The Sheikh's Sinful Seduction Read online

  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

  “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.”

  Fern smiled at Amineh, touched. “And that is why you are already a wonderful friend. You make me feel comfortable being who I am. Thank you.”

  Amineh’s compliment was the counterbalance Fern needed to her silly illusions about Zafir. It reinforced that she was better off keeping a low profile and continuing to resist his pull. Her employment and her friend’s respect mattered far more than scratching an itch with a man who couldn’t offer her a future, she reminded herself.

  Mother would be so proud, Fern mentally chided herself sourly.

  An hour later, a male voice said something in Arabic that made Amineh gasp and the girls cry, “Baba! You’re back! Where is Tariq?”

  Fern’s heart took flight as she looked for Zafir, but it was only Ra’id. She missed his response as he answered the girls while kissing their heads. The girls looked toward the trail to where the camels were kept and Ra’id added something about “Uncle” so Fern concluded Zafir and Tariq had hung back.

  “Miss Davenport,” Ra’id greeted with the sparest of acknowledgments before he dropped to sit next to his wife. He set one proprietary hand on Amineh’s hip as he leaned in to kiss her with unapologetic thoroughness.

  Fern rose to fling her sarong around her waist and begin gathering her things.

  “Oh, Fern, you don’t have to rush away,” Amineh protested breathlessly.

  “It’s your family time,” Fern said, trying not to look too flustered even though she was fighting a stab of envy so deep she could barely speak. “And I should prep for tomorrow’s lesson.” Because I’m a spinster schoolmarm who will never have what you have. Her heart wrenched in her chest as she acknowledged that she did want what Amineh had. Badly. So badly.

  “You’ve embarrassed her, being all sexy like that,” Amineh chided, nose-to-nose with her husband.

  “Can’t be helped. All I’ve been thinking about since we saw you from the plateau is getting down here to kiss you.” He kissed her again, making Amineh release a stifled moan.

  Fern walked away, deeply self-conscious, trying not to be obvious as her gaze traveled to the top of the canyon wall. What had Zafir thought when he had looked down on her? she wondered. He hadn’t rushed to see her, so apparently she didn’t hold the same allure.

  Oh, stop it. Of course she didn’t. She had to shake this preoccupation with him. It wasn’t healthy.

  She reached her tent and dropped her bag in front of it, then went to the side where she was using the wires as a clothesline. She hung her damp towel then swept her sarong from her waist and shook out the sand.

  “Fern.” Zafir.

  Snapping her head up, she pressed a hand to where her heart nearly left her chest.

  His shadow came around the side of the tent and his expression tightened when he saw her. He took in her swimsuit and the colorful sarong dangling from her loosened fingers.

  Contradictory messages went through her. Habits of a lifetime urged her to cover herself, but a more overpowering weakness held her still for his inspection. Her body tingled under his gaze. Yearning to please stripped her naked to her soul. She was behaving shamelessly, standing here like this without making any attempt at modesty, thinking of all the ways he’d ravished her in her mind, but she did it anyway.

  Did he know what she dreamed about?

  She looked into his eyes and felt a delicious kick of desire right into her belly. He did. The magnetic pull she felt toward him was visceral. He grew bigger before her eyes as he drew in a hissing breath, chest expanding—

  He grasped her arms, overwhelming her as he walked her backward to the tiny strip of sand behind her tent.

  She pressed her hands into his chest, more for balance, alarmed by how quickly and easily he’d taken control of her, yet incredibly weak. He wasn’t being rough. There was nothing forceful in his handling of her. She capitulated like her bones were sand and her muscles melted wax.

  When she felt the powdery give of sand beneath her back, she had another moment of thinking do something, but Zafir was looking at her mouth and her lips were searing with need. She licked them and he swooped to kiss her. She responded by parting her lips and moving them against his.

  A punch of pure desire went into her middle as the kiss deepened like a fall into an abyss. Her buckling arms fell away from between them. She splayed her hands on his rib cage and began lightly kneading to learn his form through the folds of his thobe. When his tongue flicked into her mouth, she dashed her own against his and white light flashed through her. The pressure of his mouth increased and she welcomed it, opening more for him, not able to breathe but not caring.

