The Sheikh's Secret

by Knight, Kylie

  When at last the kiss broke, Shawna drew back and lowered herself back to the flats of her soles. Clark opened his eyes, momentarily silent. His hold on her hand tightened just a little, as though possessive.

  "I think it's going to be a good road trip," he uttered into the modest space between them. Shawna's smile grew.

  "You know," she replied, "I think you're going to be right."

  Epilogue

  From Victoria they made their way across British Columbia. For a while they stopped in the Rocky Mountains and took advantage of the gorgeous scenery and ski opportunities. Days later saw them cross into Alberta and the busy city of Calgary. Each new city breathed life into Shawna and refreshed her sense of adventure. After so long living a frugal, unsatisfactory life, the thrill of the road was the life for her.

  But it was no longer the thrill of the road alone that revitalized Shawna's spirit. In the days that followed their encounter with Ben, the tenderness that had sprung up between Shawna and Clark flourished. Like teenagers wary of being caught together, affection between them was scarce, but sacred. On the snowy slopes of the mountain, Clark had taken her hand without hesitation, only to drop it in confusion when he'd realized what he'd done. Beneath the clear, starry sky of the open plains, Shawna had curled up to his side on a bench just outside of their motel and laid her head upon his shoulder as they star gazed. When movement brought her gaze back to Earth, she found her lips caught up with Clark's, and they had kissed each other with a low simmering intensity that grew hotter by the hour, but never boiled over. Despite their growing desire for one another, Shawna always slept in her own room. Although Clark was one of the most attractive men she'd laid eyes upon, she was not ready to give herself up so easily. All good things would come with time, and her mother had warned her not to let the road steal her heart. If what they had was genuine, she would be just as into Clark when they returned home as she was in Canada.

  And as the month drew to its end and saw them on the road back home, that feeling had yet to fade. On the back of Clark's bike, pressed firm against his core, Shawna lost herself in the pleasures of the road and the scent from his jacket. Warm memories of his lips haunted her, and when they paused at a rest stop just south of the Canadian border to stretch their legs and use the facilities, Shawna drew him forward by the sides of his jacket and made those lips hers all over again.

  The rest of the drive was uneventful, and it wasn't until they'd stopped outside the apartment complex that Shawna realized her oversight — although she'd worked remotely while in Canada, she hadn't thought to find a new place to live. All of her belongings were in storage, and apart from the clothes on her back, there was nothing she had accessible. Although she could turn to her mother if she found herself in desperate need, she didn't want to burden her any further. Just by cleaning out the apartment while Shawna took off to Canada, she had done more than enough.

  "You know," Clark told her as he dismounted from the bike and pulled off his helmet, "I've never spent a whole month with the same girl before. You're not so bad, blondie."

  Coming from Clark, it was high praise. Shawna set foot on solid ground, stretched, then took her shot. A month with Clark had taught her to be bold. There was no point in dancing around what needed to be said.

  "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, because I need to ask you a big favor. I kind of don't have any place to stay, and I was wondering if I could stay with you until I find a place of my own."

  The question was a simple one, but the air between them was charged for it. There was no longer a wall between their motel rooms to keep them apart — Shawna knew that what she was asking was for something more. Clark knew it just as plainly.

  "Yeah," he murmured, taking her by the hand. For now, just one matter occupied both of their minds — there was a month of tension and bumbling affections to make good on, and Shawna could wait no longer. "We can do that."

  Both of them wove up the stairs to Clark's old apartment and deposited their belongings just behind the door once inside. As soon as their bags had hit the floor, one of Clark's hands pushed her against the wall, and his lips met hers with need. There was no mistaking his intentions — both of them were on the same page.

  Beneath the weight of his kiss and the heat of his body, Shawna lost herself. A barrage of scents clouded her senses, and every touch felt electric. The kiss was hard and greedy, but it was perfect. Each moment left her more confident that she'd made the right choice, but when their lips broke, it was Clark who spoke.

  "I got lucky," Clark confirmed in a husky breath. "You're drop dead beautiful, and I'm just a punk with a cocky streak a mile wide."

  "You're more than that," she whispered back, voice wavering from the promise of pleasure they'd share. "You're the man this drop dead beautiful woman wants, so let life lead you and roll with the punches. Let's see what happens."

  A low growl built in the back of Clark's throat, and he took her hand and pulled her through the apartment and to his bedroom. The room was small and sparse, but it did its job. The bed was more than big enough for two, and as piled with blankets and pillows as it was, there would be no shortage of comfort.

  But sleep wasn't what was on Shawna's mind.

  With Clark there were no promises, no stability, and yet she was not terrified. Following their month abroad and the good and bad of the adventure they'd shared, Shawna knew she was ready for life as she'd never been before. Clark pressed hot kisses down her neck, and one by one as they stood before the bed, they stripped free from their garments. Clark's nude body was as gorgeous as she had imagined, and Shawna couldn't wait to get to know it even better.

