Читать книгу Captivated by the Sheikh: For the Sheikh's Pleasure / In the Sheikh's Arms / Sheikh Surgeon - Annie West - Страница 12

ROSALIE looked around the huge room with its magnificent view over the sea and knew she’d stepped straight into a world of wealth that most people never experienced.

There was nothing gaudy or ostentatious here but Arik’s home was imbued with the luxury only serious money could buy. Generation upon generation of riches and privilege. And hard fought battles, she realised, noting the pair of antique muskets mounted over an arched doorway. They were decorated with the finest silver embossing, making them fit weapons for a sheikh.

‘It’s breathtaking,’ she said, turning slowly around. And it was. From the spectacular panorama along the coast to the superb silks of hand woven rugs and tapestries. From the fine-grained leather of low modern lounges to the high vaulted ceiling tiled in a mosaic the colour of lapis lazuli, complete with a sprinkling of golden stars.

‘It pleases me that you approve of my home.’ Arik was his usual urbane self as he watched her take in her surroundings. His eyes were unreadable, his tall body relaxed. Again she wished he wasn’t quite such a perfect host. She longed for a glimmer of the passion she’d seen in him two days ago. That she’d felt in the erotic caress of his mouth against hers.

Heat burned across her cheeks at the memory and she swung round towards the wide terrace that hung out over the cliff.

The memory of Arik’s kiss. She’d been unable to put it from her mind. Or forget her reaction to it.

She’d gone to the beach the following day, half nervous, half secretly thrilled at the thought of him kissing her again. This time he’d pull her close in his arms, let her feel his strong body against hers, alleviate her burgeoning curiosity to know his touch.

She’d gone expecting another lesson in seduction from this man who was obviously a master of the art. She hadn’t even considered not going—and that was the most telling thing of all. Despite her past, despite the fact that she hadn’t trusted a man in years, the need to see Arik again, to be with him, overrode all else.

Perhaps, as her mother promised, time did heal. Maybe she was ready to take a chance on life.

Rosalie stared through the plate glass doors to the terrace and, beyond that, the vivid aquamarine of the sea.

It had been a momentous thing for her, deciding she wanted what Arik offered: the chance to experience passion, to ease the unceasing hollow ache deep inside her that told her she wanted a man—wanted him. That had been a revelation of her own femininity. Proof that she really had moved on from her troubled past.

In the long ago days when she’d indulged in daydreams she’d pictured a future with a man by her side. Someone she could rely on, who’d love her always. But times had changed and she knew that what Arik offered was perfect for her now: a way to explore her feelings, assuage these new found sexual cravings in safety. For he would be tender. He could be trusted.

And he was experienced enough to teach her all she longed to know. She shivered and crossed her arms at the thought of what she wanted from Arik.

Too bad he’d obviously changed his mind.

She was ready for more. But now he behaved like a perfect distant gentleman. He avoided so much as touching her hand, had clearly pulled back from intimacy. Dully she’d wondered if she’d kissed so badly that he’d decided she was no longer worth the effort of seducing. It wouldn’t surprise her.

But he was a man to whom a promise was important and it seemed he was determined to stick to their bargain. Lunch yesterday had been a short affair. Then in the afternoon he’d driven her round part of the coast road, pointing out towns, historic sites and scenic vistas that should have caught and held her imagination. But she’d been too deep in disappointment to care.

How did you tell a man you wanted him to make love to you? Was it really that simple? And what if, like Arik, he’d clearly decided he was no longer interested?

Last night in her lonely bed had been the worst. She’d been so edgy she hadn’t slept. Even after a long phone chat with her mother and Belle. Even after a relaxing bath. All that had achieved was to remind her that her body was…aroused. Ready for Arik’s touch.

Heat scalded through her. Even now, after a second morning of polite decorum from Arik while she’d painted, she couldn’t banish her craving for him. It was shaming, this relentless need, the breath-stealing suspense as she watched his every move and hoped he’d reach out to touch her.

