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

‘Then you should be pleased that I’m here after all.’

For two heartbeats he held her gaze, then the shadows fled. He smiled and something tumbled over in her chest at the zap of magnetism between them.

‘And so I am, Rosalie. Very pleased.’ His voice dropped to a deep sultry murmur that reverberated in her bloodstream, tingled through her body and awakened every nerve-ending.

Why, oh why, hadn’t she stayed away?

Because you’ve never felt so incredibly alive as you do here, with him.

‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’ He dismounted to stand beside her on the sand. With only a metre between them the space seemed too intimate.

‘Perhaps. Should I?’

He shook his head and reached out, his fingers closing around hers, hard, warm and strong. It felt so right.

‘No.’ He tugged gently, bringing her closer. She saw herself reflected in his eyes. ‘I will never hurt you. You have my word of honour.’ Her thudding heartbeat echoed the pulse throbbing at the base of his neck. ‘Trust me?’

She hesitated. She had nothing but his words and her instincts to guide her. Yet there was no doubt in her mind.

‘Yes. I trust you, Arik.’

‘Good.’ A spark of emotion flared in his eyes, his hand tightened around hers and a wave of excitement washed over her. His gaze snared hers and her breath crammed in her throat at the intensity of his expression. ‘You know what I want, Rosalie, but that must be your decision.’

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.