The carnal blast of his smile weakened her knees, and she folded her arms across her chest. Stability. She needed some sense of stability around this man before she did something stupid.
“From the moment you walked in the door, I wanted you for my own. Tell me your terms.”
OMG! He wanted her . . . sexually. Her feminine mind couldn’t comprehend the idea of being bought for sex. His mistress. Holy crap!
Sex. The word clanged around in her head like Big Ben sounding the hour.
With him.
Taken by him.
Oh, God! Sensual visions, images of him in Valentino garb, carrying her into his desert tent, streamed through her over-active imagination, creating a lustful frenzy within her. She clenched her thighs together. Placement of rose petals!
“Terms?” She must be dreaming.
He cocked his head to the side, spilling the sexy layers. “Yes, I don’t want to waste time bickering back and forth. You name it, and it’s yours.”
Mistress. His mistress. A concubine for God’s sake. The blaring statement flew around in her head in tornado fashion. For just a moment, before her outrage exploded and she blurted out what he could do with his offer, she paused. Her anger, already stretched to the limit, snapped. Mission or no mission. Job or no job. Nobody had to put up with— “Listen, Slick.”
Oh my God, did she just say—
“Slick?” he interrupted her, a devilish hunter green light flashing in his eyes. Arching forward in his chair, one perfect eyebrow arched almost to his hairline. “Slick?” he repeated, his lips lifting into a flash of if-you-want-to-play-in-my-world smile. “I think you mean ‘Your Royal Highness,’ don’t you?”
She leaned across the table, her nails digging into the soft wood. If her grip increased even a fraction more, she’d snap her nails clean off.
“Using the title ‘Your Royal Highness’ would signify some type of civility. You just showed me you don’t possess an ounce of quality.” She barked the words out, impatient to be out of this restaurant, out of this situation. She was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the minute.
His overconfident smile vanished, replaced by shock.
His nostrils flared as his breath hissed between his teeth. Diabolical anger flashed within his eyes, changing their color to deep jade pools. She should be frightened. She wasn’t . . . just extremely irritated. Her raised voice was drawing the attention of the other patrons. She ignored their curious stares.
Placing her palms against the table, she rose. “I’m obviously not the person for this job. Apparently, we have a personality conflict.”
Again ignoring the impulse to bash him over the head with her computer, she packed up her things, shoving them angrily into her briefcase. His tense voice froze her in mid-motion.
“Sit down. Everyone is staring.” Colder than Himalayan snow, his voice congealed her blood.
Disregarding him, she continued, her entire body quaking with fury. She couldn’t get away from him fast enough. He’d . . .he’d offered to buy her.
He rose, buttoned his jacket, and came around the table, blocking her exit. She sidestepped him. His narrowed eyes surveyed the room and the large group of reporters watching their every move. A vivid curse erupted from him. All noise and movement halted. Candace could’ve heard a pin drop as people openly stared.
His hand snaked out, manacling her forearm, jerking her into the circle of his strong arms. She stumbled in her heels, losing her balance. Their bodies slammed together, and his chest, rock hard beneath her protective fingers, scorched her with a combination of his body heat and scent.
Mystic.
Secret.
Him.
Spontaneous sexual combustion exploded within, extinguishing her anger. What was it about this man? Stunned, she faltered for a moment, providing enough time for his lips to ambush hers-enough time for him to demonstrate his mastery over her. His lips, urgent and demanding, produced a heavenly sensation in the pit of her stomach. Stunned, her briefcase and purse fell from her fingers.
He raised his head for a fraction of a second. “I’ve got to have you,” he growled into her ear, his voice an intimate whisper, and her knees buckled.
She gasped when his insistent lips seized and pillaged hers again, his tongue invading the heated interior of her mouth. As he dragged her closer, his hands trapped her face in a possessive embrace, steadying her as his lips secured hers. Sharp intakes of shocked astonishment echoed through the restaurant. He ignored them, continuing to kiss her senseless. Bordering on a man obsessed, forbidden enticement originated within his kiss. She melted into him. Her arms fell to her sides like a limp ragdoll. She’d never been kissed liked this. Never. His kiss consumed her, liquefied her, and stole her ability to breathe.
Increased longing from his ardent attention nearly blew her body apart. Aroused to the point of no return, within seconds she’d climax just from the rapturous power of his lips. Eyelashes that a second ago rested on her cheeks flew up as her gaze plunged into his as he ended the everlasting moment.
At the distinct sound of a flurry of flutters from camera lenses, he abruptly released her. She stepped away from him, staring intently.
What just happened?
Dear God! She let him . . . she let him . . .
Damn him for thinking this was that easy!
That she was a piece of cake. That his advances were irresistible. She’d show him. Damn him!
His head swiveled toward the reporters, then swung back to her.
WHACK! Her open palm connected with his cheek. Beneath her fingers, his skin burned. A mauve replica of her palm stood out against his tanned face. His wide-open eyes reflected his disbelief.
Again, an orchestra of camera shutters filled the air, followed by the loud exclamations emitted from the other guests finishing their lunch. Gazing up into his stunned face, she pivoted in her red stilettos, picked up her briefcase and purse, and walked straight out of the restaurant amid excited whispers.
