For the Sheik's Pleasure (Sheiks in Love Book 2)

by Mary Jo Springer

  Worst case scenario–this man was a suspect. Viper.

  And, yes, he was a Black Scorpion! The crème de la crème of killers.

  She swirled a lock of hair around her finger, keeping her hands busy, shaking off the dense haze playing havoc with reasoning abilities. What she required was cold hard facts, along with a freezing shower.

  She tilted her head to the side. “I’m curious, why didn’t your sister come with you?”

  His gaze bounced to her. “My sister avoids the crush of the press.”

  Under the compression of his potent stare, she shifted in her seat, fighting to remain focused. “Why?”

  He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his muscular thighs outlined by the fit of his jeans, his face serious . . . lethal, his jawline granite. “You have to ask after those scandalous pictures of us appeared in all the morning papers?” A mischievous light danced within the depths of those incredible eyes of his.

  Her toes curled.

  Those dynamo images of them sharing that monumental kiss punched into her brain then ricocheted right to her sex, pumping up those wild, out-of-control sensations she couldn’t afford to acknowledge, not with him sitting in such close proximity. No, he was correct. You couldn’t trust the press to always report the truth.

  “I see.” She smiled, stunned by the play of compelling emotions crossing his face.

  His direct gaze cloaked her in a luxuriant world of jade. His wider-than-a-truck shoulders heaved. The temperature in the jet’s cabin jolted into a tortuous zone. Steady, steady. This man unnerved her to the crux of her being.

  Commotion at the front of the plane snagged her attention as a man strolled out the cockpit door. He approached Diyari, his black Bedouin robes lightly swaying with the slight rocking motion of the jet. His personal assistant, she assumed, as he bent and whispered into the Sheik’s ear.

  Diyari’s gaze raked her. “Would you care for something to eat or drink?” he inquired, his hand waving across the table between them. Oh, to experience the texture of those capable fingers sliding over her quivering flesh, caressing her . . . coaxing her, instructing her in how to please him. Hello, Earth to Candace! The man is talking to you, get your mind back into the real world.

  “A Diet Coke with lots of ice would be nice.” Lots and lots of ice. A ton of ice big enough for her to sit in.

  Her gaze scoured the interior of the jet, focusing on anything to avoid looking at him.

  The Sheik’s desk and state-of-the-art computer lined the far wall, along with a small bookcase overflowing with stacked books. On closer inspection, she spied leather bound volumes of classic literature—Harper, Hugo, a few of the names she scanned. A large white leather couch with colorful pillows scattered across its cushions secured the other wall. The four bucket seats in which they sat made up the middle. An oval shaped coffee table, honed out of a dark luscious wood, filled the space between them, separating their seats. Behind them was a curtained off area she believed led to a bedroom.

  The urge to do something other than ogle the sexy sheik spurred her to pick up one of the fashion magazines spread out across the coffee table. Acting nonchalant, she began flipping through it, the papery feel of the sleek pages between her fingers taking her heightened senses down a notch.

  The velvety, rhythmic cadence of Diyari’s voice conveyed her attention back to him as his assistant delivered her Diet Coke on a silver tray. “Candace, this is Mustafa, my personal secretary. If you require anything and I’m not available, Mustafa can assist you.” Then switching to Arabic, he turned to Mustafa. Reaching out, Diyari accepted a stack of papers and crème-colored file folders.

  Obviously, he had business to attend to, but she wasn’t ready to settle into the seat for the long flight. Since childhood, she feared flying. Being in this private jet did nothing to alleviate those fears. If anything, they expanded to downright wring-your-hands anxiety. She found she required his natural solidity to impede her distress. “You really didn’t answer my question about your sister.”

  Without glancing in her direction, he picked up a folder and opened it. “Nina’s working on her thesis for her PhD in archeology, currently teaching a class in Caythi, our capital city.” His facial features softened when he spoke of his sister. Definitely a big brother who cherished her and showed fierce pride in her accomplishments. Was he overly protective of her? She always wished she had a big brother to talk to. Or a big sister. It would have really helped her in the days after Bobby’s death.

