The Sheikh's Sinful Seduction

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She didn’t realize it, but that mixed signal of defensiveness and yearning challenged him to show her what she was missing. Just touching her bare arm had filled him with excitement. Something more could be truly volatile and he was darkly tempted to discover the extent of it.

“There are other ways to find pleasure without going all the way,” he pointed out, mind already several hundred meters down that road with her. “I’m having trouble believing you’re so inexperienced you’ve never been kissed.”

“I didn’t say that,” she retorted. “Just that I haven’t—” Pain flashed across her expression and she fixed her attention on the children. “I’m no supermodel. Men don’t find me interesting.”

Her bruised confidence got to him. It made him soft and weak when he needed to be strong and resistant, but he understood the feeling of being spurned better than most. Her lack of self-assurance wasn’t something he could ignore and allow to grow like a cancer.

“Don’t underestimate yourself. Men are lazy and will pick the lowest-hanging fruit. It doesn’t mean the apples higher up aren’t appealing.”

“Says the man who turned up his nose at the only fruit in the bowl this morning,” she retorted, then went red. “Ignore that. You’re right. Let’s forget all of this. It makes me feel ridiculous.”

Such a quick, defensive reaction suggested he’d hit a nerve. Her insecurity went deeper than he’d realized. That made him uncomfortable. He ought to let her think he had rejected her and leave it at that, but he couldn’t.

“I covered you this morning because I didn’t want other men seeing what I want for myself. You have my interest, Fern,” he admitted.

His words snapped her head around, her shocked face framed in the brim of her silly hat. A vulnerable softness that was appealing and very temptingly receptive edged into her eyes.

He reached for what little control he had, which was surprisingly tenuous.

“But do you know anything about our history?” His low tone came out aggressive and rough, colored by lifelong bitterness at the hurdles put in front of him by the accident of his birth and now the addition of this...denial of something he wanted quite badly.

“My father’s affair with my mother caused a huge rift in our country. He called off his arranged marriage, flaunted his half-breed son as his heir. Any hint of my Western upbringing is seen as a flaw by my detractors. If we were in London, I would seduce you into my bed right this second, but we’re not. So even though one of my favorite things in the world is finding wild strawberries in a field, for the sake of my country and quite possibly my life, you and I can’t happen.”

* * *

His words poured lava through her arteries. Not the part where he made it clear the consequences of sleeping with her really might be dire, but the part where he acted like he truly wanted to. That made sensuous feelings pool into her loins as a hot, heavy ache turned her into the ripe fruit he was talking about. Reach for me. Consume me.

She couldn’t look away from him and didn’t know how to hide the effect he had on her. With a kind of desperation, she searched to be sure there was no laughter or subterfuge in his expression and only saw his pupils flare.

Her heart skipped.

“What kills me is knowing you have options,” he said in a begrudging growl, flicking a glance toward Tariq’s guard. “Several.”

“What?” She glanced at the man who was nudging beneath a stunted bush with a long stick. “I’m not attracted to him! Not to any of the men.”

“Only me?” he challenged, but even though there was a hint of belligerence in his tone, it was a statement, one that made him nod once in satisfaction. “Good.”

“No, it’s not!” she said loudly enough to make the children stop and look toward them.

Fern crossed her arms, annoyed with herself, but Zafir easily excused her outburst.

“Miss Davenport is taking issue with my calling England soggy. She doesn’t realize I’m speaking with the affection of a countryman.” Turning back to her, he contradicted quietly, “If you began visiting other men’s tents, I don’t think I would react very well.”

“I don’t... What does that mean? You’d be...” She couldn’t make herself say it. It would be reaching way beyond her grasp and she’d fall on her face.

“Jealous?” Zafir suggested through teeth set in a dangerous smile. “It’s worse than that. My ego likes knowing you react only to me. It’s not civilized, but only half of me is English. The other half is centuries-old barbarian. I want you, but if I can’t have you, no one else can.”

Her brain was doing three-sixties, stunned by his arrogance, cursing her inability to disguise her attraction, and some wicked part of her was deeply thrilled by his seeming possessiveness. It made her realize exactly how seductive it was to feel wanted by the person who intrigued you.

On the other hand... “This is ludicrous,” she muttered. “No one has ever... I am completely English. Is this how you talk to every woman you meet?” She was blushing—of course she was—but she was indignant enough to feel her spine lock into place. “Because I can’t believe you’re acting as if this is...something that could really happen. I barely know you.”

“But the way you look at me says I can have you. I want to have you,” he warned, looking every inch the desert warrior who stole women for his harem and kept every single one of them pleasured.

