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

He didn’t tell her that they’d eschewed the public dining rooms, all three of them, in favour of a meal in his private suite. Even with his well-trained staff, he had no intention of being disturbed this afternoon.

His fingers tightened fractionally round hers, then released their grip as he gestured for her to enter his chambers.

‘After you, Rosalie.’

For an instant her eyes lifted to his and he felt the now familiar jolt, like a bolt of electricity, sizzle through him. Then she stepped over the threshold and into the suite. He fought to keep the anticipatory smile from his face.

Her exclamation of delight masked the soft click of the door closing behind them and he turned to see her standing in the deep semi-circular window embrasure that jutted out over the cliff-line. She reached out to brush her hand across the continuous round seat that lined it and then lift to the silk hangings, tied back to reveal the view.

His body thrummed an urgent message of need. He’d imagined her here so often, naked on that padded seat, or leaning back against the window frame, her bare arms outstretched invitingly towards him. The images were almost his undoing. Tension knotted his muscles and he felt the strain of imposing control in every cell of his body.

Deliberately he turned away and walked further into the sitting room, towards the drinks tray positioned beside one of the sofas.

‘Would you like a cool drink?’ he murmured in a voice rough with repressed desire.

‘Yes, please.’

He glanced over his shoulder and found she’d moved, bypassing the circular table laden with food, and was investigating the large telescope positioned before the next window.

‘You look at the stars?’

He shrugged, remembering the day—was it only a week ago?—when he’d first seen her through the telescopic lens. He’d known even then what he’d wanted from her.

‘Or the ships at sea. There’s a lot of activity in the shipping lane further off the coast.’ He put ice in a couple of glasses, then filled them. ‘I was in plaster with a broken leg and looking for any diversion. I’m not used to being cooped up.’ He turned and offered her a glass.

‘How did you do it? Break your leg, I mean.’

‘An accident on an oil rig. It happens. But, fortunately, not often.’ An explosion on a rig was disastrous. And this time it had nearly claimed the life of one of his men. If Arik hadn’t realised in time and turned back to look for him as they’d been evacuating, they might have had a fatality on their hands instead of mere fractures.

‘It sounds dangerous.’ She looked up at him so seriously that he wanted to pull her close and reassure her. But he couldn’t take her in his arms. Not yet.

‘Most of the time it’s no more dangerous than being on land. It was just a matter of bad timing.’ He turned towards the table that almost filled the window embrasure. ‘It looks like Ayisha has been busy.’

‘Ayisha?’

‘My cook. She seems to have decided we must be starving after our exertions on the beach.’ From the corner of his eye he saw Rosalie start. He wondered if, like him, she’d been thinking of exertions other than riding and painting. The suspicion pleased him. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’

Personally he was ravenous. But not for food. At least the meal would force him to take his time and not ravish her immediately. ‘Please, take a seat.’

He watched Rosalie settle on the wide padded seat beneath the windows and then pushed the round table in closer, within easy reach. He slid in beside her, close but not touching, and placed his untouched drink on the table.

The food was delicious. Subtly spiced, fragrant with herbs and unnamed spices, melting in the mouth at each bite. And yet Rosalie found it almost impossible to concentrate on the fare before her.

Instead it was the man at her side who took all her attention. Surreptitiously she watched his strong hands reach for dishes, lift covers, offer delicacies. A shiver slid across her skin as his fingers brushed hers. She loved his touch, had secretly dreamed of it all over her body. Now the sight of his hands mesmerised her into a haze of fascination and longing. She wanted to reach out and draw Arik’s hand closer, close it over her breast so she could feel its strength against her softness.

Rosalie swallowed down hard on a morsel of grilled fish and tried to concentrate on the meal.

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.