The Sheikh's Impatient Virgin. Kim Lawrence
his thoughts had gone was not fun. Lost, he’d called her—it looked to Eva as if he were the lost one!
As she watched he swayed slightly and put out a hand to steady himself, clearly dead on his feet. Struggling against a swell of empathy, Eva let the hand she’d instinctively raised fall back to her side.
Even though her next move was obvious and Eva had never had trouble extending a helping hand to someone in trouble in her life, continuing to encourage this man over her threshold was one of the hardest things she had ever done.
Not only was she utterly sure that under normal circumstances he was the total antithesis of vulnerable, but she knew—every instinct, particularly the ones that did not work on a logical level, was telling her—that the kindly gesture would have unforeseen repercussions.
You’re being dramatic, Eva, she told herself, squaring her shoulders and murmuring, ‘Get a grip.’ Anyway, what choice did she have? She could hardly close the door in his face. Gritting her teeth, she took a sustaining gulp of air and, reaching out, laid a hand tentatively on his arm.
He appeared not to notice the hand, but she noticed the muscular hardness—it was hard to miss.
‘Come inside, erm…Prince,’ she said, pitching her voice to a soothing level as her fingers closed over muscles that did not give. Bad idea, said the voice in her head as her unselective stomach muscles responded to the innocent contact with a less than innocent series of butterfly kicks.
‘Inside…?’ she repeated hoarsely.
After a moment he responded. Eva’s relief was short-lived as the voice in her head very legitimately asked once more, What do you think you’re doing, Eva?
She said, ‘Duck,’ a moment too late and he didn’t. The top of his dark head—the man towered over her; he had to be at least six four—connected in a glancing blow that he appeared not to notice with the doorjamb.
‘Oh, my God, be careful!’ she groaned.
Explaining a royal prince with a fractured skull to the emergency services would really make the day complete.
‘Are you all right?’
‘All right?’ Karim repeated, lifting a hand to his head. His fingers came away damp and stained red. He couldn’t feel a thing, he felt weirdly disconnected from his body. Sleep deprivation, he thought as he made a concerted effort to clear the fog in his brain and in a moment of lucidity thought this was more than lack of sleep. Before he could figure what the more was, the moment passed.
He still retained the recognition that he ought not to be here. He was meant to be at the hospital…Amira was there and his inability to do anything was driving him slowly out of his mind.
How ironic was it he could influence the political stability of an entire region with a few well-considered words, he could transform the day to save the lives of an entire community by delivering power and running water, but when it came to his own child he was powerless…he had to stand and watch as she endured pain…as she slipped away from him?
He should prepare himself. Karim closed his eyes, rejecting the advice.
Preparing implied a resignation that he did not and would not feel.
‘I should go,’ he said, inhaling the scent of this woman’s body and wanting not to stop.
Please, Eva thought, and immediately felt guilty. It was odd, but when she looked at him her usually abundant kindness to strangers went out of the window. Any number of other things happened when she looked, but Eva was grimly determined not to go there.
Where’s your heart, Eva? she asked herself. She wouldn’t show a stray cat the door looking as he did. Of course, he wasn’t a stray cat, and if he had been this would have been a lot simpler.
‘I think you should sit down for a moment, Mr…Prince.’ The title sounded so ludicrous she fought off a smile. Then as she tilted her head back to look into his face, she lost all desire to smile…He really was stupendous to look at. ‘I could call a doctor…?’
‘No doctor!’ The hazy look was gone from the eyes that drilled into her like silvered surgical scalpels.
‘All right,’ she said, not willing to push the point. It was, after all, none of her business. ‘A cup of tea, then.’
‘A cup of tea?’ he repeated with a frown.
‘I don’t have anything stronger,’ she said apologetically, thinking, More’s the pity. She could do with something to steady her nerves.
His glazed gaze strayed from her face, wandered towards her hair, and an expression of edgy fascination that made her heart rate quicken spread across his lean face.
He lifted his hand and reached out. The gesture had all the hallmarks of compulsion as he touched her hair. Eva stiffened and thought, Don’t just stand there, do something, as she felt the light pressure of his long fingers moving across the silky surface.
In her head she had pulled back; in reality she stayed nailed to the spot, her heart racing as he lifted one strand and then another and let them fall through his fingers. As his brown fingers sank deeper, grazing her scalp, a tremor that reached her toes passed through Eva’s body.
‘Like silk…a flame…’
His voice broke the spell and with a gasp she stepped back, breathing hard. She dragged both hands through her hair, tucking it behind her ears as she tightened the knot on her towel and cleared her throat. The entire ‘naked under the layer of towelling’ thing had intensified the illicit thrill of being touched with such casual intimacy by this incredible-looking stranger.
‘Look, I think…’ She stopped. He wasn’t looking, at least not at her, which was a relief. It made it easier for her to think, not to mention breathe. If what this man exuded like a force field could be isolated and marketed no woman would be safe!
And she’d invited him in. Really great idea, Eva!
‘Sit down,’ she suggested hopefully—if he didn’t move of his own accord, she was in trouble. He was a big man and all of it was solid muscle.
Do not go there, Eva, she told herself as her stomach flipped.
‘For God’s sake, sit down or…’ She felt alarm and then relief when he took a step away from the sofa and folded his long length into her overstuffed wing-backed armchair. ‘Great.’
Now what, Eva?
Eva turned a deaf ear to the unhelpful voice and, frowning and praying for inspiration, dropped down on her knees beside the chair.
‘Are you all right?’ Eva rolled her eyes and bit her lip thinking, Sure, he’s great, Eva—that’s why he’s sitting there with his face in his hands.
She ground her teeth in sheer frustration. This man probably had an entire army of people to look after him. Why had she decided to play Florence Nightingale? She wasn’t even very good at it!
‘Is there someone I can call for you?’ She laid a tentative hand on his arm and felt the vibration of the invisible tremors that ran through his tense body. ‘My God, you’re wet through!’ she exclaimed, belatedly registering his wet hair and even wetter clothes. ‘We should get you out of these things, erm, sheikh…Prince.’ She stopped the mental image in her head causing colour to flood her face. ‘Maybe not…’ she added hoarsely as she sat back on her heels.
She swallowed as her eyes were drawn of their own volition to the golden skin of his throat where his tie had been pulled askew. His saturated white shirt clung like a second skin and Eva, seeing the shadow through it of dark body hair on his chest, averted her eyes quickly, but not before her stomach had lurched.
She scrambled hastily to her feet—at least he was in no condition to notice the scalding blush of shame that washed over her skin.
‘You