For the Sheik's Pleasure (Sheiks in Love Book 2)

by Mary Jo Springer

She jumped at the ferocity of his action. The nefarious sheik’s nostrils flared.

  Wow! He was touchy about this subject. He really doesn’t want to do . . . his what . . . duty? Her barrage of questions had upset him. She’d been warned about his temper, but to see it in person . . . it immobilized her. She sensed him struggling to find control, his breathing coming in rapid breaths, his chest heaving up and down. Drawing her feet up under her, she pondered what he’d do next. Quickly, he changed tactics. He extended both of his hands, patting the air between them in a calming motion. Inhaling a tranquil breath, she again consumed his scent—testosterone, brawny, mouthwatering male. Letting her head fall back against the seat, she remained silent, letting him vent. His anger wasn’t directed at her. Within minutes, he offered an explanation. “She’s a royal. She’s been raised to accept the responsibilities, just as I have.”

  Time hung suspended between them. He threw his hands up in the air as he bent to collect the strewn papers. She couldn’t possibly comprehend the anxiety of not being in control of your own life.

  “I couldn’t do that.”

  He glared at her. “You’re an American. You’ve been raised to make your own choices. That’s how your culture works. I, on the other hand, have been raised to do whatever is necessary for the good of my country. To. Do. My. Duty.” His strong hands ran up and down the length of his thighs, almost as if he could push away his commitment to the woman in his future. The movement captivated her.

  “Did you love your husband?” His voice, a tormented whisper, coaxed her closer.

  A sad smile etched across her face. “With my whole heart.”

  He leaned forward, his fingers caressing hers. “I envy you. What happened?”

  “He was murdered.”

  His grip tightened, and long, supple fingers toyed with her diamond bracelet. “Did they get the person responsible?”

  “Yeah, he’s dead.” I killed the bastards. She swallowed back, tears welling.

  The corners of his mouth arched into a frown. “Good. Justice is served.”

  If only it were that easy.

  He released her hand and turned his attention back to his work. “I don’t have the luxury of falling in love.”

  “There’s nothing like it in the world, I—”

  A wave of his hand interrupted her before she had a chance to complete her sentence. “Please Ms. Danvers, enough. I can’t change my future. I don’t even know that given the chance I would, but at this point in time, I must be content with my destiny. I’m all about duty and family. I will marry Princess Naomi, I will produce an heir with her. Let’s just drop it, okay?”

  Reprimanded, she gave him a stiff nod. Reopening her magazine, she flipped through the fashion photos as he continued to work on his papers, the monastic quiet deafening.

  Thirty minutes later, Mustafa wheeled a dinner cart down the aisle. A pristine white tablecloth and sparkling crystal, along with silver domed dishes rivaling the five-star services at the best restaurants were set in front of them. Mustafa bent at his waist and lit the candlesticks; the entire cabin glowed in the muted light. What must their meals at the palace involve if this formal elegance existed within the confines of a private jet? Holy smoke . . . she could only imagine.

  Sitting across from Diyari, she waited as he opened the Bordeaux blend and poured her a glass. She accepted the bowled glass from his fingers. Sipping the wine, she found it a full-bodied red, hinting of black currents, spice, and cedar. It was heavenly. Tilting her head back, she let a satisfied “um” slip from her.

  His gaze zeroed in on her lips.

  Reaching across the table, his forefinger captured the drop lingering on the slight bow of her lower lip. Holding his finger up to his own lips, he sucked the blood-red drop into his mouth. The sensuous maneuver dazzled her, sending a torrent of white-hot desire barreling through her, clenching her lower body into a tight fist. She pressed her thighs tightly together to extend the sensation. His sexual appeal played havoc with her senses.

  Apparently unaffected by his actions, he pulled the dome off her plate. The delicious aroma of steak au poivre and pomme frites filled her nostrils. Until that very moment, she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Now, her stomach growled with a new ferocity, leaving her mouth watering for the succulent dinner. Cutting into it, she practically inhaled the steak, consuming every bite—licking her lips with delight.

  He fingered the silverware next to his empty plate. “You’ve enjoyed the dinner?”

  “Oh, very much so, Your Highness.” She replied, taking another sip of her wine.

  “Wait until you taste the dessert . . .”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat another bite for the rest of my trip.”

  But when Mustafa sat the Crème Brule in front of her, things changed. The creamy custard with the caramelized sugar proved irresistible. She sighed in delight as the first spoonful filled her mouth. Diyari smiled, his eyes widening when she licked the last remnant of the creamy confection.

  Shortly after dinner, the wine she’d consumed took effect. Her head began bobbing as sleep invaded her. They’d been flying for more than twelve hours, and she’d been up the night before finalizing the details of her mission. She was dead tired.

  She stifled a yawn.

  “You must be exhausted. Here, I’ve got just the thing for a tired woman.” Diyari stated, grasping her hand and pulling her toward the leather couch on the far wall that could easily seat six people. It was huge. As they sat, his arm slid around her shoulders as he pulled her into his side. He pressed her head to his shoulder. “There . . . that should be a little more comfortable. Get some sleep.”

