The Sheikh Who Claimed Her: Master of the Desert / The Sheikh's Reluctant Bride / Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife

CHAPTER FOUR

HE WATCHED her out of the corner of his eye. She sat well away from him, glancing at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. She reminded him of a newly caged animal taking account of its changed circumstances before making any rash moves. When she realised he was watching her, she quickly looked away.

The light had begun to fade, cloaking them in shadows. The yacht was barely moving, and even the waves had grown lazy as they lapped against the side of the boat, as if the ocean was preparing itself for sleep. Night fell quickly in the desert, and he guessed she would want to freshen up before she had something to eat. Although she had annoyed him intensely, he had no intention of starving her. ‘Are you hungry?’

She pretended not to hear him.

She stirred, but refused to look at him. Instead, she stretched out on her back, staring up at the sky, her sun-bleached hair dusting the deck. ‘What time is it?’ she said as if they were the best of friends.

‘Time for you to swim and freshen up, and then we’ll eat,’ he told her in a tone of voice that gave her no encouragement.

Putting conditions on her chance to eat grabbed her attention. She sat bolt upright, still pretending unconcern as she twisted her hair into an expert knot, which she then secured with a band she wore around her wrist.

Her delicate bone-structure held his interest momentarily. ‘Up,’ he commanded, shaking the sight of her long, naked limbs out of his head. ‘You’ve been lazing around long enough. What you need now is exercise.’

‘To get over the shock?’ she challenged him with a glare.

‘To stretch your limbs,’ he countered, refusing to be sucked in by her ‘poor little victim’ act. She had been through a trauma, but it wouldn’t help her to dwell on it—and he suspected she wasn’t as badly affected as she made out, if only because acting was something she could turn on and off at will.

She stood up and stretched. ‘A swim?’ she said, slanting a blue-green gaze at him. ‘I could handle that.’

Shaking his head, he turned away. What was it about this girl that drew him to her? She was a feisty bundle of trouble, and he should know better than to lead her on when he went for mature, gracious women—usually with a title, and always with a keen sense of what was and wasn’t correct. Something told him there was nothing remotely correct about this girl.

He should not have suggested she go for a swim. He could count the mistakes he’d made in his adult life on the fingers of one hand and this was up there with the best. Did he need reminding that the girl who had insisted on scrubbing the whole of his deck after mopping up the original spill, and polishing every surface until it gleamed, had the frame of a young gazelle and the bosom of a centrefold, or that plastic surgery had played no part in her good fortune?

He was on shore, preparing a cooking fire, when she walked out of the sea and strolled towards him looking like a nubile film-star in her too-short shorts and ripped top. He steeled himself not to look, but it was already too late when the image was branded on his mind.

Apparently unaware of the effect she was having on him, she came to stand within splashing distance, and, twisting her hair to get rid of the water before flinging it carelessly back, she demanded, ‘What are you cooking?’

He gave her a look. ‘What does it look like?’

‘Fish?’

‘Well done.’

‘Not too well done, I hope?’ she chipped in cheekily, clearly refreshed by her swim. ‘You don’t like anything about me, do you?’ she protested when he slanted an ironic stare in her direction.

She would wait a long time for him to play along with that line. But, actually, she was growing on him. Apart from her obvious attractions, or perhaps in spite of them, beneath her adolescent quirkiness there was real grit and determination. She was uncompromising, he had concluded, like him, and now he sat back to enjoy the show he was sure was about to begin. He didn’t have to wait long.

Seeing that she had failed to provoke him, she upped the ante. ‘I’m just in the way.’ She pulled a broken face. ‘You’d far rather be here on your own.’

‘Without the cabaret?’ He stirred the fire. ‘You’ve got that right.’

While he spoke she was circling him like a young gazelle not quite sure what she was dealing with, until finally curiosity overcame her and she came to peer over his shoulder at the food he was preparing. ‘It’s got its head on!’ she exclaimed as he impaled on a spit the fish he’d just caught.

‘They grow that way in the Gulf.’

‘Is that the only choice for supper?’

‘Did I forget to give you the menu?’

‘Stop teasing me,’ she protested.

Without any effort on his part a new sense of ease was developing between them. She’d made a bad start, but she had worked really hard since then to make up for it. ‘You don’t have to eat the fish,’ he said, playing along. ‘You don’t have to eat at all. Or, if you want something off the menu, I’m sure there’s plenty more bread in the galley that could do with eating up.’