Chapter 2
He’d blown it. Big time. Bringing the binoculars up, Diyari focused on the lone figure on the beach, adjusting the lens to bring Candace Danvers into his point of convergence.
An arc of tension knotted his back muscles into bricks. She’d never speak to him again. Planning Nina’s wedding? Out of the question! Hell, who could blame her with those scandalous pictures blanketing the morning papers? To make matters worse, he’d shot his mouth off about wanting to buy her for sex—had actually offered to put indiscretion into the contract. Offered her money like some hooker you buy off the street. What the hell was wrong with him? He lowered the binoculars and pinched the skin between his eyes. Good God! Even he had trouble believing how irresponsible he’d been. Discipline . . . discipline . . . hell, what man had discipline when it involved a woman? None.
He shot a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. She’d conjured some sort of sexual charm or magic on him from the moment she walked into the restaurant. Sorcery, black magic, that’s what it was. Nothing short of wizardry could have him dealing with this overwhelming amount of possessiveness he felt toward her. He drew in a deep, punishing breath. She was getting to him. Getting to him on a level he’d never breached before, and it scared the hell out of him. Last night every time he closed his eyes, her image floated in front of him, his body feverish with anticipation to make her his, smoldering like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Lying there naked and hard, he kicked off the sheets, his body so supersensitive, even the silken sheets rubbed him, wired him. His body burned with a thousand degrees of sensuality. All because of that kiss. But boy, what a kiss it was. Shattering, punishing, and demanding.
He was behaving like a mad man. He was mad. Completely out of his mind. Mad with a carnality that robbed his ability to think, hell, to breathe, to function lik
e a rational man. He had to have her. Had to make her his. And he had absolutely no right to feel this way about her. None. He was promised to another. Maybe it wasn’t official yet, but he was bound by his father’s word, and when he ascended to the throne, he would marry Princess Naomi.
Blown away by Candace’s demure femininity, he’d let his sybaritic nature have its head. For the first time in his life, he’d lost control. Him. The man people claimed had ice water in his veins. He paused in his diatribe, then smiled. The laughable part about this whole mess was, he’d do it again if he thought for one second she’d contemplate his request.
Yes, she would be his. He’d pay any price, do anything to alleviate this razor-blade desire cutting into his gut. Even sell his soul.
A tightness in his chest made breathing impossible. She activated some barbaric demand within him, a fiendish yearning—no, wait—an insatiable passion, which made him unhinged. Yes, he’d been out of line—way out of line. He knew that. But his feelings for her, this lust at first sight, were as foreign to him as the ground beneath his feet. Hell yes, he was sorry for the way he’d handled the situation. He’d been an absolute ass, and he had the pictures to prove it. Everybody around the world had the pictures to prove it.
His fingers smoothed over his beard-stubbled cheek, remembering the sting from her well-placed slap. No wonder she’d belted him. He deserved it. Did he really expect her to fall down on her knees in gratitude for a chance to belong to him? Dream on, pal. This woman was no iced confection for him to devour. No, she was a business professional who wasn’t afraid to stand up to him. Hell, that was more then he could say about the men with whom he conducted business. She’d choose who she wanted to sleep with, and right now . . . he raised binoculars and focused once again on her. He longed for just a chance to be with her, to be her chosen partner, to worship her . . . to make her his. Gritting his teeth, his jaw muscles straining under the pressure, he determined the immediate necessity for a strategy to overcome every obstacle in his path.
She would be his.
They’d gotten off to a rocky start, but he was determined to rectify the situation. Yeah, determined didn’t even begin to realize the lengths to which he’d go to make her his.
The escalating trade-winds whipped along the side of his beach house, plastered his billowing, unbuttoned white shirt against his body and ruffled the layers of his hair. The tangy aroma of the salted sea air, blended with the coconut-scented sun screen, filled his nostrils. He inhaled, drawing the tantalizing bouquet into his lungs. He swung his binoculars across the strip of sand, glancing over the array of colorful beach towels and sun worshippers. The enticing smell of burgers sizzling on the grill made his stomach growl.
Refocusing his binoculars, he watched Candace hoist a colorful pastel blue and pink surfboard under her arm, then jog into the ocean, enjoying the day.
As a small clump of hair blew across his line of vision, he haphazardly shoved it out of his way just as Candace dropped the surfboard into the five-foot swells of the cerulean Pacific Ocean.
His expectations, along with his body heat, spiked.
Paddling out, she turned.
Sitting upright, straddling the surfboard, she paused, bobbing up and down with the motion of the waves. His breath hung suspended, his lungs burning.
Waiting . . . anticipating.
Then, in a burst of motion, she flattened herself against the board and began paddling.
Gripping the binoculars tighter, he stared, mesmerized, as she lay flat on the board, her hands slicing through the water, paddling rapidly to catch the wave. Within seconds she was standing, knees bent, walking the surfboard from back to front as it continued to pick up speed.
