The Sheikh's Proposal
Page 9
“I guess I could.”
Five minutes later Sara emerged from the bathroom dressed in the new gown.
The high jeweled halter neckline gave a false impression of modesty belied by the fitted bodice and the long slinky skirt that sported a slit up one side to mid-thigh. The back was virtually nonexistent until her waist. Sara felt alluring and mysterious wearing it.
She should have found the shoes first, however. Walking barefoot missed the look.
Or maybe not, if the heightened awareness of Kharun’s interest was a gauge. He rose and walked to meet her halfway across the room.
“You look exquisite,” he said slowly, his gaze running along the length of her body. Heat built as he continued to study her. “Turn around.”
Slowly she turned around completely, hearing the hiss as he drew in a sharp breath when he saw her bare back.
“Won’t you be cold in that?” he asked, his voice rough.
Sara shook her head. If she didn’t bank the fires his look caused, she’d burn up.
“I think I’ll be fine,” she said, pleased to hear her own voice sounded normal. “Your mother helped pick it out.”
“My mother is a Frenchwoman, of course she’d pick out something wildly sexy.”
“Wildly sexy? Cool!”
He reached out to draw a warm finger down her bare arm. “The men will be envious of my good fortune. The women will be jealous of your beauty,” he said slowly.
Her heart almost flipped over. No one had ever said anything so wonderful to her before.
Mesmerized by the heat in his eyes, Sara stared back at him, licking suddenly dry lips.
Kharun caught the movement and fastened his attention on her mouth.
Before she could say anything, he drew her into his arms and kissed her.
There was no audience, was her last coherent thought before dazzling sensation took over.
His mouth sparked a cascade of shimmering enchantment. Sara stepped closer, as if seeking more. She parted her lips and instantly felt Kharun deepen the kiss. His warm hands on her bare back sent tingling waves of excitement coursing through her. His tongue dancing with hers caused the desire that simmered to explode.
She yearned for more. She couldn’t get enough of him. She wanted to taste him everywhere, touch him everywhere. Her hands threaded through his thick hair, relishing the texture and heat. She moved them to trace the muscles of his shoulders, back to his head. When he slowly spun them around, she felt as if the world tilted. She clung, holding on to the one steadfast reality in a fantasy illusion.
Slowly they moved until she felt the world fall away. Only it was the two of them, falling onto the bed, amid the bags, tissue paper and pillows.
He held her tightly, cushioning their soft fall, moving his mouth from hers to her cheek, tracing her jaw, running his tongue lightly against her throat, kissing that frantically beating pulse point.
Sara lay half across him, feeling the rugged strength of his chest beneath her. Savoring the feel of his hands against her skin, touching her, caressing her.
The fresh breeze blowing across the garden from the sea brought with it the scent of flowers and the salt air but no cooling relief for the building heat. She was spellbound by the sensations that clamored for dominance—desire, shivering enchantment, sensuous languor.
When Kharun ran his hand down her side, slipping beneath the bodice of the gown to graze her breast, Sara caught her breath. For an instant sanity reasserted itself.
She pushed back, gazing down at him. Slowly he opened his eyes and gazed back.
Scrambling off the bed, Sara backed away. The breeze suddenly felt cold. The dress offered so little protection.
“What is going on?” she asked. The forceful demand she had hoped to make fell flat. It came out almost a whisper.
Kharun rose lithely and took a step toward her. Sara backed away, clinging almost desperately to the shred of common sense that told her things were getting out of hand. One part of her wanted to throw herself back into his embrace. Another part questioned her sanity.
“I kissed you, you kissed me back.”
“That went far beyond a mere kiss!”
“And that upsets you?”
“Of course it does. What’s going on? We agreed to a farce of a marriage to make sure we avoided a scandal. But we agreed it would be strictly platonic.”
“I’m afraid I don’t remember such an agreement.”
She blinked. They had said—what exactly? “I remember in the car—”
He waited, as a panther might wait before leaping on his prey, silently, without moving, but aware of everything. Sara took a nervous step backward.
Her eyes widened as she remembered. They’d been discussing the right to share a bed. She’d said he had to stay out of hers and she’d stay out of his. But now that she recalled the conversation, he had never agreed.
“The dress was a mistake,” she said.
“Why? It looks lovely on you.”
“It obviously gave the wrong message.”
Kharun laughed and shook his head, heading for the door. “Sara, the sight of you in that dress did not inflame passion.” He paused at the door and looked back at her. “Just looking at you does that. Whether in jeans or bedraggled khakis. I came to see if you wished to ride again this afternoon?”
She blinked, trying to regain her balance. Had he just said he felt desire for her just by looking at her? Then he asked about riding?
“Ride?”
“Horses?”
The sardonic glint was back. He probably thought her mind had been fried by their kiss.
He wasn’t far off the mark.
“Yes, I’d love to go riding. I’ll change now and meet you at the stables.”
Kharun waited impatiently in the foyer for Sara to change. He had not trusted himself to stay in her room while she slipped out of that sexy gown and donned jeans.