She scowled at this, but then an uncertain smile lit her face when their glances connected.

They were beginning to get the measure of each other, and both of them liked what they saw, he concluded. He was more relaxed than usual; this was luxury for him, eating simply, cooking the fresh fish he’d caught over an open fire. It gave him a chance to kick back and experience a very different life.

The fish did smell good. And she was ravenous. ‘Can we start over?’ Antonia suggested, knowing there was more at stake than her first proper meal of the day—her voyage to the mainland, for instance, not to mention sharing a meal with a frighteningly attractive man she dared to believe was starting to warm to her.

‘That all depends.’

‘I’ve told you that I’d like to help, and I mean it,’ she said. ‘I can sail—I can help you sail to the mainland.’

‘Help me sail?’ he murmured, skimming a gaze over her tiny frame.

‘Seriously—let me prove it to you. I’m not as useless as I look.’

He stared into the fire to hide his smile.

‘If I knew your name, it would be a start,’ she persisted. ‘Maybe we could relax around each other more if we knew what to call each other.’

‘Wasn’t that my question to you?’

Antonia’s cheeks blazed. How could she be so careless? Wasn’t that the one question she wouldn’t answer? ‘I have to call you something,’ she pressed, getting her question in first.

She had almost given up when he answered, ‘You can call me Saif.’

‘Saif?’ she exclaimed, seizing on the word. ‘Doesn’t that mean sword in Sinnebalese?’ And, without giving him a chance to answer, she rattled on, ‘When I first planned to travel to Sinnebar I studied the language.’

Instead of turning things around as she had hoped, this only provoked one of his dismissive gestures. ‘The name Saif is very popular in Sinnebar,’ he explained, stoking the fire with a very big stick.

‘But it isn’t your real name?’ she said, tearing her gaze away. ‘Saif is just a name you’ve adopted for while you’re here,’ she guessed.

Please, please say something, she urged him silently. ‘If you don’t want to tell me your real name, that’s all right by me.’

Nothing.

‘We could have a name truce,’ she pressed as another idea occurred to her.

‘What do you mean by that?’

Her confidence grew; imagination was her speciality. ‘Our outside lives can’t touch us here—you can be Saif, and I can be—’

‘I shall call you Tuesday.’

‘Tuesday?’ She frowned.

‘I take it you’ve heard of Man Friday?’

‘Of course I have, but—’

He shrugged. ‘You came on board on a Tuesday.’

They were really communicating, and for the first time since she’d come aboard his yacht she could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Or at least the lighthouse guarding the entrance to the harbour of Sinnebar.

‘Tuesday it is, then,’ she agreed eagerly. ‘Would you like me to fillet the fish for you?’ She wanted to prove she could be helpful in so many ways.

Saif paused, knife suspended. His expression reflected his doubt in her abilities. ‘All right, go ahead,’ he said reluctantly.

And make a mess of it if you dare, Antonia silently translated.

She swallowed as Saif drew his knife, and took it gingerly from him with the thick, beautifully carved pommel facing towards her hand. ‘This is very nice,’ she said, struggling to wrap her hand around it. ‘Is it an heirloom?’

‘There’s nothing special about it,’ Saif said as he removed the fish from the spit he’d made out of twigs and a piece of twine. ‘It’s a utility item and nothing more.’

‘Well, it’s a very nice utility item.’

Nothing special? Apart from the knife’s size, and the fact that it could slice the gizzard out of a shark at a single stroke, it was the most fearsome weapon she had ever seen. And one she would put to good use. Her juices ran as Saif waved the fish on the stick to cool it, sending mouthwatering aromas her way.

It was a relief to discover that all the trips to fabulous restaurants with her brother Rigo hadn’t been wasted. Positioning the fish on the large, clean leaf that would act as a plate, she removed the head, skin and bones with a few skilful passes of Saif’s razor-sharp blade. ‘You first,’ she insisted, passing the succulent white morsels of fish to him on their bed of lush emerald-green leaf.

She breathed a sigh of relief when Saif’s lips pressed down with approval and he murmured, ‘Good work.’

‘Thank you.’

‘This is delicious,’ she observed, tucking in with gusto. ‘We make a good team, you and I.’