A swirl of excitement spiraled downward from her throat to sting her breasts, coil in her abdomen and end as a spark between her thighs. It was a promise of something that had eluded her all her life and she wanted to hang on to it, kindle it and watch it glow hotter.

“You could help me out,” he said with a feral growl, nostrils flaring. “Tell me I’m wrong. Refuse me.”

She opened her mouth, knowing she should, but he stood there so commandingly. This wasn’t about her being too shy or intimidated to assert herself. It was about her being an honest person who was overwhelmed with attraction for the first time in her life. She wasn’t a victim of her own urges or his aggression. She finally felt alive and wanted to embrace everything about this glorious awareness.

So not a good idea.

She lifted a hopeless hand. “I told you men don’t come on to me. How much experience do you think I have with refusing one?”

He bit out an old-fashioned English curse, one she supposed was apropos, and turned away, too athletic to lurch, but his movements were jerky as he joined the children and admired the shots they’d taken so far.

Fern forced her gaze to the footprints he’d left behind, fearful that she was more like her mother than she’d ever be able to bear.

CHAPTER THREE (#ua518ce84-f233-502d-8f62-7772b0e09007)

“THANKS FOR STAYING behind with me, Fern. This has been a nice day.”

Fern couldn’t help a small snort as she lifted her eyes off the book she was reading on her tablet. “We’ve barely done anything. I feel like I’m taking advantage, having such a lazy day.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. This trip isn’t just about Zafir wanting to ensure he has the backing of the nomads. It’s a holiday.” Amineh came up on her elbow on the mat next to Fern’s. “Speaking of the men, I could tell you were curious. Do you wish you’d gone with them?”

“I’ve never seen anyone hunt with falcons,” Fern lied, hoping it was a sufficient excuse for the temptation she’d revealed when Tariq had invited her to join him, his father and Ra’id. Every cell in her body was begging to be near Zafir, but after a glance into his inscrutable expression, she’d declined and had spent the day feeling his absence. “It seemed like male-bonding time, though. And I’d probably cry if they caught something.”

That made Bashira look up with a giggle from where she was building a sand castle with her sister. They all looked exactly as they did when they spent occasional afternoons beside the shaded pool at the palace. Amineh wore her bikini and Fern her one-piece. They’d waited until the sun had lowered enough to create a strip of shade for them to lie upon without needing sunscreen.

“The question is, do you wish you were with the men,” Fern teased. “You’ve been glued to your husband since we arrived.” It had been four days and while Fern had had the children for a few hours every morning and afternoon, the adults tended to keep their distance, as did Fern. It was the only way she could disguise her fascination with Zafir, but her attraction toward him had only increased rather than abated.

“I’m sorry, Fern—” Amineh began.

“Oh, please don’t apologize. You’ve said before how much you miss your husband when he’s traveling or tied up with other things. I’m glad you finally have time together. It’s nice.”

“It is nice,” Amineh agreed. “Glorious,” she added on a luxuriant sigh as she settled onto her back, mouth curved into a smugly reminiscent smile.

Her contentment made Fern think that Zafir was probably right about what the couple was doing in their own time. It made Fern long to ask what it was like.

She was sinfully curious to know what it would be like with Zafir. At night she practically called to him with her body, aching for him to come to her and show her everything he’d hinted at. By day she was tortured with angst, trying to fight her obsession while hoarding the little details the children inadvertently dropped about him, wishing she could find something wrong with him that would turn her off, but he seemed to be everything she admired in a person: honest and fair and smart.

The worst part was, he’d said the consequences wouldn’t be worth an affair, but all she could think was that she didn’t care. She would never meet another man like him. Making love with him would probably push a self-destruct button on her future, making it impossible for any other man to ever live up to the bar Zafir set, but part of her was willing to take that risk. She knew she would always regret it if she didn’t.

So irresponsible.

“I should still be a better friend,” Amineh said. “Especially since you haven’t abandoned me for my brother, which every other female acquaintance has done at one time or another.”

“I can barely hold my own with Tariq,” Fern muttered, ducking her eyes to her tablet to keep from revealing how quickly she would turn her back on Amineh if Zafir crooked his finger.

“Ra’id likes that you’re reserved. He had misgivings about bringing a Western woman into our household. He was afraid there’d be...” She lifted her head to glance at the children, checking to see how closely they were listening, but they were debating the position of a flag. “Politics,” she announced with a significant quirk of her mouth. “So don’t wish yourself to be different. We like you exactly as you are.”