The Sheik's Dangerous Temptation

by Mary Jo Springer

  “Jane,” he coaxed, using the only name she recognized.

  She cupped him, her fingers testing the velvet skin before sliding up and down his hard length, watching the dilation of his eyes. He lost his balance, dumping them both into the swirling water. They laughed in unison, the husky octave of his voice sending a thrill down her spine. He helped her to her feet and then backed her up against the tiled rim of the bath. He was all around her—his touch, his scent, the pressure of his arousal against her thigh.

  “You please me so much, I want to pleasure you. I want to be inside you.”

  Yes, she craved that also, with a need so potent she shook from it. She leaned back against the tile and gripped his hips, drawing him to her.

  With his hands braced on the side of the tub, he towered over her. He nudged her legs apart with his thigh and the hot water flowed against her sex. Experienced hands steadied her hips as his fingers dug lightly into the soft flesh of her bottom. Running his tongue up between her breasts, he sucked her nipple into the hot vortex of his mouth and aligned himself with her. She gasped, her head falling back. He reminded her of a statue of a Greek god turned to flesh by some exotic spell. But this was no marble lover, this was a hot-blooded male ready to claim her. Then, without any other preamble, he thrust into her, filling her completely. For a moment, she held her breath as she adjusted to the fullness. He stilled for an instant, letting her get used to his invasion. And then . . . and then . . . he began to move—a prolonged, carnal slide of flesh on flesh. Adapting to his cadence, she arched into him. Fanning her fingers out over his back, she dug her fingers into his tissue, urging him deeper then deeper still.

  His lips captured hers in a hard kiss, and he siphoned her shattering breath from her lungs. Her leg encircled his hip and ecstasy exploded within her when the change in position brought him up against her womb. A ripple of euphoria transported her to another plane of sensuality.

  She began moving her hips to match his slow, drawn out rhythm, the slick experience driving her into a frenzy. He grunted his approval, his eyes clinging to hers in a vise grip. All elements of the gentle doctor disappeared. At this rate, she’d . . . her head fell back as that ripple became a wave, her lips parting as she struggled to get air into her lungs. Her hands touched him everywhere, gliding over wet, sizzling, oh-so-satisfying flesh, seeking fulfillment that lingered just out of reach. She threw her head back, riding the verge of climax, but he gripped the back of her head and brought it forward. He kissed her tenderly, his lips a heated whisper against hers. Beads of sweat coated their moving bodies. Steam cocooned them in luxurious mist.

  “Slow down,” he begged. “I’ve waited a long time for this, and I want it to last.”

  She couldn’t. Her body had an agenda of its own and was spiraling toward completion. Her hands slid over his buttocks and pulled him even closer, accentuating the power of his erotic movements. A wanton groan buzzed his lips, the lush sound vibrating through the pads of her fingers. She savored it.

  “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice strong . . . potent.

  Her gaze jerked to his. His pupils were dilated, the cords in his neck straining. Green eyes dwelled into blue and there in the depths she glimpsed the life she craved. Panting now, she inched closer to her climax.

  Lights gathered behind her eyes as he continued his slow, sanguine pace. Pleasure mounted. A few minutes more and she’d . . . she’d . . .

  She jerked at the initial contact of his fingers between her legs, his finger expertly massaging that spot. Tensing, a meteor shower of gratification ripped her body into an earth-shattering orgasm. Wave after wave of pleasure consumed her, and she would have sunk beneath the surface had his hold on her been less solid. He kissed her then, his tongue sliding deep inside, dancing in slow strokes with her own.

  Again he rasped out, “Habib albi” as he neared his own pinnacle.

  She answered, “Your humble captive,” also in Arabic. With one final thrust, he collapsed against her, holding her tightly in his strong arms. She nestled there, smiling and exhausted, still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Using her remaining strength, she pulled her head back and kissed him. “That was incredible. You’re incredible.”

