The Sheik's Desires Boxset

by Leslie North

  She yawned again, shut down her tablet and stood. To Zafar, the air in the room seemed to crackle, but he did not know if she felt it. Her eyelids were half-closed and she yawned again.

  “You…” he said and swept her up in his arms. She gave a small squeak. “…Are about to fall asleep on your feet.”

  She settled her head on his shoulder. “Yes, but we have done the impossible. If your dad doesn’t love this design, then—”

  “We will argue him into loving it. It works, Belle.”

  She looked at him, her blue eyes very serious now. She touched a fingertip to his cheek. “It does. We do.”

  Zafar shook his head and headed for her bedroom. She put her head on his shoulder again. He kicked open the door to her room and carried her to her bed. Moonlight flooded the room. Settling her on the coverlet, he glanced down at her.

  Even exhausted as she must be, she looked beautiful—her hair curling around that round face of hers, her clothing clinging to her in a way that only made him want to strip it off her.

  She caught his wrist. “So…just how traditional are you?

  Zafar stopped and looked down at her. “Enough so that I have no interest in such things as one-night stands or flings—but a lasting relationship…I am not certain that can exist between people of very different backgrounds.”

  Belle nodded. “I can see your point. But didn’t we just prove contrasts work pretty well? Or do you think this is a huge mistake.”

  He leaned over her, close enough now he could feel the heat from her body across the few inches that separated them. “This isn’t a mistake. This is fate.” He lifted a hand to her cheek and brushed her lips with the pad of his thumb. Leaning over her, he covered her lips with his own, tasting her slowly as if they had all the time in the world.

  She opened her mouth slightly, and he took advantage of her offering. She smelled like a touch of heaven, like a rare, spicy flower. He let his fingertips flow over her skin, down the curve of her neck and then he traced the edge of her top until his fingertips rested in that alluring dip between her breasts.

  She gave a soft moan and he kissed her again and covered one breast. Her nipple hardened under his touch—that undid the last of his control.

  His body felt as if it was on fire. From the first taste of her mouth, he couldn’t wait to explore her body. She pushed her hands through his hair and murmured, “That feels so good.”

  “It will be even better,” he promised. Straightening, he pulled off his shirt and climbed onto the bed next to her. She sat up and tugged off her tank top. He pulled her to him and wrapped an arm around her, stroking the skin on her lower back, reveling in her smell and in the small gasps she made.

  He slipped off her sweatpants from her body—she had on nothing underneath. The scent of her arousal—sharp and musky—reached him. His body hardened and he snapped the fastening to her bra, releasing her breasts.

  She was tugging on his shirt now, pulling it open and off, her mouth hungry and seeking more of his skin. He pushed her down on the bed and took one, hard nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. She gave another moan and arched against him, her eyes fluttering closed.

  Never before had he felt such a strong urge to take a woman, never had he known such need, or wanted to please a woman more.

  He trailed his kisses lower, onto her belly. Spreading her legs he kissed the inside of her thigh. She shivered. He kissed her lower lips, licking her, tasting her sweet honey—ah, this was better than heaven. She gave another moan and tugged on his hair. He moved up and kissed her again, melding his lips to her. She spread her legs even wider, making room for him, and tugged on his pants.

  He lifted up slightly and shoved the loose trousers down. Now it was only skin to skin—heat to heat. He pressed close to her, liking the way her hands flowed over him, tracing every inch of his body. She reached between them and stroked a hand over him.

  “I don’t do things like this,” she whispered, and kissed then bit his shoulder.

  He gave a groan. “Things like what?” he asked. He stroked a finger into her. “Like this?”

  She gave a moan. “Are we mad?”

  “Utterly,” he said and pushed into her.

  She arched against him and he slid into her—warmth and wet need welcomed him. She slipped a leg around her waist. “It’s impossible.”

  He pulled out and pushed in again. “Yes, but we do the impossible—and we fit.”

