A Sheikh to Capture Her Heart

by Meredith Webber

  ‘Lust?’ he suggested when she faltered in her almost clinical dissection of what lay between them.

  ‘I suppose that’s as good a word for what we’re experiencing as any,’ she admitted, ‘and given I’m only here for a week—well, five days now—it wouldn’t have time to get complicated. It’d be like a holiday romance only without the holiday part—a fling.’

  He nodded, partly because he couldn’t find the words but also, in part, because he had no idea where to go from there.

  Taking her into the bedroom and peeling off all her clothes was one option, but it seemed a little abrupt—even more clinical than her words had been.

  Damn it all, how did he usually get a woman into bed? He must have some technique—some idea of how to get from a shared lunch to the bedroom!

  She was smiling, probably at the confusion that must be evident on his face.

  * * *

  Had she really just suggested they have an affair—well, hardly an affair, surely they took longer...?

  I wouldn’t mind one. She’d definitely said that.

  Put the words right out there in the open, in a cartoon bubble above her head!

  Well, the man was the most handsome, sexy member of the species she’d ever met, and if you counted tingling nerves, and a racing pulse, and shallow breathing, then he was right about there being something between them.

  But an affair?

  Well, hardly that, a fling.

  A very short fling...

  What the hell!

  She looked into those slumberous grey eyes, studied the moulded lips, and, as panic yelled at her to go, to run for her life, she heard herself saying, ‘Well, what happens next?’

  He looked so stunned, she helped him out.

  ‘Either I kiss you or you kiss me, I guess. Do you have a preference?’

  He made a growling kind of noise and drew her close, studying her face, running his fingers through her hair, eyes wide now with a kind of wonder.

  ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Well, I think I am, but the more you mess about the more worried I’m getting. Perhaps we should sleep on it, decide tomorrow.’

  This time the growly noise was more like a purr.

  ‘And miss tonight? No way.’

  Now, finally, he did kiss her.

  Well, she guessed it was just a kiss, although it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, sending her brain cells into a muzzy cloud and her body into a frenzy of desire.

  Lust?

  What the hell? Did it really matter?

  She concentrated on the kiss, on kissing him with as much heat as he was kissing her.

  Kissing him...

  * * *

  He felt her momentary hesitation, remembered her tears, and lifted his head, cupping her face in his hands, and looked into her eyes.

  ‘You’re sure about this?’

  Well, nearly sure...

  She didn’t say the words but he read it in her eyes. Nearly sure wasn’t good enough—not this time, for some reason, not with this woman.

  Though at other times would he have hesitated?

  Hell, what did he know?

  Except he wanted her to be sure, so he kissed her lightly on the lips and tried a smile, although he knew it probably looked as false as it felt.

  ‘Think about it,’ he said quietly.

  She eased her body away from his and nodded.

  ‘I think I need to,’ she responded.

  And with that, she stood up, thanked him politely for the lunch, and walked away.

  Out of his bure, but not out of his life?

  He had no idea...

  CHAPTER THREE

  SARAH HEADED STRAIGHT for the rock fall. Sunset Beach was her sanctuary on this island and the sooner she got there the sooner she might be able to work out why she’d suddenly taken leave of her senses.

  Calmly telling that man she wouldn’t mind an affair!

  That was what she’d said, wasn’t it?

  And from what part of her obviously impaired brain had those words sprung?

  Although, remembering the heat of that one long kiss, she doubted her brain had had anything to do with it.

  Even so...

  She was clambering over the rocks now as the tide was in, but her mind raced to find an explanation for her behaviour.

  Once on the beach she sat in the shade of the rocks—it was really far too early for her to be out here—and let the beauty of that special place calm her racing heart.

  In the beginning, all she’d had room for in her heart and mind had been her grief, the grieving process isolating her from others, so she’d barely noticed that the sensual part of her nature had died along with David and her unborn child.

  But seeing Rahman al-Taraq—Harry—again at the cocktail party had not only brought back memories of that dreadful day but, contrarily, had reawoken her senses. She’d been so startled by the unmistakable surge of attraction she’d felt towards him that she’d denied ever having met him and fled the party.

  Yet, once reawoken and stirred, those parts of her that had lain dormant would no longer be denied, and over the following weeks she’d dreamt, at times, not particularly of Harry but of the pleasant, teasing sex she’d shared with David, although sometimes in the dreams he wasn’t David, and sometimes in the dreams she’d wanted more...

  She shook her head, sighed, and stared out at the translucent water that ran over the reef through the lagoon and splashed on the beach near her feet.

  Was it because she’d finally got her life back in order—had put herself together again, albeit like a jigsaw with more than a few pieces missing—that her libido had returned?

  Whatever!

  It wasn’t the whys and wherefores of her returning hormonal rush that she had to consider but what she was going to do about it.

  Have a brief affair?

  A fling?

  Get it out of her system?

  But could that happen?

  Might she not want more?

