One Night with a Seductive Sheikh: The Sheikh's Redemption / Falling for the Sheikh She Shouldn't / The Sheikh and the Surrogate Mum

Haidar’s body now officially hated “Cherie.”

If it sustained lasting damage from the blow of deprivation her sudden appearance had dealt it, it would remember her as his worst enemy.

Nothing was working to mitigate the gnawing need for Roxanne. Not even bringing himself to release twice while mentally reenacting their plummet into sensual delirium, this time to an explosive end.

He’d continue to ache until he slaked his hunger in her body. At least three times a day. For a month. To start.

He rested his forehead against the wet marble as he let the barrage of cold, needle-sharp water pelt his flesh, attempt to put out the inferno she’d relit inside him.

And to think he’d sought her out to prove that he’d blown her effect on him out of proportion. That he’d find the older edition of the woman who’d dealt him his life’s harshest humiliation and disillusion hard and off-putting. And that gaping hole in his psyche would be sealed once and for all.

Then he’d seen her. Talked to her. Dueled with her. Touched her. Fast-forward to his current agony.

Way to exorcise the memory of her, you idiot.

Instead, he’d only managed to resurrect it to full raging life. Worse. He’d managed to create a new breed of monster. An insatiable one that nothing would appease except total and repeated satisfaction of its every craving.

He had to give it everything it hungered for.

Not that she’d make it easy. Not that he’d want her to.

Sure, she’d melted at his touch, would have let him take everything he wanted, taken everything he gave. But he had no illusions. That surrender wouldn’t be repeated. For some reason, she was averse to letting him back into her bed. Perhaps the career woman she was wanted her men safe and convenient, when he was anything but. Or she feared indulging her lust would compromise her career. Whatever it was, the element of surprise had been expended. All he had now was post-almost-sex upheaval.

He had to strike again while the iron was white-hot.

He exited the shower cubicle, didn’t bother drying anything but his hands, strode across the hotel suite to his cell phone.

He dialed her number, gritted his teeth as he waited for her to pick up.

She would. Because she wouldn’t recognize his number.

“Hello?”

He squeezed his eyes. Aih. It hadn’t been temporary insanity. If one breathy hello could have him fully hard all over again, she now operated his hormonal controls.

His lips twitched in self-deprecation at his weakness, in satisfaction at intending to give in to it thoroughly.

“Is Cherie gone?”

The silence that greeted his question indicated that it had stopped her breathing. Good. He shouldn’t be the only one having trouble breathing over this thing between them.

“I can come over if she is.” He marveled at the humorous, sensual goading that came so naturally when he talked to her. “Better still, you come to me. I’m at Burj Al Samaa.”

“Your turf is a hotel room?” she finally said. “And what would your terms be? Something from the room-service menu?”

A laugh rumbled from his gut. Ya Ullah, but this was new. He’d never enjoyed her wit this much before. But then, he hadn’t known she was witty. Now that he thought about it, they’d talked last night more than they’d talked in a month back then. Their limited, stolen times together had been consumed mostly by hot and heavy sex. Back then, all the talking she’d done had been with Jalal. He’d felt left out, and he hadn’t even known how much he’d missed.

He wouldn’t miss a thing now. He’d have it all. All the fire and friction and fun of her.

“But I’m proposing a continuation of our first round, not a second one. That will be on my turf and terms.”

“You’re …” He could tell she muffled the phone with her hand. He could still decipher what she said. “I’ll only be a moment. Sure, I’ll take another cup of tea.”

His smile froze. She … sounded totally different. Easygoing and eager. She’d never sounded like that with him. Not even when she’d been claiming to love him.

Then he heard the voice that answered her. Distant and muted. But definitely male.

Something hot and harsh spread like an intravenous shot of lava in his veins. Something he’d only ever felt on her account. Jealousy …

Jealousy? Now, that was idiotic. There was no application for anything like that in their situation. He shouldn’t … didn’t care what she did or who she did it with.

Even if he was stupid enough to care, she was probably at work, and that was a colleague or an assistant and he was again blowing things out of proportion …

“Listen, you exasperating lout. I spent this morning trying to resolve the mess you left behind, and the only thing I’ll do if I come to your temporary turf is kick you where it counts. So it would be potency-preserving for you to get off my case.”

Her threats still tickled him. But he couldn’t laugh this time. Not after he’d heard her talking to that man. Hearing the difference in her voice now doused his enjoyment.

He still attempted a rejoinder. “Tut-tut, is that any way to talk to your probable new king?”

“First, I’m American if you’ve forgotten, so at best, the king of Azmahar would be my boss. Second, cows will skate before you become king. So stop wasting everyone’s time and fly back to whatever vultures’ aerie you swooped down from.”

It was no use. Even with the tightness in his chest, which he wouldn’t even try to analyze, every word that pelted out of her mouth seemed to find a receptor in his humor centers.

His lips spread. “The only time I’ll swoop down will be to carry you away, my luscious lamb.”

“Then too late in midair, you’ll find out I’m no such thing.”

“Aih. Thankfully. But the feline you really are is why you found me irresistible.”

She used to say he was aptly named, a human lion. He’d called her his wildcat, his lioness, among other things.

“Nowadays, the world doesn’t give a fig about your irresistibility, like I don’t. But unlike you, who clearly aren’t here to take part in resolving the crisis but to indulge in obnoxious score-settling, I have work to do. You had your fun last night, so be a good evil mogul and let me get on with it.”

He lay back on the bed, hard as rock again. “How counterproductive can you get? You’ve just said the magic words that will assure that you won’t see the last of me. Not before I make you eat those words, of course. Out of my hand. Again.”

She didn’t answer for a long moment. His breath shortened, his every muscle quivered with arousal and anticipation. What was that unpredictable storm of fire and femininity up to now?

“Satisfied your last-word syndrome? Just like you did your have-your-way disorder last night?”

And he laughed, deep and delighted. “I knew you had to be brilliant to be where you are today. But that’s a truly novel way to have the last word, ya naari. I concede. This round goes to you.”

“Oh, joy. You mean I can go now?”

“You mean you can’t hang up on me?”

She did.

He laughed again, long and loud, as he hadn’t done in … probably ever. Certainly never when he’d been alone.