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

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.

‘No, I’m okay.’ Her lips quirked up in a perfunctory smile that tugged at something in his chest. ‘I just felt a little…’

‘Faint,’ he finished for her, angry at the frustration of knowing he wouldn’t get the truth from her now. Worried for her. Whatever had happened, she wasn’t going to trust him with it. But of one thing he was sure: Rosalie Winters hadn’t been on the verge of a faint, however stunning their kiss. He’d still been reeling from the impact of her mouth opening like a flower beneath his, the sensation of her warm, seductive body relaxing into complete abandonment beneath him, when he’d seen the look on her face.

Tears, that was what he’d seen. Tears and a flash of something he couldn’t pin down. Surprise? No, it had been stronger than that. Amazement? Horror?

Surely not. He could vouch for the fact that no woman he’d kissed had ever been horrified by him.

And that kiss had been completely mutual, after those first few moments when she’d hesitated. No way could she have faked that reaction. She’d been perfect. Responsive; almost innocently seductive and eager. So eager that he’d been tested to the limit, reining in his burgeoning lust. No woman had ever tasted that good or felt so inviting. And it hadn’t been the piquancy of their almost-caress, of knowing he shouldn’t, couldn’t trust himself to hold her and stop at a single kiss.

No, there was something…different about kissing Rosalie Winters. Something that left him with a gnawing, unsatisfied hunger deep inside. Hunger for her body. But for more too—for her smiles and her confidence.

He stared at her averted profile, lost for an explanation as to why this woman affected him so. Yet this wasn’t the time to fathom it out. There was something wrong. Badly wrong.

‘Would you like me to take you back to your hotel?’ He hadn’t known he was going to make the offer until the words spilled from his mouth. It wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was a repeat of that kiss. And to explore a little further, to hold her in his arms and learn the secrets of her body. Taking her back would put an end to those plans. And yet it mattered more to him that she recover from whatever had upset her.

Just as long as it wasn’t him. What would he do if he discovered it was he who’d made her cry?

‘Thank you, but I’m all right. It was just a passing thing.’ She flashed him a look from stormy grey-green eyes that cut right through him. He’d give so much to see the shadows fade from her face.

‘I’d rather go sightseeing—’ she paused and drew in a shuddering breath ‘—if the offer still stands?’

Arik knew a moment’s uncharacteristic indecision. Instinct told him he should press for more information, uncover whatever it was she kept hidden, for he knew it was important. But selfishly he wanted to spend the afternoon with her. If he pushed for answers then she could take flight and leave.

‘Of course the offer still stands. On one condition.’

Her widening eyes met his. He watched the tip of her tongue slip out and moisten her lips and wished he’d bargained for another kiss. The effect she had on his body was overpowering and immediate. Even now, worried about her, he was hard with lust.

‘What’s the condition?’

‘That if you feel faint again I take you straight to a doctor.’

Her smile this time was genuine and its impact hit him hard in the solar plexus.

‘Thanks, Arik, but I’m sure I’ll be okay.’

Watching her lips shape his name had to be one of the most erotic things in the world. Especially now, when her mouth was swollen from kissing him. The taste of her was still in his mouth, an addictive flavour that heightened his appetite for her. He stared at her lips a moment longer, wishing the old custom of wearing a face veil still prevailed. It was too distracting watching her mouth, inviting and lush, and not being able to take it again.

‘Come.’ He rose to his feet and held out an imperious hand to her. ‘I hear the four wheel drive. It’s time we were on our way.’

For an instant she hesitated, her eyes on his outstretched arm, and then she reached out and let him fold his hand around hers. Good. The trust was there still. Arik ignored the rush of relief he felt as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her outside. She was where he wanted her and that was what counted.

Late sunlight slanted down into the broad courtyard and glinted off Rosalie’s hair. As the afternoon had progressed and she’d become more engrossed by what she’d seen, she’d forgotten to push the strands back from her face or catch them up into her usual ponytail. Now her hair was a rose-gold halo, framing her delicate features. The perfect foil for her clear skin and lush pink mouth.

Arik leaned against a stone pillar, arms crossed as he watched her. It had taken a while but gradually the shadows had disappeared from her face. The tense grey glint of her eyes had faded, replaced by a deep jade-green as she’d forgotten whatever it was that had caused her so much pain.

