Sarah And The Secret Sheikh

What on earth...? So it wasn’t that he couldn’t love her in particular. It was that he wouldn’t love any woman at all.

‘Love—romantic love—leads people to do wild and foolish things. It clouds their judgement. I want no part of that.’

Her mouth went dry. He was talking about Ahmed and the woman who had entranced him so completely that he’d thrown caution to the wind.

Oh, Majed.

‘I can sincerely assure you, however, that I believe my happiness in marriage with you has a better chance than with anyone else I know. I like you, Sarah, and that has to count for something.’

He said that now. But what would happen when he met a woman who stirred his blood? How much would he resent the ties that bound him then—and the woman and child responsible for those ties? Would he become like her father? Would she become like her mother?

She couldn’t let that happen.

She moistened parched lips. ‘Do you believe in fidelity?’

His eyes flashed. ‘I do.’ He took her chin in a firm grip and forced her gaze to his. ‘I can assure you that, if you marry me, you will not think of other men.’

And then his lips slammed to hers with a force that was far from polite and more demanding than any kiss she’d ever experienced. One hand slid to her nape to prevent her from drawing away, while the other remained at her jaw, holding her still while he plundered her lips with a ruthless and seductive intent that had her melting even as she wanted to resist. The relentless, primal possession continued, sending the blood stampeding through her veins while the strength leached from her muscles until it finally tore his name from her throat.

He lifted his head, his eyes glittering. ‘Are we clear on this point?’

She lifted fingers that trembled to swollen lips. That kiss had been an outrageous attempt at domination, yet she wanted him to kiss her like that again...and not stop.

‘I’m clear on the fact that you expect fidelity from me. Do you demand it of yourself?’

‘Naturally.’ His chin tilted at an arrogant angle. ‘But then, I expect my future wife to make sure my mind does not stray to other women.’

She tossed her head, dislodging his grip, thrilled and appalled in equal measure. But before she could give him the put down she was sure he deserved, his lips were on hers again—warm, gentle...playful. They teased and tantalised until her anger had dissolved and she threaded her fingers through his hair to pull him closer.

He obliged until she lay half-sprawled beneath him, their only barrier the thin material of their clothes, his kisses sending something inside her spiralling free. She wanted all barriers between them gone. She wanted to move to the dance he’d taught her six weeks ago. She craved the spiralling pleasure, the adventure of it all, and the peace that followed. She ached...

A whimper broke from her when he lifted his head. He muttered words she didn’t understand but could translate all too easily.

There’d be no more kisses today.

He lifted himself away from her and then helped her back into a sitting position with a gentleness that had the backs of her eyes burning.

‘I’m sorry.’

He physically removed himself from the sofa, his words emerging clipped and short. If she hadn’t heard the regret threading through them, she might’ve fled in mortification.

‘I’m only sorry you stopped.’ She’d aimed for levity but fell far short of the desired mark. It was the truth of her words that rang in the space between them rather than humour. What the heck, she’d made a fool of herself over lesser things. ‘Why did you stop?’