Sensual awareness had come late to her and she hadn’t yet mastered the art of controlling it. Why else was she standing here, breathless with the forlorn hope that even now, after two days of scrupulous distance, Arik might continue where their kiss had left off?

Blindly she groped for the door handle, swung open the glass door and stepped out. She needed air. She needed sanctuary. She’d been an idiot to agree when Arik had suggested they lunch at his home today. What she really needed was to get away while she had some shred of self-respect left.

She leaned heavily on the stone balustrade, her fingers gripping tightly, her chest constricting as she fought for control.

Laughable, wasn’t it? Finally to decide to take up Arik’s seductive promise of a no-strings affair and then to discover the option was no longer on offer. She shook her head miserably. Just another of life’s disappointments.

In the overall scheme of things, this surely didn’t rate such profound regret.

‘Rosalie?’ He stopped just a pace behind her and saw the tension stiffen her spine when she realised he was so close. The sea breeze fanned her hair and he shoved his hands deep in his pockets rather than reach out and fondle the silken tresses.

‘It’s a magnificent view. You’re so lucky to have this.’ Her gesture encompassed not only the beach far below but the ancient fortress that was his home. Yet he was more interested in the high uneven tone of her voice and in her averted profile.

She was doing it again, shutting him out.

Damn it! After two days of superhuman restraint, he deserved more. He’d read the pain so clear in her expression after their kiss and he’d respected her need for space. It had almost killed him, reining in the drive to claim her. To bind her close in his arms and not let her escape till he found satisfaction. That kiss, a mere taste of her treasures, had only titillated.

He needed more. Far more.

What had begun as an idle amusement had become a raw compulsion. He’d recognised her wariness, her fear, and gone slow. But he’d seen the hot desire in her unconscious responses and now it was time to act.

‘Yes, extremely lucky.’ He took another step towards her, close enough to feel the heat she generated and hear the hasty breath she sucked in. ‘My ancestors fought long and hard to win this territory and keep it safe for their people.’

‘And now you enjoy the benefits.’

Still her head was averted. Was she afraid of what he might read in her face? The thought spurred him. He leaned forward and placed one hand on the balustrade beside hers. There was a neatness to it—her hand, small and delicate, yet, he knew, clever and capable, beside his own. She’d be like that all over: skin pale and soft, dainty and feminine. In his mind’s eye he could picture his own darker, larger hand moving slowly across her bare flesh, sliding, caressing, discovering. He could almost hear her sighs as he located each sensitive spot on her body and claimed it for himself.

‘I make it my policy always to enjoy the benefits on offer.’

Her head swung round then, her eyes wide and confused. Her lips parted and he wanted to duck his head and taste her. Instead he took a slow breath and reached for her hand. It slid into his unresistingly and he felt his mouth kick up in a tight smile of satisfaction.

‘Come, Rosalie. Our lunch will be ready. You can admire the view later.’

She was silent as he led her into the house. Silent as he took her through room after room, giving her a potted history of the fortress-cum-palace that had been built by one of his ancestors hundreds of years ago. He had no idea if she took in his words; he barely registered them himself. He was more absorbed in the feel of her, hand in his, the proximity of her so close beside him as he took her deeper into the palace.

‘Your home is huge,’ she said at last as they approached the end of a long passageway.

He didn’t tell her that they’d eschewed the public dining rooms, all three of them, in favour of a meal in his private suite. Even with his well-trained staff, he had no intention of being disturbed this afternoon.

His fingers tightened fractionally round hers, then released their grip as he gestured for her to enter his chambers.

‘After you, Rosalie.’

For an instant her eyes lifted to his and he felt the now familiar jolt, like a bolt of electricity, sizzle through him. Then she stepped over the threshold and into the suite. He fought to keep the anticipatory smile from his face.

Her exclamation of delight masked the soft click of the door closing behind them and he turned to see her standing in the deep semi-circular window embrasure that jutted out over the cliff-line. She reached out to brush her hand across the continuous round seat that lined it and then lift to the silk hangings, tied back to reveal the view.

