TO DEFY A SHEIKH Page 15

  “Excuse me?”

  “It might interest you to know that I have obtained some very brief underthings.”

  “Samarah…”

  “They’re intended to arouse you, and I have it on good authority they will.”

  He looked torn between anger, amusement and, yes, arousal. “Whose authority?”

  “Lydia’s. She provided them for me when I asked.”

  “And they are meant to…”

  “Arouse you,” she said, her face heating. “I had thought, seeing as I was to be your wife, I should set out to…behave like a wife. And then you told me…you told me no.”

  “Tell me about them,” he said, his voice lowering, taking on that hard, feral tone he’d had in the hall, as he leaned nearer to her.

  “The uh…the bra is…made of gems. Strung together. It shows…a lot of skin.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yes,” she said, swallowing hard, her face burning.

  “And the rest?”

  “I don’t feel like you deserve to know,” she said, lifting her head so she was looking in his eyes, so their noses nearly touched. “If you want abstinence, you don’t want to know about my underwear.”

  “That isn’t the case. And I never said I wanted to abstain. Only that it’s the right thing.”

  “For who?”

  “For you.”

  She growled. “Stop doing that. Stop trying to protect me. I don’t want you to protect me I want you to…to…” Love me.

  Where had that come from? She did not need that thought. No, she didn’t. And now she would forget she’d ever had it. And she would never have it again.

  “I just need you to be with me,” she said, which was much more acceptable. “I’m tired of being alone. Now that I don’t have to sleep by myself anymore I would just…rather not.”

  He pulled her closer, his lips pressed against her ear. “Yes, habibti, but do you want me? Do you want my body? Do you want me to touch you, taste you. Be inside you. If all you want is companionship, I would just as soon buy you a puppy.”

  “I want your body,” she said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his neck. “I want you. I don’t want a puppy. I’m a woman, not a child. I know the difference between simple loneliness and desire.”

  “And you desire me?” he asked, his eyes growing darker.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what you desire.”

  “Here?” she asked, looking around them.

  “Yes. Here. Tell me what you want from me. What you want me to do to you. You said you wanted my passion. You said you weren’t afraid. Now tell me. Remember, I have much more practice than you at abstaining when temptation is present. So if you intend to break my resolve, you’d better damn well shatter it. If you want to take my control, you prepare for what you will unleash.”

  “I…” She felt her cheeks get hotter, and she wanted to shrink away. To tell him nothing. To tell him something quick, and unexplicit. Something dishonest that had nothing to do with what she’d actually been thinking about doing with him.

  But then she remembered her own words.

  I do not run.

  She tilted her head up and leaned in so that her lips were near his ear, her heart hammering hard.

  “I want to take this dress off for you,” she said. “While you sit and watch. I want to watch your face as your need for me takes you over.” She swallowed hard. “Then…then I want to…I want to get onto the bed, on your lap, and kiss your lips.”

  “You want to do all of that?” he asked.

  “I’m not finished.”

  “I may need to be,” he said. “This doesn’t sound very much like you’re planning to let me lead.”

  “You were the one who said I should let you lead in the bedroom. I never agreed to it.”

  “We were not taking a vote,” he said, his tone hard.

  “I deserve to get what I want from this marriage, too.”

  “You aren’t talking about marriage. You’re talking about now.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Don’t I deserve to be certain of the manner of man I’m binding myself to? You said that yourself.”

  “And you think seducing me will reveal me to you more than my confessions already have?”

  “It’s the one thing you’ve held back for the past sixteen years. That makes me feel like it’s important.”

  Ferran wanted to turn away from her, and yet, he found it impossible. She was too beautiful. Too powerful. It wasn’t simply beauty. It never had been. She was a glittering flash of temptation that could easily be his undoing.

  But she was also to be his wife. And that meant he had to get a handle on himself with her, didn’t it? That meant that he had to be able to sleep with her, to make love with her, without losing himself.

  Here before him was the challenge. If he turned her away now, then he proved that she held the power to take him back to where he’d been before.

  She didn’t. No matter how strongly she called to him. No matter how much he wanted her, he could control it. He could have her tonight, and feel nothing beyond release.

  It didn’t matter what she wore, what she did. He would prove to himself he had the control.

  “All right, Samarah. You want me? You want my body? Tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now?” he asked.

  “Now…we’re…Ferran, not now.”

  He pulled her closer, staring down into her wide, dark eyes. “If you want me, habibti, you will have me on my terms.”

  He released her from the close hold they were in, then laced his fingers through hers, drawing her through the crowd of people, out into the gardens. The night was cool, the grounds insulated from view by palm trees and flowering plants.

  And no doubt his security detail had seen him exit with Samarah. If for no other reason, no one would be following them out here.

  He tugged her to him and kissed her, hard and deep. If this was what she wanted, it was what she would have. But he wouldn’t be at her mercy. He wouldn’t be taking orders from her. If she wanted him, she could have him.

