Captivated by the Sheikh: For the Sheikh's Pleasure / In the Sheikh's Arms / Sheikh Surgeon. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
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?