  She sighed again then reminded herself that if she did there were other men out there—for companionship, a bit of fun and pleasant, perhaps even exciting, sex.

  She glanced up at the sky, hoping that wherever David’s spirit was he wasn’t privy to her thoughts.

  Then she smiled!

  It was David who’d taught her it was okay to enjoy sex—more than okay. David who’d taught her it could be fun as well as unbelievably intense.

  David...

  * * *

  Harry felt as if he’d been pacing his room for hours. The woman—Sarah—had calmly told him she wouldn’t mind having an affair then, equally calmly, had walked away.

  Well, probably not as calmly—that kiss had been hot!

  What made it worse was that she hadn’t actually said it was him she wouldn’t mind having an affair with!

  No, she’d just wandered off as if the whole almost clinical discussion had never happened.

  He had to find out.

  Would she be at the beach?

  He’d been told she went there at sunset every day when she was on the island, but today?

  His body was so taut with wanting her he felt the slightest bump might shatter it. He’d been okay until she’d more or less said yes.

  He tried to analyse his feelings.

  Attracted, yes.

  Desire spiralling within him, definitely.

  But strung tight like this?

  This was new and he was unsure what it meant.

  Best not to think about it. Go around to the beach—with something on his feet—and see if she was there.

  He saw her as he reached the rock fall, long white arms stroki
ng rhythmically through the water, little splashes as her feet kicked, her wet hair appearing almost black against her pale skin.

  He crossed the small sandy area to where her clothes were piled under a pandanus palm and picked up her towel, carrying it down to the water’s edge and waiting for her to come out.

  She rose like Venus from her shell, shaking her head to clear the water from her hair, the paleness of her skin seeming lighter against the black swimsuit that moulded a perfect body with full breasts, a narrow waist drawing the eye to her hips and from there to her long, long legs...

  She looked up, saw him—and smiled.

  The tightness in his body zeroed downwards, and his hands trembled as he draped the towel around her shoulders, holding it closed beneath her chin.

  ‘You’re shaking,’ she murmured, looking up into his face, perhaps reading the naked need he was feeling.

  ‘You’ve bewitched me,’ he muttered, his reaction to this woman so strong he wondered if maybe the encephalitis had returned and he was delirious.

  He breathed deeply, calming himself, then wrapped the towel completely around her, leaving his hands at the back of her waist, easing her body closer.

  Kissing was close, but for now it was enough to hold her, more than enough that she didn’t push away...

  Sea-green eyes looked up into his and her pink lips widened into a shy smile.

  ‘This is weird.’

  The words were little more than a breath of air, but her face told him so much more. She was uncertain, vulnerable...

  And he wanted to hold her forever.

  ‘You wanted something?’

  She’d shifted slightly and her lost look had been replaced by a mischievous grin.

  ‘You!’ he muttered gruffly, although he knew he was rushing things.

  This woman wasn’t one of the career-focussed businesswomen with whom he usually dallied, and he, for certain, wasn’t, right now, the attentive, caring, casual lover he usually was.

  That man had romance and seduction down pat, while the man on the beach right now, the man in his skin, was so damned uncertain he was shaking.

  She’d eased away from him, dried herself—hell, he should have done that, not stood there holding her. He should have been running that towel down her legs, over her curves, drying the pale skin between her shoulder blades.

  For the first time in his life he understood the phrase ‘pull yourself together’. It had always seemed asinine to him, but right now it was what he needed to do.

  As she dropped the towel on the beach he recovered sufficiently to reach down for the shirt he knew she wore over her swimsuit, then hold it for her, watching her slide long, slim arms into the sleeves, turning her gently so he could button the shirt, right there above the swell of her breasts.

  He could barely breathe as his fingers brushed against her skin, and felt her tension as she stood, statue-still beneath his touch.

  ‘Have dinner with me.’

  He’d meant it to be a request but it had come out as a demand.

  Expecting her to be offended, he was surprised when she relaxed and moved just a little away from him, smiling as she said, ‘Minions do dinner, too?’

  He hoped the wild swoop of pleasure he felt wasn’t making him look like an idiot as he smiled in turn.

  ‘It’s that kind of resort. I can order anything. What do you fancy? The crayfish is particularly good at the moment.’

  ‘I’ll try it,’ she said, then she bent down to spread the towel on the sand, slapped the huge hat she wore onto her head, and straightened to look at him again.

  ‘What time?’

  There was a challenge in the words and he guessed it was aimed more at herself than at him. It had been a while, she’d said, and now she was obviously nervous.

  But game!

  He liked that, liked it a lot.

  But then, there were so many things he was beginning to like about this woman...

  * * *

  ‘Will you stay and watch the sunset with me?’

  As soon as Sarah had said the words she regretted them. As an invitation they weren’t in the same league as ‘Have dinner with me’, but on top of that, didn’t she usually enjoy the splendour of the sunset on her own?

