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

by Mary Jo Springer

  Her breath caught. Desire trumped fear as his head descended once again to capture her lips. “Grrr . . .” he growled sending a sexual bolt rocketing through her, so strong in intensity, it punished her body. His kiss wiped out the sounds of sirens, breaking glass, everything but the strong, safe, feel of him. The coffee table slid toward her leg. With a well-placed foot, he kicked it away.

  “The way you say my name makes it sound like you belong to me.”

  Once again, he pushed her back against the couch as the acidic smell of smoke filled the cabin, the sound of metal scraping against pavement deafening as the jet continued to slide. Sparks flew everywhere. The plane bounced again, harder this time, causing the books and computer to fall from his desk, the materials tumbling into the aisle.

  This was it! The end!

  Her hands cradled his face, brought his lips to hers for a kiss. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

  For a frozen moment in time, they stared at each other, savoring the time they had together. Then, like a man driven mad with lust, his lips crushed hers again. Hard. Mercilessly. Branding her his. Goose flesh spilled over her.

  “You’re mine now.”

  She laughed.

  He didn’t.

  She swallowed the whimper that threatened.

  At any other moment in her life, she would have objected to the idea of any man owning her, but right now, with chaos hovering around them, waiting to claim them, she celebrated being alive.

  His stare, intense and possessive, said it all. He murmured, “Forever mine.”

  Forever mine . . . forever mine. A staggering vow from a breath-stealing man.

  Her stomach twisted. If they survived this? When his body didn’t have hers pinned into the plushness of the couch, when he wasn’t kissing her socks off, leaving her breathless and hungering for more? Then, she’d have to discuss this ownership thing. But now, here in this moment, when life and death merged as smoke continued to fill the cabin, she clung to him, unable to get her body close enough—unable to get enough of the sensuous touch of his lips against hers.

  Yes, later she’d categorize her actions. Now, her hands continued to move through the silk of his raven hair before sliding under his shirt to smooth against his bare ribs, torrid skin, and steel muscle.

  “Give me a chance to be your man—” He pulled back a fraction, his eyes dancing as he stared at her intently, “I promise I’m very resourceful.”

  Her fingers slid over the mounds of his six pack, hard, inflexible, taunting flesh. A guttural moan filled the tiny space between them. God, she adored this sexy, confident man. Craved him with a passion she had experienced only one other time in her life.

  The smell of pine mixed with the hot texture of his skin, filled her nostrils, heightening her pleasure. Fresh, intoxicating, the scent of him overindulged her senses. She tried to speak but found words impossible to describe the rush of emotions he evoked. Her eyes slid shut as her mind flew over the hurdles this relationship would have to conquer. He can’t be yours, he can’t be yours, flashed over and over driving the point hard into the logical side of her brain. But her feminine side continued to trounce those doubts. She desired him. Thirsted for him like a dying woman in the desert thirsts for water.

  It took them both a few minutes to realize the plane had stopped moving. They were alive. They’d survived. But her breathing and that kiss, oh my God that kiss. She trembled with the desire he stirred within her. Gripping her hand, he pulled her through the smoke to the exit door. Disengaging the door, he picked her up in his arms.

  She screamed when he jumped into what appeared to be thin air but in reality, was the emergency chute. Sliding haphazardly to the ground, he kept her cradled in his arms, held tight against his body. White foam blew past them as the emergency vehicles continued to spray the runway. A man, about the same size of Diyari, ran toward them, his white desert robes and headdress flapping in the breeze. Still, Diyari cocooned within the circle of his arms.

  “Are you all right?” The man shouted, running up to Diyari. For a fraction of a minute, Diyari released her within the chute, but kept his fingers clutching her shoulder as he grabbed the hand the man extended to him. He hoisted Diyari to his feet. Diyari turned, bent, and lifted Candace back into his arms. “We’re fine. Ms. Danvers is a little overwhelmed with all the excitement.” Diyari replied, as he walked toward the waiting limousine. He refused to put her down, even though she squirmed in his arms.