  Yes. This was perfect. Her eyelids began to droop as his delicious essence swirled around her . . . heavenly, his heat . . . primal. His shoulder rock-solid beneath her head. She could almost forget her fear of flying. Almost.

  He continued reading the stack of papers he held. Boldly, she curled deeper into him. He pulled her arm across his body, making her even more secure. Beneath her ear, his heartbeat, strong and steady, beat an irresistible lullaby. Warmed by his body, she snuggled closer. When she heard his breath hitch, she smiled as her eyes slid shut.

  “Comfortable?” he whispered against her ear.

  “Um,” she mumbled, sliding into sleep. “Extremely.”

  His breath rushed out.

  After what seemed like only a few moments, Diyari nudged her awake. Startled, she sat up, eyes blinking.

  “What?” She questioned, trying to shake the residual sleep from her body. His next words accomplished that.

  “There seems to be a problem with the landing gear.” His voice was calm, but his tone remained cold, mirroring the seriousness of the situation.

  The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

  “What type of problem?” Fully awake now, she fought to remain motionless. Glancing out the window, she noticed hues of lavender and tangerine layered the sky. The sun was setting. She’d been asleep for hours.

  “The landing gear won’t engage.”

  There was no mistaking the concern in his voice. He weaved his fingers into hers, raising her anxiety level. What wasn’t he telling her? Lifting their entwined hands to his mouth, he kissed her fingers. Her stomach sunk to her toes as apprehension clotted her blood. Oh God! This was bad!

  “You can fix it, right?” Alarm threaded its way into her voice. Her lips trembled at the thought of what might be ahead.

  His eyes softened as he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Those steps have already been attempted and failed. The landing gear is stuck in a retracted position. We’ll have to make a hard landing.”

  How could she have slept through this? There must have been a great deal of commotion.

  Crossing her arms over her chest and jamming
her hands into her armpits, she failed to be strong. “We’re going to crash!” Hysteria took over, filling her veins.

  Guns—she could handle guns, and explosives and whatever else the terrorists threw at her, but not this, not this uncontrollable falling out of the sky. This situation left her with no way to save them. Helpless. Powerless. It was out of her control, and she didn’t deal well with that type of scenario.

  He reached for her hands, but she kept them securely around her body, warding off the chill of her fear. It didn’t work, and she began to shake. Damn it! I hate flying. Oh, that’s not entirely correct. I hate crashing.

  “That’s not what I said.” His voice remained calm . . . convincing. Oh, how she wanted to believe him . . . but she knew better.

  “We’re going to die. Just give it to me straight, I can take it!” Tears rose in her eyes, blurring her image of him. Like a little girl, her lower lip quivered. She’d thought the last year of dealing with the emotions of Bobby’s death had made her a stronger person. It hadn’t. If anything, she understood the power of death. Every fiber of her being cried out in defiance against losing her life. Some agent she turned out to be. At the first sign of real trouble, she crumbled into a pile of emotion.

  He pulled her deeper into the solace of his arms, his hand pressing her head more securely into his chest. He felt formidably strong. “It is not our destiny to die today. I know this for a fact.”

  How could he remain so composed with death looming on the horizon? People didn’t walk away from plane crashes. She knew that. She’d been on site of some of the worst airplane crashes in the world where terrorism was suspected. She knew what happened. The term “there were no survivors” clanged around in her head like the toll of a funeral church bell. Yet the fortitude he exuded allowed her to keep breathing . . . keep praying for a miracle.

  She wanted to wrap herself in his assurance, use it like a favorite childhood blanket, but fear blossomed, engulfed her. She squeezed his hands, bringing them to her chest. A solitary tear rolled down the length of her cheek. “I’m scared. Hold me close?”

  Immediately his arms tightened around her.

  Into her ear, his breath hot against her lobe, he whispered, “I promise I’ll protect you.” He pushed her back, gazing into her eyes. Holding her at arm’s length, he flicked a finger under her chin and winked at her. More tears spilled over. Using the pads of his thumbs, he gently wiped them from her face. Her heart crushed against her ribs.

  “A sheik’s protection is a powerful thing. I’ll do everything within my ability to keep you safe. Everything.” He reaffirmed, planting another quick kiss on her forehead, his lips searing into her flesh. Everything between them changed. Time was slipping away. The plane began its descent.

  They were out of time.

  “Thank you. It seems I’m going to need your protection after all.” Fiddling with her bracelet, she kept her head nestled into his solid chest.

  The vibrations of his laughter shot a shiver of longing up her spine.

  He shifted so he could see her face. “Where is my brave, independent American woman?”

  The faraway look in his eyes was so introspective she wasn’t sure they were still discussing the hard landing anymore. A new light blazed within their depths, promising unnamed delights.

  “Not feeling so brave at the moment, Your Royal Highness.”

  For a moment tears blinded her as time ceased to exist.

  Staring into each other’s eyes, they connected on the most fundamental level. He broke the spell. “We’re going to be fine—a little worse for wear maybe, but fine.”

  The plane was nose down. Glancing out the small window, she witnessed the emergency vehicles roaring into place, their red lights cutting through the pastels of the evening. White foam covered the runway like a winter storm amid the desert. Her heart stopped. They were going to die. Tears choked her.

