Surrender to the Sheikh

She remembered what he had said to her in the restaurant. She’d never felt less like eating in her life, but to refuse would surely be an insult to his chef? ‘Yes, please.’

‘And we will drink mint tea,’ he instructed.

‘Sir.’ The stewardess inclined her blonde head respectfully.

The two attendants began laying out a feast on the low, circular table. Rose looked down at the engraved bronze plates, enjoying the colour and variety of the different foods which they held—tiny portions which pleased the eye and tempted the palate.

‘You like these things?’ asked Khalim as he offered her a tiny pancake stuffed with cheese and doused with syrup, resisting the urge to feed her, morsel by morsel, then have her lick his fingers clean.

‘I’ve never tried food like this before.’ She bit into it. ‘Mmm! It’s yummy!’

‘Yummy?’ He smiled as he observed her, enjoying the unconscious sensuality of watching her eat. ‘Then you have many pleasures in store, Rose,’ he told her, his voice deepening as he thought of the ultimate pleasure she would enjoy with him.

Something in his voice drove all thoughts of food clean out of her mind, and she lifted her head to find herself imprisoned in the black gleam of his eyes. She put the half-eaten pancake down with fingers which were threatening to shake.

He hadn’t touched a thing himself, she thought, as he chose just that moment to languidly stretch his long legs out, and the brush of the silk as it defined the muscular thrust of his thighs was positively indecent.

‘Something is troubling you, Rose?’ he murmured.

‘Nothing,’ she lied and directed her gaze to his chest instead, but that wasn’t much better. She found herself imagining what his torso would be like without its silken covering—hard and dark, she guessed, with the skin lightly gleaming like oiled satin. ‘N-nothing at all.’

He saw the swift rise of colour to her cheeks and the sudden darkening of her eyes. He could order everyone to clear the main salon now, he thought heatedly. And take her quickly before this hunger became much more intense.

But what if she cried aloud with pleasure? Sobbed her fulfilment in his arms as women inevitably did? Did he really want the two attendants exchanging glances as they listened at the door while he made hard, passionate love to her?

‘Eat some more,’ he urged huskily.

‘I…I’m full.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Then I shall order for these plates to be removed—’

‘And then you’ll tell me all about Maraban’s oil refinery?’ she put in quickly, because at least that would take her mind off things. Him.

The oil refinery? He threw her a look of mocking bemusement as he leaned back against the cushions. Never had a woman surprised him quite so much as Rose Thomas and surprise was rare enough to be a novelty! ‘That is what you would like?’ he questioned gravely.

‘More than anything in the world!’ she agreed fervently, but the gleam of discernment in the black eyes told her that they both knew she was lying.

He spoke knowledgeably for almost an hour, while Rose butted in with intelligent questions. The first time she asked him something, he raised his eyebrows in a look which would have made most people freeze and then retreat.

‘I need to ask you these things,’ explained Rose patiently, reminding herself that maybe it wasn’t his fault that people usually hung on adoringly to every word he said.

‘Such pertinent questions,’ he conceded in a murmur.

‘There you go again, patronising me!’ she chided.

‘That was not my intention, I can assure you.’

She paused, unsure whether to frame the question she really wa

nted to ask, and then remonstrating with herself for an uncharacteristic lack of courage. ‘Khalim?’

His eyes narrowed, some instinct telling him that this was not another query about Maraban’s oil output. ‘Rose?’ he returned softly.

‘Just why did you want me to act as your head-hunter?’

He curved her a slow, almost cruel smile. ‘I had to have you.’

Rose froze. ‘You mean—’