Читать книгу Captivated by the Sheikh: For the Sheikh's Pleasure / In the Sheikh's Arms / Sheikh Surgeon - Annie West - Страница 11

SHE kissed like a virgin.

Her lips were soft, pliant, clinging as he brushed his mouth against hers. Yet when he opened his mouth to slide his tongue along her lips she shivered, retreating a little.

So sweet. So enticing. He leaned closer, careful to keep his hands firmly on the floor. This time when he invited her to open for him, her lips moved against his, mimicking the gentle persuasion of his caress.

Instantly a surge of blood shot simultaneously to his head and his groin. A jolt of fire ignited in his belly, blasting his careful restraint to smithereens.

But somehow he managed to contain the compulsion to ravish her mouth, to pull her close to his needy body and plunder her depths.

He coaxed her mouth open, increasing the pressure slowly. Her breath was fresh and warm, her lips like satin, the scent of her skin heady and arousing. There was no artifice about her, not even so much as a manufactured scent. Yet her delicate kisses, her seemingly untutored response, had him clenching his fists against the impulse to throw caution and restraint to the winds and simply take what he wanted.

He’d never known such fierce need. He had to have her. Every atom of his being screamed for her. She was a temptress such as he’d never known before. A houri who seduced not with practised arts but with a tentative, natural eroticism that was unsurpassed in his experience.

What had he got himself into?

He pressed closer, his kiss more demanding. She melted against him, her sigh a muffled surrender in his mouth and instantly his blood thrummed an imperative to conquer. To take.

Yet he mustn’t touch. Not this time. This time he had to go slowly, not scare her into headlong retreat. She was skittish enough as it was. If he touched her the way he wanted to, palmed her breasts, learnt the firm curves of her body, discovered her secret femininity and tasted her flesh with his tongue, he wouldn’t be able to call a halt.

Instinctively he knew she needed time.

He wondered how long he could hold out before the visceral need that gnawed at his vitals overcame the last of his scruples.

He pressed closer still, the peaks of her breasts grazing his chest for an instant, sending a judder of erotic sensation straight to his groin. His erection was a heavy fretful ache that surged into full-blooded readiness. A groan of pain, of thwarted need, rose from his chest but he ignored it, fisting his hands tighter till the circulation ebbed and his fingers ached.

He’d started this and he owed it to Rosalie, as a man of honour, not to finish it here and now with a quick frantic coupling, no matter the cost to his fast-shredding self-control.

Arik was all she’d dreamed he’d be. And more. The dance of his tongue against hers, languorous and innately seductive, the taste of him on her lips, the scent of his warm skin so close—it was a heady combination that blasted any logic right out of her brain. The sheer bombardment of physical pleasure assailing her senses made her dizzy.

She wondered how it would feel if he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close to the aggressive heat of his body. She longed to know. Could almost imagine the heavy weight of his strong torso against hers.

Rosalie shifted, edgy with an aching, empty sensation that would only be satisfied with more. More of Arik. More of the magic he created just with his lips and tongue against hers.

He pushed closer, still not close enough, and she almost sighed with relief as she felt the soft luxury of piled cushions behind her. He adjusted the angle of his mouth slightly, giving even better access to hers, and she knew with a faint last coherent thought that surrender wasn’t so bad after all.

If only he’d touch her, lift his palm to her face and stroke her there, as she longed to be touched.

But, despite the intensity of their meshed mouths, of the spiralling desire between them, he took no further advantage. Only their mouths met and held, in a kiss that contained all the potent intoxication of pure need.

The pressure built inside her until she could ignore it no longer. She lifted her hands, tentatively skimmed them between his heaving solid chest and her over-sensitive breasts, up to his shoulders. Her hands lingered there indecisively till she heard a sound like a low growl in her ears, felt him shudder against her hands.

Without thought she responded to his primal maleness, the raw sound of his desire. She cupped the heated skin of his neck, revelling in the hint of racing pulse she discovered, the smooth, enticing sensation of his flesh against her hands.