  As he spoke, his eyebrows furrowed over the papers in the folder. Shuffling them, he marked certain pages for his attention.

  “She’s working around the clock to finish her degree before the wedding.” A roguish smile spread across his face. “Why she’s pushing it? I don’t know.”

  A dismissive hand waved in front of her. “I’m sure she’ll be able to continue with her studies after her marriage, unless she’s thinking of starting a family right away.”

  Her fingers gripped the pages of her magazine, digging into the flashy images so tight she ripped the pages. The discussion of starting a family flung her back to the conversation she had with Bobby on the night she lost him along with all her dreams. Closing her eyes for a fraction of a second, she harnessed her composure. Kicking off her shoes, she tucked her legs up under her as she banished the memory. “You must be very proud of her.”

  “Absolutely.” He temporarily set the papers aside, focusing his full attention on her. “She’ll continue on as a professor after her schooling.”

  Drawing her eyebrows together, she remained puzzled. “You mean after she fulfills the heir aspect?”

  He shifted in his chair, his gaze drifting out the window. “The heir aspect doesn’t come into play with her. That hell is mine alone. Besides, her fiancé, Rahim, told her she can teach and have a family at the same time.”

  Kudos for him.

  His honesty startled her. Smoothing her hair over her shoulder, she tucked a wayward lock behind her ear, her golden bracelets tinkling with the motion. Turning back to her, he scrutinized her movements. “I’m impressed,” she said, meaning it.

  His attention swayed to his papers. “In B’Quara, everyone is encouraged to use his or her full potential, equally, both male and female citizens.” Pride in his country resounded in the velvety texture of his tone. Someday he would make an excellent ruler. “You’ll meet my sister when we journey to the desert in a day or two.”

  “The desert . . .”

  A flash of white, even teeth against tawny skin flooded her body with desire. Black Scorpion!

  He folded some of the papers in half. “Yes, Nina’s class is on site, a dig in the middle of the B’Quarain desert.” His gaze dropped, then snapped back up to hers. “You did know we live in a desert country. Right?”

  Dumbstruck!

  Caught in the middle of taking a sip of her Diet Coke, she sputtered, “Of course. I just assumed we’d be planning the wedding at the palace.” He was so irresistible when he cranked up the charm—her world flipped topsy-turvy as liquefied desire poured through her veins. Wow! Just wow!

  Again, the stack of papers demanded his consideration. He thumbed through them, sorting them into stacks. He wasted neither time nor motion in fulfilling his task. “Getting to know my sister, you’ll realize she’s both headstrong and unpredictable.” He raised his hand as if to ward off her comment. “Hold on,” he continued, before returning his attention back to his work. “That’s not a bad thing. She accomplishes a great deal, a multi-tasker to the tenth power.” He chuckled, a relaxed sound, rumbling up out of the depths of his chest . . . sexy-as-hell. Goose flesh popped up on her arms. He appeared calmer now, more relaxed, the stern Sheik temporarily buried beneath a friendly overlay—much more appealing. She enjoyed this version. He seemed approachable . . . magnetic. Did she in an
y way affect him as much as he blasted her world to smithereens? Silly girl, she huffed. Of course she didn’t. He was surrounded daily by sophisticated women fawning all over him. She didn’t make the cut. As if reading her mind, he imprisoned her with his gaze, the mischievous twinkle in the depths of his eyes both sexy and unsettling.

  “By the way, I’m sorry I came on so strong yesterday. Please accept my sincere apology.” He touched his hand to his heart as he continued to speak. “If I made you feel uncomfortable with my brash behavior, I’m truly sorry.” He bowed his head in a contrite gesture. OMG! This man, this steal-my-heart man, was as unpredictable as the tides.

  Her legs returned to the floor as she leaned forward in her seat, evaporating some of the distance between them. “Apology accepted, and while we’re exchanging expressions of regret, I owe you an apology for throwing away all of your peace offerings . . . the flowers . . . the candy.”

