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

God, how she loved his body—every muscular line, every inch of smooth skin. She opened her arms and he came to her, covering her with his body, slipping into her at once.

She gave a sigh, wiggled her hips and he rolled with her, so that she straddled him. “Now—you may take your pleasure.”

Smiling, she did. She eased her hips up…and down again, dragging a long, soft moan from him. His eyes slid closed, so she did it again. And again. But already the heat was building inside her. Tingles spread over her skin.

Opening his eyes, Malid reached between them and touched her clit—that touch shivered over her and sank deep. Closing her eyes, she threw her head back and let the world come apart.

***

They slept, ate, made love in the shower, and slept again. Nigella woke early, found Malid asleep next to her, his erection nudging her hip. She threw back the sheets, brushed her fingers over his cock, and leaned over to take him into her mouth. He moaned and came awake at once. It took a lot not to giggle at his gasp of pleasure, but she managed, sucking hard and licking until he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down on the bed so he could enter her.

After, they showered and dressed—Malid made a face at his wrinkled clothes, so he made a call and fresh jeans and shirts appeared for both of them.

Staring at the clothing, Nigella asked, “Just how did you know my size.”

He put his hands on her hips. “How could I not?”

They visited Sheikh Adjalane, only to find a line of well-wishers and a room full of flowers. The nursing staff looked flustered at trying to control the flow of visitors, and Malid took charge after one nurse muttered, “He should rest.”

In less than five minutes, Malid had the visitors ushered out with smiles, the flowers sent to any new mother who had just given birth, and was lecturing his father on his care.

Nigella could see Nimr’s mouth start to pull down, so she started to tug at Malid’s arm. “Don’t we have a contract to sign.”

Malid agreed that was true, ordered his father to rest, and walked out—and Nigella could swear the old man looked relieved.

A week later, the deal was done—Nigella’s was relieved both for that and the fact that Daddy had gone back to the States, and Nimr was allowed back home.

It was over—finished. She had no reason to stay…so why was she hanging around? It was time to give Malid a kiss, tell him it had been fun, and let him get back to his family. She had work waiting for her—so why wasn’t she grabbing the next jet home?

***

It took Malid an hour to convince Nigella she must make one last visit to the desert. She had been making noises about going home—something must be done about that.

His father was home again, the deal with Opell Oil was set, and now he could focus on her. But did she want to stay? For once in his life, he was uncertain what a woman might say to him—and worried the answer might be no. It had never mattered before…but Nigella mattered. And his father’s near brush with death had brought home just how short life could be.

He drove her back to the oasis—as he had once before. Nigella’s face had lit with excitement, and that had pleased Malid. The tents were few this time—just one for Malid and Nigella. They would keep no servants with them.

Adilan was overseeing the construction of the pipeline—it was only right since he was CEO of Adjalane Oil. And Nassir was helping their mother look after their father.

And still Malid was worried. Would Nigella think this was nothing more than a plan to intertwine their families permanently? In an age-old tradition, such family ties had built empires. But that was not what he wanted.

Taking Nigella into the tent with him, he closed the cloth fastening over the door and secured it. Lamps lit the tent—pillows and tapestries made the space intimate and comfortable. A low, brass table had been set with food and water. Malid ignored all of that and pulled Nigella into his arms.

They had dressed in traditional robes—and he approved of that. Her breasts pressed into him—already he wanted her out of those clothes.

“Nigella—?”

“Is this our last night together?” She lifted her chin. She looked fragile in the lamplight—delicate, and not the strong woman he knew her to be.

He touched a finger to her face. “I wish it to be the first of many.”

She frowned. “You want me to move to Al-Sarid?”

Rubbing his hands down her arm, he shook his head. “I was thinking more that we split our time. Adjalane Oil needs New York offices. And Adilan thinks I should be in charge of setting up that division. We need to look to the future—to expand and change from just oil to newer technologies.”

Her eyebrows arched high. “Is this a business deal we’re making?”

Cursing, he let go of her, turned and rubbed the back of his neck, then faced her, his hands spread wide. “I am doing this all wrong. It sounded so good in my head, and now…now it sounds like the howl of a desert wind.”