  His hand slid up her arm to her shoulder and cupped her neck, and the weight of his thumb almost seemed to urge her to calm. Like he was reassuring her they had time. He would be here a while. They didn’t have to kiss each other to death this second.

  She relaxed and his mouth played with hers, nipping, sucking at her lips, feasting on her, filling her with liquid pleasure, making her arch up to his big body, seeking more contact.

  He made a growling noise and his knee came between hers and parted her legs in a way that was so shockingly proprietary she opened her eyes. He lifted his head and watched as he peeled the strap of her suit off her shoulder until her small, pale breast was revealed.

  Oh, please, she thought, when she really should have been thinking and acting far more sensibly, but the avid light in his gaze made her feel pretty and wanted. Her nipple prickled, anticipating his touch. Aching for it. This was everything she’d been fantasizing about. More.

  He traced light fingers over her skin, watching as he tickled the swell, grazed the underside then settled his hand in a light cup. Hot. His hand was so hot on her cool, damp skin. When he drew his finger and thumb together in a delicate pinch of her nipple, the sensation was so sharp and exquisite, she could only open her mouth in a silent scream.

  He bent again, this time capturing her nipple with his masterful lips, burning her like a brand and making her twist in confusion at how flagrant this was. Daylight. Barely hidden from view. It was a familiarity she’d dreamed of, but hadn’t realized that it would make her belly knot with pulses of pleasure. Heat flooded into her loins, creating an ache that made her want to beg. Her fingers went into his hair under his gutra, but the feel of it was so sensual and spiky and masculine, she could only massage his scalp in encouragement, pushing the headdress off, wanting this to last forever.

  His hand scalded the top of her thigh, slid low and pressed to open her legs wider so he could cover her mound with his burning hand.

  “Zafir,” she moaned, dying at how bold he was being, yet it felt incredible. Hot and oh... Streaks of pleasure rocketed into her thighs.

  His mouth came back to hers, kissing her deeply, capturing her shaken breaths. “Shh,” he breathed and licked her neck under her ear. “Lift into my hand. Show me what you like.”

  She couldn’t. Didn’t even know how. But s
omehow her hand went over his and she pressed and arched and dug the back of her head into the sand as sensations glittered through her. She writhed with abandon under his provocative touch, dying at how flagrantly she was behaving, but she’d been thinking about this and wanting it and it was so much better in real life.

  They kissed again and again. She could feel his erection against her hip and rubbed, finding a rhythm with him that built the sensations. This was what lovemaking felt like, she distantly thought. Like heaven. Like nothing else in the world mattered except continuing to do this until they reached their nameless destination.

  He shifted his hand, fingertips sliding along the edge of her bathing suit and pushing it aside so she was naked to his touch.

  She gasped and turned her head into his shoulder, breaking their kiss as she dealt with the reality of knowing she was as naked and brazen as a woman could be. She looked up at him with alarm, certain she’d find judgment there.

  “You’re so close. Let me.” His hot breath caressed her lips and his fingertip eased along her center and parted her flesh with a stunning sensation that stole any willpower she had. She let him trace back and forth and explore her in a way that was so mesmerizing she had to close her eyes, but that made the feelings all the more acute.

  “Oh,” she gasped softly as a particularly sharp sensation pierced her.

  She felt him smile against her mouth, but her focus narrowed to only his touch, delicate and certain, pressing, circling, rubbing and rubbing, drawing her closer and tighter to the edge of reason, making her scalp tighten—

  “Oh, Zafir—” He covered her mouth as the sob built in her throat, reminding her to hold it back as he slid his finger into her and made her world shatter.

  She clung to him, overwhelmed by the cataclysm. Nothing in her sheltered little world had prepared her for how amazing he made her feel. Delicious convulsions of joy rocked through her, settling her in a place where nothing existed but him, his touch, his kiss.