  “You can put me down. I’m capable of walking on my own.” But was she? Would her legs hold her after that damn kiss?

  Diyari shook his head, “Humor me. I’m not ready to give you up yet.” The chiseled perfection of his cheeks and jaw mere inches from her face. The shadow of his beard thick and dark.

  The man beside Diyari broke the extended moment. “I’m Taj, by the way. Diyari’s brother. You’re the wedding planner, I take it.”

  Taj’s gaze ricocheted from Diyari to her, then back again. A huge smile spread across his face. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Most likely,” Diyari replied, striding toward the limo, carrying her as if she weighed no more than a butterfly. His biceps, thick with defined muscle, flexed to keep her as close to his body as possible. She liked being cradled in his arms, liked it more than she cared to admit.

  “Candace Danvers.” She reached over Diyari’s shoulder to clasp Taj’s hand, shaking it. Almost as tall as Diyari, he had an easier manner about him. He wasn’t as rigid, as arrogant as Diyari.

  “What’s gotten into him?” Taj questioned, pointing at Diyari’s back.

  What had gotten into her?

  “Don’t speak like I’m not standing right here, Taj. If you have something to say—” Diyari threw over his wide shoulder.

  Taj winked at her. “Oh, I have a lot to say about this.”

  Diyari cut him off before he could continue. Staring down at Candace, his heated gaze blasted over her from the tip of her head to her toes. “You okay? No bones broken, everything intact?”

  She laid her head against his shoulder, the temperature of the B’Quara evening already causing sweat to coat her upper lip. Seriously, it must be over one hundred degrees, she thought. Or maybe the sultriness had something to do with the man carrying her. She felt snug, cherished. “I’m fine, just put me down.”

  “Not a chance.” His fingers adjusted the bulk of her hair over his shoulder. He turned his head into her hair and inhaled deeply. “Not a chance in hell.” He seemed determine to hold her in his arms for eternity.

  They reached the limo, and Taj rushed ahead to open the door. A deluge of air conditioning hit them like a wall. Candace shivered at the startling drop in temperature. After Diyari laid her on the plush leather seat, he climbed in after her. Before she could catch her breath, she heard the doors lock. In the next second, he stretched his full length out on top of her and reclaimed her lips, kissing her senseless.

  His lips left hers and sucked the delicate skin of her neck. “Remember, you’re mine. No reneging on that.”

  His hard-muscled body pinned her beneath him. Slow drugging kisses, like a molten river of lava, ran through her. The privacy window was up and darkened. No one could see them. She could hear Taj pulling on the door handle. The hard length of Diyari’s erection pulsed against her thigh. Elation spiraled through her at the thought of him being inside her.

  “I want so much more of you. Every exquisite inch of you.” He pressed her hand against his erection, growling his pleasure when her fingers closed around him.

  “Ohhh yeah, just like that.” His voice, deeper than the Mariana Trench in the Pacific Ocean, crawled over her like a living thing. His fingers enclosed hers as he instructed her in the motion that pleased him.

  “I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t usually—”


  His index finger against her lips silenced her. “I know,” he whispered, framing her face for another kiss.

  Desire ballooned between them, their minds already united in thought, now all that was left was for their bodies to complete the act.

  His lips, teasing, satisfying, and questing, continued to entrance her. She didn’t want the moment to end. After the horror of the past hour, she was glad to be alive and in the arms of this wonderful, sensual man. Later, when the terrifying trauma of the day’s events faded, she’d regain her equilibrium and examine . . . this . . . whatever this was . . . between her and the prince. Her mission required her to end this involvement. Immediately. Before it got any more out of hand. Yeah, right. Remember, she scolded herself, she could never be the prince’s end game. His obligation was to his princess. Time to face the cold hard facts, girl. You have absolutely no future with him. None! Well, try telling that to my body. A body that’s ‘all in’ at the moment.