Careless words, Antonia realised when one arrogant ebony eyebrow peaked. She ate in silence after that, and when they were finished went to rinse her hands in the sea. Sitting down on the sand a safe distance from Saif, she leaned back on her hands to stare at the moon. It wasn’t long before she was longing for things she couldn’t have—a sexy Arabian lover with a body made for non-stop sin, for instance.

Saif turned when she sighed, but what could she do? It was such a romantic evening. There was a smudge of luminous orange at the horizon, and overhead a candy-striped canvas of pink and aquamarine remained stubbornly in place as the sky darkened into night. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are living here,’ she murmured. ‘Though they say the ruling Sheikh is—’

‘What?’ Saif demanded sharply. ‘What do they say about the ruling sheikh?’

From the look on his face, she had over-stepped some unseen boundary. Rolling onto her stomach, she laced her hands beneath her chin, sensing diplomacy was urgently required. ‘Surely you know him better than I do?’

‘Maybe,’ he admitted.

‘Aren’t you allowed to be rude about him?’

‘I can be as rude as I like—but I don’t like,’ Saif said pointedly, flashing a warning glance her way.

‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you. I just heard he was fierce, that’s all.’

Rolling onto her back, she hoped she’d done enough to placate him. She really hadn’t meant to offend him. ‘Shall we have pudding now?’ she suggested, hoping to break the sudden tense silence.

‘Pudding?’

She only needed the smallest encouragement. ‘Yes—then it will be like a proper picnic.’ She sprang up and ran back to the boat, emerging minutes later with more blankets under her arm, determinedly swinging the cool box. Smoothing out rugs well clear of the water’s edge, she lifted the lid on her treasure trove—ice-cold drinks, together with fat green olives and the sweet dates she’d found in Saif’s galley. ‘I told you I could be useful,’ she said when he complimented her on the spread.

They ate in silence, but at least it wasn’t a hostile silence. It was more of a rebalancing exercise, Antonia concluded.

‘What are you doing now?’ he demanded as she stared up at the moon.

His voice made her tingle, made her want to stretch out her hands to feel the cooling surf on her racing pulse. She concluded it was best to tell him the truth—or at least an edited version of it. ‘I was just thinking I’ve had quite a day, what with the pirate attack, swimming through a storm and now you.’

‘I see your point,’ he agreed dryly, but just when she’d been sure they were making real progress he sprang up and walked away.

He had to put distance between them. It had been a long time since he had wanted a woman so badly. In fact, he couldn’t remember wanting anyone as much as this girl. It was the ambience, he reasoned, pausing at the water’s edge. There was nothing like a desert night to stir the senses.

He shook his head with amusement when she called, ‘Wait for me!’

Nothing fazed her. And he wanted to wait for her, which prompted the question: when was the last time he had waited for anyone? ‘I’m going for a swim, Tuesday—you stay here.’ He dipped into the traditional Sinnebalese salutation before wheeling away. But the image of her nibbling dates with her small white teeth was still with him.

She was still feasting on the dates when she caught up with him. There was no artifice about her. She was hungry; they were on a beach, and she was eating to fill her stomach and not to impress him with finicky ways. She had a healthy appetite. He refused to dwell on that thought any longer than was necessary.

‘Sorry,’ she gulped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘You really shouldn’t swim so soon after eating, Saif.’

She was giving him advice now? ‘Is that so? And what do you think you are doing now?’ She was staring at the sky and waving her arms around, doing some sort of dance he found both innocent and seductive.

‘I’m invoking the moon.’

‘Of course you are,’ he agreed wryly. ‘And why are you doing that?’

‘Don’t laugh at me, Saif. For all you know, I’m a handmaiden of the moon.’

‘And I’m a camel. Man jadda wajad wa man zara’a hasad.’

‘Oh, that’s lovely!’ she exclaimed. ‘What does it mean?’

His gaze slipped to her lips as she repeated the words after him in Sinnebalese. ‘He who perseveres finds,’ he translated. ‘And he who sows harvests—’

‘Perfect,’ she interrupted dreamily. ‘It could have been written for me.’

‘Then you’d better remember it, and I’ll test you tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Her face lit up and then became carefully expressionless again.

‘We won’t be sailing any time soon,’ he confirmed, glancing at the sky.

‘Great!’ she exclaimed. ‘Lots more time to dance.’

That wasn’t exactly what he had in mind. ‘You’re crazy.’

