The Sheikh Who Desired Her. Jennifer Lewis
Salman had upstaged him. But as of now her reputation was muck. Not that she was really worried about that; she wasn’t bound by the same strictures as a lot of women from her part of the world. She had no family, and one of her parents had been European, so she’d always been something of an anomaly.
But it would be all over the place by the end of the day that she was sleeping with Salman, and he would have another very public notch to his bedpost.
She stood tall and smoothed her hair, before leaving the bathroom with her head held high. She had nothing to feel ashamed about except for her own very personal regret that she’d let herself be seduced by Salman all over again, despite all her lofty protestations.
‘I have to go to a charity function tonight. I’d like you to come with me.’
Jamilah looked at Salman. He was dressed in a tuxedo again, and he’d been waiting for her when she got back to the suite. She was trying not to succumb to his intensely masculine pull—especially when she remembered the previous night. She was about to say no—she wanted to say no—and yet she hesitated. There was a quality to Salman’s wide-legged stance which should have suggested power and authority, but which actually made Jamilah think of him as being vulnerable.
‘What charity?’
Salman’s face was unreadable. ‘It’s a charity I founded some years ago.’
Jamilah knew she couldn’t stop the shock from registering on her face, and she saw Salman note it and smile cynically. ‘You didn’t have me down for a philanthropist, I see.’
Jamilah blanched at the fact that Salman was constantly surprising her with his multi-faceted personality, and got out something garbled, her curiosity well and truly ignited now, despite her best intentions.
‘The charity is in someone else’s name. They head it up publicly, and lobby for funding, but essentially it’s my project.’
A thousand questions begged to be answered, but Jamilah held back. She couldn’t not go now. ‘Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready.’
Salman inclined his head and watched as Jamilah went to her bedroom. He’d actually been afraid she’d say no, and that realisation sent a feeling of nausea to his gut. He released a long breath, his heart hammering against his chest. He had no idea why he’d felt compelled to ask her. But some force had made him wait for her, and as soon as he’d seen her the words had spilled out. Frustration had been gnawing at his insides all day at being apart from Jamilah, and he didn’t like it. Yet here he was, ensuring she be at his side for the whole evening and, more than that, witnessing him in a milieu that he’d never shared with anyone else. But then, he thought angrily, he’d spilled his guts to her only the other night, so why stop there?
The earth was shifting beneath his feet and he couldn’t stop it. His desire for her burned even more fiercely now that it had been re-ignited, and in all honesty any woman he’d been with in the intervening six years was fading into an inconsequential haze.
He paced impatiently while he waited, and then he heard her. He turned around, already steeling himself against her effect, but it was no good. She was like a punch to his gut. A vision in a long swirling strapless dress of deep purple, which made her smokily made-up eyes pop out. Her hair was down around her shoulders.
Unable to stop himself, he walked over to her and cupped her jaw and cheek in one hand. He felt a delicate tremor run through her body, the hitch in her breath, and saw how her stunning eyes flared and darkened. Something exultant moved through him.
Words came up from somewhere deep inside him, and he had no more hope of holding them back than he would have of stopping an avalanche. ‘You’re mine, Jamilah.’
Her eyes narrowed, became mysterious. She was shutting herself off and he railed against it. ‘And everyone knows it, Salman.’ She smiled cynically. ‘After your little theatrics last night we’re the hot topic of the moment.’
Salman felt fire flare in his belly at the thought of that man touching Jamilah. He growled out now, ‘Good. Because we’re not finished yet, you and I.’
He bent his head and unerringly found her mouth. She resisted at first, but Salman used every sensual weapon in his arsenal until he could feel her curve softly towards him and her mouth opened on a delicious sigh. He plundered her sweet depths until she was clinging to him, and he was rock-hard and aching all over.
He pulled back and for a few seconds her eyes stayed closed, long lashes on flushed cheeks. He bit back a groan. But then her eyes flicked open and spat blue sparks at him. She trembled in his arms even as she said huskily, ‘One more night, Salman. That’s it. We go back to Merkazad tomorrow, and what we’ve had here is finished.’
Jamilah knew that after hearing the revelation of what Salman had endured as a child she wouldn’t be able to keep up a façade of being unmoved while they made love for long. She longed to take him in her arms and comfort him, soothe his wounds, but he couldn’t be making it any clearer that that was the last thing he needed or wanted.
Everything within Salman automatically rejected Jamilah’s ultimatum, and yet he felt the desire to protect himself, feeling vulnerable for the second time in the space of mere minutes. First when he’d asked her to the function, and now this … Her ultimatum shouldn’t be affecting him. He should be welcoming the prospect of his freedom. Hadn’t he told her what to expect? Why shouldn’t she want this to end? Any sane woman would …
He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘If that’s what you want …’
Her jaw tightened, and Salman longed to make it relax again, but Jamilah bit out, ‘Yes, that’s what I want. This ends here in Paris, for good.’
Anger and something much more ambiguous rose up around them as Salman reached for Jamilah’s hand and took it. ‘Fine. Well, let’s get going, then. We don’t want to miss a moment of our last night together.’
Our last night together. Even now, minutes later in the car, Jamilah had to struggle to beat back the prickle of tears. The realisation that she was still desperately in love with Salman was not so much a realisation as more a kind of resignation to her fate. How could she have thought for a second that she wasn’t still in love with him? And, worse, falling even deeper all over again …
Her brave words that this would be finished in Paris still rang hollow in her head, because she knew it was just her pathetic attempt to make Salman think she was immune to him. She knew damn well that when they got back to Merkazad if he so much as touched her she’d be in his bed in a heartbeat. The only protection she could hope for was that if she went back to the stables and stayed there she’d be safe. Pathetic. She’d hide from him amongst the horses and take advantage of his fear, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to trust herself to be near him. When she thought of that, she automatically wanted to help him get over his fear. Pathetic.
At that moment he took her hand and urged her towards him along the back seat of the car. His face was in shadow, all dark planes and sculpted lines, and she couldn’t resist. When he bent his head and took her mouth in a soul-stealing kiss she gave herself up to the madness.
She was dizzy after Salman’s thorough kisses by the time they reached a glittering hotel at the foot of the Champs-Elysées, and it was only when they were walking in that Jamilah realised Salman was nervous. He was gripping her hand. She looked up at him but his face was impassive.
An attractive middle-aged brunette was waiting to greet them in an immaculate dark suit. Salman introduced her to Jamilah as the co-ordinator of the charity. Their French was rapid, but Jamilah could keep up as she was fluent, too. The woman was explaining that everyone had just finished dinner and were ready to start listening to the speeches, and then an auction would take place. Salman nodded, and they followed the woman in through a side door and took a seat at a table near the front of the thronged ballroom.
Jamilah was aware of the way the energy in the room had zinged up a notch when people noted Salman’s arrival, and of the intensely appreciative regard from women.
It