Sexy Sheikh Bundle (Harlequin Presents)

by Sharon Kendrick

  She held her breath.

  Breath hissed through his teeth. After the severity and relative shapelessness of the abaya, he had expected that her feminine shape in the garments his seamstresses had prepared would please him. But his thoughts and preconceptions had in no way prepared him for this.

  She was a goddess.

  The blue skirt hugged her low down on her hips, the golden threads of the fabric winking in the lamplight with every tiny movement, the shadow of her long legs an enticing promise beneath. More gold bound her breasts, concealing even as it accentuated her womanly curves, leaving bare the exquisite skin-scape of her midriff.

  She might not have been happy about having her clothes swapped but right now she didn’t look as if she held it against him. He’d wanted to strip away all the shackles of her previous life, to let her absorb and enjoy the full experience of the desert without the barrier of western clothes to hide behind.

  And, if he was honest, there was more than a modicum of self-interest involved. He’d longed to see her out of her usual attire, her well-designed yet far too tailored attire.

  Now he had, he was sure he would never have his fill. She was a feast for the eyes. His body reacted in the only way possible. Inside him the hunger cranked up a notch, the need to possess her all-consuming.

  When he didn’t move she lifted her eyes fractionally, afraid of what she might see in his. She wasn’t disappointed. Hot appreciation, vivid and intent, blazed out of their dark depths, his chin set rigid as if he was holding himself tightly under control.

  Sparks ignited inside her, sparks that fired messages to nerve endings that tingled and buzzed. Flesh responded, exposed skin goose-pimpled, breasts peaked and firmed.

  Then his mouth slanted over hers and the feelings were magnified, intensified, as his need fed into hers. She tasted coffee, the desert and passion, the power that was Khaled alive in his kiss as his lips moved over hers, as his tongue explored her depths.

  His arms curled around her, pulling her in close to him, his hands warm on the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips, the curve of her breast.

  Pressure mounted inside her, pressure that turned the dull ache between her thighs into more like a pulsing imperative. Her hands tangled through the metres of cloth that made up his robes, wanting to feel not his clothes, but his body, firm and hard, next to hers.

  And close up she could feel his strength, feel the power of his need as she pressed herself against the firm ridge of his erection.

  His head drew back on a shudder as his arms loosened and she looked up, confused, missing his heat already.

  ‘Sapphire,’ he said, his voice a bare rasp, his breath fast and choppy.

  And instantly she was reminded of the times before, when he’d kissed her and pulled away, leaving her reeling and hungry for more and resentful of his control, and she knew that no way was he doing that to her again. She couldn’t bear it.

  This was most likely her last night in Jebbai. Her last night with Khaled. Her last chance to satisfy this reckless desire that flared whenever he was near.

  Soon she’d be back in Milan, alone in her apartment, no Paolo to console her, nothing to ease her regret for missing out on what she could have had.

  So this time would be different. This time he wasn’t leaving her cold. This time he could damn well finish what he’d started.

  She anchored her arms around his neck and pulled herself tight up against him. ‘Khaled,’ she whispered, her lips close to his ear, pressing tiny kisses along his throat, nipping his skin with her teeth and pressing her breasts into his chest. ‘Make love to me.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  HE SEEMED to hesitate a moment, almost as if he didn’t believe what he’d heard. But only for a moment.

  Then his eyes sparked white heat and he uttered something low and guttural, the words indiscernible to her but his intentions clear. He collected her in his arms and lifted her out of the circle of her discarded robe, breaching the distance to the bed in three long strides.

  He laid her down, amongst the soft covers and tasselled cushions, and knelt beside her, his chest rising powerfully, drinking her in with his eyes.

  ‘Magnificent,’ he said, his words curling into her senses, feeding the fires inside, as he shrugged off his cloak and tore his headdress away. Then he dipped his head and reefed his long shirt over his back and shoulders, balling it in his hands before flinging it across the tent.

