The Sheikh Who Desired Her. Jennifer Lewis
raked her whole body across the room with a look so hot she’d been surprised little fires hadn’t broken out over her skin. She’d thought her dress was modest enough—vee-necked silk, with a tight waist and full skirt to the knee—but one look from Salman and she’d feared he’d melted it right off her.
‘Jamilah.’
Jamilah flinched and looked at Ahmed, and smiled apologetically.
‘I’m sorry, my mind is miles away …’ She put a hand on his arm. It wasn’t fair of her to be here with him when she couldn’t concentrate on their conversation. ‘Look, I think we should take a raincheck. I’m not great company this evening.’
Ahmed smiled ruefully, and Jamilah wished that she found the perfectly nice-looking man half as attractive as she found Salman.
‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with Salman al Saqr, would it?’
Jamilah coloured as Ahmed stood up and waited for her to stand, too.
He said as they walked out, ‘Don’t worry, it’s not that obvious, but I’ve been in close proximity to you two before, if you remember.’
Jamilah went hotter when she recalled Ahmed finding them in the corridor, with tension crackling between them. She couldn’t lie as she followed him out of the bar and to the lifts. ‘He’s got a little to do with it, I guess.’
In the lift Ahmed turned to her and said, somewhat stuffily, ‘I know you won’t want to hear this, but he has got a reprehensible reputation with women.’
Jamilah just managed to stifle a hysterical laugh. Poor Ahmed didn’t know the half of it. But she appreciated his concern. He walked her to the door of the suite and she smiled at him, feeling sad. And then something rose up within her—a sense of desperate futility as she thought of Salman and the impossibility of their relationship. Perhaps if she just gave someone else a chance …
She moved closer to Ahmed and asked, ‘Can I kiss you?’
The other man looked comically shocked, and his glasses practically steamed up as he blustered, ‘Yes … of course.’
He moved forward awkwardly, and in that moment Jamilah knew it was all wrong—she shouldn’t have said anything. But it was too late. His hands were around her waist, gripping too tightly, and then he was bumping her nose, aiming for her mouth before planting a fleshy wet kiss on her lips.
In a move so fast that she didn’t know which way was up Jamilah heard a door open and found herself being pulled back and out of Ahmed’s hands. Her relief quickly disappeared when she realised that it was Salman who now gripped her waist. She could feel his tall, taut strength behind her and her body reacted accordingly. Poor Ahmed was clearly terrified.
He backed away and said a garbled goodnight, then fled. Salman whirled Jamilah around in his arms, and all she could do was open and close her mouth ineffectually. The difference between this man and Ahmed was comical. Her body was rejoicing as if it had just found its long-lost mate. Her hands were fists on his chest. He was still in his ceremonial robes, no tuxedo tonight, and she was very aware of his body through the insubstantial flimsiness of her silk cocktail dress.
He tugged her into the room with him, and her back thudded against the door when Salman slammed it shut. He crowded her, his hands by her head, eyes blistering down into hers. ‘What the hell was that about?’ He mocked her voice. “Can I kiss you?”’
Jamilah welcomed the surge of anger at his arrogant behaviour. It helped to distract her from dealing with the fact that facing this man made her feel so exposed and raw and emotional. ‘It’s rude to listen at doors and spy through peepholes. And who gave you the God-given right to order Ahmed off like that?’
Salman grimaced. ‘I didn’t say a word. He knew he wasn’t wanted—just as he wasn’t wanted last year. He looked like he was about to drown you in drool.’
Jamilah shuddered at the memory, even though she tried to hide it.
Salman went very still. ‘I disgust you now. That’s it, isn’t it? Your head is full of awful images and I put them there.’
To Jamilah’s surprise, Salman released her from the cage of his arms and swung away, energy blistering from him. Instinctively Jamilah reached out and took Salman’s arm. ‘No—no, Salman. Of course you don’t disgust me.’
He wouldn’t turn round, and said tautly, ‘I felt your reaction just now. You’d prefer to be kissed by that toad than me.’
Jamilah’s brain was blank for a moment, and then she remembered her reaction to the thought of being kissed by Ahmed, the violent shudder that had run through her. She came and stood in front of Salman. He looked so proud and handsome. How could he possibly think …?
Salman still battled the jealousy that had ripped through him like corrosive acid when he’d watched Jamilah walk out of the ballroom with that man. He shook with it. And when he’d seen them kiss just now he’d gone blind with rage. He couldn’t even look at Jamilah as she stood in front of him now. He’d never felt so exposed and weak in front of anyone. Not even those soldiers had reduced him to this.
Jamilah burned as she looked up and saw the intensity on Salman’s face, the way he avoided her eye. Anger had turned into something much more ambiguous and explosive within her. A treacherous tenderness was rushing through her—exactly what she’d been afraid of all day. She would have to make the first move, to show him, prove to him, that she wanted him, and she could no more deny him that than stop breathing.
This was their moment of reckoning. She knew that much. A reckless exhilaration was thrumming through her blood now—and it had been from the moment he’d replaced Ahmed’s hands with his own. In her head she finally capitulated to her most base desires and threw caution to the wind, saying, ‘If you can’t see that my reaction was for Ahmed, and not you, then you’re losing your touch, Salman. You don’t disgust me. Quite the opposite, in fact. So why don’t you just shut up and kiss me?’
She’d shocked him as much as herself. She could feel it in the sudden tension in his body. He looked down at her and she wound her arms around his neck, for the first time feeling a little in control of the situation. She went up on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to Salman’s. And then, when he didn’t move, she pulled back and said, ‘What’s the matter, Salman? Can’t you handle a woman taking the initiative?’
His hands went to her waist and burned through her clothes. ‘Oh, I can handle it, all right, but I just want to know this: are you sure you know what you’re doing?’
Jamilah shut out the cacophony of warning voices in her head and pressed even closer to Salman, exulting in the feel of his hard erection between them. ‘I know exactly what I’m doing. I can take care of myself. I have been for a long time now.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
SALMAN smiled, and it was feral, and it made something deep inside Jamilah shiver with anticipation. ‘I think I like you even more when you’re dominant and bossy.’
Before she could make a retort Salman was walking her back until she felt herself thud against the door again. His head descended, and nothing but delicious heat and sensation concerned Jamilah any more. She held him close, fingers tangling in his hair. Their tongues duelled fiercely, as if they couldn’t get enough of one another.
She’d hungered for him for too long. Desire was overflowing and all-encompassing, and she didn’t have a hope of resisting—not that she could have after her provocative little speech. Jamilah had no idea where that confidence had come from, but knew she’d gone that route in a bid to feel as if she was the one in control.
But that and every other coherent thought fled when she felt Salman’s hands on her back, pulling down the zip of her dress. His mouth left hers and followed the line of her jaw down to her shoulder, where she could feel him pulling down the strap of her dress. Her breath came jerkily, her hands dropped,