Turning to face the sea, staring out over the waves breaking against the sandy shore, she hoped to escape his sexual domination. “When the time comes, you’ll marry Princess Naomi. I can be nothing more than your plaything, and I’m not willing to settle for that.”
He came up beside her, leaning his hip into the stone balustrade, turning her to face him. His nostrils flared. “My plaything?” He spat out, “You insult me. Wound me to the core. You would never be my plaything. Every . . .” He sliced the air with his hand. “Every woman I’ve ever been with knows the rules going in.” Yes, she did know the rules, and the rules sucked.
The tormented expression in his eyes snagged her breath as memories of his lips pressed against hers seared a path into her womanly core.
The rough pads of his fingers slid across her shoulders, and for just a moment, his fingers tensed. Frowning, he pinned her with his gaze. “I would never mistreat you. I value and respect you beyond words, beyond comprehension.”
His hands framed her face, his gaze direct, driving home his point. Then, without warning, he jerked her to him, enslaving her within those oh-so-strong arms. Her heartbeat flew into a rhythm that rivaled a Celtic dancer’s steps. Stop thinking and just feel. Give in to the desire. For once in your life, let yourself get carried away.
That was exactly what she longed to do, but those actions would exact a high price.
He spoke directly into her ear, and her provocative thoughts of him spun like a top in her brain. “When the time comes, I will do my duty and marry Princess Naomi.” He pulled her back as his eyes zeroed in on her, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his tanned throat. “Until then, I’m yours, exclusively.”
She broke the hold of his imprisoning arms, stepping away from the sexual intensity of his body and again faced the desolation of the sea. “But that’s not enough for me.” Please! Please! Walk away. Let me have my dignity, don’t make me beg you!
Not a chance.
“Look at me,” he all but snarled.
Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Rotating on her bare feet, she faced him.
“I want you. Only you.”
Pivoting, he sauntered to the French doors leading to her bedroom. Her gaze snapped from his backside to his face when he turned and crooked his index finger, summoning her to him. “Come, let me show you what I can offer.”
Oh, I know what you can offer! Please don’t tempt me. I’m not strong.
A tug-of-war erupted within her. Good vs. sensible. She wanted him to scoop her up into those muscular arms and carry her into the bedroom. Wanted it more than she could bear. But in the morning, she wouldn’t be able to look at herself in the mirror. She stiffened her spine. This would destroy her ability to work on his sister’s wedding. And her mission . . . smashed to smithereens if she gave in to him. God help her, she was caught between a rock and a hard place.
When she stood completely still, he let the doors shut and walked across the terrace. Leaning against the railing, he crossed his legs at the ankles. To anyone else, he’d appear relaxed, chilled, but she knew better. She witnessed the strain in his shoulders, the pent-up tension coiling tighter and tighter within him. The word no didn’t compute in his world. No one refused the prince. No one balked at his attention, women around the world sought him out, begging for it. Hell, in another time and place, so would she. And what did that make her?
There was a new, edgier tone to his voice when he asked, “I could understand if the love you felt for your husband stood between us, but you’ve assured me that is not the case. Were you being dishonest with me, or yourself?”
In an instant, he could morph into such a dick. A spoiled prince used to getting everything he wanted and damn the consequences.
Irritated by his scoffing tone, she fired back, “I don’t like to share.”
In less than a nanosecond, he was in front of her, his powerful body filling her vision. Anger blasted off him with enough gravitational pull to send the sun spiraling into the moon. His breath whooshed out in one giant breath as the chiseled edges of his face became even more pronounced. “I’m not asking you to share. I only ask for a chance to explore these feelings between us.”
She glared at him, holding her ground, her hands on her hips. “And then what?”
A discontented growl erupted from inside him. “Then, we make a decision based on our feelings toward each other.” His accent became more pronounced, regal, with every word.
Her annoyance flared. “And you choose to become king, leaving me with the station of your concubine. It’s a win-win situation for you and heartache for me.”
She jumped when his hand shot out and ensnared hers. He squeezed her fingers. “No one can see into the future. Let’s not throw this opportunity for happiness away because of what might happen. Let’s give ourselves some room to maneuver and see where this takes us.”
Shaking her head, a frustrated sigh whispered from her. “The road you want to transverse is plagued with pot-holes. Your sister and your family will view me as a threat to your country’s leadership.”
He pinned her with his acute gaze. “Don’t concern yourself with my family. This is between you and me. The relationship between a man and a woman, nothing more, only us. No one would dare question my behavior. I am a grown man, heir to the throne. I do as I please.”
Yes, he did. And that was the crux of her problem in a nutshell. He did as he pleased, with no repercussions.
She steeled her body. What she did now, in this very moment, would set the perimeters of their relationship.
“And what of your staff, that tremendous entourage that’s with you every minute? What will they say about their future king and his mistress?”
Even in the moonlight, she witnessed the red hue of anger ascending his neck. Immediately, he composed himself, his leg shifting his weight into a princely stance. “My entourage sees only what I tell them to see.” He reached out and snared a fist-full of her hair, rubbing, testing the texture between his fingers. “I find going over the same facts tedious. I want you. Plain and simple. Let’s retreat to somewhere more private like my bedroom.”