He’d learnt that much about her, that her mood could be gauged by the shade of her eyes. Storm-grey for pain or anxiety. Green for pleasure.

Her eyes had glittered green as she’d stared up at him after their kiss. He could have drowned in those depths, had felt the rising tide of need tugging him closer so he could lose himself in her. It had only been the glint of sudden tears that had halted him.

There’d been pain there. And it bothered him that he didn’t know why. Could it have been their kiss? No. It had felt too right. Something from the past, then? He sensed that Rosalie Winters was a woman of secrets. And he knew an overwhelming urge to lay them all bare, uncover her mysteries and conquer her fears.

He’d been right to bring her here. She’d been at home almost from the moment of introductions. Obviously art had a language all of its own for most of the artists here had only rudimentary French or English and Rosalie’s Arabic, though surprisingly well accented for a beginner, was basic. Yet she’d made herself understood. In fact he’d been superfluous after the first half hour. He’d retired instead to take tea with the director, to discuss the school’s progress and its finances. Despite the funding arrangements that ensured the place ran smoothly, there were always more worthy initiatives for Arik’s money to sponsor.

‘It’s getting late,’ he murmured eventually, closing in behind Rosalie where she crouched beside a young mosaic maker. Her gaze was focused on the nimble play of the girl’s fingers as she selected another tiny glass tile, fitting it delicately into the pattern.

At first Rosalie didn’t hear. It was only when he let his hand settle on her shoulder that she looked up and brought him into focus.

‘I’m sorry; have I taken too long?’

He shook his head. ‘Not at all. It’s a pleasure to see your enthusiasm. But the school will be closing soon and you’ll want to phone your daughter.’

‘It’s that late?’ She gave her watch a stunned glance. ‘I hadn’t realised.’ Immediately she turned to the young woman beside her and, in a mixture of English and halting Arabic, expressed her thanks and good wishes. The girl smiled and told her how much she’d enjoyed sharing her work.

It took time to say their farewells but eventually they left, walking through the courtyard gates and out to the vehicle. Arik glanced at the lowering sun. Too late to suggest going elsewhere and he knew Rosalie would again reject an offer of an evening meal together. She was too wary about being alone with him. In fact, after her reaction to their kiss, he wondered if she’d find some excuse not to meet tomorrow.

‘Arik?’ Automatically he stopped at the sound of his name on her lips. Her voice was soft and tentative and a jolt of ice speared him at the thought that he’d been right. She was going to renege on their arrangement.

She stood beside him, her head just topping his chin, and he experienced a fierce urge to pull her close and not let her go, no matter what her objections.

‘You didn’t tell me that you funded the art school.’

He frowned, nonplussed at her words. Of all the things she might have said, that was the least expected. The frozen shard in his chest began to thaw as he relaxed.

‘What makes you think I do?’

‘One of the instructors mentioned it when he was showing me around.’ She paused, staring up at him. ‘You don’t mind me knowing, do you? It’s such a brilliant idea, fostering young talent and at the same time providing an education for kids whose families find it difficult to support them. I think it’s great.’

He shrugged, repressing his annoyance that his role in the enterprise had been raised. It wasn’t a secret; after all, he was involved in lots of schemes to support his people. ‘I didn’t bring you here to impress you with my work as a benefactor. I simply thought that, as an artist, you’d enjoy seeing the work of other talented artists.’

‘And I did. It was wonderful. Especially the ceramic painters and the mosaic makers.’ Her eyes shone with an enthusiasm that made her face glow. Her hand grasped his forearm, but he guessed she didn’t notice.

He did. He felt the imprint of each finger through the cotton of his shirt, the warmth of her palm, and wanted more. The craving for her touch against his bare flesh was so strong he wanted to tear his shirt open and plant her palm against his chest. Right here, right now, in the lengthening shadows of the school grounds, he wanted her hands on him, stroking, clinging as he embraced her.

‘I’d love to try mosaic work. But I don’t know anyone with that sort of expertise at home to teach me.’

‘You could learn here. Stay a little longer. There’d be no objection to your taking tuition here.’