  And he would make her understand what that meant.

  He cupped her chin, his thumb drifting along the line of her jaw as he continued to kiss her. To taste her. He could drown in it. He very nearly had before. Both when they’d kissed in the rain, and last night.

  There were things about kissing a woman he hadn’t remembered. How soft feminine lips were, the sounds they made. How it felt to be so close to someone living. To feel their heartbeat against your own.

  Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten. Maybe he’d just never noticed before.

  But he did now. It was like slowly having feeling return to frozen limbs. To places that had been numb for years. So much so, he’d forgotten they were even there.

  In his quest to be the best sheikh, to choke out all of his weaknesses, he’d forgotten he was a man. And the touch of Samarah’s lips in his brought it all back with blinding clarity.

  And with the clarity came a host of other things he’d spent years trying to deny. Fear. Anger.

  He backed her against one of the walls that enclosed the garden from the rest of the world, taking her mouth with all the ferocity he possessed.

  “You want this?” he asked again, kissing her cheek, her neck, moving his hand to her breast. His whole body was shaking. He could hardly breathe. He could barely stand. Touching her like this…

  It had nothing to do with how long it had been since he’d touched a woman. If he was honest, he had to confess that.

  It was more. She was more.

  He slid his palm over her curves, to the indent of her waist, over the rounded flare of her hip. He gathered up the material of her dress, curling his fingers
around the heavy, beaded fabric.

  “Ferran…”

  “Scared, habibti?”

  “No,” she said. “But we’re in the garden and…”

  “And you said you wanted me. You do not get to dictate all the terms. If you want me, you will have me now.”

  He moved his hand between her thighs, felt the thin silk that separated the heart of her from his touch. He pushed it aside and growled when his fingertips made contact with slick flesh. “You do want me,” he said, moving his thumb over the source of her pleasure.

  She arched against him, her breathing coming in short, sharp bursts. More evidence of her need for him. He suddenly felt that he might require her more than air.

  “Samarah,” he said, sliding his fingers through her folds.

  She pushed her knees together, forcing his hand more tightly against her body, her head falling back against the wall, her lips parted, an expression of ecstasy.

  If he took her now, it would be over quickly. It would be so easy to undo his pants and thrust deep inside her, take them both to release.

  But then he couldn’t see her body. He couldn’t touch her as he wanted, taste her as he wanted.

  “I want to take you to bed,” he said.

  “I thought you wanted me here?”

  “I do,” he said. “Here and now, but I also want to be able to see you.” He moved his hand from between her thighs. “I want to touch you. I want to take my time.”

  He tugged her dress back into place.

  “You can’t expect me to walk back through there. We look…well, we must look like we’ve been doing exactly what we’ve been doing.”

  “I am certain we do. But I have no issue with it.”

  “I cannot figure you out.”

  “I’ve made the decision,” he said, looking at her eyes, which were glittering in the dim lighting. And he could feel the desperation within himself. Could sense his own biting need to justify his actions.

  But he’d decided he would do this. So surely that made it okay. Surely that meant he had reasoned it out. She was to be his wife. He repeated that fact in his mind. She was to be his wife, and that meant that he could be with her. That meant he had to be. It was duty and honor, and it had nothing to do with the heat in his blood.

  And making sure he took his time and enjoyed it was for her. For his wife.

  “Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She took it, delicate fingers curling around his. He flashed back to the moment in his bedroom, when those hands had struck at him. When she’d looked at him with fear and loathing. It was gone now. All of it. Replaced by a desire he wasn’t certain he deserved from her.

  But he needed it. Because they were getting married.

  That was the only reason. For his people.

  Not for himself.

  But either way, he needed it.

  He led her back through the garden, and into the brightly lit, glittering ballroom. She was flushed, her eyes bright. She looked very much like a woman who was on the brink of release, and suddenly, he was afraid that everyone in the room would know.

  Not for himself, but for her. He didn’t want to humiliate Samarah. He didn’t want to expose her or hurt her. And yet, he feared that was what he’d done. All he would ever do.

  Not tonight. Tonight she would be his, and he would worry about the rest later.

  He gritted his teeth and battled with himself. With his reasoning, his justifications.

  Spare me. Spare us.

  No. There was no place for that memory. Not in this. This wasn’t the same. He could keep control, and have this.

  He could keep her.

  He led her out into the hall, then down the corridor, toward his chambers. Halfway through, he swept her up in his arms. “I have no patience,” he said, striding onward.

  “I doubt this is faster,” she said, her arms looped around his neck.

  “But you are near me,” he said.

  Why had he said that? Why was he feeling this. Why was he feeling anything? Why did it matter?

  He kicked the door to his bedchamber open and Samarah jumped in his arms. “I found that arousing,” she said, her eyes locked with his.

  “Did you?” he asked.