  That I’m going to please every square inch of you smile started as a grin and then built into a full-blown sexual encounter, making her throb for his touch. “Hopefully the diamond bracelet didn’t meet the same fate?”

  He winked.

  An unguarded moan bubbled in her throat.

  She smiled. “No.” Heat blistered her cheeks. “I couldn’t part with such a beautiful bracelet. I’m wearing it.” She pulled her wrist out from beneath her magazine, holding it up for him to see.

  His index finger slid across his lower lip. Her eyes followed the hypnotic motion. “I thought I caught a glimpse of it when you came on board. I’m glad you kept it. It suits you. Your beauty should always be surrounded by diamonds.”

  Black Scorpion! Rose Petals! Mind-blowing!

  She blinked, completely out of her element. He possessed a certain savoir faire. Call it charisma, call it powerful virility, whatever label you chose, it left her as breathless as if she’d run a mile full out. Centering his attention back on his work, he tapped a pen rhythmically against his thigh. She bit her lip, hating to interrupt him once more, but she couldn’t wait. Her impulsive actions yesterday demanded an apology. “And I’m sorry I slapped your face.”

  He dropped the papers into the adjoining seat and stared back at her, sending her stomach into a free fall. Breaking the connection, she toyed with the diamonds of her bracelet like a repentant first grader in the principal’s office.

  “No.” Leaning forward, he balanced his chin in his palm, as his firm sensual lips curled into another of those breath-stealing smiles that fizzled through her veins like bubbles in champagne. “I deserved it. If you knew the carnal thoughts racing through my mind, even now, you’d be justified in slapping me again.”

  Her eyes snapped to his. Green eyes, charged with yearning, drained hers as something tempestuous germinated deep within their depths. Holy hell!

  Testing the movement of his mandible, he continued, “You pack quite a wallop, by the way.”

  Whenever he spoke, he unnerved her. What possible armor could a woman forge against the onslaught of his allure? She glanced at the top of the cabin as she answered her own question. None. Never in her years with the CIA had she encountered an opponent who kept her off kilter the way he did. It was perplexing, but most of all, it was dangerous. Like rain splattered against pavement on a frigid December night. And with that realization, she froze.

  The things he said, their meanings, his sexually charged scrutiny. Good God. Her insides, a tight ball of nerves, contracted even more. A river of heat flowed over her like an oil spill on a calm sea.

  “Again, forgive my forwardness,” he quickly apologized. Sitting forward, he steepled his fingers. “I’ll work on my restraint.”

  So, he did possess some restraint? I hope I know it when I see it.

  Regaining her wits, she settled back into the seat, crossing one leg over the other. “Does this sort of thing work with other women?” Cause it was sure working on her.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never been this engrossed with a woman before.”

  Sweet Mother of God! What nonsense! He had women at his beck and call all over the world.

  “Oh, pleeaaase,” she countered, rolling her eyes. “You must take me for an idiot.” She wasn’t what you would call a beauty. Nerdy intelligence better described her.

  A sexy, harmonious laugh rumbled from him—sterling masculinity, followed by a gentle zephyr of that incredible cologne. He smelled delicious, rugged, and tempting. Her heart bounded into a frenzied beat. An unpreventable smile hooked her lips. She savored the peal of his robust laughter, its impact leaving her a trembling mass. She reached up and turned the dial, allowing a blast of air conditioning to flow over her.

  His eyes narrowed on her. “Believe me, Ms. Danvers, the very last thing I take you for is an idiot.”

  Then, what did he take her for . . . mistress material? Her teeth nibbled her bottom lip. They were entering a treacherous domain with this type of banter, but she couldn’t resist. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve never chased after a woman.”

  “Never. Didn’t need to.” He shook his head, tossing the rich layers. “Some women will do anything to land a rich and titled husband.”

