Captivated by the Sheikh: For the Sheikh's Pleasure / In the Sheikh's Arms / Sheikh Surgeon

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There was nothing but Arik and the dazzle of stars behind her closed eyelids.

But then, suddenly, there was more. One single, smooth, never-ending surge of movement drew him forward, impossibly filling her. She opened her eyes to see him poised above her, his face almost unrecognisable from the tension that held him so tight in its grip.

For an instant there was no movement but the rise and fall of their chests, each breathing deeply, struggling to find equilibrium.

‘Lift your other leg, sweetheart.’

Slowly she complied, and then it seemed automatically he slid forward a fraction to rest deep within her. Rosalie’s eyes widened.

‘That’s it, little one.’ His kiss was a reward, a glorious, sensuous caress that made her bones melt, even as he moved again, rocking against her.

It felt…it felt…wonderful.

Rosalie slid her hands over the bunched muscles of his shoulders and down to wrap her arms around his back, to hold him close as he pushed forward again. There was something sparking between them, something that made her rise up to meet his next thrust and the next: eager, ready for him.

Their tempo increased, their bodies grew hot, slick from excitement and exertion. Rosalie felt again the welling, tingling sensation in her blood. She heard her pulse roar in her ears, heard Arik’s breathing. Then his mouth closed over hers, his tongue thrusting deep even as he rocked into the centre of her being.

She tasted him, dark and rich. Scented his skin. She was part of him, his body sliding with hers, drawing her into a whirling, rushing storm of glorious commotion.

And then it came—a crashing wave of fulfilment, breaking over both of them. Desperate, she clung to Arik like a lifeline in a stormy sea. He was the one solid reality as her world shattered, bursting apart in a conflagration that shook her to her core. She had no words to express what she felt, only knew it was beyond her expectations, her hopes, even her fantasies.

And the fact that it was Arik gathering her close in strong arms that trembled with the force of their climax, holding her as if he’d never let her go, was most important of all.

How could this happen between two strangers?

It was far more surely than a union of bodies. It felt like a communion of souls.

Rosalie drew a deep shuddering breath, inhaling his heat and his musky scent.

Casual sex wasn’t supposed to be this…perfect, was it?

What had she got herself into?

Chapter Eight

‘THAT sounds like fun, Amy. What are you doing with Grandma tomorrow?’ Rosalie shifted her grip on the phone as her daughter began a breathless description of her planned visit to puppies in the stables and a pony who took carrots from her outstretched hand. Obviously they were far more interesting to a toddler than the grandeur of the centuries-old palace where she was staying.

Though she had been impressed with Uncle Rafiq, the tall, smiling man who swept her up in his arms and swung her round till she squealed.

Rosalie’s mum was right. Amy was having a great time with her family fussing over her. Not only that, but Rafiq’s small army of royal servants were spoiling her too, apparently besotted by Amy’s grin and sunny temperament.

The door to Rosalie’s left opened and the smile on her face slipped a little as Arik came into the room. His gaze caught hers and that gleaming dark look made her mouth dry. Like her, he wore a long, loose robe. But, far from making him look effeminate, the outfit somehow accentuated the width of his shoulders, the whipcord strength of his body, his innate masculinity.

Just a single stare from this man sent a wave of heat roaring through her. She watched him pace into the room and her palms prickled in excitement as she remembered the way he’d loved her this afternoon. The world of sensual pleasure he’d opened up for her.

Finally, half an hour ago, he’d pressed a last bone-melting kiss to her lips before leaving her, saying she’d no doubt want to telephone her daughter. Only then had she realised the afternoon had sped by as she’d lain in his arms. Shame had washed through her, that it was he rather than her who’d remembered her responsibilities. That she’d been in danger of forgetting her call to Amy.

And now, just the sight of him made it hard to concentrate on Amy’s chatter.

What sort of mother was she? Surely there was something wrong with her priorities. Nothing was more important to her than her daughter.