  “I like your intensity,” she said. “I like that you want me. No one has wanted me in so long.”

  He set her down and she leaned into him, curling her fingers into the lapels of his shirt. “No one has wanted me in longer than I can remember. Until you. You want me. And that matters, Ferran…”

  He bent and kissed her, slamming the bedroom door as he did, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. “My wanting you is not necessarily something to rejoice in,” he said, dragging the edge of his thumb along her cheek. “I am broken, Samarah, in every way that counts.”

  And there was more honesty than he’d ever given even to himself.

  “I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t care.”

  “Samarah…”

  She took a step away from him and reached behind her back before unclasping her belt and letting it fall to the ground. The top layer of her gown fell open and she shrugged it off, letting it slither to the floor, revealing the simple shift beneath.

  The heavy silk conformed to her slender figure. It revealed very little skin, and yet he found the sight erotic. So sexy he could hardly breathe.

  She started on the little buttons on the front of her garment. She let it fall away, revealing another layer beneath. A skirt with a heavy, beaded waistband that sat low on her hips, strips of gauzy, nearly translucent fabric covering her legs. Every movement parted the fabric, showed hints of tanned, shapely thighs.

  The top was exactly as advertised, and yet, nothing she’d said had prepared him for the deep, visceral reaction he had to it. Glittering strings of beads strung across her golden skin, conformed to the curve of her breasts, hints of skin showing through.

  It wasn’t the gems that held him captive, not the sparkling. No, he was trying to look past that, beyond that, to her. Because she was more beautiful than any gem.

  “Sit on the bed,” she said.

  “I told you this would be on my terms.”

  “And I did not agree. I have a fantasy that I wish to fulfill.”

  “You have a fantasy?” he asked, his heart rate ticking up.

  “Yes. You know, Master Ahn rented out the studio several nights a week to a dance teacher. I never took lessons, but I did watch. Sit on the bed.”

  He obeyed, his eyes on her, a ferocious tug in his gut.

  “Take your shirt off,” she said.

  He tugged at his tie, then worked the buttons on his shirt before shrugging it, and his jacket off onto the bed.

  She shifted her hips to the side, slowly, then back the other way, the motion fluid, controlled. “I used to practice in my room sometimes,” she said. “But there was no practical use for dancing in my life. Still, I know what my body can do. I know how to move it. How to control my muscles. Dancing came naturally in many ways.”

  She shifted her shoulders, then reached behind her head and released her hair, letting it fall in loose, glossy waves. She kept her hips moving in time with a rhythm that was all in her head. But he could feel it. He could feel it moving through her body and on into his.

  She rolled her shoulders, down her arms, to her wrists, her fingertips curling upward, her head falling back. He shifted in his seat, desire rushing through his veins, beginning to push at the restraint that he prized so much.

  That he depended on.

  She met his eyes, then tipped her head back, her shoulders following, bending back until he was sure she would break herself if she went farther. She held the pose steady, no strain in her muscles, then she lifted herself back up slowly
.

  Such a fierce, wild creature she was.

  A tiger pacing the bars…

  “You did pay attention during the lessons.”

  “Yes,” she said. “But I’ve never had anyone to dance for. I’ve never had any real reason to dance. But I did it anyway. Alone. Now…now I can do it for you. I don’t understand this…how you’ve become the most essential person to me. But you have. I almost robbed myself of you.”

  “You almost robbed myself of me,” he said, gritting his teeth, trying to keep from telling her to stop talking. Trying to keep himself from accepting what she was offering. From begging her for more.

  “I did,” she said, walking toward the bed, each movement a temptation. Another hit against the barricade. She put her hand on his cheek, her fingertips dragging across his skin, sending a sensual spark down into his gut that ignited, desire burning hot and hard, threatening to rage out of control.

  She reached behind herself and released the hold on her top, the jewels sliding down to her waist before she managed to free herself of it entirely. She put one knee on the bed beside his thigh, her breasts so close one movement would allow him to suck a caramel nipple deep into his mouth.

  But if he moved, he wouldn’t be able to find out what she had planned next.

  The temptation was torture. Sweet, perfect torture. He’d held himself back for years, but it had never felt like this. It had never been physical pain. To have so much beauty in front of him and to refuse to allow himself to touch it, to test himself in this way…it was intoxicating. A rush he couldn’t define or deny.

  She leaned in, putting her hand on his belt, her beasts so near his lips his mouth watered. She worked at his belt, her fingers deft, confident, like all of her movements.

  She freed him from his slacks, her palm hot on his erection. He couldn’t hold back the tortured sound that climbed his throat and escaped his lips.

  “Do you like me touching you?” she asked. “No other woman has done this in a long time…” She squeezed him gently and he swore. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” he said. “And yes. You’re right…it’s been a long time. It makes it… No, I don’t think it’s the time. It’s you. Because nothing ever felt like this before.”