She sniffed back her disbelief. “You think it’s that simple?”
“I know it’s that simple,” he strongly reiterated. “Just give in. Let me show you the pleasures I can offer. I’m very skilled in the art of making love. The world is at your feet. Let me give it to you. Take a chance with me. I won’t disappoint you.”
How easily he snared her into his sensual macrocosm.
Yes, just give in. So easy, so simple, until the repercussions bite you in the butt.
Withdrawing her fingers, she strolled over to the stone railing, struggling with those nagging doubts that refused to dissipate. Diyari came up behind her. Extending his hand, he once again buried his fingers in her hair, lifting a mass of strands and allowing them to blow through his fingers. She nibbled on her bottom lip, faltering.
Again lifting her hair off her neck, he replaced it with his lips. “I’m on my knees here, begging you to give me a chance to please you. And I assure you. I. Never. Beg.” He straightened to his full height of well over six feet. “You will not find me lacking in the knowledge of pleasure. I’ve spent a significant amount of time in the harem perfecting my techniques.” Now, the inferno of his eyes bore into her.
Oh. My. God.
“Be mine. I won’t disappoint.”
Be his . . . if it were only that easy. The turbulence of the approaching thunderstorm swirled around her, mimicking the gale raging within her. Thunder boomed out to sea as yellow lightning forked across the dark sky.
Her stomach nose-dived into her toes. Slipping his arms around her waist, he pulled her roughly against him, back against the impressive length of his erection.
She let out an exaggerated sigh, her shoulders saggin
g in defeat. “You think this is the answer, but it will only complicate things,” she barely managed, her breath coming in quick gasps.
“Such as?” He was hanging on her every word.
“The wedding. I don’t think Nina would appreciate you sleeping with her wedding planner. We have to be sensible about this.”
“Why? I don’t feel the demand to be sensible right now.” He inched forward, rubbing his hips against her backside. The rumble of his masculine laughter coursed against her back.
“Because I’m working for you. Unless you fire me?”
A sexy chuckle vibrated his chest. “After all the trouble I went through to get you here? Not a chance. I’m not about to let anything dissuade me from having you plan this wedding. Nina would have my head.”
“So, you agree? We can’t be lured into a relationship for the sake of the wedding.”
He shook his head. “Nina will never find out about our arrangement. Neither will the rest of my family. It’s none of their business who I sleep with.” He leaned in closer, bracing his arms on the stone balustrade, trapping her between his strong arms. And yes, I definitely can be lured into doing all sorts of things to a woman as beautiful as you. A woman I want.”
She sniffed back laughter. “Is that a fact?” Maybe he was right. What did she have to lose? A few months with a very attractive man? Yes, she could have both. Being close to him meant she’d have intimate knowledge of all his plans, his whereabouts. A very big plus for her mission.
Dark, forbidding storm clouds slid across the full moon. A nefarious omen? Anxiety swirled around her.
She chose to ignore it.
Because she’d already decided to let herself live in the moment and damn the consequences. She could multi-task this whole operation if she needed to. Could prove to everyone at the CIA that she was back. The wedding, the Black Scorpions, the National Resistance Group. Everyone.
The decision made, she slipped into a teasing banter.
“Wait until you see what I can do with wedding cake icing.”
He bent into her, his lips sucking on the delicate tissue of her neck, then soothing the tingling spot with his tongue. “Oh, I’m intrigued.”
His breath came in short, little puffs as if he’d run a 5k race.
“Care to show me? I’ve always had a fondness for sweet things.” An unholy chuckle emerged from him.
She shivered, her body quivering with excitement. “Too many sweets can be bad for you,” she challenged.
His laughter was luxurious, ultra-velvety, sending another thrill shooting through her. “I’ll take my chances. Sweets are my weakness.”
“I’m still a little concerned about your family. I just don’t think this is going to go off as well as you think,” Candace stated.
“My family will hear nothing about our arrangement. Nothing. Anyone who says otherwise will answer to me.”
Although his tone remained playful, she understood the dark undertone. Diyari commanded everything and everyone around him, and he didn’t accept failure.
He leveled his direct gaze at her. “Enough about my family. Do we have to be heedful not to offend your family with our decision? I’ll speak to anyone you need me to speak to. I’ll explain our situation, smooth over any frayed nerves.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I don’t have any family.” The wind picked up, spraying the water tinkling from the fountain on the lower terrace, blowing drops across the stones. Any moment now, she expected the sky to open up and a deluge of rain to fall on them. For a moment she wished Jasmine were here, so she could discuss her fascination with the wicked sheik.
He spun her around to face him. “No one?” he questioned, layers of his unkempt hair blowing in the breeze.
“Not even a goldfish.”
For a long moment, he toyed with her earring, a dangling silver loop, bouncing it back and forth with his large masculine fingers. The simple action centered heat between her legs. What was he thinking?
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his long fingers tracing the line of her jaw.
