The Sheikh's Stubborn Lover (The Adjalane Sheikhs 2)

“No…you looked.”

With a grin, he tightened his arms around her. Her shirt rode up, exposing her legs, so she pulled a pillow over her thighs. “Esmee means my name is. So you would say esmee Michelle. If you wish to know if someone speaks English, say, hal tatakallamo alloghah al enjleziah?”

She gave a groan. “I’m rotten with languages. My mother knows five of them—including Arabic. She used to try to teach me just one of them. It was agony—her going over the words again and again, trying to get my accent just right. Every session would end with me in tears and her throwing up her hands and wondering how should could end up with a boring, dull daughter like me.”

He pushed his hand into her hair. “Michelle, you are not boring or dull. How could you think such a thing? Even my father saw that you are your mother’s daughter—and by what I know, she was…she is a force of nature.”

The wind pushed at the tent, shaking it, and she clutched his arms. “Are you sure we’re safe?”

He gave a laugh and pulled her closer. “Safer than anywhere else. And more comfortable than in any car—sand always finds a way inside any vehicle. “Now should I teach you to ask where is the toilet?”

She straightened. “Is there one here?”

Waving toward the back of the tent, he said, “There is a fine bucket you can use. Now say, ‘ma esmoho bel arabiah.’”

“What does that mean? Am I asking you something r

ude—or intimate?”

He touched a finger to her cheek “You are asking what is that called in Arabic.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “And now I will ask you—do you wish to forget about the wind and the sand?”

She stared up at him, unable to speak. She could only nod. She felt safe in his arms—shielded. This was crazy—mad. This was something her mother would do. This wasn’t wise to fall for this guy, but she was lost in those green eyes, in those strong arms. She wanted him—she was honest enough to admit that. And she wanted what he was offering—a short time to forget her problems, forget why she was here, forget that damn wind that sounded like it could steal your soul. She’d rather give into him for a short time—she wanted the promises in his eyes. The touch of his hands warmed her face, left her tingling. For once, she wanted not to be the sensible, staid Michelle Reynolds. She wanted instead to be Deborah Reynolds daughter.

Tilting her face up, she put her hand on his chest, her fingers spread wide. “Teach me to say other things, Adilan. For once I want to be more like my mother’s daughter. I want adventure and excitement and all the things I’ve always avoided.”

He cupped her face and kissed her lips. His mouth was soft, questioning, careful. The sweep of his tongue into her mouth set off a fire inside her. He still tasted of honey and sweetness. She parted her lips and wrapped her arm around his neck.

Leaning back, he pulled them both down on the pillows, his fingers slipping along her legs in a caress that left tingles behind.

She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, got her fingers onto his skin. The hair on his chest was surprisingly soft and springy. He bent his head and through the fabric of the shirt, put his mouth on one nipple. She arched her back and moaned.

Sitting back, he smiled and put his hands on her bare thighs, stroking her skin. He leaned back so he could kiss her ankles, then the inside of her calf, his mouth hot. He kissed her knees and stroked the soft skin behind them. She’d never known that was a sensitive spot—a spot that sent sparks shooting through her.

He put his head on her thighs and breathed in. “Your arousal is intoxicating. You smell of rain and pleasure, my little American.”

Coming back up to lay next to her, he unbuttoned her shirt so that she lay bare before him. With a smile he sat up and dipped his fingers into the honey still on the brass table. He stroked the honey over her breasts, her skin, and then he began to lick it from her.

She gave a moan and put her hands on his, but he gave a laugh and told her, “Stop fighting me.”

“But I want to touch you—what about you?”

Adilan grinned. “I am having my pleasure, and you are a firecracker.”

“One that’s going to spontaneously combust if you don’t move this along.”

Leaning over her, he took her mouth in another searing kiss. She wrapped her arms around him and threw one leg over his hips. He pulled back and stroked a hand over her sticky skin. “What do you want?”

She blinked, tried to focus. She felt drugged by his touch, lazy and yet also vibrantly alive. “Your mouth,” she muttered.

“Where?” he asked. Leaning down, he kissed between her breasts.

She gave a moan and told him, “Anywhere.”

Chapter 10

Adilan was enjoying the sight of her against the colorful cushions, her skin gleaming with a touch of sweat. She was so pale. He put his hand on her stomach—his skin seemed impossibly dark compared with her pallor. “Shall I kiss you here?” he asked and kissed her stomach.

“Lower,” she said her voice thick and low.