She speared her fingers up through his hair. It was like rough silk to her touch. She cradled his skull as she drew him closer. But still it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

The primitive rhythm pulsing in her blood, drumming in the dark, hidden core of her body urged her on. She needed more.

Then Arik moved.

Not in against her body as she craved. Instead he pulled back, ending the kiss so suddenly that her eyes snapped open and she lost the comforting sensual darkness.

What had happened?

Her lips were swollen, throbbing with the force of his mouth against hers. Her breasts were full and heavy, her body weighted with a languor she didn’t recognise. She blinked, trying to bring him into focus. Trying to engage her brain.

He breathed deeply, as if starved of oxygen, and she felt his breath on her sensitised skin. Maybe that was why she felt dizzy, she was panting as if she’d run a marathon.

Her hands still held him close. The sensation of hard bone and flesh and soft hair beneath her hands was exquisite. She saw her raised arms, her hands clutching him and realised, muzzily, that she should let him go. But her brain couldn’t seem to conjure the appropriate command.

She stared up at him. His was the strong, burnished face of seduction. The epitome of every secret, scandalous desire she’d ever harboured. His lips were fuller than before, from the taste of her. The knowledge sent a thrill of excitement straight through her. His eyes gleamed brighter than ever under those heavy hooded lids, as if he understood her yearning. His high cut cheekbones and the strong lines of his jaw, even the slashing angle of his nose, seemed more pronounced, as if the flesh had been pared back to reveal only stark desire.

If sensual need had a face, it was here: bold and utterly captivating.

Against him, against her own rising need, her defences were crystalline: transparent, brittle and easily splintered. She felt them crack and shatter under the heat of his flagrantly wanting gaze. But it was the force of her own desire that finally destroyed them. The knowledge that, however wrong, however dangerous, this was what she wanted. This man.

The epiphany was instant and complete. For all her fear, her caution, her longing for a safe secure life, she couldn’t escape the truth.

She wanted Arik. In the most elemental way a woman could want a man.

She should have been embarrassed, swimming up out of her sensual haze to discover that she’d succumbed so completely to him. That, without lifting a finger, he’d enticed her back to lie before him in a pose of wanton invitation. With his mouth alone he’d coaxed her into a new reality, where all that mattered was the present, the all-consuming hunger for sensual pleasure.

Later, she knew, she’d wince at the image of her hands clutching him close, a symbol of her complete abandonment.

If he’d been less trustworthy, if he’d taken advantage as he so easily could have, she might not be lying here fully clothed. The thought created a twist of horror deep in her belly. She’d invited trouble when she’d lost control. But, amazingly, Arik had retained his. He hadn’t faltered in his promise of a kiss only.

Her eyes widened as she stared into the impenetrable blackness of his gaze. He wanted her. He’d spelled it out more than once. Yet he’d taken no more than she’d agreed to. Despite the fact that he could have plundered her for so much more than a kiss. Despite the fact that she’d wanted him pressed against her, his hands on her body, his arms pulling her close.

Her brow furrowed as her foggy brain worked through the implications. Her hands grew lax and slid down his neck, past the iron-hard tendons and scorching heat of his shoulders. The heavy thud of his heart pounding against his chest reinforced the knowledge of his arousal and her hands dropped away.

Even in the sudden delirium of her new-found physical desire, she would have called a halt—eventually, but probably too late, if he’d decided she was willing.

She could barely believe she’d let herself go so far.

He could have pushed her even further into intimacy. Could have taken all that he wanted with very little persuasion.

Yet he hadn’t.

She stared up at him, the throb of her racing pulse deafening in her ears.

He was a man of his word, she realised.

Against all the odds she’d found a man who could be trusted, even against his own urgent desires.

After the dark phantoms that crowded her past, that should be impossible. A man she could trust.

Rosalie’s chest tightened suddenly as if constricted by metal bands. Her breath sawed in her lungs and a ball of burning emotion rose in her throat. She tried to swallow it down, combating the searing ache at the back of her eyes.

Stupid to be upset now, when everything was all right. She was safe, after all. Unharmed. Untouched, but for the heady caress of his mouth against hers.