He hadn’t wanted to stop when she’d called a halt. He wanted her. And it had been a long time since he had felt such a strong sense of wanting for a woman.
Brief flings in distant capitals had been the norm over the last few years after his blazing mistake with Andrea du Polline. He’d made a fool of himself over her. She’d made a fool of herself over his money.
And since his father had died, he had not had the time, nor inclination, to seek out female companionship.
But Sara was different. Was that part of the spark that drove him crazy? He was sure she felt something around him. He was too savvy not to recognize the signs. Their kiss had been all he’d hoped. But she’d stopped long before he was ready.
He almost laughed. She thought it was the dress. Did she really not have a clue? Or was she playing a more devious game?
“I’m ready.” Sara joined him, dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved cotton top and her shoes. He’d have to see about her getting some riding boots. Especially if they went to the desert. Would Sara like riding across the dunes, chasing the stars at night?
They could escape away from everything—until they were alone in the universe. He’d dismount and help her from the saddle, letting her body slide down his, a temptation he knew he couldn’t resist. Spreading a blanket on the sands still warm from the day’s sun, he’d lay her down and strip her bare—until her soft, feminine skin was bathed in starlight. Then he’d make love to her until dawn.
“Kharun, are we going?”
He looked at her. Yes, one night he’d take her to the desert and make love to her.
“After you.” He opened the door and waited.
She preceded him and turned toward the walkway that led to the stables. He watched her walk, tall and proud. Her hips swayed gently in the tight jeans.
He felt his own pants tighten against him. But he couldn’t look away. He thought about what Piers had said—better a divorce than an annulment—at least the ministers might be fooled by such a decision. An annulment would be a slap in the face.
And after everyone had met her, no one
would believe an annulment anyway.
Theirs was a temporary alliance, true. But Kharun knew something bound them tightly for however long she stayed. He would make Sara his wife in truth as well as on paper.
When they reached the stables, he reached out and took an arm, halting her.
“What?”
“Just so you know, it wasn’t the dress.”
He leaned over to kiss her again, pleased to note the instant response on her part.
The horses were already saddled. Kharun helped Sara to mount, then swung up onto his own horse. He led the way to the beach, wishing again he was on the desert. The confines of the city and demands of his new position grated. He needed to feel the space and freedom of the desert. Soon, he’d schedule a week and forget Staboul and his uncle’s interfering ministers and show Sara the other delights of his country.
Once he reached the beach, he gave Satin Magic his head. He was not surprised to find Sara racing neck and neck beside him in only seconds. Alia was a match for Satin. He urged his horse to greater speed, relishing the sense of freedom, the exhilaration riding Satin always brought.
They thundered down the beach, splashing in the shallows, scattering rainbows of colors behind them, tossing up the sand in a wake they could track. Purely for his own pleasure, Kharun kept up the fast pace, but he also was attuned to Sara. If it became too much, he’d stop.
But she was a woman to rise to challenges. She did her best to coax a faster gait from Alia, never giving up.
The sun sparkled on the water, the air was scented with the fragrance of a thousand flowers. Blood pulsed in his veins. It was a great day in which to be alive, made all the more so with Sara’s presence.
The thought caught him by surprise.
Seeing the signs of civilization ahead, he slowed Satin. Alia raced past, then slowed and turned. Sara halted, breathing hard, as she waited for Kharun to reach her. Her face was ablaze with happiness.
“That was wonderful!” she said, then burst into laughter. “What a fantasy—racing a sheikh along the sea. Splashing in the water. I’m wet to my knees.”
He felt a chill. Was that all the afternoon meant—a fantasy with a title, instead of the real thing with a man who desired her? Was she like the others, after all, caught up in the trappings of wealth and titles?
Even after the hard run, Alia danced in place, anxious to continue.
“What’s wrong?” Sara asked, controlling her mount, and holding her still.
“Not a thing. You ride well.”
“It’s not hard on a sweetie like Alia. She seems ready to continue.”
“They have a lot of stamina. I breed them for endurance.”
“Do you ever take them out in the desert?”
How had her mind aligned itself with his? Was it fate?
“Sometimes.”
“I’d love to try that, if we get a chance. I imagine it’s even more wonderful—riding forever in the empty desert. No sign of civilization for miles and miles. There are places like that in the States and I love being there. Maybe I should have been a hermit in another life.”
He edged his horse closer, facing Sara, until their knees almost touched.
She was still breathing fast, her breasts rising and falling rapidly. Her gaze caught his, drifted to his mouth. Did she want another kiss? Was she as caught up in the sensual awareness as he?
Her lids drooped and she looked away, color staining her cheeks.
Kharun felt a wave of satisfaction sweep through. She couldn’t hide her own awareness. Now it was only a matter of time before he had her in his bed.
Knowing that gave him the will to be more patient. He would not rush her.
But soon.
Sara started her horse back toward the villa. Kharun turned and eased Satin Magic into step with Alia. The horses tossed their heads, but he and Sara kept them to a walk.
“What else was in the packages you brought home?” he asked.
“Another dress, and a couple of pairs of shoes. Your mother is a power shopper. She was telling us at lunch how she splurges every now and then and goes to Paris.”