  Another round of heated kisses melted her, and as a couple they sank onto the bed. Clark's broad, firm hands directed her and touched her in ways Ben's never had, and even without penetration, Shawna knew exquisite delight. Low, curt grunts from him were accented with her high, breathy trills of pleasure. The moments they had shared in Canada had promised wonders, and Clark did not disappoint.

  Tens of minutes ticked by where they simply kissed and touched, but when Shawna was slick beyond belief, and Clark's body ready to give her pleasure, he did not hesitate. As though they had been born to fit with each other, Clark maneuvered over her and slipped into her depth without struggle. A mutual, breathy sigh escaped each of them, and Clark began to move in earnest. It wasn't long until he found the spot inside of her that made her cry out in delirious pleasure, and he invested everything he had to hit it again and again.

  Each act progressed naturally, and it wasn't until Shawna felt his body hardening further inside of her that she thought of what it was they were doing. Clark's end was approaching, and without adequate protection, Shawna knew the risks.

  "I-If you don't pull out, I might get pregnant," she warned him, the words caught in her throat from her ecstasy. The tight passages of her sex had begun to tighten in response to his encroaching release, and she felt the dark pleasures of orgasm begin to intensify and spread through her gut. Knowing that it was Clark who was inside of her, driving her to those heights, made it all the better. Ben had never been concerned with her pleasure, and Shawna was eager to finally have a lover who anticipated her needs as well as his own.

  "Whatever happens, happens," Clark uttered. No matter what, he was going to leave his seed inside of her. Shawna found she didn't care — more than that, she wanted it, too. Clark was her wild man, her bad boy, and now that she'd turned over a new leaf, she wanted to know her own dangers first hand.

  Clark grit his teeth and breathed out hard as his body pushed into her one last time. The heated warmth of their passion filled her sex — Clark, the dark, sexy man next door, had taken her raw and coated her insides with his seed. Shawna had never felt hotter. The first sinful pulses of pleasure rippled through her, and Shawna closed her eyes and threw her head back. Clark had done this to her. Clark had brought her to new places, had brought her to see new sights, and now had driven her to shattering
highs.

  In the aftermath, as he pulled away and swept her up in his arms to kiss her and run his fingers through her hair, she thought he could do no wrong.

  By and large, Shawna was right.

  Everything he did made Shawna feel amazing, and every day following, when he took her without protection, that feeling got better. By the end of the first week back in town, it was clear that she wasn't going to be getting her own apartment, and by the end of the third month they were on the road to Mexico — not to pick up chicks, Clark assured her, nor to spend time apart. There was only one chick he wanted, and she was the one with her arms around his waist on the back of his bike, ready to spend two full weeks in a lavish resort.

  And Clark kept his word. Despite a past filled with freedom and the promise of travel and wild times, he let life happen. With Shawna's foresight and financial responsibility and his spontaneous nature, they eventually made the move into a little house just big enough for what they needed it for — a young family. Shawna's belly had just started to show, and the glow of pregnancy left her more radiant than ever. A new type of adventure was about to begin, but Shawna knew that not even parenthood would hold back the wild streak both of them savored so much. A change was what she'd needed, and it was what she got.

  Nothing would ever be the same again, but Shawna didn't regret it. Simplest lives were often the most fulfilling, and now that she'd found her simple pleasures she'd never let them go.

  THE END

  The sun was just coming up as the last of the party-goers trailed off to their cabins on the Kallisto. Simon Katsaros, the Kallisto’s owner sprawled in his deck chair and watched the rising sun glint off the graceful Doric columns of the temple of Poseidon. The deep blue of the Aegean waters made him feel calmer, less likely to fly into bits after his confrontation with Marissa, his girlfriend.

  Ex-girlfriend, he amended. He’d sent her off to the mainland with bandbox, birdcage, and parrot as his mother liked to say. Marissa had stood up in the launch, screaming at him in Italian the whole way. She nearly fell overboard at one point but that only made her scream more loudly.

  “Philip, will you bring me another bottle of wine? I want to toast the sunrise.”

  “Red or white, sir?” the steward asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. And bring an extra for Poseidon.”

  The steward nodded and went off in search of the wine and Simon slumped back into his chair and stared out at the water. Thank God it was quiet now on the Kallisto. The band had returned to the mainland around four that morning but the partying had gone on until Marissa’s hissy fit had brought it to a crashing halt by throwing a bowl of caviar all over the redhead — what was her name? Gretchen? — Simon had been kissing in the lifeboat. It wasn’t as if it meant anything, and he’d tried to explain that to Marissa. That’s when Gretchen got pissed off and locked herself in her cabin. What the hell was wrong with women anyway?

  Philip returned with two bottles of wine. Simon carried them up to the helicopter pad where he waited for the chopper to return from dropping the band in Athens. He had a yen to see the temple again, though he’d been there many times. He loved and the temple there, and visited it on a regular basis. It was where he’d first kissed Marissa after an impromptu drive down the coast from Athens. He’d kissed her as the sun set, he remembered. Or was that some other girl? He’d taken a lot of them there and then to the hotel nearby. Women loved getting kissed at a temple. It made what followed seem like a religious experience. What Simon remembered most, though, were the brilliant streaks of color in the perfect blue sky.

