The Sheikh's Reluctant American (The Adjalane Sheikhs 3)

Dinner was amazing—lamb and goat roasted over a fire. Dates, honey, and vegetables mixed with spices and cooked in a clay pot. Flatbread still warm from baking. Malid insisted on feeding her small bites of everything, and smiled when her lips or tongue would touch his fingers. They ate with their hands—after washing with water poured from a metal pitcher into a metal basin. Afterwards, mint tea was brewed and served—strong and sweet.

They’d eaten outside the main tent, sitting on pillows on a thick, wool carpet that gave the setting a sense of decadence. Nigella had eaten at the best restaurants in New York and across all of Europe. She’d been to Texas barbeques where sides of beef were severed on platters that you had to hold with two hands with beans and cornbread. But never had anything tasted as good as food from Malid’s fingers. She hadn’t had a drop of alcohol, but she felt tipsy just on the experience.

As the night fell, turning the sky a deep purple with stars spread over the darkness in a wash of light, Malid pointed out the various constellations and cardinal navigation points. She decided she could listen to that deep, sexy voice of his all night.

And then he asked, “Would you care for a swim in the oasis?”

She glanced at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“That is the best bath you will have. Won’t it feel good to rinse away the sweat of the day?”

She looked over to the darkness of the water. A fire burned in front of them within a circle of rocks, but beyond the small glow of bright flame, the night seemed almost black. The others who had prepared dinner and waited on them had gone into one of the smaller tents, and Nigella could hear the quite hum of conversation in Arabic, and someone seemed to be tuning a stringed instrument. She glanced again at Malid. “We’ll, I used to go skinny-dipping back in Texas. I suppose this won’t be much different.”

His mouth quirked up. “How can you skinny dip if you are not skinny—and a dip is not a swim.”

She stood, and he did as well. He seemed to have cat’s eyes—she stumbled over a rock and he took her hand and led her to the pool of spring water. Sitting down, she pulled off her boots and dipped a toe in the water—it was surprisingly warm, holding the heat of the day still. She glanced at Malid. “Are there fish in there? Snakes?”

“I assure it. It is utterly safe.” He pulled off his vest and tunic—moonlight glinted on his smooth chest and arms. Nigella’s mouth went dry.

Okay, so he was better than any fantasy sheikh. He kept himself in great physical condition, so he must workout. She wanted to put a hand on those lean muscles, to trail her fingers down that smooth skin. It wasn’t just his arrogance that drew her to him—she knew she had Daddy issues, since she was drawn to strong men with way too much cocky confidence. But Malid had another side.

He’d shared a story that he didn’t have to about being left in the desert, and that was just to make her feel better about her having admitted a weakness. He had brains—this was a smooth move; she knew to seduce her into falling in love with Al-Sarid. She could admire that. He had charm and he used it—but he also had the loyalty of his people. She’d caught small glances between those who served him and she’d also was catching on that he was a guy who always remembered to say thank you.

She was drawn to him in ways she hadn’t been to any man—that both worried her a little and sent pleasure shooting down her spine.

Malid was starting to strip off his boots and pants, and Nigella began to feel overdressed. She stood and stripped down to her borrowed underwear. She was tempted to go swimming in just that, but—well, what the hell. How often did a girl get her own sheikh at a desert oasis?

Shucking the last of her clothes, she waded into the springs.

The edge was rocky enough to give her some footing. She dipped down into the water. It wasn’t that deep—maybe four feet, she thought. Not enough to let you swim. The water lapped warm over her skin, contrasting with the cooling night air.

Naked, Malid walked into the springs. He wasn’t something of marble and perfection. She could see a scar on his shoulder and another across his right forearm. Those small marks only seemed to make the rest of him seem better—magnificent was the word that sprang to mind. He didn’t have much hair on his chest—just a little low on his belly. He was half-hard—and she liked the size of him. She also liked the smooth muscles.

Reaching out, she touched her fingers to his shoulders. It seemed to be all the invitation he needed.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her toward him. His hands seemed huge and warm. Her breasts pressed against his hard, warm chest. She gasped, smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. “This going to be a problem?”

He dipped his head and kissed her, ravaging her mouth. This was no gentle first kiss. He stole her breath, seemed bent on claiming her for the night.

Pulling back, he gave her a chance to drag in some air. His hands moved down her back and over curves of her butt. “What problem do you foresee?”

He pulled her against him. Her thigh brushed against his erection. “Malid, you know perfectly well what.”

“You feel so good.”

“That is not an answer to anything.” She shivered, partly in reaction to the lust swimming through her veins, and partly because the air was getting downright cold. But Malid was warm—no, he was outright hot as a desert sun.

He pulled her closer, kissed the side of her neck and then trailed his mouth down to her breast. She arched, and he reached between them. His fingers brushed over her thigh and settled between her legs.

“This is going to make negotiations complicated.” She got the words out with a rushed breath. Pleasure rushed over her skin and sank deeper. She was floating on the water and a haze of Malid’s magic.

He gave a hum and helped her to stretch out on the water. “I think negotiations are proceeding quite well—we are…finding a rapport from which we can better reach agreement.”

She gave a laugh, and then his mouth settled between her legs. That ended any more discussion. She couldn’t talk, couldn’t do anything but offer up sighs and try to hang onto his shoulders. She wrapped her fingers in his hair. Overhead, the stars twinkled at her and the black night held them close. She lost herself in the moment—in Malid’s clever touch and even more clever tongue. He was doing things to her, making her lose her mind, her sense, her soul.

She came with a gasp and a shiver. Touching his arm, she tried to still his touch. She was shivering now but not from the cold.

“Come,” he said. He rose up from the water and held out a hand. She put her fingers into his, and he pulled her from the water. She shivered again—this time in earnest. He grinned. “That is the desert—too hot during the day and too cold at night.”