For The Sheikh's Pleasure. Annie West

      ‘I’m honoured you chose Layla and Soraya as your subjects.’ Arik forbore to mention the drawings of himself. She looked skittish enough already, eyes wide and dazed as if she’d never seen a man before. Yet those sketches confirmed she knew how a man was made. Surely that appreciation of form and detail meant she had a strong sensual awareness.

      Instantly anticipation fired his blood and he had to concentrate on schooling his expression to one of mild interest.

      His first glance at her this morning had left him disappointed. She’d looked so young—far too young for what he had in mind. But as he’d ridden closer he’d been relieved to find her air of fragility wasn’t due to extreme youth, though she had to be only in her early twenties. There was a firmness around her lush mouth, and more, a gravity in her eyes that told him she was no innocent.

      His relief had been a physical force, washing over him in a wave that eased the tension in his shoulders.

      ‘Do you prefer landscapes or living subjects?’

      The way her eyes darted down to his torso, his hands on the reins, gave him all the answer he wanted, and an idea.

      ‘I…both.’ She closed the large pad and turned away, pretending to concentrate on Soraya, who was snuffling at her sleeve in hopes of a treat. But Arik saw the furtive glance his golden girl sent him from under lowered lids. How could he not when she had eyes as mysterious as smoke on water, a green-grey at once enticing and secretive? He felt that glance with the keenness of a blade, sharp and sure against his flesh.

      He wanted to vault down to stand beside her. Close enough to enfold her in his arms and feel her warmth.

      But, he admitted to himself, he was too proud. If he dismounted his stiff leg would mean he’d have trouble remounting again. He probably shouldn’t be riding at all, not yet, but he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to meet her at last, no matter what the doctor’s warnings.

      He’d already noted her bare ring finger but it made sense to be sure. ‘You’re here on holiday?’

      Slowly she nodded and then turned to stuff the portfolio into a capacious bag. ‘Yes.’

      ‘And your husband doesn’t mind you venturing out alone?’ If she were his he’d keep her close, knowing that with those stunning looks she’d be a magnet for any male not on his deathbed.

      She paused, her hands gripping the bag so tightly he saw her knuckles whiten. ‘I don’t have a husband.’ Her voice sounded muffled and he recognised strong emotion in her tone. A disagreement with the boyfriend about long term commitment? Disappointment seared through him.

      ‘Your significant other, then. He doesn’t mind?’

      She straightened and jammed her fists on to her hips. Her eyes flashed green fire and he realised he’d hit a nerve.

      ‘Your English is excellent.’ It was almost an accusation.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said, watching her intently.

      Eventually she shrugged and her gaze slid away. ‘There is no man to object to anything I do.’ There was something in her voice, a bitterness that caught his attention. ‘I suppose that’s unusual in a country like Q’aroum?’

      ‘You may be surprised to learn how independent Q’aroumi women are.’ His own mother was a case in point.

      He smiled and saw with satisfaction that the attraction was definitely not one-sided. So all he had to do was give her the opportunity and soon he’d be enjoying the delights of her warm, willing body. Yet something about her air of caution, as if she were ready to flee at the slightest provocation, tempered his impatience.

      ‘I will look forward to seeing you another morning.’ He made as if to pull on the reins.

      ‘You’ll be back here tomorrow?’ Her eyes were bright, her tone a shade too eager. It told him all he needed to know.

      He shrugged. ‘I hadn’t planned to come here.’ He paused, as if considering. ‘You want to see the horses again? Is that it? You wish to draw them?’

      She nodded. ‘If you don’t mind. That would be wonderful. I’d like…’ She bit her lip and he silently urged her to continue. ‘I’d like to paint the scene with them here. If it’s possible.’

      Taking candy from a baby. ‘I suppose that can be arranged,’ he said after making her wait a few moments. ‘I could ask old Ahmed to bring them.’

      Silence. She gnawed her lip, her hands clasped together in front of her.

      ‘You won’t be riding them?’ she asked at last, lifting her eyes to his. He could tell how much the question cost her. There was satisfaction in making her wait, after the frustration she’d caused him.

      ‘You would like to see me again?’

      She blushed to the roots of her hair, her hands twisting together. She reacted like a virgin, confronting desire for the first time. But her eyes had already told him another story. She was more experienced than that. Still, the sight intrigued him. It really would be a pleasure, learning more about this woman.

      ‘For the painting—if you wouldn’t mind?’

      Who could resist those wide eyes, the rosebud lips?

      ‘I suppose I could ride here. If you really want me.’

      The words pulsed in the silence between them. If she wanted him. He knew in the intense hush between them that she did, indeed, want him.

      ‘How long would it take? The painting?’ Better if she felt he was doing her a favour.

      ‘A few days? Three, four mornings?’ She couldn’t conceal her excitement; it was there in her glittering eyes, the energy vibrating from every line in her body.

      ‘Four mornings.’ He paused. ‘Very well. I will give you the mornings.’ He couldn’t prevent the smile that curled his lips. ‘If you will give me the afternoons.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE afternoons? Rosalie blinked. Surely she was hearing things.

      But, looking up into those lustrous eyes, she doubted it. The devil was there, lurking in the darkness and tempting her to do something stupid like say yes.

      But yes to what?

      It couldn’t be what she thought. Could it?

      ‘I’m sorry? What did you say?’

      ‘I will give up my mornings until you have finished your painting if, in exchange, you spend the afternoons with me.’

      Simple, his bland expression seemed to say, but his eyes told another story. Their brilliant glitter was too avid, almost hungry.

      ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, edging away a fraction. Who was this man? Suddenly her sense of being crowded by him and his horses took on another, more sinister air. A chill shivered down Rosalie’s spine as memories of the past she’d worked so hard to forget flooded back. The hairs on her arms rose and her mouth dried.

      Her fear was intense, immediate and completely unstoppable.

      His gaze bored into hers for a long moment, as if he knew what was going on in her mind. She saw his straight