One Night with the Sheikh

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“That’s your deltoid muscle,” she said as she continued to knead the area. “You have quite a bit of tension there.”

The tension behind his fly began to increase with every caress of her fingertips. “Perhaps it is only stress-induced?”

“Perhaps, but I cannot tell for certain without an X-ray. You could probably benefit from physical therapy.”

The therapy she was offering him now was quite beneficial in terms of soothing the soreness. He could not say the same for his libido. And when she leaned over and applied more pressure, his palm automatically came to rest on her thigh, immediately above her knee, where he drew small circles with his thumb through the dress’s thin material.

Her hand froze midmotion. “What are you doing, Rafiq?”

“Nothing.” Not presently.

She released a shuddering breath. “We said no touching.”

He inched his palm higher. “You said no kissing.”

“Rule two, no touching.”

Despite her assertions, he did not bother to lift his hand, and she did not bother to shove it away. “Yet you have been touching me.”

“As a physician.”

“And I have reacted as any man reacts to a woman’s touch.”

“For that reason, I should go now.”

Rafiq predicted she would stand and leave, but she remained positioned next to him, both hands still resting lightly on his shoulders. He straightened, bringing their faces close, their gazes connecting immediately. He saw the indecision in her eyes, as well as a spark of need.

And then Maysa did something Rafiq did not expect—she broke her first rule.

Three

She had taken complete leave of her senses, but at the moment Maysa didn’t care. She only concerned herself with the play of Rafiq’s mouth against hers and the impressions he made with the gentle glide of his tongue.

At some point—and she had no idea how or when—he had shifted toward her and she had moved fully into his arms. A nagging voice demanded she stop before she could not, but she disregarded the caution. For once she wanted to be softly kissed, without undue force. Willingly kissed. She wanted to remember how it felt to be a desirable woman, not simply an object of brutal lust.

Yet all the reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this kept crowding her mind. She could be only a means to an end for Rafiq. A source of comfort. A temporary diversion. She was also keeping a secret from him. A secret that could ultimately destroy him emotionally, and her reputation literally.

Still, when he cupped her breast, she focused on the sensations, not solid rationale. He traced her nipple with a fingertip, causing her to shift restlessly against the building heat. But when he left her mouth to feather kisses down the column of her throat, sliding the dress’s strap down her shoulder, a barrage of bitter memories prompted her to automatically tense.

Rafiq reacted to her sudden change in mood by abruptly rising from the sofa, leaving Maysa alone steeped in self-consciousness. He walked away, his hands laced behind his neck, and stopped in the middle of the terrace, keeping his back to her.

“I’m sorry,” Maysa muttered as she readjusted her clothing. “I have no idea what has come over me. We shouldn’t be doing this.” She’d begun to wonder if she could do it, even if she wanted to.

Rafiq dropped his arms to his sides and faced her again. “I am not sorry, yet I am convinced this will keep happening between us.”

So was Maysa, unless she revealed the absolute truth behind her reluctance. She wasn’t willing to do that. “We’ll simply need to avoid situations such as this. Following dinner each evening, I will return to my quarters, and you will return to yours. We will keep our distance during the day, as well.”

He shifted his weight slightly. “And I will lie awake all night, imagining how it would be to touch you with my hands and my mouth in ways I never did when we were younger. I will dream about how it would feel to be buried deep inside you. And each time I see you, I will want the reality.”

The heat returned, prompting Maysa to cross her legs. “Then perhaps it would be best if you found another place for your respite.”

“I care not to be anywhere else.”

Truthfully, she didn’t want him to leave, either. “Then I suppose you will be forced to rely solely on your imagination.”

“Or we could both choose not to fight our desire. No one would know if we became lovers again.”

How very easy it would be to agree. How very foolish if she did. “I would know, Rafiq. Nothing could ever exist between us beyond temporary physical pleasure. You are the king, and I am a woman who most believe is unfit to keep company with you, let alone be your lover.”

He rubbed a palm over his nape. “Again, we could be discreet. We could enjoy each other during the time we have.”

The fact he didn’t say she wasn’t unsuitable was as effective as a frigid shower. Maysa stood, hands fisted at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “I have already been one man’s whore, Rafiq. I will not be another’s.”

