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

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.