What was happening to her?

Arik didn’t approach. He gave her a slow smile that sent liquid heat spilling down her spine. Then he disappeared through the door to the huge bathroom. It was a relief when he was out of sight and that sensual connection was severed.

An instant later she heard the sound of running water. She blinked, trying to bring her mind back to her call.

‘I have to go now, Mummy. G’anma says it’s time to hang up.’

‘All right, sweetheart. You be a good girl for Grandma and Auntie Belle and I’ll see you soon.’

‘I will, Mummy. Bye, bye.’

‘Bye, darling.’

Slowly Rosalie switched off the phone and put it beside the huge bed. Another sign of Arik’s generosity, or more likely his enormous wealth. He didn’t know Amy was actually in Q’aroum rather than at home in Australia. He would have assumed when he’d offered Rosalie the use of the phone that she’d be making an international call.

It only highlighted the difference between Arik’s world and her life of stretching to make ends meet. Despite persistent offers from Belle, Rosalie had been so determined to stand on her own two feet she’d accepted little financial help. The holiday to Q’aroum was an exception.

‘You didn’t need to end your call just yet.’ Arik’s deep voice interrupted her reverie and she looked up to find him framed by the doorway, watching her.

The look in his eyes made her shiver. Or perhaps it was remembered delight. She’d never experienced that incandescent burst of joy, that absolute sense of oneness with another person in her life. Arik had been all her fantasies rolled into one—strong, passionate and indescribably gentle. She felt as if she’d unwittingly given up part of herself to him through the act of making love. At the time it had seemed right—more than that, it had seemed perfect. Now the idea created a niggle of unease deep inside her.

She was in danger of getting in too deep. It was one thing to think in terms of a holiday fling with a gorgeous man: a safe way to experience passion and then move on, back to her ordinary life, her curiosity satisfied.

But this was something else altogether. It was as if an unseen link stretched between them. Even now she felt it tightening, tugging at her as he strode over to the bed.

She looked up into his black eyes and knew it was an unwinnable battle, trying to remain unmoved by him. He was in her blood, in her very bones. Somehow she’d absorbed him into herself. She had an overwhelming fear that now she’d never be the same again. Never be whole without him.

‘Your daughter is well?’ He smiled down at her and the melting rush of desire in the pit of her stomach commenced again.

‘She’s having a ball.’ Rosalie ignored the breathless quality of her voice, swallowing hard at the excitement humming through her, just being close to him again. ‘She’s with her aunt and uncle and my mother. I suspect she’s being spoiled rotten.’

Arik’s grin was a flash of white in his dark face. ‘That’s as it should be. Every child deserves to be spoiled a little by their family. And it will take her mind off being away from you.’

Rosalie tilted her head, registering his words. Most men she knew wouldn’t consider it from that angle. They weren’t so sympathetic to the needs of others, would barely give a thought to what a little child needed.

But then, she’d never met a man like Arik before. So utterly, devastatingly male but compassionate too.

‘You speak as if you’ve got some insight into it,’ she said, suddenly curious to know more about him. In so many ways she knew him intimately: his character, his passion, his body. But she knew next to nothing about his life.

He shrugged. ‘I’m an only child but I have a large, loving extended family. My childhood was spent learning discipline and responsibility from my father, and being indulged by almost everyone else. We Q’aroumis are especially fond of children, you know.’

‘And your mother?’

‘Ah, my mother is a woman of strong passions.’ His dark eyes flashed. ‘It was she who taught me to follow my heart. She believes that you can achieve whatever you set your heart on, so long as you never give up.’

Arik leaned close, his intense expression making her feel suddenly vulnerable. Something akin to apprehension skittered through her as she looked up, up at him. The stark planes and angles of his face were more pronounced in the late afternoon light, emphasising his strength and the slightly exotic cast of his features.