  She answered with a low hum. Head thrown back, she arched and wiggled her hips. “Time to stop talking and just move.”

  Zafar pulled out and pushed in again, making every inch count. She gasped, and he felt her shiver. “Come with me, Belle.”

  He took his time, making every move smooth and firm. She clutched at him, dug her nails in, urged him to move faster—harder. He kept up a steady pace until she gasped and shivered and called out his name. Only then did he push up on his palms, so he could hold his body over hers, their hips pressed tight, joined only at one spot. She looked more than beautiful with her head thrown back and her skin pale in the moonlight. He wanted to hold onto the moment forever, but he could not.

  His arms were shivering and he could feel himself ready to come apart with her. He thrust into her again and again until she cried out. Pulling out at the last moment, he spilled his seed onto her belly. Small aftershocks wound through him. He pulled Belle close and lay on his side. A lazy peace trickled through him.

  Eyes half-closed, Belle smiled. “Okay, that was unbelievable. I’ve never—it’s never…” Her words trailed into a sigh.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. She felt as if she belonged in his arms, but that was not the truth.

  The truth was they came from very different worlds. She would want to return to her world, and he…he was not certain what he wanted. He held her until her breathing eased and deepened. Slowly, he slipped from her bed, found his shirt and trousers and started for the door.

  He glanced back only once, to see her naked in the moonlight, her body limp as it should be for any woman well-pleased. The image of her spread out like that was one he would never forget. But now he knew he faced a task even more impossible than coming up with a design that would blend the old with the new—he must convince his Belle that his world and hers could exist together, too.

  Chapter 10

  Belle woke, her mind spinning. She’d often sleep only a few hours at a time and get up early to do some extra sketches. Now she felt as if Zafar had charged her body with energy—or maybe it was just the great sex. She grabbed a quick shower and threw on a light dress. She had a new idea for their plans for the swimming facility. Zafar had set up two separate pools for women and men, but that was not just going to add to the cost but also to the time needed for construction. If they used a sliding wall, like the one Zafar had in the kayak-training course, one pool could be used for multiple purposes. She’d just need to tweak the drawing a little.

  Slipping down the stairs in bare feet, she made her way toward the workroom. It had to be close to dawn. She could see faint, gray light drifting in the windows. No one in the palace seemed to be awake, however. From outside, she couldn’t hear so much as a bird.

  The door to the workroom stood ajar, but she couldn’t remember how they’d left it. She shivered and her skin warmed. She could remember Zafar carrying her upstairs to her room, and she definitely remembered what followed, but that was about it. Heading to the drawing table, she glanced at bare wood. Now her skin chilled. Heart thudding, she looked for her tablet. Gone.

  “No, no, no,” she muttered. Had someone cleaned up in here? But she knew Zafar had left orders for the room to be left untouched. Face hot and fist clenched, she headed back upstairs. Zafar had to have taken the drawings—what, he’d figured she’d be so insensate from sex she wouldn’t notice if he made a few changes?

  She ran up the stairs and headed to find his room. It took her three tries—two empty rooms first off—and then she found his. He’d left his w
hite shirt and trousers on the floor—but she knew the scent of him, knew that lump in the bed had to be him. Shutting the door behind her, she flicked on the lights. Heading to the bed, she picked up a pillow and thumped him on the head.

  He bolted upright and froze. He glanced at the pillow she’d hit him with and asked, “Did you just throw that at me?”

  “No. I hit you with it. Now, where are they?” she demanded, her voice shaking.

  He blinked. Under the thin sheet, he was naked. She knew that. She could see miles of bare chest, lightly dusted with hair, and strong arms, and far too much skin. Her throat dried—images of last night kept popping into her mind.

  And that’s why mixing work and sex is a bad idea.

  “The designs. Where are they?” She crossed her arms.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “In the workroom of course.”

  Belle shook her head. “I was just there and there were no drawings. No designs. My tablet is missing, too. You put that workroom off limits, meaning you’re the only other person who knew we’d finished. So…where are they?”