“For her, that is the only place really worth shopping.”
“Yet she loves this country, that much is evident in her conversation.” Sara cast a sidelong glance. “And she is very pro you.”
“And you find that surprising? Aren’t most mothers for their children?”
“Does she know the real you?”
“Who is the real me?”
“A man who manipulates events to his own purposes.”
Kharun suspected where the conversation was headed. Could he defuse it?
“Did you take pictures?”
“I got some great ones. Jasmine was quite annoyed with me by the end of the afternoon. Every time I’d see something new, I’d ask Yasaf, your mother’s chauffeur, to stop. Your mother, on the other hand, seemed happy to have me photograph anything that took my fancy—from the lovely inlays lining the outside of a mosque, to the faces of children in the poorer section of town.”
“You went to the Sadinn area of town?”
“I think that’s what it was called. Angelique gave me a complete tour before we stopped at the first boutique.”
Why had his mother done so? She didn’t know the full circumstances of his marriage, but even if it had been a true love match, wouldn’t she shelter her new daughter-in-law from the rougher sections of town until Sara became more accustomed to their country?
“Your mother offered to have the film developed. I told her you wanted to do so, but she insisted she didn’t want to wait to see what I’d done. I’m sure you can intercept them when she brings them over to make sure I’m not photographing top secret places in my role as spy.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
KHARUN was going to drive her crazy, Sara just knew it. It wasn’t enough he suspected her of being a spy, now he was on some campaign to seduce her. Did he think she would then confess to some nefarious plot?
She paused with mascara wand in hand and peered into the mirror. She had ten more minutes before they were due to depart for the British embassy reception.
She glanced over to the bed and looked at the dress. Would she ever be able to wear it without remembering Kharun’s kisses and caresses the afternoon she modeled it for him?
She doubted it. She looked back to the mirror and touched her lashes with the mascara. She was nervous about the evening. She disliked large gatherings, how would she handle being the mysterious new bride of Sheikh Kharun bak Samin? She was sure to be the cynosure of all eyes.
“It’s just pretend,” she murmured, knowing no one else there would think so.
Her hair brushed, her makeup on—she could put it off no longer. She donned the dress. Immediately she was enveloped in the sensuous feelings she had experienced when she’d modeled it for Kharun. The silky material hugged her body like a second skin. The breeze from the veranda caressed her bare back. Slipping on the high heels, she walked to the full-length mirror. The dress made her eyes look silvery. Nervousness gave color to her cheeks. She rubbed her stomach, trying to quell the butterflies. But she couldn’t help wondering how Kharun would react when he saw her again in the sexiest dress she’d ever owned.
No time like the present to find out.
She grabbed a small, jeweled purse and headed out, head held high.
Kharun was waiting for her. His tux was elegantly tailored, fashioned for his wide shoulders, long legs. The ruffled shirt might have looked effeminate on other men, but on him it accentuated his rugged masculinity. He looked as daring as a pirate—or a desert raider.
She walked up to him, holding his gaze with her own. Butterflies danced in her stomach and she had trouble breathing, but she wouldn’t let him know. Tilting her chin slightly, she stopped right next to him—much closer than she needed to be. Two could play this sensuous game. She almost touched the arm of his jacket, but settled for looking at him from beneath her lashes and smiling.
Sara felt a shock of desire flood through her. Almost yanking her hand free, she tried to hold her smile. “Is it time to leave?”
He inclined his head, the amusement in his eyes disturbing her. So much for trying to maintain a sophisticated veneer. She turned to head for the door and heard him catch his breath. The sound gave her a smidgeon of satisfaction—he was still affected by the dress, or lack of its back. Good. She hated to be the only one lost in a fog.
The limousine swiftly transported them to the British embassy. The old building was made of stone, with tall columns holding a wide portico in front. Lights shone from all the many ground-floor windows. As they left the limousine, they could hear the murmur of voices and soft background music wafting out on the warm evening air.
Without time to even think, Sara was whisked up the stairs and into the huge reception hall. The short receiving line was solely comprised of the ambassador and his wife and another high-ranking official from England.
Show time, Sara thought. She slipped her hand onto Kharun’s arm. He bent his arm and held her hand close to his body. Head held high, she stepped out and the evening began.
An hour later Sara thought her face would crack from smiling so much. She had met everyone in the room, she was certain, and answered so many questions about how she and Kharun met that she wished she’d printed up cards to hand out.
Kharun stayed by her side, giving her snippets of information about the people she met before he exchanged greetings with them. He seemed to know everyone, she thought, wondering how much longer the evening would last. She longed for the privacy of her room.
To add to the strain, she made every effort to play the part of adoring bride. Why had she ever thought she wanted a career in acting? It was hard to remember to glance up to Kharun with what she hoped was love in her gaze from time to time. Primarily because she was so busy trying to focus on breathing. His touch seemed to short-circuit her normal functions. His hand rested on her bare back at one point and she almost forgot the question he asked her. When he laced his fingers through hers later in the evening, her breath caught again. At the rate she was going, she would be a basket case by the end of the reception.