  He smiled. “Incredible doesn’t begin to do it justice.” He moved away from her, withdrawing from her body, and she immediately felt the loss. He reached for a huge sponge resting at the side of the sunken tub. Turning her around, he leisurely ran the sponge up and down her back, the soft abrading motion relaxing her even further. He pulled her closer after a moment, his ready erection pressing against her bottom. She gasped in pleasure when he reached between her legs and touched her. Then, bending her over slightly, he entered her again without preliminaries.

  “I’m sorry—” he half-heartedly apologized, “—but I can’t get enough of you . . . of this. I fear I will never get enough of you.”

  The wondrous feelings heightened, quickly bringing them both to a simultaneous climax. When she settled against him, he kissed her neck, trailing kisses down the length of her spine.

  “Sweet . . . so sweet,” he muttered against her ear.

  She turned to face him and removed the sponge from his fingers, using it to rub circles across his chest.

  After they both washed, he stepped from the tub, grabbing a lush towel that he tied around his lower body. Picking up another towel, he held it open for her to step into. When she did, the plush softness wrapped around her, and she moaned at the comforting sensation. Tired beyond belief, she longed to sleep in his arms.

  Seeming to understand her unspoken need, he picked her up and carried her to his bed, setting her down on the plush softness of the silk coverlet. He crawled over her body, bracing his arms on either side of her shoulders like a sleek panther claiming his mate. Slowly, expertly, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  “The pleasure of this encounter has been . . . mind-blowing. Thank you, Jane.” He followed the words with another long, slow kiss that would have melted glass. When he raised his head, his eyes met hers, bearing an intensity of emotion that shook her to her core. She’d never felt so cherished in her life. Too bad this wasn’t going to last forever. They had this night, maybe only this night, so they’d better make the most of it. He shifted to her side, removed his towel, and pulled her into his nakedness. She drifted off to sleep that way, snuggled against his heat.

  The California coast stretched before her. Seagulls called to the open sea in a summons as ancient as time. A girl in a bikini waved to a boy surfing on a three-foot swell.

  He waved back and then lost his balance, falling into the rolling sea. Her hand shot to her mouth, and she chewed on her lip with worry. The boy surfaced moments later, shook his head like a sodden wolf, and followed the wave in. She jogged to the edge of the water, waiting for him. He kissed her when he reached her, and they walked hand in hand back to their friend, Jimal, waiting on the beach.

  Suddenly the image changed, and the dark phantom of previous nightmares that began after Malik found her in the desert appeared once again, hooded, his face in shadows. Fear covered her like a viscous cloud at the sight of him. He raised his hand and slapped her hard across the face. He tried to hand her something, and she pushed it away, but he slapped her again and again until she dared not refuse him. Malik’s face drifted in front of her, but no, it was a picture of Malik’s face, not the real thing. The phantom screamed at her for not performing the task he’d assigned to her. He slapped her again, harder this time . . . Blood dripping from her nose and lip, she finally did as he asked. Her hand closed around the grip of the Glock.

  Chapter 6

  Jane jerked awake, but the vivid flashback refused to fade. Checking her watch, her eyes widened at the time. It was past two a.m. She glanced over at the sheik. Malik slept peacefully beside her, well sated and oblivious to her troubled dreams. As carefully as
she could, she pulled back the purple silk sheet covering her naked body. They’d made love again and the recollection of his passionate lovemaking curled her toes. Her shoulders slumped—she was exhausted and her body craved sleep, but her mind had other ideas. Picking up Malik’s discarded shirt, she bunched it together before slipping it over her head, letting it fall to mid-thigh. She strode over to the open French doors and stepped through.

  Air . . . she needed air . . . great gulps of fresh air to chase away the lingering nightmare. She was still shaking with fear when she realized she remembered that boy in her dream. Jimmy Walters, her first love. She might not know her name, but she now knew Jimmy’s. For a moment, she felt as close to him as she’d been to the sheik moments before. But as the cool night air blew across her face, reality sunk in, and the missing pieces of her teen-age years in California slid into place. She registered that Jimmy wasn’t with her. She’d been inseparable from Jimmy and his friend Jimal, a foreign exchange student, in high school.