  The helicopter returned a little before seven and Simon got aboard and told the pilot he wanted to go to the temple.

  “It won’t be open yet,” George said.

  “It will for me.”

  George grinned whitely. “You’re the boss.”

  That he was, and he paid his people to indulge his whims, of which he had many.

  It was a short hop, and the noise from the chopper wakened the caretaker who unlocked the gates for Simon for a generous tip.

  Simon walked up to the temple and sat down on one of the fallen stones in what would have been the naos, or hall of worship. “Father Poseidon,” he said, “Marissa and I have broken up. I first kissed her here in your sacred place, so I thought you deserved to be the first to know. I brought you a bottle of wine.” He uncorked the bottle and poured it onto the ground. “It’s French. I hope you like it. Thank you for the calm sea.” It wasn’t as if he believed in the old gods, but he did enjoy little rituals.

  He sat for a while, just enjoying the early morning breezes and the warmth of the sun. Tourists would be showing up soon, and he wanted to be away by then, but he couldn’t resist lazing there a bit and thinking about what it must have looked like before it had been destroyed, a handsome, open building with an enormous gold-leafed statue of Poseidon at the head of the naos.

  When he got up, he went over to the spot where the poet, Lord Byron, had incised his name into the stone. He ran his fingers over it and murmured the words of the poet, Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep... Byron who swam out to sea to watch the funeral pyre of his friend, Shelley, who had drowned.

  “Excuse me?” Simon turned to find two young women standing outside the fence. “What time does the temple open?”

  He pretended to check his watch. “For you, right now,” he told them, then opened the gate to let them in. The girls thanked him, and he thought about inviting them out to his yacht, but he’d just gotten rid of one woman, what did he want with more?

  On the way out, he told the caretaker about the girls, and gave the old man his other bottle of wine. Then he flew off like some modern-day godling, which, if money counted for anything, he probably was. Simon Katsaros probably had more money than any god, if you counted his family’s fortune. He had an allowance, and a little side business to bring in more; not something he would ever have told his mother and father about since it was probably not entirely legal, but nobody had to know.

  By the time he got back to the Kallisto, he was tired and ready for sleep. He told the Captain to head for Pireas where most of his guests would have cars waiting for them. They’d spend the night in port where Simon would talk to his business partner, Kosta Papachristos, about whom there was nothing Christlike, and the next morning, head for Halithos, a little island in the Gulf of Corinth, owned by the Katsaros family. He was tired. He wanted to go home.

  Gretchen, or whatever her name was, was waiting for him in his bed. He thought about throwing her out of his cabin, but she looked like an angel with her snow-blonde hair spread out across his pillows. How could Simon resist?

  “Hello, beautiful,” he said as he began to undress.

  Later that afternoon, Simon said farewell to the last of his guests at the Pireas harbor, and walked over to a little espresso bar nearby. He read the newspaper and drank coffee until Kosta showed up.

  Kosta always looked, as Simon’s rather colorful mother would have said, like he tried to and couldn’t. There was always something a bit off. Too flashy and yet too tailored, too much the fake-looking tough guy in over-priced clothing. He was reasonably nice looking, and attracted women right and left. If he dressed better, Simon might have occasionally included him in one of his cruises, but as it was, he wouldn’t have fit in at all. That was just as well. He didn’t want to mix business with pleasure.

  “Why on earth did you want to meet here?” Kosta asked as he sat down.

  “I like their coffee. You said you had something to discuss.”

  Kosta waved the waitress over and ordered an espresso and “something sweet, I don’t care what; two of them.” Then he pulled out his phone. “I have a line on some merchandise from Egypt,” he told Simon. “Some art glass, pottery, that sort of thing.” He flashed a photo at Simon of a crate with a half-wrapped blue bowl sitting on top of it.

  “Are you asking for my p
ermission to move on the deal?” Simon asked.

  “It’s your money.”

  Simon understood what that meant. The shipments were likely to be carrying something more than art glass and pottery, something more expensive, but with the potential to earn a great deal of money. “I don’t know, Kosta. I’m not sure we want to get into that.”

  “This is a sure thing, man.” The waitress brought his espresso and a plate filled with loukoumades swimming in syrup. “That looks great,” Kosta said and swatted the waitress on her ass. “Thanks.”

  She was not pleased, but said nothing. Probably worried about keeping her job.

  “You shouldn’t do that to strange women, Kosta.”

  “Why not? They love being told they’re desirable.”

  “I don’t think that’s what you’re saying, but remember, she’s quite capable of spitting in your coffee next time you come in here.”

  Kosta’s eyebrows shot up. “You think she’d do that over a simple little pat?”

  “I think if you did that to my sister I’d do worse than that to you.”

  “Okay, okay, calm down.”

  “I am calm. Let’s talk.” Simon hadn’t been averse to importing objets d’art from Russia, pre-revolutionary things that netted a lot of money on the black market. But antiquities? That was something else. He had a healthy respect for the ancient. “What exactly are you going to ship?”