He’s a stranger, whispered a voice in her head. A man you barely know, and yet you let him—

No! She knew Arik in the ways that counted. Knew his integrity, his caring. She knew exactly where she stood with him. They’d made a bargain. She was perfectly safe.

And yet…when he stared at her like that it made her wonder.

‘Come.’ He stepped forward and slid his hands beneath her, hauling her up into his arms. Automatically she clung to him, her hands linking round his neck. Her heart thudded to a quickening beat, just being in contact with him again. She revelled in the now familiar heat of his body against hers.

‘Where are we going?’

His black gaze held hers in a look that made the blood rush to her face and anticipation sizzle in the pit of her stomach.

‘Enough talking for now, Rosalie.’ He shouldered his way through the open door and into the enormous bathroom.

Her eyes widened as she took in the octagonal room. On four sides huge windows gave out on to the spectacular cliff top view. And in the centre, right below the domed gilt ceiling, was the largest bath she’d ever seen. It was sunk into the floor, half filled with steamy water and bubbles. Sandalwood scented the air and something else—some fragrance that was heavy and lush.

Her racing heartbeat slowed to a lazy expectant beat. Then he was putting her down, letting her slide, inch by tantalising inch, down his body. Like her he was naked beneath the robe. And somehow the fact that they were both fully covered only enhanced the sensuality of the experience. The slide of hot silk against her flesh. The press of his hard body, ridged with muscle and flagrantly aroused, yet covered in the finest cotton, was even more erotic than seeing him naked.

Rosalie’s mouth was dry as she found her footing. Her hands were linked around his neck. She tightened her hold, drawing his head closer while she rose on tiptoe.

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Not yet.’

Her expression must have revealed her disappointment for he lifted one hand to her mouth, pressed his thumb against her bottom lip till she opened for him, and she tasted him, warm and salty on her tongue. Heat burst in the pit of her belly and down her legs, till she trembled where she stood.

‘Soon,’ he promised. Then, with one swift movement, he bent and gathered the silken skirts of her gown in his hands, skimming the fabric up her legs. Up and up till she felt the whisper-soft afternoon breeze on her thighs, her stomach, her breasts.

She watched the play of muscles in his upper arms as he flung the gossamer-thin robe to the floor.

Now his hands brushed against her, feathering up her legs, over her buttocks, her hips, her waist, to her breasts, heavy with the weight of desire. Moist heat pooled between her legs as she looked deep into his eyes. They were glazed with an excitement that matched her own.

Cotton bunched in her fingers. She lifted the weight of his robe, scrabbling a little as the fabric shifted. Underneath the material she felt tantalising traces of his body—the heavy weight of his muscled thigh as she bent low, the angle of his hip-bone and the ridged muscles of his abdomen. There was a hiss of breath as she shoved the robe higher, her hand sliding across his chest. Then he bent his head, allowed her to draw the garment off him and toss it away.

A weight settled on her chest, pressing down, making it hard to breathe as she skimmed his body with her gaze.

He was magnificent.

‘If you look at me like that, this will be over before it’s begun.’

She slanted a look up at his face. He seemed to be in pain, so great was the tension there. Had she done that to him? Her presence? Her body? It was a heady thought.

‘Get in the bath, Rosalie, and I’ll join you in a moment.’ His voice was soft, a whisper. But he’d lost his smooth tones. Now his words were rough, as if something grated deep inside him. The sound was a primal message of barely restrained hunger that fed her excitement.

Quickly she turned and stepped into the deep bath, luxuriating in the feel of warm water sliding against her bare skin. In the knowledge that Arik would be with her soon.

He almost groaned aloud as he watched her descend into the foam. That peach-ripe derrière, the long, long legs, the indentation of her waist, so small he could almost span it with his hands. He fumbled, rolling on the condom. His whole body was shaking, throbbing with the force of his desire.

She turned, her eyes wide as she watched him lower himself into the bath, reminding him that, for all her enthusiasm and her natural sensuality, Rosalie was a woman of little experience.