  She didn’t see where it landed. Her eyes were on him, on the golden skin of his chest, glowing warmly in the soft lamplight.

  His shoulders were broad, his muscles well defined, his skin satin-smooth. She reached out a hand to touch him, spreading her fingers, relishing the feel of his firm abdomen, anticipating what lay below the loose white trousers that were his only remaining garment. Her fingers dropped to the waistband, slipping inside.

  Breath hissed through his teeth as one hand whipped out, snaring hers. And what she saw in his eyes—desire, raw and urgent, naked and demanding—edged up her own hunger. He pushed her arm down onto the bed, stretching himself out lengthwise alongside, his leg situating itself between hers, dipping his mouth to hers once more.

  Then she was lost in his kisses, lost in his touch and in the heat he generated inside her. There were too many sensations, too much to assimilate, such that all she could think of while he explored her body, setting fires wherever he touched, was that he felt so good.

  He felt so right.

  His hand cupped her breast, his kisses trailing down her neck until his mouth too was there. Even through the fabric his hot breath hit home, her nipple budding tight between his teeth.

  He moved suddenly and reached around her. Then her top was slipping down her arms and cool air met her exposed breasts. Cool air and his hot gaze. He made a sound like a growl, low and deep, before his head dipped first to one nipple, gently lapping, suckling, rolling the nipple, before turning his attentions to the other.

  It was torture. Her head rocked from one side to the other. Exquisite torture—but still it wasn’t enough.

  His hand ran down the length of her leg, floating down the silken layers of her skirt, and then up again, this time shucking the filmy fabric out of his path. Nerve endings screamed along the length of her body, sending off needle-like charges that speared direct to just one place.

  She felt liquid inside, molten, as his hand caressed her thigh—close, so close—and then he touched her there and her back arched as light like a flash bulb went off in the recesses of her closed eyes. His touch was gentle, sensual, erotic and she felt herself responding to him, opening, yielding.

  Yet still it wasn’t enough.

  ‘Khaled,’ she pleaded, her hands tangled in his hair, wanting an end to the waiting, an end to the anticipation. ‘Please.’

  He lifted his head from her breast and looked up at her, his dark eyes smouldering, so heavy with intent that it rocked her.

  ‘Nothing could give me greater pleasure,’ he said, raising himself up to his knees and tugging down his cotton trousers. Her eyes followed the motion, held captive by the sheer beauty of his form, unable to tear her eyes away from his sculpted torso, his flat stomach and down further, where the cotton fabric provided no restraint…

  And then he was free and anticipation gave way to apprehension.

  He was magnificent.

  She swallowed, suddenly less sure of herself. But he allowed her no chance to reconsider as he leant over, his mouth meshing with hers, telling her in no uncertain terms that whatever her concerns, he had none.

  She lost herself again in his mouth as he pressed himself close to her and in a few deft moves she realised that her skirt had been efficiently despatched and her legs laid bare. Then his fingers slid under the lace of her thong until even that was slipped away and awareness and expectation washed over her like a tide.

  Thigh against thigh. Breast against breast. Skin against skin. They rolled together on the bed, a tangle of limbs, and with the
hot promise of more. And with the last barriers gone, there was nothing to stop them. She was glad. She wanted him inside her, so he could be part of her, so they could be part of each other.

  He rolled away suddenly and she felt cold, exposed, until she realised what he was doing. But by then he was back and her mind processed his sensible actions with gratitude and appreciation.

  And it meant, oh, it meant that soon there would be an end to this endless aching need.

  He held her face in his hands, kissing her tenderly on her eyes, her cheeks, her chin as the seconds spun out in the suspense of waiting for the inevitable.

  Inevitable.

  Ever since Khaled had entered Bacelli’s salon, this moment had been unavoidable. Even from that first moment the attraction between them had been apparent. And ever since then it had been building, smouldering away, gathering force in spite of all that had happened to force them apart, despite all she had done to protect herself.

  This moment was her destiny, her fate.