  OMG! Jimal was the reason she understood Arabic. He’d taught her his language for the entire summer. She was still fluent, which had come in handy lately with her work at the orphanage. Jimmy and Jimal had died a long time ago in a plane crash. Sweet Jimmy and Jimal. Their lives had ended at eighteen before they had even began. But that was a long time ago. How long? Her brain struggled to spit out her age. Damn it! Why couldn’t her name and age come as easily as the long-ago memories of sunny days at the beach? The burning need to know who she was churned in her stomach, and she pressed her fingers to her temples, increasing the pressure as she endeavored to remember more.

  Nothing. She was doomed. She feared she’d never recover her life. Hot, scalding tears slid down her cheeks, and she reached up and swiped them away. It was hell not knowing where you belonged, where you came from, what small accomplishments you’d achieved in your life. Pure hell.

  Fully awake now, she moved across the balcony, her cold toes warmed by the heat of the sunbaked tiles still warm from the sun’s rays hours ago. Sighing heavily, she leaned against the stone balustrade and stared out across the dark sea. Apprehension hummed at the back of her mind, a remnant of the dream. The dark hooded figure who’d replaced Jimmy had been tormenting every dream since she’d awakened in the hospital.

  Silvery moonlight reflected off the crashing waves, which hypnotized her with their rolling motion, a gentle lullaby of the sea. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let the gentle night breeze caress her hair, blowing it across her face. If only she could forget the tormentor who haunted her sleep. Dread gnawed its way up her spine, raising the hair on the back of her neck. Fear of the uncertain racked her with shivers.

  Turning around, she assessed a sleeping Malik, his dark head resting peacefully against the purple silk of the plush pillow. Her eyes drifted down his body. The rumpled sheet rode low on his hips, exposing his flat stomach. Her eyes traced the line of hair until it disappeared beneath the sheet. She smiled. Malik was an excellent lover—an unexpected combination of hard masculinity and tenderness. For a split second, she toyed with the notion of going back to bed and waking him up. Shaking her head, she quickly dismissed the idea. No. She’d let him rest. She needed a few moments alone to let the serenity of this perfect place chase the nightmare away. She shivered again, unable to dispel the darkness. Would she ever be able to tell Malik her true identity? And once again those silent questions arose. What if she had a husband? What if she had children? Tears sprang into her eyes once again, and this time, she allowed them to free fall down her cheeks. Doomed. She felt the weight of the world closing in on her and her handsome sheik.

  Time suspended as she turned back to gaze at the ocean, letting the peaceful night enfold her. How long she stood there she had no idea.

  She jumped when strong arms encircled her waist, jerking her back to the present.

  “I woke up and you weren’t there, habib albi. I missed you.” He nuzzled her neck, pressing quick kisses against her flesh that rekindled her yearning for him. She leaned back against him, content to be in his strong arms. She noticed he was wearing a different pair of jeans, this pair ripped and worn, the ones he wore earlier still lying in a heap in the bathroom. She already wanted him again, and from the evidence probing into her backside, she could tell he felt the same way.

  They continued to stare out at the sea, the lustrous reflection of the moon changing the terrace into a haunting hideaway. Private. Secluded. Perfect.

  “You look so beautiful out here in the moonlight . . . so enchanting and inviting.” His fingers deftly maneuvered the shirt over her head.

  She spun into his arms, desperate for his touch . . .

  Something whizzed past them, missing them by only millimeters, and shattered a vase on his dresser. The sound was deafening. He slammed into her and rolled onto the ground, covering her with his body. Her mind was a swamp of panic and confusion. She had no idea what was happening, but apparently he did. Pressing a hand over her head, he held her down as another object flew by, this one closer than the last.