  Again, he kissed her on her forehead. “Tomorrow we’ll ride out into the desert. I want to show you my country.”

  He was trying to distract her. It was working. She could picture blowing tawny sands across a sea of dunes. “I think I’d enjoy that.”

  His lips seared a kiss into her cheek, his breath hot against her cold skin. She snuggled deeper into his powerful body.

  They were descending faster than she would have liked, everything happening at lightning speed. No time to think. No time to pray. No time for regrets.

  “Your Highness, we’re making our final descent. You and Miss Danvers need to prepare for landing. We’ll be on the ground in fifteen minutes.

  “Thank you, Mustafa.”

  How could Diyari be so calm in the face of immediate death? Did he not fear death? If so, he was a better warrior than her.

  As the plane continued its downward path, she pulled her seat belt as tight as possible. To her astonishment, Diyari leaned over her. Cupping her face between his hands, he smoothed her hair off her face, his long fingers tangling in the strands.

  “A simple distraction might take your mind off this—” That sexy voice of his dropped into a husky octave only a second before his lips captured hers. An aching need, like a lightning bolt, pulverized her body. The heat . . . the pleasure . . . the raw power of him.

  She let out a tiny yelp of surprise. This . . . this . . . she never expected.

  He drank greedily of her lips, the length of his kiss stretching into eternity.

  Soft. Supple. Moist. A simple distraction? Was he kidding? More like a nuclear detonation. Simple? Him? Never. She felt faint, feverish, not in control of herself.

  His hand slid behind her head, holding her in place as his tongue ravished the inside of her mouth, his lips, demanding and greedy. The fire, the intensity, like nothing she’d experienced. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. A moment later, he pulled away, his lips moving to her ear, his scorching breath caressing her neck in their ascent.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I always safeguard those I give my protection to.”

  She shivered in anticipation, fear—everything seemed so surreal now.

  Beneath her fingers, a delicious shudder raced through him as he said, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever touched.”

  God bless him! I’d be a mess by now if it weren’t for his sustained fortitude.

  Pleasure pulsed through her. Fisting the soft material of his shirt, she pulled him closer, her fingers testing the lush cloth, craving some of his undaunted courage to flow into her. His breath came in short pants. She melted into him and kissed him hard, driving her tongue into his mouth. A surprised guttural tone escaped him, echoing across the interior of the jet.

  After a long, hot moment, he jerked his face away from her, but his gaze burned into her face. “You’re on dangerous ground, my lovely minx. If it’s trouble you’re looking to find,” he growled into her ear, “you’re about to become so involved you’ll forget who you are.”

  She felt the solid evidence of his approval growing against her thigh. If she was going to die, it would be with his kiss on her lips. She pulled back further and stared at him with new eyes, zeroing in on the urgency to make love to him, to be his in every aspect of the word. That notion shook her to her very soul. He was irresistible. “Your distraction is working. Kiss me again, Diyari.”

  Instantly, his pupils dilated as she broke protocol and spoke his given name. An anguished cry vibrated his chest. “Again,” he begged, “say my name again.”

  “Diyari,” she instantly replied, accenting the first syllable in Arabic fashion.

  For a long moment, his eyes remained closed as if he savored the sound of his given name. Then, he blinked and stared at her a full minute before his lips crushed hers. He released his seat belt and pushed her down into the softness of the leather couch, using
his body like an insulating shadow. Every hard, muscular inch of him pressed into her. Every inch. Within seconds his hands were everywhere, running up the side of her jeans, encircling her waist, caressing her breasts. A waterfall of heat rushed over her. She gasped for breath, arching into him, sealing their chests together, her sensitive breasts crushed into his rock-hard chest, his primitive heat teasing her nipples into hard peaks.

  His searching fingers spread fire across her body. He cupped her breast through her top, his fingers pinching her nipple. His masculine energy consumed her, dominated her. He reached for the button on her jeans, but the impact of the plane coming in contact with the ground vibrated him away from her.

  She screamed, panic filling her, her mind spinning with images of disaster. Quickly, he shifted his weight, his arms sliding under her to pull her once again into the safety of his body only a second before his lips reclaimed hers, his kiss rough, feverish, formidable. The entire universe altered, fell away. Her hands encircled his neck, pulling him closer as the plane bounced, then smacked the ground, two, three times. They fell apart for no more than a second.

  “Diyari!” she cried out, her voice hoarse with emotion.

  Instantly, his lips were there again, soothing the storm raging within her, calming.

  She almost growled her disappointment when he pulled away and gazed down into her face.

  “We’re on the ground,” he reassured her.

  The cabin lights went out, oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling, the engines roared as the plane continued its path down the runway.

  “Diyari,” his name emerged from her lips again, softer this time.

  He froze, then his gaze held hers in a vice grip. Her stomach turned into a viscous mass.

  “I’ll never get over the heavenly sensation of hearing my name on your lips after I kissed you. Say it. Say my name again,” he coaxed.

  “Diyari.” She eagerly complied with his request.