Yet the sharp pain of unharnessed emotions accelerated rather than dwindled. She gulped down hard on the knot of sensation as she blinked against her blurring gaze.

‘Rosalie?’ His voice was rusty, harsh. ‘What’s wrong?’

She shook her head. She couldn’t speak. And no way could she explain the surge of emotions churning within her: the relief and incredulity, the self-disgust and remembered pain. There was more too, a tumble of pent-up feelings that had more to do with the past than with what had just happened. Somehow their kiss, the intimacy between them, had unleashed the demons she’d kept at bay for so long.

Rosalie bit her lip and turned away. She felt him move to give her more space. He probably thought she was off her rocker! To get teary over a kiss. A first class mind-blowing kiss, but still, as far as he knew, just a kiss.

She planted her hands against the richly patterned carpet of the floor and tried to concentrate only on what she saw. On the delicate whorls of colour in the stylised pattern of flowers and tendrils in the silk and wool. Flowing lines, clear ruby tones with a fine tracery of azure and cream and indigo. Buds and leaves and arabesques of gold.

‘Rosalie.’ His voice was lower this time, husky and deep. She felt it roll across her shredded nerves, soft and powerful as the surge of the tide.

Even his voice had the power to seduce!

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, finding her voice at last. ‘I just felt a little…faint,’ she lied. How else could she explain the unstoppable force of raw emotion that had hit her, just when she was at her most vulnerable? She couldn’t explain it to him. She could barely understand it herself. She just knew that she’d experienced something…wonderful. And it wasn’t just Arik’s expertise at kissing or the taste of mutual enjoyment. It was the tentative rekindling of faith in another.

It had been a long time coming. Until today she’d never thought it would happen.

And it was overwhelming.

She lifted a hand and surreptitiously wiped away the tears that had overflowed on to her cheeks. With her shoulders hunched and her back to Arik, she hoped he wouldn’t notice. But she doubted he’d miss anything. His eyes were as keen as an eagle’s. Which meant she had to brazen it out.

‘Here.’ She looked down to see his squared hand hold out a gilt-edged glass to her. ‘Drink this.’

It was tropical fruit juice. Cold, sweetly tart and refreshing. The everyday act of sipping and swallowing helped. So did the immediate sugar boost. Slowly she drained it.

‘Thanks.’ She held the glass out, darting a glance at his set face, and then away from his intense scrutiny.

‘Are you ill?’ Arik took the empty glass and placed it on the table. ‘Do you need a doctor?’

She shook her head and the wispy tendrils of bright hair swirled round her face, framing features that were only gradually regaining some colour.

‘No, I’m okay.’ Her lips quirked up in a perfunctory smile that tugged at something in his chest. ‘I just felt a little…’

‘Faint,’ he finished for her, angry at the frustration of knowing he wouldn’t get the truth from her now. Worried for her. Whatever had happened, she wasn’t going to trust him with it. But of one thing he was sure: Rosalie Winters hadn’t been on the verge of a faint, however stunning their kiss. He’d still been reeling from the impact of her mouth opening like a flower beneath his, the sensation of her warm, seductive body relaxing into complete abandonment beneath him, when he’d seen the look on her face.

Tears, that was what he’d seen. Tears and a flash of something he couldn’t pin down. Surprise? No, it had been stronger than that. Amazement? Horror?

Surely not. He could vouch for the fact that no woman he’d kissed had ever been horrified by him.

And that kiss had been completely mutual, after those first few moments when she’d hesitated. No way could she have faked that reaction. She’d been perfect. Responsive; almost innocently seductive and eager. So eager that he’d been tested to the limit, reining in his burgeoning lust. No woman had ever tasted that good or felt so inviting. And it hadn’t been the piquancy of their almost-caress, of knowing he shouldn’t, couldn’t trust himself to hold her and stop at a single kiss.

No, there was something…different about kissing Rosalie Winters. Something that left him with a gnawing, unsatisfied hunger deep inside. Hunger for her body. But for more too—for her smiles and her confidence.