As was the surge of desire he felt. She might be younger than him, but she warmed him with her joie de vivre, and it was hard not to smile at her antics. She drew him to her as no one ever had before, and he wasn’t fighting it. Instead of wanting solitary time alone in the sea, he wanted Tuesday. ‘Have you ever caught a fish?’ he said, guessing that was a challenge she would find hard to refuse.

‘I’d go hungry if I had to.’

The closest she had ever come to catching a fish was lifting one out of the freezer, Antonia realised.

‘Would you like me to show you how to catch one?’ Saif suggested.

She was so surprised by his offer she made the mistake of holding his gaze, only to feel her hormones riot in response. ‘I’d like that.’ The chance to do anything with Saif was an exciting prospect. And if she had to catch a fish …

She had not expected Saif to stand so close behind her in the rock pool, or to place his hand over hers when she plied the line. The fish were plentiful in the shallows, but all she could think about was Saif’s warmth infusing her, and it was no time at all before there was a fish on the line and a world of erotic thoughts in her head.

This time Saif wielded the knife while she found fresh wood to make the fire blaze. They both took a hand in the cooking, and when Saif glanced at her and smiled it felt like all her Christmases had come at once. She could get things right if she believed in herself enough, Antonia concluded. A life of pampering didn’t mean she lacked fibre—she just hadn’t been tested before. Perhaps they were both finding out about themselves, she mused as Saif’s glance warmed her. They weren’t exactly friends, but they were certainly easier around each other, and there was something else that sprang between them, like electricity—something that made her heart thunder. ‘What?’ she said, angling her chin when he stared at her.

‘I was just wondering about you.’

Wondering what? She blushed. If he was wondering if she was good in bed, he was in for the wrong kind of surprise. She was an amateur, a tease—a virgin, pretty much. It was better they direct their conversations towards harmless things, like business. ‘The appointment I told you about?’ she said brightly to distract him. ‘That’s not the only reason I’m travelling to Sinnebar.’

Saif’s gaze sharpened.

‘I’m here to find out about my mother,’ she admitted, careful not to let her feelings show. ‘She died when I was a baby and I learned recently that she spent some time in Sinnebar. How about you?’ she prompted.

‘Me?’ He shrugged. ‘This is just a break from work for me.’

‘That’s great. I can’t think of anywhere better to relax.’

‘I think it’s time to swim,’ he said, as if he was as keen as she was not to delve too deep. ‘Unless you’ve seen enough water for today?’

‘No, I like swimming.’ Did she sound too keen? She was already on her feet. ‘It must be way past half an hour since we ate,’ she agreed, turning serious.

‘Way past,’ Saif agreed dryly, striding ahead of her into the foam.

CHAPTER FIVE

THEY swam like dolphins, and in spite of everything that had happened that day Antonia wondered if a day had ever ended so well. Saif was a much stronger swimmer than she was, and when a giant wave crashed over her head he was there in moments, drawing her to him where she felt safe. She was intensely aware of the brush of his hard, warm body against her own.

She felt safe and yet at the same time in the worst danger of her life, if only because no one had ever made her feel so aware of her physical self before. Saif made her want to swim better and to tease him all she could. She wanted to show off and flirt with him—with danger. Some small inexperienced part of her hoped he wouldn’t notice her attempt to attract him, but the rest of her most definitely hoped that he would.

She would wait a long time for another night like this. They were miles away from anywhere on a desert island, with no one to see them as they stepped out of their normal lives and did whatever they wanted to do; they could be whoever they wanted to be …

And she wanted to be attractive to Saif.

She plunged into the waves at his side and began powering out to sea, leaving him with no alternative but to go after her. Seizing hold of her, he trod water, demanding, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

Her answer was to playfully spray a mouthful of salt water in his face. Astonishment barely covered it. He gave her a look. She dodged out of his grip and started swimming away. ‘Last time I was too gentle with you!’ he exclaimed, catching up with her again.

Her answer this time was to splash him as she called out, ‘If you don’t like it, catch me and punish me.’

And, like a sleek young otter she slipped out of his grasp and swam away again.

‘Okay, I’m sorry!’ She shrieked with excitement when he caught hold of her. She was playing with him as if they were lovers. But this was the Gulf, and he was a king, while she was … wonderful. She felt so warm and supple beneath his hands, and it was impossible not to notice that they fit together perfectly when he struck out for shore.