His body thrummed an urgent message of need. He’d imagined her here so often, naked on that padded seat, or leaning back against the window frame, her bare arms outstretched invitingly towards him. The images were almost his undoing. Tension knotted his muscles and he felt the strain of imposing control in every cell of his body.

Deliberately he turned away and walked further into the sitting room, towards the drinks tray positioned beside one of the sofas.

‘Would you like a cool drink?’ he murmured in a voice rough with repressed desire.

‘Yes, please.’

He glanced over his shoulder and found she’d moved, bypassing the circular table laden with food, and was investigating the large telescope positioned before the next window.

‘You look at the stars?’

He shrugged, remembering the day—was it only a week ago?—when he’d first seen her through the telescopic lens. He’d known even then what he’d wanted from her.

‘Or the ships at sea. There’s a lot of activity in the shipping lane further off the coast.’ He put ice in a couple of glasses, then filled them. ‘I was in plaster with a broken leg and looking for any diversion. I’m not used to being cooped up.’ He turned and offered her a glass.

‘How did you do it? Break your leg, I mean.’

‘An accident on an oil rig. It happens. But, fortunately, not often.’ An explosion on a rig was disastrous. And this time it had nearly claimed the life of one of his men. If Arik hadn’t realised in time and turned back to look for him as they’d been evacuating, they might have had a fatality on their hands instead of mere fractures.

‘It sounds dangerous.’ She looked up at him so seriously that he wanted to pull her close and reassure her. But he couldn’t take her in his arms. Not yet.

‘Most of the time it’s no more dangerous than being on land. It was just a matter of bad timing.’ He turned towards the table that almost filled the window embrasure. ‘It looks like Ayisha has been busy.’

‘Ayisha?’

‘My cook. She seems to have decided we must be starving after our exertions on the beach.’ From the corner of his eye he saw Rosalie start. He wondered if, like him, she’d been thinking of exertions other than riding and painting. The suspicion pleased him. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’

Personally he was ravenous. But not for food. At least the meal would force him to take his time and not ravish her immediately. ‘Please, take a seat.’

He watched Rosalie settle on the wide padded seat beneath the windows and then pushed the round table in closer, within easy reach. He slid in beside her, close but not touching, and placed his untouched drink on the table.

The food was delicious. Subtly spiced, fragrant with herbs and unnamed spices, melting in the mouth at each bite. And yet Rosalie found it almost impossible to concentrate on the fare before her.

Instead it was the man at her side who took all her attention. Surreptitiously she watched his strong hands reach for dishes, lift covers, offer delicacies. A shiver slid across her skin as his fingers brushed hers. She loved his touch, had secretly dreamed of it all over her body. Now the sight of his hands mesmerised her into a haze of fascination and longing. She wanted to reach out and draw Arik’s hand closer, close it over her breast so she could feel its strength against her softness.

Rosalie swallowed down hard on a morsel of grilled fish and tried to concentrate on the meal.

She listened to his stream of small talk that reinforced the leisurely tempo of the meal. But there was no way she could relax. As each moment passed the tension in her stomach notched harder, tighter.

Arik passed her some rice flavoured with apricots, raisins and almonds.

‘This is one of Ayisha’s specialities and I can recommend it. Would you like some?’ The flash of his smile stole her breath and she found herself nodding, even though her throat had closed and she doubted she’d be able to swallow properly.

‘Here,’ he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, husky pitch that seemed to reverberate right through her, ‘tell me what you think.’

He lifted a fork laden with fluffy rice and held it out. Eyes as dark as her own midnight longings looked back at her and she felt something loosen and give way, deep inside her. Restraint? Caution?…Fear?

Obediently she opened her mouth, catching the flicker of expression in his eyes, unable to place it. She was too wrapped up in the…intimacy of having this man feed her to even try.

