Undone by the Sultan's Touch

She jerked as if he’d slapped her, then felt something hot and breathless spread through her. Leaving her flushed and much too close to wrecked all over again. And Khaled only watched her, as if he could see every tiny thing that happened inside her. Where had that serene mask of hers gone? How had she managed to keep it up for so long?

“I liked the fantasy,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “You were incidental.”

But he was the Sultan of Jhurat. He laughed.

“You have accused me of a number of things tonight,” he said after a moment, walking farther into the house, his footsteps as loud as her own heart against the gleaming floors. He eyed the prissy living room to his left, then turned back toward her. Cleo realized then that she was still anchored to the floor in the foyer as if she’d become part of the antebellum furniture. “Think of this as your chance to use all those weapons against me.”

“This isn’t a war.” She eyed him, and reminded herself that she’d been brave enough to leave him. She could do this, too. “This is nothing more than sex. This has always been nothing more than sex, dressed up in your marketing campaign.”

She sensed his impatience more than saw it, and then he crossed his powerful arms over his chest. He’d never bothered to rebutton his shirt and so it simply hung open, that remarkable torso of his right there. It made it difficult to think.

“Sex is the symptom, perhaps,” he said in his gravelly way that lit a fire low in her belly. “But I think you know perfectly well it’s not the disease.”

“You called it a disease, not me. Remember that.”

“I remember everything.” And like that, he was all steel and menace, seeming to loom over her from across the room. “Everything, little one.”

“Don’t call me that.”

But it wasn’t because it was a condescending term, used only to put her in her place—which was what she’d told herself over all these long weeks as she’d tried to think Khaled out of her system. It was because, despite everything, she loved it when he called her that, as he had in the oasis. Something inside her flipped over and thrilled to it. It made her feel cherished. Precious to him.

She could hate him for that lie alone.

“As you command,” he said, with only the faintest mocking edge to his voice.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s do this.” She roamed toward him with her arms crossed in front of her, only realizing as she drew closer that she was unconsciously mimicking his posture. Because he was the most commanding person she’d ever met, she thought darkly, and gritted her teeth. “Strip.”

His perfect brows, dark and naturally arched, rose.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

“How deliciously uncivilized, Cleo.” His voice was sinful, dark and bittersweet, and she thought she could easily have lost her way in it if the perfect plan hadn’t come to her then. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” she said boldly, and pretended she didn’t hear his low laugh.

And then he did what she’d told him to do.

Khaled held her gaze, direct and demanding even while he was the one following orders. He shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor behind him in a simple move that called even more attention to the sheer masculine beauty of that chest of his, all of those flat planes and delicious ridges that she knew entirely too well.

And still wanted to taste, so much so that her mouth watered at the thought.

His hands moved to the waistband of his trousers and he maintained that simmering eye contact as he unbuttoned himself. He paused to kick off his shoes and then he thrust his trousers and the boxer briefs beneath to the floor in a single smooth motion.

And then Khaled was perfectly naked, standing there before her, and he didn’t look the slightest bit diminished.

It was Cleo who felt off balance.

“Excellent,” she said breezily, as if she often had naked sultans at her disposal, ready to leap at her every command. She walked past him with all the false confidence she could summon, heading for the flight of stairs at the back of the house and the master bedroom above. “Follow me.”

But she’d forgotten he moved like the night, so quietly she had to keep checking behind her to make sure he was there—following her with that narrow, hungry look on his fierce face and all that fire in his eyes—and she was all too aware that doing so did not exactly emphasize her position of command.