‘You’re not a bit sorry,’ he accused, rejoicing in her defiance.

‘Okay, not that sorry,’ she agreed, her lips curving in a mischievous smile as she turned her head to look at him.

‘Do you always live so dangerously, Tuesday?’ he demanded as he matched his stroke to hers. This was shifting rapidly from surreal to erotic, he realised as he waited for her reply.

‘Never as dangerously as this,’ she admitted.

He could believe it.

‘Anything rather than live a dull life,’ she declared, putting her head down and diving into the waves as she used the power of the sea to drive her into shore.

There was nothing dull about her. She had more verve than his entire court put together. In a few short hours she had pointed out what was missing in his council of elders—personality, youth and vigour were just a few of the qualities he could name. And however passionate he was about taking Sinnebar forward he couldn’t steer each new initiative himself. It would be good to have someone like her on board, he thought fleetingly, before dismissing the idea as ridiculous. But she was young and vital, and though she made mistakes in many ways Tuesday was a kindred spirit. How could he blame her for getting things wrong, when the only people who never made a mistake were those who never tried anything new?

‘Can’t you slow down?’ she begged him finally. ‘I’m exhausted pretending I can keep up with you.’

He laughed and called back some taunting challenge, but slowed his pace and waited for her. He was already standing, well within his depth when she swam past him. Her safety was paramount to him and he rode shotgun behind her as she waded into shore. She was strong in mind and in body, and he could understand how she had escaped the pirates, but did he need the complication of such a high spirited young woman in his life? The answer to that was a firm no.

Building a case against Tuesday was easy, he concluded as she turned to smile at him over her shoulder—another point in her favour, he conceded wryly. She would challenge him. She would prove more than a match for most men.

But most men couldn’t have her.

He was suffering a bad case of desert-island fever, he decided, determined to put her out of his mind.

‘Where are you going, Saif?’ she demanded, catching hold of his arm when he turned to walk away from her.

As she stared into his eyes he felt tugged right in, as if Tuesday’s eyes held the secret of life. ‘Isn’t there enough sand to go round?’ He pretended impatience as he stared at the vast stretch of beach turned silver by the moonlight. ‘Must we inhabit the same square metre of sand?’

‘That’s up to you,’ she said.

He held her gaze. Her eyelashes were clogged with water and her lips were slightly parted and moist. She was excited at the thought of what might happen next, while he knew only too well he could offer her none of the things she dreamed about.

Nor would he stand by while she heaped more reasons for regret on top of what had already been a traumatic day for her, he determined, pulling away. But then he knew this was the opportunity he had been looking for to ask Tuesday a question that had been nagging at the back of his mind. If she had been assaulted during the attack, he would call ahead and arrange specialist counselling for when she returned to the mainland.

Saif’s question should have embarrassed her, but it didn’t. They had past that marker some time ago, Antonia realised, and now she owed him the truth. ‘The boat was attacked,’ she explained, ‘But I jumped into the sea before they could touch me.’

‘Bad enough,’ Saif commented.

And it could have been so much worse; they communed silently in a moment of real contact between them.

Then, incredibly, Saif’s eyes warmed as he stared down at her, and his lips tugged in a slow grin. ‘You came out of it well,’ he said.

Time stood still as they stared at each other, while her heart pounded louder than the surf. It wasn’t that Saif touched her—he didn’t need to when she swayed towards him.

They were cool from the sea, but she was hot, hot enough to make the sea boil when he kissed her. He tasted salty and clean and wonderful, and her wildest fantasies could never have conjured up that hot-cold, salty-sweet kiss.

‘Am I safe?’ she murmured when he released her, without opening her eyes.

‘You’re as safe as you want to be,’ Saif told her.

‘Not safe at all, then.’ Her lips started to curve in a smile as she looked at him.

‘You’re not frightened of me?’ he said.

‘A little,’ she admitted.

He shook his head. ‘How can the girl who swam through a storm in no visibility and no guarantee of success be frightened now?’

‘Because I think you are a very dangerous man,’ she told him softly.

‘Hmm. Are you cold?’ he demanded as she shivered with anticipation.

Her answer was a sigh, and so he nuzzled her neck, and everything inside her melted.

‘You can always go back to the yacht and sleep safely in a bunk,’ Saif murmured.