He stared at her averted profile, lost for an explanation as to why this woman affected him so. Yet this wasn’t the time to fathom it out. There was something wrong. Badly wrong.

‘Would you like me to take you back to your hotel?’ He hadn’t known he was going to make the offer until the words spilled from his mouth. It wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was a repeat of that kiss. And to explore a little further, to hold her in his arms and learn the secrets of her body. Taking her back would put an end to those plans. And yet it mattered more to him that she recover from whatever had upset her.

Just as long as it wasn’t him. What would he do if he discovered it was he who’d made her cry?

‘Thank you, but I’m all right. It was just a passing thing.’ She flashed him a look from stormy grey-green eyes that cut right through him. He’d give so much to see the shadows fade from her face.

‘I’d rather go sightseeing—’ she paused and drew in a shuddering breath ‘—if the offer still stands?’

Arik knew a moment’s uncharacteristic indecision. Instinct told him he should press for more information, uncover whatever it was she kept hidden, for he knew it was important. But selfishly he wanted to spend the afternoon with her. If he pushed for answers then she could take flight and leave.

‘Of course the offer still stands. On one condition.’

Her widening eyes met his. He watched the tip of her tongue slip out and moisten her lips and wished he’d bargained for another kiss. The effect she had on his body was overpowering and immediate. Even now, worried about her, he was hard with lust.

‘What’s the condition?’

‘That if you feel faint again I take you straight to a doctor.’

Her smile this time was genuine and its impact hit him hard in the solar plexus.

‘Thanks, Arik, but I’m sure I’ll be okay.’

Watching her lips shape his name had to be one of the most erotic things in the world. Especially now, when her mouth was swollen from kissing him. The taste of her was still in his mouth, an addictive flavour that heightened his appetite for her. He stared at her lips a moment longer, wishing the old custom of wearing a face veil still prevailed. It was too distracting watching her mouth, inviting and lush, and not being able to take it again.

‘Come.’ He rose to his feet and held out an imperious hand to her. ‘I hear the four wheel drive. It’s time we were on our way.’

For an instant she hesitated, her eyes on his outstretched arm, and then she reached out and let him fold his hand around hers. Good. The trust was there still. Arik ignored the rush of relief he felt as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her outside. She was where he wanted her and that was what counted.

Late sunlight slanted down into the broad courtyard and glinted off Rosalie’s hair. As the afternoon had progressed and she’d become more engrossed by what she’d seen, she’d forgotten to push the strands back from her face or catch them up into her usual ponytail. Now her hair was a rose-gold halo, framing her delicate features. The perfect foil for her clear skin and lush pink mouth.

Arik leaned against a stone pillar, arms crossed as he watched her. It had taken a while but gradually the shadows had disappeared from her face. The tense grey glint of her eyes had faded, replaced by a deep jade-green as she’d forgotten whatever it was that had caused her so much pain.

He’d learnt that much about her, that her mood could be gauged by the shade of her eyes. Storm-grey for pain or anxiety. Green for pleasure.

Her eyes had glittered green as she’d stared up at him after their kiss. He could have drowned in those depths, had felt the rising tide of need tugging him closer so he could lose himself in her. It had only been the glint of sudden tears that had halted him.

There’d been pain there. And it bothered him that he didn’t know why. Could it have been their kiss? No. It had felt too right. Something from the past, then? He sensed that Rosalie Winters was a woman of secrets. And he knew an overwhelming urge to lay them all bare, uncover her mysteries and conquer her fears.

He’d been right to bring her here. She’d been at home almost from the moment of introductions. Obviously art had a language all of its own for most of the artists here had only rudimentary French or English and Rosalie’s Arabic, though surprisingly well accented for a beginner, was basic. Yet she’d made herself understood. In fact he’d been superfluous after the first half hour. He’d retired instead to take tea with the director, to discuss the school’s progress and its finances. Despite the funding arrangements that ensured the place ran smoothly, there were always more worthy initiatives for Arik’s money to sponsor.

‘It’s getting late,’ he murmured eventually, closing in behind Rosalie where she crouched beside a young mosaic maker. Her gaze was focused on the nimble play of the girl’s fingers as she selected another tiny glass tile, fitting it delicately into the pattern.