He inched closer to the rail, gripping the binoculars even tighter and completely immersed within her allure. He swiped at the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He’d never stalked a woman before, but he couldn’t help it. He coveted her on a level he couldn’t explain. It was more than just sexual. His body cried out for hers, tormented by the idea of not holding her in his arms. Did that make him a sick bastard? Maybe, but his masculine soul yearned for her.
As she cut through the wave, water sprayed along both sides of the board. Her movements were graceful, controlled, perfectly balanced. A she-cat flourishing in her environment. His heart faltered as a look of pure orgasmic bliss engulfed her face. Familiar with that particular expression, he observed it on women’s faces as they climaxed in his arms.
Completely captivated, he admired both her athletic abilities and her amazing spirit.
A mantra of I want you, I want you, clickity-clacked through his brain like a slow-moving freight train, triggering a blast of carnal heat that rivaled the sirocco winds of the desert. He closed his eyes, savoring the intensity, dreaming of putting it to use.
Physical misery compressed his nerve endings into a bundle of quaking lust. He expelled a long, mournful sigh.
He was wrecked.
Over a woman.
Setting the binoculars down on the terrace railing, he scrubbed his hands across his face, then around the back of his neck, easing the mounting strain. He picked up the ice-cold bottle of water he’d brought from the house and drained the contents. He’d better get a handle on this situation before he did something rash like throw her over his shoulder and kidnap her. He inhaled, then exhaled, pushing the stress of observing her skim across the waves out of his mind.
An impossible feat.
Feeling enslaved, already shackled by her sexual lure, left him in a place he’d never been—a state of constant arousal. Last night, after their brief encounter, he’d been hard for hours, images of her disturbing him over and over until dawn crept through his windows.
Unable to resist, his trembling fingers once again retrieved the binoculars, concentrating on Candace. If he continued to survey her, he was going to go ballistic. Yet the ability to turn away eluded him. Going from zero to rock hard in a matter of seconds, his condition became more unbearable with each passing moment.
“Damnit.” His heavily accented voice sounded foreign to his own ears, laden with an intermixture of stimulation and heat.
A tidal wave of greedy seigneur longing, guttural, territorial, disturbing, nearly flung him off his feet, crashing into his libido. Mine. Mine. Mine. The obsession to own her overpowered him. He staggered backward a couple of steps as if shot. Own . . . now there was a word he’d never associated with a woman before. What the hell was propelling this concept?
His heated blood hammered in his veins. The sound of crashing waves and excited children’s voices droned in his ears. Candace. Candace. Candace.
He swallowed hard, an emotional lump clogging his throat.
For over a year, his sister had requested that White Lace and Promises planned her wedding. It had taken him a mere twenty minutes to destroy her dream. He had to fix this. He blinked several times, fighting to pull his gaze away from her.
Not happening.
She commanded his attention, and nothing short of a nuclear explosion could turn his head away.
He had it bad.
His first crush.
Licking moisture back into his parched lips, he stared in awe as salt water, drenched in sunlight, sparkled like diamonds as it sluiced over the curves of her body. He chased the glistening rivulets as they cascaded over her black bikini top. No more than an eye patch, it absorbed him, as it allowed the fullness of her breasts to bounce seductively with the fluid movement of the waves. His gaze moved smoothly over her in male appreciation, taking in every inch of her shapely body.
His jaw dropped open when her top slipped, almost exposing her entire breast. Quickly, she pulled it back into place . . . but not soon enough. A little growl mirroring an injured animal emanated from his lips. His pressure on the binoculars compressed as he envied the materi
al’s placement.
Her swimsuit bottom appeared not much bigger, covering just enough of her to keep her decent, the minuscule strings of her bikini bottom seated delicately on her hips. With just a tug of his fingers . . .
Eyes drifting shut, he permanently seared the captivating vision into his feverish brain. There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d sleep tonight.
Milky skin exposed by the force of the shifting water gave new meaning to the words tan lines. He’d never experienced this level of white-hot burning in his loins. What was she doing to him? I’m crazy, bonkers.
The sexual voltage ripping through him charged sky-high, and sweat rolled down his temple as control continued to elude him. He’d never been this turned on by a woman he didn’t physically have his hands on. The man whom newspapers deemed unemotional and cunning shook violently. He’d faced savage enemies in battle without a trace of fear. Well, those reporters would have the last laugh, for he was shaking now.
Over a woman.
The earth beneath his feet fell away, leaving him with the incredible sensation of floating. Desire pumped through him, intensifying into a painful throb centering between his legs. The expression of absolute freedom on her face hypnotized him. Extracting his gaze from her would take an act of God.
That he hungered for her so ravenously wasn’t a surprise. The dynamic power of the insatiable ache paralyzing him shook him to the core of his being.
Slim, blond, blue-eyed and tanned, she was the epitome of the California surfer girl. Yet, within her eyes, he’d discovered the intelligence of a perceptive businesswoman.
These qualities led to his total captivation. Insanity. He knew that. Mastering this fascination, however, proved insurmountable. His head fell back in desperation. He closed his eyes—for the first time in his life at a loss at what to do.
For the Sheik's Pleasure (Sheiks in Love Book 2) Page 5