as if an unseen link stretched between them. Even now she felt it tightening, tugging at her as he strode over to the bed.

She looked up into his black eyes and knew it was an unwinnable battle, trying to remain unmoved by him. He was in her blood, in her very bones. Somehow she’d absorbed him into herself. She had an overwhelming fear that now she’d never be the same again. Never be whole without him.

‘Your daughter is well?’ He smiled down at her and the melting rush of desire in the pit of her stomach commenced again.

‘She’s having a ball.’ Rosalie ignored the breathless quality of her voice, swallowing hard at the excitement humming through her, just being close to him again. ‘She’s with her aunt and uncle and my mother. I suspect she’s being spoiled rotten.’

Arik’s grin was a flash of white in his dark face. ‘That’s as it should be. Every child deserves to be spoiled a little by their family. And it will take her mind off being away from you.’

Rosalie tilted her head, registering his words. Most men she knew wouldn’t consider it from that angle. They weren’t so sympathetic to the needs of others, would barely give a thought to what a little child needed.

But then, she’d never met a man like Arik before. So utterly, devastatingly male but compassionate too.

‘You speak as if you’ve got some insight into it,’ she said, suddenly curious to know more about him. In so many ways she knew him intimately: his character, his passion, his body. But she knew next to nothing about his life.

He shrugged. ‘I’m an only child but I have a large, loving extended family. My childhood was spent learning discipline and responsibility from my father, and being indulged by almost everyone else. We Q’aroumis are especially fond of children, you know.’

‘And your mother?’

‘Ah, my mother is a woman of strong passions.’ His dark eyes flashed. ‘It was she who taught me to follow my heart. She believes that you can achieve whatever you set your heart on, so long as you never give up.’

Arik leaned close, his intense expression making her feel suddenly vulnerable. Something akin to apprehension skittered through her as she looked up, up at him. The stark planes and angles of his face were more pronounced in the late afternoon light, emphasising his strength and the slightly exotic cast of his features.

He’s a stranger, whispered a voice in her head. A man you barely know, and yet you let him—

No! She knew Arik in the ways that counted. Knew his integrity, his caring. She knew exactly where she stood with him. They’d made a bargain. She was perfectly safe.

And yet…when he stared at her like that it made her wonder.

‘Come.’ He stepped forward and slid his hands beneath her, hauling her up into his arms. Automatically she clung to him, her hands linking round his neck. Her heart thudded to a quickening beat, just being in contact with him again. She revelled in the now familiar heat of his body against hers.

‘Where are we going?’

His black gaze held hers in a look that made the blood rush to her face and anticipation sizzle in the pit of her stomach.

‘Enough talking for now, Rosalie.’ He shouldered his way through the open door and into the enormous bathroom.

Her eyes widened as she took in the octagonal room. On four sides huge windows gave out on to the spectacular cliff top view. And in the centre, right below the domed gilt ceiling, was the largest bath she’d ever seen. It was sunk into the floor, half filled with steamy water and bubbles. Sandalwood scented the air and something else—some fragrance that was heavy and lush.

Her racing heartbeat slowed to a lazy expectant beat. Then he was putting her down, letting her slide, inch by tantalising inch, down his body. Like her he was naked beneath the robe. And somehow the fact that they were both fully covered only enhanced the sensuality of the experience. The slide of hot silk against her flesh. The press of his hard body, ridged with muscle and flagrantly aroused, yet covered in the finest cotton, was even more erotic than seeing him naked.

Rosalie’s mouth was dry as she found her footing. Her hands were linked around his neck. She tightened her hold, drawing his head closer while she rose on tiptoe.

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Not yet.’

Her expression must have revealed her disappointment for he lifted one hand to her mouth, pressed his thumb against her bottom lip till she opened for him, and she tasted him, warm and salty on her tongue. Heat burst in the pit of her belly and down her legs, till she trembled where she stood.

‘Soon,’ he promised. Then, with one swift movement, he bent and gathered the silken skirts of her gown in his hands, skimming the fabric up her legs. Up and up till she felt the whisper-soft afternoon breeze on her thighs, her stomach, her breasts.