Taste exploded in her mouth—sweet, nutty, a perfect blend of flavours. But it was his gaze that had her attention. It was a palpable force, warming her skin, holding her still, waiting for his next move.

Finally she swallowed. ‘It’s delicious.’

‘Good.’ His one-sided smile sent a surge of pure longing through her. ‘Have some more.’

Again he held out the fork. Again he watched her open her mouth and accept the food. And once again she saw a ripple of something in his expression. Something at odds with the easy, relaxed pose of his big body and the slow smile on his face.

Hurriedly she chewed and swallowed. ‘Thank you. But no more.’

He raised one lazy dark eyebrow in enquiry. ‘You’ve had enough?’

Silently she nodded.

‘Ah, then we come to my favourite part of the meal.’

Something about the low burr of his voice, the infinitesimal strengthening of his accent, made gooseflesh rise on her skin. She shivered.

‘Really?’

He inclined his head, still focused on her in a way that made her conscious of the heavy beat of her pulse, the miniscule distance separating them.

‘Dessert,’ he said. ‘I’ve always had a weakness for sweet things.’

The words were innocuous. But not the way he said them. She knew he wasn’t merely discussing food. His very look was an invitation: flagrant, tempting.

Now was the time to leave. To say she really needed to be going. That she’d changed her mind and wanted to go home. Or that she had a headache. Anything to get her out of here, where this man’s ability to seduce with a look, a word, was the most potent force she’d ever known.

She could do it. She knew she could. If she wanted to.

‘I…’

‘Yes, Rosalie?’ He leaned a fraction closer—close enough for her to inhale the scent of his skin: hot, male, musky.

She licked her lips. This was her chance to escape back to safety. Arik wouldn’t stop her; she knew that with absolute certainty. She could scurry away to her private refuge from the world, turn her back on temptation and rely on the lessons of fear and caution she’d learned in the past three years. They would protect her from hurt.

‘I like dessert,’ she whispered after a long pause.

Immediately she was rewarded with the bright blaze of his smile, radiant with approval.

‘And you shall have it, Rosalie.’ His voice was lower, throatier than before, and she started when he reached for her hand, raised it to his mouth and placed a single kiss to the back of it. His thumb stroked her sensitive skin and she shuddered as awareness prickled through her, from the sensitive tips of her breasts to her neck, her thighs and deep in her womb.

He turned her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, let his tongue lave its centre, and a jolt of something white-hot and stunning burst through her. She felt a clenching deep inside as every nerve reacted. Automatically she tugged her hand, trying to break his grip, but he simply smiled and held both her hands in his.

‘There is no need for haste. We have all afternoon.’

Then he released her hand and reached out to a platter at the centre of the table.

‘Would you like some fruit?’

She stared at the plate, her mind slow, still catching up after the effect of Arik’s smile on her nervous system.

‘I…yes. Thank you.’ Her throat was dry, her voice cracked. She took refuge in a gulp of her iced juice as she frantically tried to get a grip on her churning emotions.

Had she done the right thing? Was she regretting the impulse to stay?

She waited for the icy finger of fear to trail down her spine, for the churning regret to unsettle her stomach.

But all she felt was a hot eagerness. An avid expectation that soon, very soon, she’d be in Arik’s arms. She bit down on the small secret smile that curved her lips at the thought.

No, she had no regrets.

‘Peach?’ he offered and she turned her head. He held up a neat sliver of fresh fruit to her. It smelled like summer and it tasted like sunshine as she let him slip it between her lips. There was the faintest brush of his fingers against her mouth and then his hand was gone.

Her lips tingled from that fleeting touch.

‘Aren’t you having any?’ she said as he held out another piece to her. This time his touch lingered against her mouth a second longer. Time enough for her to take in the slight salt tang of his skin and feel the passing caress of his thumb against her bottom lip.

Heat bloomed deep inside. Darts of sensation shot through her, pulling her straighter in her seat, eager for his next offering.

‘That depends,’ he said, letting his gaze slide from her face to her hand, grasping the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip.