  He took her mouth again as he raised himself up onto his elbows, positioning himself above her. His eyelids were heavy, his brow glossed satin with sweat.

  She felt his weight, settling at her entrance, testing, probing, and instinctively she lifted her hips to welcome him with her own slick need, wanting him closer still, needing the completion, needing to have him deep inside.

  And then he was. He plunged full length, driving his hips into hers, throwing back his head as if in triumph as his back arched over her.

  Time stood still. She was unable to breathe, unable to think, unaware of anything beyond the exquisite sensation of him stretching her, of him filling her completely.

  And then he moved inside her and a new wave of nerve endings came into play. Slowly he withdrew, only to fill her again and then again, and with each thrust the sensations grew, the pleasure mounted, wave upon wave of sheer ecstasy, building, always building.

  She could feel his tension in his corded arms, she could sense his own battle for control, she could feel her mounting need for release mirrored in his own as the waves rolled in, the rhythm quickening and threatening to carry her away.

  And then he took her there himself, with one final thrust that sent them both spiralling, shattering out of control, sending a tidal wave of sensation crashing over them, violent and primal, until it left them sweat-slickened and panting, their bodies spent, like so much driftwood left on the shore.

  It was enough. She came to slowly, her pulse steadying, her body humming, dimly aware that, while it was still late at night, this was a brand-new day; and that, although she was still Sapphy Clemenger, on another level she was a stranger, even to herself.

  She looked at him, settled into her shoulder, his eyes closed, his steadying breaths warm on her breast, his beautiful body majestic even in repose.

  He’d changed her.

  Never before had she experienced such need, such desire, and never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that lovemaking could be so mind-blowingly spectacular. Not that it had been bad before, just that in hindsight it seemed as though making love had been on another level, almost as if some vital ingredient had been missing.

  If this night gave her nothing more, she would indeed have some warm memories to keep her company during her lonely nights back in her apartment in Milan.

  Milan. She sucked in a breath. She’d be back there in less than two days, assuming the airport reopened as planned. And for all her desperation to escape from Khaled and return to Italy, the city itself had lost some of its appeal. Somehow she couldn’t see herself slotting straight back into work. Even involved in the crazy, fast-paced fashion industry, it was going to seem strangely dull after her visit to Jebbai with its enigmatic ruler.

  Maybe first she should take some leave, go home to Australia and visit her sisters and Pearl and check up on her baby niece. She was owed some time and it wasn’t as if she couldn’t start sketching up designs for the next collection while she was travelling. She’d talk to Gianfranco as soon as she was back in Milan.

  His eyes blinked open and she realised she’d been staring at his face the whole time. He smiled and reached out a hand, stroking it down the side of her face and brushing away the loose strands of hair.

  ‘You look…deep in thought,’ he said, his voice rich and low enough to make her toes curl all over again.

  She flicked her gaze away. He didn’t need to know she was having second thoughts about returning straight to Milan. It wasn’t as if it had anything to do with him. ‘I was just—thinking about my family.’

  He rolled closer, pressing his lips to her neck. ‘You don’t talk about them much, apart from when you went camel riding with your sisters. Tell me about them.’

  She tried to ignore the feeling of his mouth leaving tiny kisses along her collar-bone, although the sensation was strangely soothing while at the same time it seemed highly erotic.

  ‘I haven’t seen them for far too long.’

  ‘You’re not close?’

  ‘We used to be closer.’

  ‘What changed things?’

  She drew in a deep breath and rolled over, away from the distraction of his mouth, to somewhere bland she could direct her words, like the pillow in front of her. ‘Oh, it was nothing bad. My mother came back…’

  He said nothing for a few seconds. Then, ‘I don’t understand.’

  She turned her face back to him. ‘We thought she’d died when Ruby and I were four. It turns out she’d been living in exile at that time—banished by our father.’

  ‘How did you find her?’