  Minutes passed, and the phenomenon continued. They were both breathless, sweating, moaning. Out of control. She heard Taj leaning against the limo, spurting his anger, kicking the tires. Diyari raised his head. “We’ll be staying at my sea-side palace for the next day or two. Then, we’ll move on to the desert where Nina awaits you. Right now, you need some rest. The past hours have been traumatic. When all this catches up with you . . . I’m expecting a delayed reaction. But . . . most of all . . . I want some time alone with you.”

  Why was she nodding her head in agreement like some senseless ninny?

  He sat up, pulling her into a seating position next to him. “This isn’t finished between us. Not by a long shot.”

  Black scorpion. Black scorpion!

  Her brain refused to function with him so near.

  He hit the lock, and Taj jerked the door open.

  “Cute, Diyari . . . real cute.”

  Chapter 4

  Sleep eluded her.

  It wasn’t for lack of luxury in her suite. Suite? More like an entire wing of the palace. Glancing around the oversized area, she marveled at the decorator’s use of the constantly changing tints of the depths of the Arabian Sea, azure, royal blue, and aquamarine. Arched doorways beckoned her to explore the open spaces highlighted by a giant brass pendant chandelier. Gold leaf that must have taken a multitude of workers years to complete lined the walls. Diaphanous white fabric fluttered in the heavily scented night breeze. Jasmine, her favorite scent, multiplied with every swish of the palm trees outside her windows. A shiny brass Turkish coffee set dotted a bedside table. Her toes curled as they sunk into the thick Persian carpet, blood red with a tan border that must have been purchased from the souk they passed on the way in from the airport. But the highlight of the room was the gigantic bed. A snowy white, luxurious divan was covered with pillows that mirrored the colors of the ocean and beach. Invitingly turned down to reveal the Venetian snowy-white sheets infused with gold threads. The divan made her sigh with the anticipation of lounging within its softness. She couldn’t wait to fall asleep in the depths of the bed’s richness. All this beauty and elegance, and yet it did nothing to soothe her peace of mind. She was definitely rattled by her interaction with Diyari. Interaction . . . ha! She almost let him . . . let him . . . OMG . . . how unprofessional! She shook her head but the sensual images of Diyari’s heated lips pressed so intimately against hers continued to linger. When his lips touched hers, she lost all sense of herself and her surroundings.

  Not good.

  Just the thought of his body against hers set off a blow-torch within her. He generated that kind of powerful and sensual reaction—awakening prodigal hunger for a man who might or might not be part of her investigation.

  At this point it didn’t matter. She rolled her eyes. Of course it matters, you numskull. You’re here to probe into a possible assassination attempt on his father, not have an affair with his son.

  But vivid images of their bodies entwined within the opulent depths of that incredible bed tantalized her. The picture of him naked, sprawled out with those damn rose petals strategically placed, taunted her. He was the very definition of the virile male.

  Desire, stale and stagnant since Bobby’s death, zoomed through her veins with seismic consequences. Her lips parted as she struggled to get air into her constricted lungs. Carnal warmth saturated her just by reminiscing about the texture of his aggressive macho lips. Good God, what had he done to her? Turmoil spilled through her veins like a virus. Rubbing her fingers against her own lips, she remembered the savage way his scorching flesh claimed hers. She had to admit, she had it bad for the dangerous sheik. A sheik! If someone told her last week she’d fall hard for a desert sheik, she’d have asked them what they’d been smoking. But now?

  Like a desert whirlwind, his kiss picked her up and swirled her around and around in pure delight. He overwhelmed her. On cloud nine, she felt dizzy and faint. With his incredible kisses, he had smashed through all her trepidations and shook the very foundation of her femininity. The soft, sleek slide of his lips against hers entranced her with just a touch. Touch? Ha! He’d devoured her like a midnight meal.

  His actions reduced her to a pulsating pile of supplication. Her weakened ability to defy the irresistible tow of his masculinity formulated a staggering new problem . . . her capability to do her job. Her fingers slid to her forehead but did little to erase the deep lines of concern that plagued her.