She watched the play of muscles in his upper arms as he flung the gossamer-thin robe to the floor.

Now his hands brushed against her, feathering up her legs, over her buttocks, her hips, her waist, to her breasts, heavy with the weight of desire. Moist heat pooled between her legs as she looked deep into his eyes. They were glazed with an excitement that matched her own.

Cotton bunched in her fingers. She lifted the weight of his robe, scrabbling a little as the fabric shifted. Underneath the material she felt tantalising traces of his body—the heavy weight of his muscled thigh as she bent low, the angle of his hip-bone and the ridged muscles of his abdomen. There was a hiss of breath as she shoved the robe higher, her hand sliding across his chest. Then he bent his head, allowed her to draw the garment off him and toss it away.

A weight settled on her chest, pressing down, making it hard to breathe as she skimmed his body with her gaze.

He was magnificent.

‘If you look at me like that, this will be over before it’s begun.’

She slanted a look up at his face. He seemed to be in pain, so great was the tension there. Had she done that to him? Her presence? Her body? It was a heady thought.

‘Get in the bath, Rosalie, and I’ll join you in a moment.’ His voice was soft, a whisper. But he’d lost his smooth tones. Now his words were rough, as if something grated deep inside him. The sound was a primal message of barely restrained hunger that fed her excitement.

Quickly she turned and stepped into the deep bath, luxuriating in the feel of warm water sliding against her bare skin. In the knowledge that Arik would be with her soon.

He almost groaned aloud as he watched her descend into the foam. That peach-ripe derrière, the long, long legs, the indentation of her waist, so small he could almost span it with his hands. He fumbled, rolling on the condom. His whole body was shaking, throbbing with the force of his desire.

She turned, her eyes wide as she watched him lower himself into the bath, reminding him that, for all her enthusiasm and her natural sensuality, Rosalie was a woman of little experience.

The shock on her face as they’d become one, the wonder in her expression as she’d scaled the heights of passion, the hesitant way she’d embraced him at first…it had almost been like making love to a virgin.

The experience had been new to him. Far too quickly he’d become hooked by the thrill of surprising her, of teaching her about her body’s own sweet secrets. And when she’d reciprocated, caressing him, moving with him, it had been as if together they’d ignited dynamite. The explosive force of their joint climax had deserved a Richter scale warning.

He was a man who enjoyed women. Enjoyed sex. He was a man of some experience. But nothing, ever, had matched the sheer ecstasy of making love to Rosalie Winters.

He’d wanted her again almost immediately. Even now he couldn’t say how he’d managed to tear himself away long enough for her to recover and to phone home.

It would be the challenge of a lifetime to take this slow. She was temptation personified. She looked at him with those huge green eyes, her lips pouted and pink, her nipples teasing him, just peeping up through the bubbles when she moved. Involuntarily he throbbed in response, just at the sight of her.

He turned and wrenched off the taps, wishing he could turn off his libido, or at least slow it down long enough to wrest control.

‘Come here, Rosalie.’ He lifted a hand in invitation and immediately she slid along the seat that edged the deep bath. Her hand rested in his and he drew her closer. He felt her hip beside his and immediately turned to claim her, one hand at her neck, as he slanted his mouth over hers, the other wrapping round her waist.

She was unique. He’d only known the taste of her for a few days and yet he craved it more than food or drink. She tilted her head back, allowing him better access to her mouth, and he took it, delving deeply, possessively, as he pressed her slippery form against his. He thrust a thigh between hers and felt the little jitter of reaction race through her body.

He smiled against her mouth. She was so ready.

When he cupped her breast in his palm she pushed against his hand, a sound like a hungry purr rolling deep in her throat. She slid against him, her hips circling, and he let his weight rest against her.

If he wanted he could take her now. With one swift movement he could possess her. Fierce heat pumped in his bloodstream at the thought of taking her hard and fast right now. Completion would be only seconds away.

But he held back. He wanted to give her more than a quick, hard coupling. And to do that he needed to hold out against the barbaric impulse to ravish. Somehow he had to find finesse. He needed to forget his own needs and—