  Wasn’t it her special moment of the day?

  ‘I’d like that.’

  Her gut twisted. Things were really getting out of hand when she was having physical reactions to three simple words.

  And now she’d asked him, would she have to share the towel?

  He solved that problem by dropping to the ground beside her towel and picking up a handful of the coarse coral sand.

  ‘So white,’ he murmured, as she settled beside him. ‘Not as fine as the sand back home, but beautiful in its own way.’

  He’d turned to look at her as he’d said the last phrase but she refused to take the words personally.

  ‘For real beauty we have to wait,’ she said, nodding to where the sun seemed to be almost diving towards the horizon, the sky around it a brilliant red and gold. ‘As it drops lower the colours in the sky reflect not only on the water but on crystals in the sand, as well. I’ve seen it pink and red and even purple at times. A painted world!’

  He nodded, and she wondered about his country, about his apparent exile from it, and whether the sunset painted the desert sand with colour...

  And for the first time since the accident she felt curious about a place—felt an urge to travel, see a desert at sunset, maybe other wonders the world had to offer.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he murmured, and she set her wayward thoughts aside.

  Thin bands of cloud made the explosion of colour even more dramatic, the western sky alive with fire.

  He took her hand and somehow that was okay.

  Comfortable even, for they were sharing something special.

  The colours faded to beautiful, hazy pinks and mauves, and Sarah stood reluctantly.

  ‘Night falls swiftly,’ she reminded him. ‘I need to go so I can navigate the path safely.’

  For some reason she was still holding his hand.

  He had taken it to help her to her feet, so had her hand just decided to stay there in his—warm and comfortable?

  Seeking a distraction, she looked towards the now dark shadow of the rock fall.

  ‘You shouldn’t go back that way,’ she told him. ‘Come up the path and walk back down to the resort.’

  He didn’t answer, but walked with her to the foot of the path.

  ‘I’d have walked you up anyway,’ he said. ‘I do have some manners.’

  She paused on the first step on the path and looked down at him.

  ‘You realise the jungle drums will be beating before long?’

  He laughed, a rich, unexpectedly joyful sound that made her smile.

  ‘So let them beat.’ He came abreast of her and turned towards her, his voice softer as he added, ‘Is that all right with you? Or will it make you uncomfortable?’

  She smiled at his concern.

  ‘I think I’ve been uncomfortable for years,’ she told him, and took a deep breath to steel herself before continuing. ‘They died, my husband and unborn son, in an accident, that same night I met you at GOSH. We were on our way home. Seeing you again—at the cocktail party—it brought it all back.’

  ‘Oh, Sarah, what can I say?’ He stepped up onto the narrow step, and put his arms around her. ‘Nothing that would help, I do know that. I cannot even imagine such a loss, or the pain it must have caused you.’

  She allowed herself to be held, perhaps even snuggled closer, the physical contact, the security of being held healing another bit of her that had been lost.

  He kissed the top of her head, then asked gruffly, ‘And since then?’
<
br />   ‘People tiptoed around me, thought carefully about what they’d say, or didn’t say much at all, which suited me just fine because I had no time for anything but grief.’

  She eased away and climbed again, but this time with him in the lead and her hand still in his.

  It had been too dark to see his face as she’d blurted out the past, but his voice had been so deep and understanding she caught up with him and stopped beside him.

  Looked at him as she tried to find the words she needed.

  ‘I’ve been busy putting myself back together—like a jigsaw, or a broken vase. Coming to Australia—as far as I could get from where my life had been—gave me the base, then slowly, bit by bit, I’ve got it just about done.’

  ‘But pieces are still missing?’ he asked, resting his hand on her cheek, his thumb wiping at a tear she hadn’t realised was there.

  ‘Oh, yes, pieces are missing.’

  She smiled although she knew it was probably a weak effort, so she, in turn, laid her palm on his cheek.

  ‘Even if nothing happens between us, you have given me another piece—the bit of me that can be stirred by a man—the bit that feels desire and lust. And it being a fling, well, that’s right, too...’

  She hesitated, unsure how to go on, surprised when he finished the words for her.

  ‘Because losing love was too hurtful? Because you don’t want to be hurt like that again?’

  She pressed against him, silently acknowledging that truth, feeling his arms around her, holding her safe from hurt for what seemed like a long time.

  He kissed her then, just gently on the lips, demanding nothing but somehow making a promise of the kiss.

  They turned and walked again.

  ‘We’re there now,’ she said, and hoped he didn’t hear the hoarseness of desire in her voice.

  The man seemed to have unleashed a monster...

  ‘My villa’s second from the bottom. What time tonight?’

  She was talking too fast, rattling out the words because she’d suddenly realised she had no idea how she would react to those jungle drums. Her private life had been private for so long, and now, inevitably, there would be talk.

  Could she handle it?

  ‘Eight o’clock?’ she suggested, when he didn’t answer. That would give her time to be alone, to think things through.