Yes. And she should be glad, Britt told herself firmly. A heavy pulse might be throbbing between her legs, but this man was not Emir—and Emir had been dangerous enough—this man was a regal and unknowable stranger, who could pluck her heart from her chest and trample it underfoot while she was still in an erotic daze. She stood too and, lifting her chin, she directed a firm stare into his eyes. Even that was a mistake. Lust ripped through her, along with the desire to mean something to this man. For a few heady seconds she could think of nothing but being held by him, kissed by him, and then, thankfully, she pulled herself round.
‘This is wonderful accommodation and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. Your people are so very kind. They let me sleep, they tended to my wounds, they—’
‘They bathed you?’ Sharif supplied.
The way his mouth kicked up at one corner sent such a vivid flash of sensation ripping through her she almost forgot what she was going to say. ‘I...I had a bath,’ she admitted in a shaking voice that was not Britt Skavanga at all.
‘They spoiled you with soothing emollients, and that’s so bad?’
‘They did,’ she agreed, wishing he would look anywhere but into her eyes with that dark, mocking stare. And every time she nodded her head, tiny jewels tinkled in a most alluring way—she could do without that too!
‘The women have dressed you for their sheikh,’ Sharif observed.
And now she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Her chest was heaving with pent-up passion thanks to her desire deep down to be angry—to have a go. He can’t talk to you like that! She wasn’t a canapé to whet his appetite—a canapé carefully prepared and presented to the sheikh for him to sample, then either swallow or discard.
‘They have prepared you well,’ Sharif said, showing not the slightest flicker of remorse for this outrageous statement. ‘Would you rather they had brought you something ugly to wear?’ he demanded when her body language gave away her indignation. ‘Moral outrage doesn’t suit you, Britt,’ he went on in the same mocking drawl. ‘It’s far too late for that. But I must say the gown suits you. That shade of blue is very good with your eyes...’
So why wasn’t he looking into her eyes?
Straightening up, she wished her jeans and top were dry so she could bring an end to this nonsense.
And yet...
And yet she was secretly glad that Sharif’s gaze was so appreciative. Why else would she stand so straight? Why were her lips parted, and why was she licking them with the tip of her tongue? And why, for all that was logical, was she thrusting her breasts out when her nipples were so painfully erect?
‘It’s a very pretty dress,’ she agreed coolly.
‘Our desert fashions suit you,’ Sharif agreed.
She shivered involuntarily as he reached out to run the tip of his forefinger down the very edge of her veil. There was still a good distance between them, but no distance could be enough.
And now her thoughts were all erotic. Perhaps Sharif saving her life had added a primitive edge to her feelings towards him. The desire to thank him fully, and in the most obvious way, was growing like a madness inside her. Thank goodness for the veil.
‘I’ll call back later—when you’ve had a rest,’ he said.
She watched without saying anything as Sharif drew the gauzy curtains around the sleeping area. She reminded herself firmly that she might be dressed like the sugar plum fairy, but she had no intention of dancing to his tune. She was here for business, and business alone. She had to be wary of this man. Sharif had spoken to her sisters without telling her. He had taken mineral samples from the mine, and yet he hadn’t had the courtesy to share the results of the tests with her. This might be a seductive setting, she reasoned angrily as the curtains around the sleeping area blew in the warm, early evening breeze, and Sharif was certainly the most seductive of men, but, grateful or not, she still wanted answers, and he had a lot of explaining to do.
He was back? She tried not to care—not to show she cared. She must have failed miserably as breath shot out of her when he dragged her close. This was not even the civilised businessman—this was the master of the desert. There was no conversation between them, no debate. And there was quite definitely no thought of business in Sharif’s eyes. There was just the determination to master her and share her pleasure.
‘Well, Britt?’ Sharif demanded, holding her in front of him. ‘You had enough to say for yourself in Skavanga. You must have something to say to me now. Why did you really come to Kareshi when you could have wired your test results and I could have done the same? When you could have laid out your complaints against me in an email message without making this trip?’