She blinked rapidly as tears rose in her eyes. “I just had Bobby.”
He tensed. “When did you lose him?”
“Over a year now.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead as he whispered, “I’m profoundly sorry for your loss.”
Tears overflowed her lashes and spilled down her cheeks.
He brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs. “Anyone since?” He straightened to his full height in front of her.
She sniffed back the rest of her tears, once again reminding herself that tears were useless. “No. I took his death very hard. It took me months to function again.” Why was she telling him this information? She should be interviewing him, not the other way around.
Again, he used the pad of his thumbs to wipe away the tears. “He was a lucky man.”
The corner of her mouth lifted into a sad smile. “No, I was the one who was lucky.”
He glanced past her and suddenly stiffened, his gaze locking on something far out to sea. She turned and followed his line of sight as the next pulse of light caught her attention. “What is it?”
He released her, sauntering to the far end of the balcony. She followed, hanging on his heels. Leaning over the railing, he swiveled his head, focusing on the mountains in the distance . . . waiting. Within seconds, several pulses of light flashed. “Shit.” He murmured beside her as he continued to observe the whole signaling process repeatedly. Her fingers knotted into fists at her side. She should have brought her gun. Something was going down here.
“What do you think?” Taj’s soft voice, rigid with tension, startled her as he stepped out of Diyari’s room and onto the balcony. Blinking in surprise, her hand flew to her throat. She hadn’t even heard him approach.
“It would appear my homecoming is duly noted.”
“Apparently,” Taj replied, his gaze bouncing back and forth between the light pulses.
Candace’s gaze shifted between the two men, bewildered by the encrypted conversation.
Taj tapped Diyari’s shoulder and pointed outward, into the garden below. To their left, a lone figure walked along the edge of the massive sea wall, his head turning back and forth to catch the signals from both the sea and the mountains. She gasped, the tiniest of sounds escaping her lips. Her stomach clenched into a tight ball as she shifted into alert status. Taj placed a warning finger to his lips, prompting her to remain silent. Stepping forward, Diyari’s hands encircled the stone banister, and even in the darkness, she spied his white-knuckled grip as they continued to watch the scene unfolding below them.
Dressed completely in the black robes of a desert Bedouin, with a rifle strapped over his shoulder and bandoliers crisscrossing his chest, the figure—his robes flaring out behind him in the punishing sea breeze—strolled across the precipice of the wall, his image barbarous and sinister in the darkness. The clouds blocking the moon rushed off, and for a moment, a ray of moonlight glinted off the fierce-looking scimitar at his waist. Her mouth dropped open as Taj reached into the back of his waistband and withdrew a Glock. Cupping his hand over the slide, he pulled back, sliding a round into the chamber. The faint sound resounded across the terrace like a thunderclap. Her heart faltered. Her throat, as dry as the sand on the beach, made it impossible for her to swallow. Standing here unarmed, shadowed in the darkness, she couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Seconds dragged into an eternity as they hung on a timeless cliff. Waiting—silently surveying the menacing figure below coming closer and closer. In just seconds he would be within range.
Diyari stepped back from the rail, giving Taj a clear shot. Raising the gun, Taj expertly sighted the man—his hand stone-cold steady, ready to pull the trigger, ready to kill. As he took his final aim, Diyari, without warn
ing, reached up and shoved the gun off its intended target.
“It’s Khalid,” Diyari stated, his voice an intense mumble. The men exchanged an anxious look.
“Who is Khalid?”
“Our brother.” They both answered in unison.
She grabbed hold of the railing, “Your brother? You almost shot your . . . brother?” she managed, too unsettled by the information.
Both men turned and stared at her.
Diyari’s narrowed gaze tracked over her, but Taj’s question drew his attention away.
“What the hell is he doing here? He’s supposed to be embedded with the Bedouins in the north, searching for answers as to who destroyed the oil fields,” Taj demanded, shoving his gun back into the waistband of his jeans.
Oil fields . . . those two words snared Candace’s attention.
“Maybe his information is too sensitive to phone in?” Diyari suggested.
“Or he came to the palace to participate in the meeting,” Taj interjected.
“I hope your assumption is accurate.” Diyari finalized, his gaze drifting over Candace.
Meeting . . . could he possibly mean the meeting of the Black Scorpions? She required details, time and place, so she could eavesdrop on the discussion. She was going to be at that meeting, obtaining crucial info to send to the farm. With cold efficiency, a strategy formed in her brain. If the oilfields were blown up by The National Resistance Group as the CIA suspected, could they possibly be partnered with the Black Scorpions? Slivers of ice shot through her as her mind continued to raise questions. What part did the men standing beside her play in this scheme? Was she standing next to the masterminds of this whole terrorist operation? Could her gut be that wrong about the sheik? Her shoulders slumped in defeat. Her instincts had been wrong before, and it had cost her. Dearly. She stepped backward, suddenly longing for the solitude of her room. Her foot caught on an overgrown vine. She tumbled forward, falling. With no chance to catch herself, she’d fall right on her face.
For the Sheik's Pleasure (Sheiks in Love Book 2) Page 12