  “What is it?” she screamed, clinging to him for dear life.

  “Bullets. Someone is shooting at us. Stay down.”

  “Good God, we were nearly hit!” She started to shake with fear, and he ran a calming hand down her back. “Shh . . . calm down.”

  What? Not a chance.

  He crawled over her. “Wait here,” he rasped over his shoulder as he inched his way along the floor toward the doors. The image reminded her of soldiers under fire in boot camp. Reaching out, she snagged the shirt and struggled to get back into it without making herself a target, the tranquility of a few moments ago crushed so completely that the air around them tightened with tension.

  Another bullet streaked by, missing Malik’s creeping form by mere inches. She shrieked, and he glanced over his wide shoulder to make sure she was all right. His tense smile did nothing to alleviate her fear. Then she lost sight of him.

  “Malik,” she called softly, but her plea was only answered by the wind and another bullet swishing by, this one exploding the large potted flowers above her head. Dirt rained down on her. The next one hit the balustrade mere inches from where she lay. God help me! she silently pleaded, as she squinted into the distance attempting to make out who was doing the shooting. An eternity passed before she heard the nightstand drawer open and close in the bedroom and Malik barking orders into his phone.

  Within seconds, Malik was back, using the door frame for protection, a Glock pistol clutched in his fingers. Pressing a finger to his lips, he signaled for quiet. Not possible! Her chattering teeth roared in her own ears. When he reached the balustrade, he inched his way up, leaning just above the stone, his eyes searching the night. The next bullet bit into the stone adjacent to his head. Searing pain slammed into her cheek a second later. Touching her cheek, she felt blood. A splinter of stone shrapnel slashed her cheek just below the eye. She was bleeding! If she got shot again, she feared she’d never survive the trauma. Her eyes followed Malik’s dark form as he stood for a split second, gun extended, both hands wrapped around the stock of the gun. The weapon’s muzzle flashed fire into the night. Pop! Pop! Pop! Panic descended again like a shroud. She had to get out of here. She wasn’t going to die out here on a terrace in the middle of the Arabian Peninsula wearing Malik’s shirt and nothing else.

  Back in his crouching position, Malik flicked his gaze to her. Spying the blood, his eyes widened. “Habib albi, were you hit?” She heard the concern in his voice. He started to move toward her, but she halted him with a raised hand.

  “I’m fine, but a fragment of stone cut my cheek,” she stuttered, fear playing havoc with her vocal cords.

  He nodded and returned his attention to the dark beach.

  “Stay down . . . I don’t know how many are out there.”

  One question kept swirling in her brain. Were the
y after him or her?

  Malik stuck his head up again for another look and a barrage of bullets made him dive across the terrace, landing flat on his back. Covering his head with his arm, he avoided the shards of stone that were showering down from above, but there was no avoiding the choking dust that filled the air. She realized the sound piercing the night was her own high-pitched scream. Malik jerked to a sitting position, aimed, then fired between his knees—once, twice, and then multiple shots in rapid succession. She counted sixteen shots, which meant his magazine was empty.

  She froze.

  Magazine? How do I know that term? And how did I know he’d have fifteen bullets in the magazine and one in the barrel?

  It seemed like a lot of information for a person to have about guns.

  Still puzzled, she heard him eject the spent magazine, the sound cold and deadly as metal hit stone. Almost instantly he slid a new one into place, the distinct click signaling it was primed. He raised the gun and fired again. Out in the darkness, a man’s primal scream shattered the stillness. His bullet had hit its target. He’d killed someone or injured them badly.

  Unable to cope with the death surrounding her, she cupped her hands over her ears and wrapped herself into a fetal position. Still, it wasn’t enough to protect her from the stark reality of what was happening. Automatic gunfire filled the air, along with voices shouting sharp commands. She hazarded a glance and could see Malik’s troops running out onto the beach below them.