  She cocked her head to the side to get a better view of his reaction. “So, it’s not you personally they like. It’s your status and money? I don’t believe that for a second.”

  That couldn’t be. He was so handsome, so . . . everything. If that were true, it would be so unbelievably sad.

  A hint of a smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. “Oh, you have no idea the lengths to which some women will go.”

  Intrigued by this line of conversation, his openness, she began to have a little depth into his personality. She uncrossed then re-crossed her legs, folding her hands into her lap. “And you’re looking for what in a woman?”

  He slouched back into his seat, one arched eyebrow rising. “You are direct.” Powerful arms crossed over his chest, creating a disturbing pectoral valley. “The standard. What any man wants, love . . . loyalty, respect.”

  “Obedience?” she queried, warmth flooding into her cheeks.

  He shook his head. “Obedience? Where would you get a notion like that? Only a coward of a man would want a woman he controlled. I want a woman who can think for herself. A challenge.”

  “What about a wife?”

  Agitation visibly tensed his muscles. He sat up straighter, leaned forward, and grabbed the stack of papers. Time drifted, and she feared he ignored her so he wouldn’t have to answer. Then, in a steady, mellow voice that had her scooting to the end of her seat so she didn’t miss a word of his insight on love, he softly declared, “That decision was never mine to make. Since her birth, I’ve been committed to Princess Naomi, whom I’ve never met.”

  Oh, so that explained the offer for sex. That’s all he could offer.

  Eyes wide, shocked by his information, she waved a hand in front of her. “Certainly you’ve seen a picture of her?”

  He shrugged, those big shoulders accentuating his brawn. “Sure.”

  “And?” she coaxed, hanging on his every word. He laced his hands behind his head as he exhaled a long breath, his chest contracting into a delectable bulge of muscle. She was mesmerized by his carefree demeanor.

  “She’s attractive enough. She’ll make me a perfect royal wife. I’ll have to be satisfied with that.” He dropped his lashes but not before she spied the cobwebs of frustration.

  Holy crap! How could he sound no nonchalant! This was the rest of his life they were talking about.

  Scooting her butt back in her seat, a heaviness settled in her chest. No wonder he behaved so notoriously with women. He’d never be allowed to fall in love, select the woman of his dreams, and marry her for the pure bliss of being with her. Deep in the recesses of her chest, her heart splintered. He talked a big game, but he was trapped in a golden cage. />
  He’d be living with a virtual stranger. How awful. A marriage ruled by state interests instead of the beat of his heart. A flash of loneliness consumed her. Bobby. The profoundness of their love. Poor Diyari, he’d miss the adventure of a lifetime. He’d never be certain of his queen’s intentions or affections. Did she hunger for him, the man, or for the money and notoriety that came with the monarchy? Did his queen love somebody she had to leave behind to marry him? A hard pill for a man as proud as him to swallow—not knowing if his wife was just doing her duty when she was in bed with him. Ouch! That had to sting.

  She shook the image out of her head. She’d been flattened by her husband’s death. He’d been the song of her heart. Her everything. Poor Diyari, he’d been saddled with a woman he’d never laid eyes on.

  “When will your wedding take place?”

  “Hopefully, not for many, many years.”

  She tilted her head, seeking an explanation. “Because?” she prompted.

  “Because I won’t become king until my father passes, and I’m in no hurry for that to happen.”

  Good to know. Those simple words thrilled her. So, he wasn’t after the throne.

  “You’re engaged then?”

  His posture stiffened. “I’m committed. There’s a big difference.”

  Her teeth ground together in frustration. “Does Princess Naomi know there’s a difference?”

  The emerald of his eyes darkened to jade as if a fierce thunderstorm raged, and he glanced away, purposely avoiding her eyes. The entire atmosphere in the room shifted, became strained. “I’ve yet to pop the question or put a ring on her finger. But the understanding is there.” He spat out the last few words.

  Bulls-eye. Direct hit!

  In a fit of temper, he flung the papers down, scattering them across the cabin’s floor.