The shock on her face as they’d become one, the wonder in her expression as she’d scaled the heights of passion, the hesitant way she’d embraced him at first…it had almost been like making love to a virgin.

The experience had been new to him. Far too quickly he’d become hooked by the thrill of surprising her, of teaching her about her body’s own sweet secrets. And when she’d reciprocated, caressing him, moving with him, it had been as if together they’d ignited dynamite. The explosive force of their joint climax had deserved a Richter scale warning.

He was a man who enjoyed women. Enjoyed sex. He was a man of some experience. But nothing, ever, had matched the sheer ecstasy of making love to Rosalie Winters.

He’d wanted her again almost immediately. Even now he couldn’t say how he’d managed to tear himself away long enough for her to recover and to phone home.

It would be the challenge of a lifetime to take this slow. She was temptation personified. She looked at him with those huge green eyes, her lips pouted and pink, her nipples teasing him, just peeping up through the bubbles when she moved. Involuntarily he throbbed in response, just at the sight of her.

He turned and wrenched off the taps, wishing he could turn off his libido, or at least slow it down long enough to wrest control.

‘Come here, Rosalie.’ He lifted a hand in invitation and immediately she slid along the seat that edged the deep bath. Her hand rested in his and he drew her closer. He felt her hip beside his and immediately turned to claim her, one hand at her neck, as he slanted his mouth over hers, the other wrapping round her waist.

She was unique. He’d only known the taste of her for a few days and yet he craved it more than food or drink. She tilted her head back, allowing him better access to her mouth, and he took it, delving deeply, possessively, as he pressed her slippery form against his. He thrust a thigh between hers and felt the little jitter of reaction race through her body.

He smiled against her mouth. She was so ready.

When he cupped her breast in his palm she pushed against his hand, a sound like a hungry purr rolling deep in her throat. She slid against him, her hips circling, and he let his weight rest against her.

If he wanted he could take her now. With one swift movement he could possess her. Fierce heat pumped in his bloodstream at the thought of taking her hard and fast right now. Completion would be only seconds away.

But he held back. He wanted to give her more than a quick, hard coupling. And to do that he needed to hold out against the barbaric impulse to ravish. Somehow he had to find finesse. He needed to forget his own needs and—

Lightning struck to his heart as her small hand closed round him. He shuddered, surging forward into her intimate caress, unable to temper his hungry response. His tongue probed her mouth as he pushed against her hand, exulting in the sensation even as he recognised it wasn’t enough.

‘Don’t!’ The word was a low growl as he gripped her shoulders and leaned back. ‘Don’t touch me.’

‘You don’t like it?’ There was no teasing lilt to her voice and her eyes were serious. Something hard knotted tight in his chest at the sight of her doubt, the way she bit down on her lush bottom lip as if afraid she’d done the wrong thing.

She genuinely didn’t know what she did to him!

Breathing raggedly, Arik cupped her chin in his palm and felt her racing pulse flutter beneath her chin. He looked deep into her eyes, drawn by her honesty, registering her confusion.

‘I love the feel of your hand on me, Rosalie. Too much.’

Her mouth opened in a delicious pout of surprise and Arik cursed the need for restraint. He dragged in an unsteady breath as desire warred with caution. ‘That’s the problem. That’s why you have to stop.’

Instantly her hold on him tightened and another searing jolt of heat surged through him. He thrust against her, helpless to resist.

He drew in deep, scouring lungfuls of air and sought for strength. Strength to resist her.

His hand trembled as he gripped her wrist and drew her hand away, sliding his fingers through hers and holding her hand between them. With his other hand he reached down to cup her breast, squeezing gently till she sighed her pleasure. She moved restlessly against him, her body responding sinuously to his caresses. He took her mouth again and arrowed his hand down to the tender place between her thighs, exploring, probing, till she gasped and bucked into his touch.