  Zafar pushed his legs out from the sheets. They were also muscular with dark hair and were far too distracting. She tried to focus on his face. He needed a shave and if he was acting, he was damned good. He looked at her, a frown tugging his eyebrows together. “Belle, I don’t know what has happened, but you think I would sabotage this work?”

  “No, I think you might want to change things without telling me. We’re supposed to present this to your father today, but what the hell are we presenting?”

  He threw off the sheets and stood. Her mouth went utterly dry and her fingers twitched with the urge to touch him—to stroke that skin of his.

  “Let me get dressed,” he said.

  “Good idea,” she muttered.

  He threw on a T-shirt and black jeans, and she followed him back downstairs. Glancing around, Zafar muttered something in Arabic, then said, “Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her with him toward the back. Just off the kitchen, he stopped next to a room with a keypad lock. He pressed in a code and opened the door. Inside, she stared at a dozen monitors showing what looked like footage from cameras all over the palace. Her gaze flitted from one to the next, and her shoulders eased when she saw the cameras generally were trained on windows and doorways—there was one aimed at the balcony to her bedroom, but no one had been spying on her. Or at least that was what she hoped.

  Zafar headed to a chair, sat down in front of a keyboard and began typing something. On the largest center monitor, the screen lit up with a view of the door into the workroom. It played back, showing Zafar carrying Belle out of the room—and it showed Zafar kicking the door closed behind him. Belle frowned. She wasn’t used to seeing herself, and the monitor showed her draped over Zafar as if she was a coat that wanted a snug fit. Her cheeks warmed and she looked away.

  Still frowning, Zafar typed in something else and the view switched to the doorway that led into the workroom from the courtyard. He ran what had to be recordings backwards—and a shadow appeared.

  Belle leaned closer. “Is that…that looks a lot like the guy we met the other day. You can’t miss that pear shape.”

  “Daheer,” Zafar said, grinding out the word.

  She glanced at him. The way he said that name there was a lot more than just family rivalry in the word. “He has our designs? How did he get into the palace?” Belle asked, wrapping her arms around her body.

  Zafar waved a hand. “What is important is getting those designs back.” He glanced at her. “You didn’t happen to email yourself a copy?”

  She pushed out a breath and shook her head. “I was going to do that this morning. It’s going to take us all day to recreate them.”

  “My father expects to see them first thing and Adyan needs those drawings for his meeting—if we push that back, the construction company will think we are not serious about our dates.” He stood and faced her. Belle wanted to take a step back. She knew he wasn’t angry with her, but those tawny eyes of his looked even more like a lion’s stare—a hungry, pissed-off lion. He focused on her and caught her by her upper arms. “Could you remember enough to re-create the core design? Just the concept and exterior?”

  Belle bit down on her lower lip. She pushed out a breath. “I’m worried I’ll miss something—but, yes, I have some earlier concept work on my computer in my room, and on my smartphone. I could get some roughs done.”

  He let go of her and started for the door. “Wait—where are you going to be?”

  Glancing back at her, he said, “I’m going to go find out how Daheer got into the palace and I’m going to see what can be done about getting our design back.”

  “You mean if the guy didn’t just burn the papers and trash my tablet.”

  His mouth curved in a way that left Belle even more certain she never wanted to be on his bad side. “Oh, Daheer will want to gloat. I know him well.”

  “Okay, so you’re going to head over to his place and demand he turns them over? Won’t he just play dumb?”

  “This is not America, and our world is not that simple. There are ways to do things without making open accusations. You must trust that I know how to handle this situation. Go, start work again. I’ll come find you once I have some answers.” He turned for the door, hesitated, and came back to her. Pulling her close, he hugged her tightly until she let out a breath. Holding her away from him, he said, “We can do this.”

