At The Sheikh's Command

Just because he was the most devastatingly attractive, the most shockingly sexy man she had ever met in her life.

Her footsteps slowed, turned, drawn by some invisible force, some powerful magnetism, taking her towards the library in spite of the resistance she tried to impose on them. The door was tightly shut, the sounds of the voices inside the room muffled, their words impossible to make out. But she knew when Malik was speaking She had only heard a few hundred words from that erotic voice but already it seemed to be imprinted on her mind so that she recognised it instantly.

And wanted to hear it again.

And again.

She wanted to hear it tell her to call him ‘Just Malik’. To hear him say that she was beautiful, that he wanted her… She wanted to hear that glorious voice whisper to her in the darkness, giving her words of love, of caring, of hunger.

Tonight. Come to me tonight…and we can finish what we started.

Oh, dear God, she just wanted to listen to that voice all night—every night—for the rest of her life.

But was that enough to base her future on? Surely she was totally unwise—crazy!—to go to him.

But, oh! How she wanted to.

‘Can I help you, madam?’

The receptionist’s question broke into her thoughts and dragged her back to the present. To the moment she had been worrying about from the point she had set out on this wild assignation.

‘Come to me,’ Malik had said, and he’d told her the name of the hotel, but he hadn’t given her any further information than that. She had never visited someone so important, someone royal before. Surely there would be security checks at the very least.

‘My name is Abbie…’ she began hesitantly and was intensely relieved to see the woman’s face break into a smile.

‘Of course. We are expecting you. Would you please come this way?’

A few moments later, whizzing upwards in the express lift that went only to Malik’s suite, Abbie couldn’t believe how easy it had been. She had merely given her name and everyone had jumped into action, informing the penthouse suite that she was here, checking her identity, escorting her to the lift. There she had been handed over to the care of a tall, dark and deeply polite security guard who now stood, strong legs planted firmly on the floor, deep-set eyes alert and watchful, on the opposite side of the lift.

Just at that moment it slowed to a halt and the doors slid open silently. Her companion gave a small bow.

‘After you, madam,’ he said as he stood back to allow her to precede him.

This must be what it was like all the time if you were a sheikh, Abbie reflected as she stepped out on to thick, soft pile carpeting in a rich royal blue. To have people whose only job was to follow your instructions, to do as they were told, to do as you asked. Once again Sheikh Malik had snapped his fingers and everyone had jumped to do his bidding.

If she had been nervous before, then now her stomach felt as if a million desperate butterflies were beating frantic wings against her ribcage, sending waves of unease up into her throat. She struggled for breath as she headed into the small foyer where a smooth, pale wooden door barred her way. Another security guard stood beside it, firmly at attention, arms by his sides, the smooth fitting of his tailored jacket very slightly marred by an ominous-looking bulge at his waistband.

Abbie swallowed hard at just the thought of being this close to a gun, forcing herself to smile nervously into the guard’s dark, set face. But her attempt at a polite greeting was ignored as, with another of those small, stiff bows, he reached to open the door and hold it for her.

‘Th-thank you!’

Her legs seeming to have only the strength of cotton wool, Abbie stumbled into the room, her personal security guard following close behind her. From behind, she heard the man say something in Arabic, obviously announcing her. As she blinked to clear eyes that had blurred with tension, she saw Malik’s tall, elegant figure uncoil smoothly from the soft black leather-covered settee set in the middle of the huge luxurious room.

‘You came!’ he said, the impact of that rich honeyed voice hitting her senses hard all over again. ‘Welcome!’

Had he really questioned that she would appear? Privately, Abbie took the liberty of doubting that he had thought any such thing. Men like Malik never even considered that there was any likelihood that they would not be obeyed, and obeyed without question.

But then she remembered the stunning news that her father had given her over dinner. The news that had totally changed her mind when it had been set against coming here at all.

She had decided that she was going to be sensible. That she couldn’t take the risk of doing as Malik had asked, no matter how much her foolish heart had pleaded with her. And then her father had said that he had something to discuss with her.

‘It’s Andy, isn’t it?’ she’d said apprehensively, seeing the way his face was set into lines of strain, his blue eyes shadowed with concern.

‘The Sheikh has told you something—what has he said? Will they let him go?’

‘There is a chance,’ James Cavanaugh had responded. ‘But it’s going to be difficult.’

‘However difficult it is, you have to do it!’ Abbie had declared. ‘You have to. You can’t leave him there in that jail, locked up for…’

Her words had faltered nervously, dying on her lips as her father shook his head, his expression sombre.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she’d asked. ‘What does he want? What is it you’re not saying?’

‘It isn’t a question of my doing something,’ her father had told her solemnly. ‘The only person who can help your brother is you. You’re the one who has it in your power to help him, but I don’t know if you can possibly agree to what’s been asked…’

‘Come and sit down…’

Malik was moving towards her, his hand outstretched. Without even really knowing that she was doing it, Abbie pushed her own hands into the pockets of the blue-and-white dress she wore, putting them securely out of reach. If he was to touch her, she didn’t know what her reaction would be. Just being in the room with him was bad enough.

She had told herself that she hadn’t been thinking straight. That she had been so desperately on edge all day—all week!—worrying about her brother, fearful of the moment that the all-powerful sheikh would arrive, dreading the thought of the demands he might make to free Andy. She must have exaggerated the stunning impact this man had had on her.

She had to have exaggerated it. No man could have launched such an assault on her senses, driven her so out of her mind that it had left her shaking with reaction long after she had left him.

But Malik had. And she hadn’t overstated a thing! Even now, when he was still several metres away from her, she could feel her senses start to react, like a flower unfurling in the sun, turning towards the heat and the light, drawn irresistibly to what it needed most.

Her heartbeat had already quickened and her pulse was throbbing. The clean masculine scent of his body was in her nostrils, making her quiver in response.

At some point he had changed his clothes and now here, in the privacy of this huge suite, he was surprisingly casually dressed in jeans and a clinging T-shirt, black as his hair and eyes. And seeing him like that seemed to dispel the thought that he was a sheikh, a prince, the ruler of his desert country. Instead he was just a man. A devastatingly attractive man. An incredibly, hotly sexy man.

And a man who had made it plain how much he wanted her.

‘Abbie?’

He had reached her side and his hand touching her shoulder to draw her attention startled her into new awareness. The heat of his hand seemed to burn through the material of her dress, scorching the skin beneath so much that she didn’t know whether she most wanted to lean into it or pull away sharply.

Hot colour flared in her cheeks and she swallowed hard to relieve the uncomfortable pressure in her throat.

‘Thank you…’

There was a sense of release in walking away from him. Release from the heated tension that had tightened every muscle, release from the stinging sensitivity to everything about him. But as soon as she moved she knew that she wanted it back again, longed for him to come close once more.

It wasn’t easy; it wasn’t comfortable. It didn’t feel safe or relaxing. The truth was that it knotted her nerves tight with tension and uncertainty. It made her stomach twist just to think of it—but at the same time it was thrilling and exciting. It was the most wonderful thing that had happened to her. It brought her alive in a fizzing, crackling way. So alive that it was as if she had only been sleepwalking through her life before.

And on top of that it made her feel so completely, gloriously feminine. She had never felt so much of a woman as she had in the few short hours she had known this man and he had made his desire for her so obvious.

And more than his desire, if what her father had told her was right.

‘Can I get you a drink?’