  Heaven help her. Heaven fortify her. She had to do her job.

  Sighing heavily, her eyes slid closed, her body savoring the remembrance, the sizzle, the sweet and fierce tantalization. Her tongue licked her lips, tasting his masculine essence that lingered. All of her senses keyed up at the thought of seeing him again and having the heat of those incendiary lips forcing her to capitulate to his every desire. What would happen then? She couldn’t go back to the way they were—before the incident on the jet threw them into each other’s arms. She craved more . . . much, much more. What was she going to do?

  Level headed, she’d never had a man affect her so, not even her dear Bobby. Her brows knitted together. Why this man? Why . . . why . . . why? Somebody please tell her how she got into this mess! She’d planned on being so careful to not blend business with pleasure. She’d made a promise to Jasmine, for God sakes. Well, he blew that vow all to hell and back. She stamped her foot like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum. He complicated every aspect of her ability to work. Hell, he destroyed her ability to reason. Like a splash of cold water, she reminded herself he was engaged, taken, could never be hers.

  She was out of her freakin’ mind.

  Wringing her hands in frustration, she stared out the terrace doors into the abyss of the inky sea, searching for answers, the soothing crash of the waves against the shore lost on her. For a moment, she wished she was home in Malibu, safe in her own bed. Far, far away from the tantalizing sheik.

  Again, her mind staggered back to his unforgettable kisses. Fevered and lethal, they could resurrect the dead. He incinerated her resistance, made her head spin with desire hotter than the surface of the sun. She sobered . . . counted to ten. This infatuation could not continue. Her professional judgment and reputation were on the line. She counted to ten again . . . and again. Nothing helped. She needed to auto-adjust to his staggering sexuality. The words breach of security roared in her ears. And after that debacle last year, she needed to be doing her job better than anyone else. Not falling in lust for a man who might be part of this whole threat. So why couldn’t she just do that? Because, you idiot, he takes you to a place where you haven’t been before. He demands things from your body you’ve never experienced before. Just by a kiss . . .

  He was her forbidden fruit, hanging within her reach in the Garden of Eden.

  I gotta get out of here.

  Demanding fresh air to combat the lagging sensual cobwebs clogging her brain, she placed both
palms against the elegant French doors and shoved.

  The pleasurable stimulus of the tropical trade winds whipped her long hair about her nearly naked shoulders. Sucking in a deep breath, the salt-tinged air pushed into her lungs. Instantly, her mind cleared. She drew in a cleansing breath and began thinking like an agent instead of a love-sick school girl.

  But not for long. Corralling the long strands in her hand, her turbulent thoughts gravitated back to the handsome sheik.

  Diyari . . .

  He. Consumed. Her.

  Tilting her head back, letting the balmy sea air rush over her, her brain continued to run amok. As much as she wanted to trust him, she couldn’t, not with that Black Scorpion tattoo. Gut reaction advised her he was involved, but in what capacity? Leader? Mastermind? He certainly fit the bill. These unanswered questions plagued her.

  Thank God, her contact had slipped a Beretta under her pillow. Security came with a gun.

  Padding onto the balcony in her bare feet, her toes scrunched against the retained warmth of the flagstone. The darkness of the witching hour closed around her as she made her way over to the stone balustrade. Leaning her hip against the rail, the intoxicating scent of night-blooming jasmine swirled around her, impersonating the entwining vines clutching greedily at each baluster.

  The full moon cast light on the waves that resembled moving fingers clawing their way toward shore. Lightning forked through the inky sky, a barrage of light before a crack of thunder shook the doors behind her. A storm was brewing. The repetitive sound of the crashing waves created a familiar harmony like that of her beach house in California. She loved the ocean. She released her hair, freeing it to the decree of the sea air. If only she had her surfboard, tomorrow she could paddle out into the depths and erase all this chaos within her. The long strands fanned out behind her. Shaking her head, she reveled in the freedom. She shook her head, as if she could dispense her titanic thoughts of the Sheik that easily.