‘Why would I do that?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

And then he strode across the beach, holding her in his arms as if she weighed nothing, while she linked her hands behind his neck and snuggled her face against his chest. It was the easiest thing in the world to believe they belonged together, and that this was their island with no outside world to complicate things or muddy the water. There was no tomorrow here, no yesterday, there was only now, with the ocean lapping rhythmically on a sugar-sand shore, with a sickle moon and diamond stars to light their way. There was just one man, one woman.

There was only this …

‘Still feeling safe?’ he said.

She drew a fast breath as he ran the fingertips of one hand very lightly down her arm. This was madness, she registered as her heart beat wildly. She didn’t even know Saif. She might have fantasised about such things happening, but had never imagined they would.

Saif continued to tease her with the lightest touch. It was a touch that carried the promise of so much more, and that was all it took to convince her that she was free to do as she liked here.

Free to enjoy sex with a complete stranger?

Why not? Antonia argued stubbornly with her inner voice. ‘Do you believe in fate, Saif?’

‘Maybe.’

‘You do. I know you do,’ she insisted. ‘Just think about it—why am I here? Why did I swim to this particular island where you were moored up? We were meant to meet,’ she said with certainty, holding Saif’s brooding gaze.

‘It was the closest port in a storm for both of us,’ he said, injecting some realism into her thinking.

But she did feel the pull of kismet, and was sure Saif must feel it too. ‘I’m not frightened of you,’ she said. ‘In fact …’

Saif shushed her, and as he looped his arms around her waist her body responded with indecent urgency. This wasn’t some soft, office-bound male. Saif was a barbarian, raw and sexual, and there was steel behind that brooding stare.

He would be tuned to every desire she had ever dreamed of. He was the mate nature had chosen for her, she decided, choosing to ignore the voice in her head that said he was ruthless, and that Saif lived his life by very different rules. This would be a night to remember for the rest of her life. Saif wanted sex, and she did too. What was wrong with that? Now his lips were soft and persuasive on her mouth and on her neck.

While his stubble was sharp like a warning.

She was moist and hot. She was ready for him.

But was she ready for sex with a man as experienced and as exciting as Saif? Could she trust him? Could she trust him enough?

She was more frightened of her own inexperience than she was of Saif, Antonia realised; she was frightened she might disappoint him.

The silence deepened as he stared at her. They were both fiercely aroused, and he took pleasure in keeping her waiting. Meanwhile, his strength and heat were washing over her, and his expression said he would exceed every dream she’d ever had.

She softened against him, arching her back to encourage his hands to move lower, and she groaned with satisfaction when he cupped her buttocks. It only took the smallest adjustment to angle herself so she could feel the steel of his erection, to which he responded by pressing and releasing her against him, allowing her a hint of the pleasure to come.

But she wanted more than this. All thoughts of standing hesitantly on the brink, and of decisions yet to be made, had vanished. Her world comprised the throbbing hunger between her legs. There was nothing more. One night, she argued with her inner voice. She had to. She had never known such a primal instinct to mate with one man, or even known that she possessed such hunger. It was as if Saif had made her supremely conscious of her feminine power.

As if he sensed this confidence in her, he swung her into his arms again and carried her on board the yacht. When he laid her on the cushions beneath the stars, she felt one moment of anxiety, because now it seemed Saif was hesitating. ‘Don’t you want me?’

‘I want you.’

His eyes were flecked with gold and amber, and as he stretched out at her side his mouth curved in a lazy smile. ‘Do you know what happens when you play with fire?’ he murmured, toying with a strand of her hair.

‘I get burned?’ she said hopefully.

He laughed, and then dragged her close to whisper all sorts of outrageous suggestions in her ear—words that carried such an erotic charge she would reach a conclusion without him if he didn’t hurry to put his promises into practice.

Saif wielded an unusual power over her, Antonia realised as his hands warmed and controlled her. She should be aware of that—and be cautious. She didn’t know him or what he was capable of, but then she hardly knew herself in this new guise of reckless heat. ‘I want you,’ she murmured, quickly forgetting her reservations when Saif moved over her.

‘You’ve got me.’ Impossibly attractive and indescribably intimidating, he was experienced and she was not, and she was only now realising he had prepared her to the point where there could be no turning back. To the point where she felt a frantic need to welcome him inside her as nature, and Saif, intended.