“I am prisoner to tradition and acceptable mores, Maysa, as are you. Yet that does not mean I would view you as my sharmuta.”

“Yet that is exactly what I would be to you, a woman not fit to be your queen, yet expected to do your bidding in bed. Answer your every need, yet receive nothing in return, as it was with Boutrous. That would make me your mistress.”

Maysa expected to see anger in Rafiq’s expression, but he only seemed concerned. “What did Boutros do to you, Maysa?”

“This has nothing to do with him.” Only a partial truth. “This has to do with us. I have developed a great deal of self-respect during our time apart. I am not that smitten schoolgirl who would have given everything to you, knowing I could never have a future with you.”

He released a rough sigh. “What do you wish me to say, Maysa?”

That he would tell the elders to go to hell. That she was an acceptable partner by virtue of her intelligence and skills, not her past. That he would make an effort to change the archaic laws governing the role of women. “Nothing, Rafiq. I wish for you to say nothing. You have already said it all.”

When she turned to retire to her room, Rafiq called her back. “I would rather die a thousand deaths than to wound you again, Maysa.”

And she would experience a thousand more regrets if she gave in to the sincerity in his dark eyes. “Then don’t, Rafiq. Be my friend.”

He approached her slowly. “I am your friend. That has never changed, despite the distance between us.”

Before she made another monumental mistake and walked back into his arms, Maysa left the terrace and returned to her quarters. And once she was safely in bed, she let herself imagine what it would be like to make love with him again, too. Yet the fantasies could never replace the reality. But the reality was she’d invited him here for a reason, and tomorrow she would begin to implement her plan. And with that plan came the opportunity to educate a king. The beautiful, sensual king of her heart.

* * *

Shirtless, Rafiq faced the double-paned window overlooking the veranda, allowing Maysa a premiere view from the partially open door. The strong planes of his broad shoulders, broken by a slight scar on his right, demonstrated he was still as physically fit as he’d always been. The indentation of his spine tracked into the waistband of his navy pajamas, surrounded by supple, golden skin. And below that, narrow hips and a toned buttocks looked quite touchable.

But she wouldn’t touch him. Not today. She had more pressing matters at hand, provided he cooperated.

Maysa moved quietly into the room, several items of clothing clutched in her arms. “Did you sleep well?”

If he was at all startled by her appearance, he didn’t show it. He simply turned and presented a half smile. “I slept as well as can be expected in a strange bed alone, knowing that a desirable woman is such a short distance away.”

She disregarded the innuendo, but she could not seem to keep her eyes off the downward stream of masculine hair below his navel, or that he seemed quite pleased to see her from an anatomical standpoint. “Well,” she said as she forced her gaze to his dark eyes, “I hope you are sufficiently rested since I have plans for us today.”

“Plans?” He rounded the foot of the bed and stood a few feet from her. “What do these plans entail?”

“I am traveling to the Diya region and I want you to come with me.”

He frowned. “That is over two hours away.”

“Yes, and I make the journey every Wednesday to treat the sheep farmers and their families. Today is Wednesday.”

“Why would you wish me to accompany you?”

“Because I believe it’s important you begin to understand the health care issues facing your country, including the lack of resources in remote areas.”

He appeared to mull that over before he spoke again. “The people of Diya never supported my father. It has been reported several possible insurgency camps exist there.”

“Perhaps they did not embrace being ignored by your father,” she said. “You could change that.”

He strolled around the room for a moment before turning to her again. “Would we be able to communicate by cell phone with the outside world?”

She rolled her eyes. “There are no cellular towers. The villagers only recently received regular phone service, and many do not have electricity. Some do not have adequate water supplies.”

“If I accompany you, I would require a contingent of guards for both our protection should I be recognized.”

“Not if you are unrecognizable.” She tossed him the army-green shirt and cargo pants. “If you put these on and wear sunglasses, no one will know a king walks among them.”

He unfolded the clothes and inspected them. “I doubt a change of attire would serve as an adequate disguise.”

“If you wear sunglasses and shave, that should suffice.”

He laughed. A deep, low, sensual laugh that sent chills down the length of Maysa’s body. “I have no intention of shaving.”