Depends? Rosalie looked from her hand to Arik and then to the neatly sliced peach on the plate before her.

It depends on me she realised with a thrill of daring. Tentatively she reached out and picked up a wedge of fruit. It was ripe, slippery with juice, and her fingers trembled.

Did she really mean to be so…provocative as to feed him?

She took a slow breath, trying to regulate the rhythm of her racing heart. But when she looked up into his fathomless eyes, her pulse pounded harder than ever. His gaze was so intense that she felt it graze her features, brush over her throat and linger on her lips.

Rosalie offered him the fruit, the tremor in her hand so pronounced that she was barely surprised when he closed his fingers around hers while he slid the peach into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, smiled, and then licked the juice from her fingers.

A shudder of pure longing swept through her. Her nipples peaked, pebble-hard against her bra as she watched him suck the sticky sweetness from her thumb, her forefinger. Incendiary heat shot straight to the pit of her belly and to the moistening core of her desire.

Oh, my.

‘Delicious,’ he whispered in a throaty voice so deep it resonated within her.

Still holding her hand, Arik selected another segment of peach and held it to her lips. This time he didn’t draw his hand away and she had to slip it from between his fingers. Heaven! It tasted of him. Or did he taste of the fruit? His thumb pressed against her bottom lip and she slid her tongue along it, watching the glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. Cautiously she parted her lips a little wider and took his thumb into her mouth, sucking the sweetness from it.

The searing pleasure in his expression reflected her own excitement, told her this was a mutual delight.

That was a heady realisation. For the first time she felt a thrill of power, knowing she could affect him so.

He might be the master at this, but even the novice had something to offer.

She reached for another piece of fruit and felt an unravelling, unsettling sensation as she watched him eat from her hand, then use his tongue to swipe up the juice on each of her fingers.

Her eyelids drifted down on a wordless sigh. She felt…everything. Her skin had grown so sensitised that even the lap of his tongue over a fingertip, the caress of his lips on her palm, was enough to seduce her into ecstasy.

‘Rosalie.’At the sound of his voice she opened her eyes and found him leaning closer, offering her another piece. Obediently she took the segment but she was clumsy and juice dribbled from her lips.

He still held her hand in his so she lifted her other one to wipe away the moisture. But she was too late. Already he’d moved, tilting his head to catch the droplet of juice with his tongue.

She shuddered at the sensual impact of his mouth on her flesh, smoothing along her chin. She felt his breath on her, scented him in her short, urgent gasps and shut her eyes against the dizzying onslaught of awareness. He kissed her jaw line, the corner of her mouth, across the sensitive spot beneath her ear that sent arrows of heat to every nerve in her body.

Her head lolled back as he pressed his lips to her throat, evoking the most exquisite sense of abandonment. If he put his hands on her now she’d welcome his touch. Revel in it.

And then, suddenly, he was gone. Rosalie opened her eyes to find him watching her, so close that she had only to lean forward a little to bring her lips to his.

For a heartbeat she stalled in thought, wondering, wishing. And in that instant Arik moved, shifting back in his seat and half turning away.

Panic shot through her. Had he changed his mind? He must know she wanted him. She sat up straighter just as he turned and held out a small damp cloth.

His expression was tight, almost hard, as he wiped the cloth across her chin and then her hands, removing the last sticky traces of peach. Then he flung the linen on to the table and fixed his eyes on hers.

What she saw there stole her voice. Gone was the laid-back insouciance she’d come to expect from Arik. The teasing half smile. Even the enigmatic stare.

Now his face seemed cast in hard bronze, drawn tight with the force of a compulsion he couldn’t hide. On any other man that look would have frightened her.

On Arik it excited her.

‘It’s time,’ he said, reaching out and enfolding both her hands in his. ‘You’ve decided, haven’t you, Rosalie?’

He paused, awaiting her response. Words were beyond her, so she nodded.

‘Good.’ Already he was drawing her to her feet. ‘At last we will be lovers.’