Australia: In Bed with a Sheikh!: The Sheikh's Seduction / The Sheikh's Revenge / Traded to the Sheikh. Emma DarcyЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Let’s say it was whittled away very effectively,” he answered sardonically. “To the point where I prefer horses to people. Horses are always beautiful. You can establish an empathy with them. And on the whole, they run true to form.”
The cynical comment drove her to protest. “But you cared about Jessie.”
“I always try to balance what I give and what I take, Sarah. I pride myself on playing fair.”
“By whose rules?” she flared, afraid that what he might take from her could never be given back.
He laughed. “My own, of course. In the end, we have to live with ourselves so it’s best to stay true to what we personally believe is right.”
It was a sobering reminder of what she knew in her heart. Somehow she had to steel herself against the temptations inherent in being with Tareq al-Khaima. There was no love on offer, only bargaining chips. If she didn’t stay true to herself…yet what was true? Since she’d been with Tareq, a Sarah she hadn’t known before was emerging, a stranger with needs that swamped common sense.
While Tareq—damn him!—was always in control.
“You don’t need to stay. I know how to use E-mail,” she said curtly, focusing her eyes on the screen again.
“Very well.”
His withdrawal hurt, which was utterly stupid since she’d more or less asked for it. She tried to ignore the thud of his footsteps, concentrating fiercely on the words Jessie had written to her.
Please thank him for me…
She hadn’t.
“Tareq…” She spun the chair around to face him.
“Yes?”
He paused in the study doorway, half turning to look back, so supremely composed, so arrogantly confident, so totally self-contained, so frustratingly untouchable, it stirred a wilful streak in Sarah that furiously dismissed the danger of courting trouble. He touched her whenever he felt like it. She wanted to know how he’d react if she touched him, if he’d still keep his armour intact.
Her feet sped across the room. Her hands lifted to splay over his chest. She went up on tiptoe. “A thank you from Jessie,” she said, and kissed his cheek.
The next instant her hands were trapped by his, preventing their removal. Her palms were forcibly pressed to his body heat, transmitters for a sensory power that charged up her arms and exploded through her body, making every cell tingle with awareness of imminent and possibly cataclysmic change. His eyes blazed, scouring her soul of the petty vengefulness that had driven her, searing it with white-hot needs her mind could not even begin to encompass.
She stared back, helplessly caught in the thrall of his power, fearful of what she had triggered so heedlessly. She felt herself begin to tremble, shaken by the whirlwind of sensation beating through her. Her heart seemed to be thumping in her ears. Her breasts were swelling, tightening. A heavy, dragging feeling in her thighs was transforming into a melting heat.
Most shocking of all, he saw…he knew…and he said, “Don’t tempt the devil unless you want to play with fire, Sarah.”
Harsh, challenging words. No intent to seduce. No forcing anything. Demanding an unequivocal decision from her. And her memory spewed out the words…I’ve never taken an unwilling woman to bed with me.
Living by his rules…
Dear God! What were hers? How could they be so easily lost, overwhelmed? In sheer panic she clutched at safety. The alternative was too frightening.
She swallowed hard and forced out the one weak excuse for her behaviour she had. “I was only thanking you.”
“Were you?”
Her skin burned.
The searing fire in his eyes slowly retreated to a mocking simmer. “So be it then. Consider me thanked.”
He carried her hands down to her sides, released them, then walked away…a man of rigid principle.
Sarah was left feeling bereft…foolish…relieved. The truth was scorched indelibly on her brain. She could and had tapped into a furnace of feeling that would swallow her up if she opened the door to it. Touching was very different to loving, powerful but extremely perilous and not to be played with. Unless she wanted to be completely consumed by Tareq al-Khaima.
Surely that would be the ultimate madness.
Or would it be the ultimate experience?
TAREQ CURSED HIMSELF for being a quixotic fool. He could have taken her then. He could have spun her into a sexual thrall so fast, resistance wouldn’t have occurred to her. Instead, his body was screaming against the restraint he’d imposed on it.
For what? She wanted her curiosity satisfied. She wanted to know what he’d be like as a lover. She was so transparent…
And so was her innocence, he reminded himself savagely.
He headed out to the pool, stripped off and dived in, threshing through the cool water for several lengths, using up the explosive energy that had been denied its natural outlet. When he finally paused for breath, the needling tension had gone but he was still at war with himself.
He’d thought to give Sarah a good slice of life while he had the satisfaction and pleasure of knowing her in every sense. A fair exchange, he’d reasoned. She’d get to experience all she’d been missing out on and he’d enjoy giving her pleasure, showing her the world, being her teacher.
She was different to the women who usually peopled his life and he’d wanted to savour the difference. The bitter irony was the very difference that appealed to him, defeated the purpose he’d started out with.
It was cruelly obvious her loving heart would attach more to sexual intimacy than the physical satisfaction he had in mind. If he took advantage of her vulnerability, how would they both feel about it afterwards? She’d already suffered a miserable pile of disillusionment in her life. He had a gutre-coil to adding another heap of it.
Yet he wanted her, wanted the full experience of her. He was so damned jaded, her freshness had a compelling appeal and with her giving nature, her artless honesty, whatever he had with her would be very special. He knew it and he wanted it more than anything he’d wanted for a long, long time.
So what the hell was he to do?
The quandary was killing him.
He had to find some way around it.
THE CALM AFTER the storm, Sarah thought ironically, sitting through breakfast with Tareq. His usual gentlemanly manner had been resumed without the slightest suggestion of strain. Sarah worked hard at holding a natural approach to today’s activities, asking about the ranch they would be visiting, the horses that interested him, the people who owned them.
She fixed their names in her mind—Jack and Miriam Wellesly-Adams—suspecting the double-barrelled surname represented an amalgamation of two very wealthy families. She’d taken her cue from Tareq, dressing casually in jeans, a black pair which had a matching battle jacket she could wear if the afternoon turned cool. Her lime green polo-necked top went well with it. Since no critical comment was forthcoming from Tareq, Sarah concluded she was suitably attired, regardless of her hostess’s fashion standards.
Although dinner this evening was somewhat trickier. She and Tareq were to be overnight guests. “Classy casual,” he’d advised when she’d asked him what to pack for it. How classy and how casual were left undefined. Sarah hoped her new lemon pants-suit fitted