At first Rosalie didn’t hear. It was only when he let his hand settle on her shoulder that she looked up and brought him into focus.

‘I’m sorry; have I taken too long?’

He shook his head. ‘Not at all. It’s a pleasure to see your enthusiasm. But the school will be closing soon and you’ll want to phone your daughter.’

‘It’s that late?’ She gave her watch a stunned glance. ‘I hadn’t realised.’ Immediately she turned to the young woman beside her and, in a mixture of English and halting Arabic, expressed her thanks and good wishes. The girl smiled and told her how much she’d enjoyed sharing her work.

It took time to say their farewells but eventually they left, walking through the courtyard gates and out to the vehicle. Arik glanced at the lowering sun. Too late to suggest going elsewhere and he knew Rosalie would again reject an offer of an evening meal together. She was too wary about being alone with him. In fact, after her reaction to their kiss, he wondered if she’d find some excuse not to meet tomorrow.

‘Arik?’ Automatically he stopped at the sound of his name on her lips. Her voice was soft and tentative and a jolt of ice speared him at the thought that he’d been right. She was going to renege on their arrangement.

She stood beside him, her head just topping his chin, and he experienced a fierce urge to pull her close and not let her go, no matter what her objections.

‘You didn’t tell me that you funded the art school.’

He frowned, nonplussed at her words. Of all the things she might have said, that was the least expected. The frozen shard in his chest began to thaw as he relaxed.

‘What makes you think I do?’

‘One of the instructors mentioned it when he was showing me around.’ She paused, staring up at him. ‘You don’t mind me knowing, do you? It’s such a brilliant idea, fostering young talent and at the same time providing an education for kids whose families find it difficult to support them. I think it’s great.’

He shrugged, repressing his annoyance that his role in the enterprise had been raised. It wasn’t a secret; after all, he was involved in lots of schemes to support his people. ‘I didn’t bring you here to impress you with my work as a benefactor. I simply thought that, as an artist, you’d enjoy seeing the work of other talented artists.’

‘And I did. It was wonderful. Especially the ceramic painters and the mosaic makers.’ Her eyes shone with an enthusiasm that made her face glow. Her hand grasped his forearm, but he guessed she didn’t notice.

He did. He felt the imprint of each finger through the cotton of his shirt, the warmth of her palm, and wanted more. The craving for her touch against his bare flesh was so strong he wanted to tear his shirt open and plant her palm against his chest. Right here, right now, in the lengthening shadows of the school grounds, he wanted her hands on him, stroking, clinging as he embraced her.

‘I’d love to try mosaic work. But I don’t know anyone with that sort of expertise at home to teach me.’

‘You could learn here. Stay a little longer. There’d be no objection to your taking tuition here.’

Her head tilted back and her bright eyes met his. The force of their impact sent heat sparking through him.

‘It’s tempting but, no, I couldn’t. I have responsibilities.’

Her daughter. Of course.

Suddenly the prospect of their short relationship ending, as it naturally would, loomed on the horizon, far too close. The thought unsettled him.

Could it be that he wanted more than a few days with Rosalie? More than the pleasure of her body for the time it took him to recuperate and resume his normal routine?

‘Perhaps during another visit, later?’

She hesitated for a moment. Long enough for him to be appalled at how he hung on her answer. Did her presence mean that much to him?

‘Maybe one day,’ she said at last, slipping her hand away. ‘In the meantime I need to work on my painting skills. I’m so rusty.’

‘Then it’s a good thing you have time in which to work on them.’ He gestured for her to precede him towards the gate. ‘We will meet at the same time tomorrow?’

‘Yes, same time tomorrow.’ Her voice was light and breathless, as if she were nervous. But that didn’t bother him. She intended to meet him again, despite her…faintness earlier. His bloodstream fizzed in anticipation.

Whatever had happened to make her wary, Rosalie Winters kissed like a woman blind to everything but him. And he intended to capitalise on that enthusiasm. Very soon.