  ‘Opal’s husband, Domenic, tracked her down to where she was living in England. He took her back to Sydney. She lives there now, in the family hotel that Opal runs. Dad died a couple of years before. He was always busy when we were young and it was usually just the three of us girls growing up with the nanny of the day. But Opal was our big sister. She looked after us better than anyone.’

  ‘You don’t like your mother?’

  ‘Oh, no. Don’t get me wrong. Pearl is lovely. It’s just hard to come to grips with the idea that I have a mother at all. For years we thought she was dead. And now she’s there and it’s just not the same any more. Opal has a baby girl, Ellie, who’s toddling now, and Pearl and Opal are very close. And Ruby works in Broome and is just so very far away.’

  He curled his arm around her shoulder, gathering her in close to his chest, stroking her hair.

  ‘I see,’ he said, softly kissing the top of her head. ‘You’ve gained a mother, yet it feels like you’ve lost your sisters.’

  She blinked against the warmth of his skin, surprised that he understood so much. ‘Yes. That’s exactly how it feels—except it’s still not like I can even accept her as my mother. She was gone too long. And now I don’t even know my sisters. Does that make sense?’

  ‘It makes sense. It is never easy to lose the ones we love,’ he said, his words trailing off, his hand stilling in her hair.

  She almost groaned out loud when she realised. Here she was feeling sorry for herself and Khaled had known real loss. Both his parents, killed in tragic circumstances. He’d probably give anything for his mother to be alive. And yet she was acting as if her mother’s return had ruined her life.

  ‘Khaled,’ she said, lifting herself up so she could see him, ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.’

  Even in the dim lights, his eyes shone bright and glossy, their dark depths granite-hard, his chin set rigid as he stared unseeing at the ceiling. Then he looked at her and something inside them slowly peeled away.

  It wasn’t her fault. He looked into her concerned blue eyes, his hand resuming its stroking motion of her hair, and knew that, despite her associations, it had nothing to do with her. It was Paolo who was to blame, it was Paolo who would pay. Already he would be suffering, his imagination no doubt conjuring up all sorts of despicable ways in which Khaled would be taking advantage of his one-time fiancée.

  He allowed hi
mself a smile. It was almost funny. How much worse was Paolo going to feel when he discovered the truth—that he hadn’t needed to take her by force? That it was Sapphy who’d asked him to make love to her. How much worse would he feel when he discovered that she was not a prisoner—but that she had decided to stay in Jebbai, as she surely now would, of her own accord?

  No doubt the irony would not be lost on Paolo.

  But then, in another way, it didn’t matter what Paolo thought. For right now he didn’t matter. Sapphire was here with him now, it was his scent she would smell on her, it was his body holding hers.

  ‘It must have been a dreadful time for you,’ she said, the breath behind her words falling like warm caresses on his skin. He sucked in a breath. She was much too special for anyone else. He could listen to her gentle words all day. He could watch the way her rounded breasts, her nipples peaked and taut, brushed against his chest forever. That was, unless he was doing something much more satisfying.

  ‘It wasn’t a good time,’ he agreed, feeling his need rising with the sudden urge to do something much more satisfying. He flipped her over onto her back again, enjoying her whoop of surprise and the way her eyes widened first with shock and then with anticipation.

  ‘But right now is a whole lot better.’

  He made love to her then, slowly, deliberately, taking his time, exploring her body and sharing the initiative with her when she chose to explore his. And this time was even better than the first, more tender and yet more passionate, more exploratory and yet more focused. She was everything he thought she’d be as a lover and more.

  And only when finally they’d both tumbled over the edge of reason again, only when he’d seen the blue facets of her eyes spark and flare into a fire that consumed them both, did he follow her into sleep.

  The goats woke her—with their early-morning bleating for attention and the soft jangle of their bells as the first hint of dawn light permeated the tent’s walls, reminding her of where she was. But once awake, it was the heated body of the man who slept alongside her amongst the tangled sheets and the musky scent of their lovemaking that proved the distraction.