The Sheikh's Bartered Bride

He’d thought about taking her to the restaurant at the top of the Space Needle. He’d been told it was considered the height of romance, but sharing a noisy elevator with tourists on the way up held no appeal. At least not for tonight.

She smiled at him as he held her chair for her at the table. She’d worn a black dress with long sleeves, a peasant neckline and gathered waist. The full skirt swirled around her legs as she sat down. He let his fingers trail along the exposed skin of her shoulders above the wide neckline and she shivered. Satisfaction that his mission would soon be accomplished settled over him as he dropped his hand, moved around the table and took his own seat.

Even in the dim light of the restaurant, he could tell she was blushing again.

“Surely such a small touch is not cause of embarrassment?”

She smoothed her already perfectly coifed hair. She’d worn it up again. Though he liked the view it gave him of her slender neck, one day soon, he would remove the clip and see what the dark honey strands looked like tumbling against her shoulders.

“I’m not embarrassed. Not exactly.” Her sigh lifted her breasts against the soft fabric of her bodice, revealing the source of her blush.

His little virgin was excited. Two unmistakable ridges under the black material gave her away. They also apprised Hakim of the fact she was not wearing a bra. The knowledge had a by now predictable effect on him.

“What are you exactly?” he asked, wondering if she would admit anywhere close to the truth.

“Stupid.”

He shook his head. Little did she know, but her desire for him would soon be fulfilled. “Jewel of my heart, you must not say such things.”

She dropped her focus to her lap, where she straightened her burgundy napkin against the black fabric of her skirt. “You shouldn’t call me things like that. I know you’re just saying it because it’s the way you talk, but…”

He reached across the table to tip her chin up with his finger. “It is not merely the way I speak. Do I use such terms with other women in your hearing?”

Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth and her eyes reflected confusion. “No.” It was a bare whisper.

He wanted to kiss those trembling lips. Her vulnerability called to primitive instincts inside him.

“They are words meant for you alone.”

It was as if she stopped breathing and she went utterly still, the look in her eyes a revelation of emotions so volatile he was shocked by them. Then her eyelashes lowered and she sucked in air too quickly, chocking.

He offered her a glass of water as she sought to get the small coughing fit under control.

“Thank you.” She drank the water and he watched as her throat convulsed gracefully with each swallow.

“You have a beautiful neck.”

The water glass tumbled and only the quick action of a nearby waiter saved her dress from a drenching. Considering her reaction to his last statement, Hakim decided it would be best to wait until dinner to propose.

By the time Hakim pulled his black car to a halt in the parking garage of her apartment building. Catherine’s nerves were stretched tighter than an overtuned violin string.. They wound one notch higher when he insisted on seeing her inside.

She watched his dark hands as they unlocked her door and turned the know to open it. Such masculine hands and yet so fluid in their movement, she desperately wanted them on her.

He pushed the door open and ushered her inside, one of the hands she found so fascinating secured around her waist. Her lungs stopped working while her heart went into overdrive. He closed the door and locked it, indicating he wasn’t leaving any time soon and her already racing heart when turbocharged.

He led her toward the living room and she was surprised when her legs were able to move. She felt like her bones had all melted to jelly.

When they reached her bright yellow couch, he gently pushed her down onto the overstuffed cushions and then sat beside her. So close beside her that her shoulder was pressed against he hard wall of his chest. “I wish to speak with you.”

“Oh,” she squeaked.

He laid the hand that was not attached to her waist on her thigh, succeeding in surrounding her completely with his body and putting her on the verge of hyperventilating.

What would he do if she turned to him and did what she’d been longing to do for so long, touch the black silkiness of his hair and kiss the sensual line of his mouth? She clasped her hand firmly together in her lap to stop them from taking liberties that might end in her humiliated rejection.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke, the rush of air going in and out of her lungs at such a rapid rate the only sound in the room. He started to draw small circles on her thigh with his forefinger, sending awareness arcing up her leg and to the center of her being. She stifled a gasp of pleasure. She couldn’t move. Nor could she look at him. Her attention was firmly fixed on that darkly tanned hand as it moved lazily against the black knit of her skirt.