  She nodded, but she was already uncertain. This was no way to work—what with family feuds like something out of the last century. If only she hadn’t let Zafar distract her. If she hadn’t let him carry her to bed, she would have emailed those designs—she’d have copies. She’d let this situation get out of hand. This was her fault.

  Zafar seemed to sense what she was thinking—he cupped her face with his hand. “Do your best. That’s all we have left right now, and your best is very good.”

  The blush crept over her entire body. No one had ever told her that. Not her mother, or her father, or her brothers, or any of her teachers. She gave a nod and watched Zafar leave. Turning to the security cameras, she saw him flit from doorway to doorway and out of the palace. She had no idea where he was going. But she knew what she had to do.

  Turning to the door, she knew it was time to order up coffee—lots of it. And then she was going to have to live up to Zafar’s expectations of her.

  Chapter 11

  This was taking far too long, Zafar thought. He started with questions for the guards on the grounds—but most of them had worked for his family for generations. They were not just beyond suspicion, but were loyal enough to die for his father. They were also, however, the most likely to know who Zafar should question.

  It took an hour to speak to the guards, to drink tea and get around to the topic in a way that would not have anyone setting out with a knife to cut Daheer’s throat. Two of the older guards pointed Zafar to a young man—Fahid—who had only recently come to work at the palace.

  Half an hour later, Zafar had Fahid sitting in the security room. “You were on duty last night?” Zafar asked.

  Fahid looked from Zafar to the monitors and nodded.

  “Then how do you account for this?” Zafar replayed the tape, showing a shadowy figure coming into the palace.”

  Fahid’s narrow face paled. He looked even younger now than his twenty years. “Sheikh Zafar, I do not—”

  Zafar held up a hand, cutting off the man’s words. He stepped forward and leaned over the man. “Lies will not help you. Think before you answer. And tell me—your uncle, does he not work for the Daheer family?”

  Fahid glanced at the two other guards—both older and loyal—who stood beside the door. Looking back at Zafar, Fahid swallowed. “I…it is all my fault. Sheikh Daheer, he wanted me to take this job. He…he said my uncle and all my family would not fare well if I did not. I thought…I thought I was only to tell the sheikh small things that did not matter. Bu
t then Sheikh Daheer comes to me. He tells me you are creating plans to destroy the old quarter utterly. He says if he can but see what is being planned, he can stop it. I did not see him take anything.”

  Nodding, Zafar let out a breath. “So you believed him.”

  “Yes…and I, I know your father is honorable. But I have lost my family’s honor.”

  “There is a way to reclaim it, Fahid. And to keep your job.” Zafar straightened.

  “Anything. I will do whatever you ask.”

  “If you can help recover what Daheer took, all will be forgiven.”

  ***

  “Belle, come with me,” Zafar said. She looked up from the drawing table. She had made excellent progress, he saw, but he could not allow their plans to remain in Daheer’s hands. Who knew what that man would try to do with them. He also, unfortunately, needed Belle’s help. He would prefer to keep her out of this, but she was the key.

  She tossed aside her pencil and stood. “If you’re going to head in to bust Daheer’s face, I’m up for it.”

  He found a smile. “No face busting, but we do need your help. Change quickly. I know how Daheer got into the place, and now we’re going to turn that against him. Wear something—something very American.”

  She gave him a grin and hurried out of the room. Five minutes later she came back in sandals, a sleeveless top that clung to her and a short skirt that he was quite certain would be scandalous even by American standards. He stared at her and she twirled. “American enough for you?”

  He nodded and took her hand. “Come to the garage with me.”

  Fahid was waiting. He, too, had changed from his uniform into jeans and a black T-shirt. Belle gave the man a sideways glance, and then looked at Zafar. “He’s our way in?” she asked.

  Fahid straightened. “I will see you safe, lady, with my life.”

  She gave a nod. “Okay, that works for me.”

  The drive across the city took less than ten minutes. Fahid kept quiet. Zafar outlined the plan. “Fahid will let me out early. You will come in to visit Sheikh Daheer. Be very American—be more than American.”