The Sheikh's Last Gamble

But when his hands slid down her back and cupped her behind, his fingers perilously close to the apex of her thighs and the heated, pulsing core of her existence, she knew her knees would not last much longer. ‘Bahir!’ she cried, but he had already anticipated her need, knowing what she asked and what she needed instinctively, as he always had.

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her long and hard, until she was dizzy and his own breathing ragged when he pulled himself away enough to speak.

‘One night,’ he said, his voice thick with want. ‘Just this night. That’s all I ask.’

She knew what he was telling her—that he hadn’t changed his mind, that he didn’t want her as a permanent fixture in his life and that he would never want her love—but he was offering her this night. Or, at least, what was left of it.

Would she take it?

If she were stronger—if she was more like her younger sister, Aisha, who had tamed her own potent sheikh—she’d tell him what he could do with his one night. But she wasn’t that strong. And the choice was so unfair.

She could have this one night with him, and sacrifice her principles and her pride, or she could have none. But her pride and her principles would never make her heartbeat trip with just one glance or one gentle touch. They could not take her to paradise and back and all the wondrous places in between. And what were pride and principles when compared to paradise?

One excruciatingly short night of paradise. A few short hours before they had to rise and return to the airport and continue their flight.

Was it worth it?

Oh yes.

And tomorrow she would tell him about their son—and it wouldn’t matter if he never wanted to see her again, because she would have this one stolen night to remember.

She looked up into his eyes and could see the impatience there, the urgency and the crippling, demanding need that so echoed her own.

‘Just one night,’ she agreed, and felt herself swept up into his arms as if she were weightless.

He carried her to his suite at the opposite end of the terrace from hers, and laid her reverentially on a bed that looked just as storm-tossed as the one she had left. The covers were piled in disarray on the floor, the pillows thumped to within an inch of their existence. It thrilled her that she might be responsible for at least some of the heat that had kept him from sleep.

He stood at the side of the bed, his eyes never leaving her as he purposefully unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to the floor, his damp, golden skin glowing in the thin moonlight. She held her breath as his trousers soon joined it, then even the scrap of silk he called underwear was gone, and he was gloriously naked before her, his erection swaying proud and free.