Never Seduce a Sheikh (International Bad Boys Book 2) (12 page)

The sight of the blood on the hard leather of his father’s riding crop. His blood. Khalid’s blood . . .

Gold shone beneath the silk of Lily’s headscarf, so much purer than the red that had stained the tiles of the floor where he’d been beaten. He wanted to push away her scarf, see the colors of the sun in her hair, drown the thick red in his memory.

He’d lifted his hand before he was even conscious of doing so, reaching for the scarf and pulling it away. Lily stiffened, turning her head to look at him. She said something, but he didn’t hear.

The sun turned her hair bright gold, and pink and orange. Warm, beautiful and alive. He couldn’t stop looking at it. Couldn’t stop imagining it loose, not tied up in that ponytail she always had it in, or that elegant chignon back at the palace. Couldn’t stop the need to touch it, wanting to feel the softness of it against his fingers and not the slickness blood.

“What are you doing?”

“Let your hair loose.” He had meant it to sound like a request, but it didn’t come out that way.

If she was surprised she didn’t show it. “Why?”

“Because I want to see it.”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Please, Lily.”

For a long moment, she remained silent, looking at him. Then, she reached up and pulled at the hair-tie that held her hair back. A mass of pale gold fell over her shoulders, longer than he’d thought. More beautiful than he’d imagined. It looked so silky.

The need to touch became too great to contain so he didn’t try to, moving his hand slowly to where the silken strands lay against her shoulder. She remained still as he touched her hair, his fingertips stroking. So soft. So good to feel it against his skin.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re doing that?” she asked quietly.

He twined his fingers around one pale blonde lock, warm silky hair replacing the slick feeling. Better. So much better. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

Isma’il looked into her dark eyes, her face bright with the last rays of the sun. Held her gaze as he slid his hand behind her head, watching her, gauging her response. He knew what he was doing. He knew what he wanted. Just as he knew that this was the one woman he should not be doing it with. But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Her breath caught and he felt her muscles stiffen. And yet, in her eyes something had ignited and one thing he was sure of—it wasn’t fear that burned in them.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Do I need to ask permission?”

Lily didn’t reply, but her gaze was so intense it felt like she saw right inside him. Then, taking him utterly by surprise, she moved. But not away from him. She leaned forward towards him instead, going onto her knees, placing one hand on the sand near his thigh. So close, her hair falling everywhere, almost brushing his shirt, the clean, fresh scent of her like an oasis in the dry heat all around them.

“What are you doing,
Habibti?
”

Still, she didn’t reply, her gaze fixed on his. Intent. Purposeful. Then, she leaned forward a fraction more and brushed her mouth over his.

Sweetness and fire flared hot inside him. An aching, searing heat. She tasted like apples and wine, heady. Intoxicating. It was all he could do not to grab her, haul her into his lap and devour her utterly. But he didn’t, because he would not do that to her. Would not take what she did not want to give. Instead, he curled his fingers into the sand, desperate to hold onto something, fighting to contain the desire that opened up inside him, dark and hungry and wild.

Lily’s kiss was hesitant, as if she wasn’t quite sure of what she was doing. As if she wasn’t quite sure of the taste of him. So he made himself stay quite still, letting her explore his mouth, her tongue running along his lower lip, tracing it, her mouth opening a little more, deepening the kiss. The hesitant quality to it began to fade as she leaned into him, her head tilting to deepen the kiss even further.

It was too much. Too intense. Too sweet.

He pulled away, his control thin and ragged against the desire that roared inside him. That wanted her beneath him, panting in his ear. Screaming her pleasure, as her nails sunk into his skin.

“Sheikh?” Her voice sounded breathless, a note of uncertainty in it he’d never heard before.

He didn’t want to look at her. Didn’t want to move in case the tenuous grasp he had on his control slipped and the hungry thing inside him broke free. God in heaven, what was he doing bringing her here? Thinking that he was protecting her, that she was safe with him. A foolish assumption. She wasn’t safe with him. It was him she needed protecting from.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Isma’il made himself look at her. “No.”

“Then, what is it?” Her eyes were full of doubt. “Why did you pull away?”

Sand, dry and gritty against his skin, such a contrast to the smooth warm of her hair.

Better than blood. Better than the slick leather of the riding crop.

“You are not the only one with memories you would rather forget.” His voice sounded harsh, but he didn’t try to moderate it.

“What memories?”

“Memories of the desert.”

“The desert?” She stared at him. “What happened in the desert?”

He took a breath. Met her dark gaze. “I nearly died, Lily.”

A
t first, Lily
barely understood what he’d said, her head still too full of that astonishing, incredible kiss. Her first kiss. The first she’d taken and not had forced on her.

And she’d wanted to take it. Take it for herself. Because there had been something in the way he’d twined his fingers in her hair, in the look in his eyes as he’d stared at her, in the stark desperation in his voice as he’d asked for the kiss, that had gotten to her. A need she hadn’t been able to deny him. A need she hadn’t been able to deny herself.

Lily sat back on the sand, a hot restlessness sweeping through her. “You nearly died?” she repeated blankly, struggling to make sense of the words.

His face may as well have been cast in bronze for all the expression he gave away. “I told you my father beat me hard enough to put me in hospital? Well, not long after I got out, I ran away from home. Into the desert. I thought dying of thirst was preferable to being killed by one’s own father.” There was a chilling detachment in the way he spoke. “I’m not sure how long I wandered around in the dunes. Long enough to collapse and get severely burned.”

Shock began to trickle through her. “How did you survive?”

“The desert people found me. They looked after me for a while, before taking me back to the palace.” He paused. “Yesterday you asked me why Khalid was so harsh to them? Well, that is the reason. Because of their treatment of me.”

No wonder he was so cautious with them. So respectful to their wishes. It wasn’t only because he wanted to mark himself out as being different from his father.

“You feel you owe them?”

“I do. What they did for me cannot ever be repaid.”

She didn’t want to ask her next question but she couldn’t stop herself. “What happened when you went back? Khalid didn’t—”

“No. That was the last time I was beaten. My father did not touch me again.”

She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his face. From the darkness she saw in his eyes. In the crystal heart of that startling blue, something black lurked.

Something that made a small, electric thrill go through her. She tried to ignore it. “I wondered why you were so tense in the car. Being here must be difficult.”

He looked away, out to the dunes. “More so than I expected.”

She stared at his perfect, stern profile. They must have been bad, those memories of his. She couldn’t imagine the strength it took to confront them. “You’re doing better than I am in that case. I haven’t been back to the pool since Dan.”

He glanced back at her. “Because of the memories?”

“Yes. He ruined swimming for me. He ruined a lot of things for me.”

The look in his blue eyes hardened. “Then, don’t let him, Lily.”

Instinctively, she opened her mouth to argue. But then stopped.

She’d been telling herself for years that she was over what Dan had done to her. That she’d moved on with her life. Yet had she? She no longer went swimming. Had put aside her Olympic victory. Didn’t even look at men anymore. Had thrown herself into a masculine job, because she’d wanted to prove she could do it. Prove she was stronger.

But she hadn’t. All she’d proved was that she hadn’t moved on. That deep in her heart she was still in that darkened room with Dan touching her. Still ashamed she hadn’t fought him off hard enough.

The breath caught in her throat, a piercing realization slicing straight through her.

Dan was still taking things from her. Her gold medal. Her joy in the water. Her sexuality. Her femininity. Herself.

Lily put her hands down on the sand, staring at Isma’il. “You’re right,” she said hoarsely. “I shouldn’t let him. Well, now it ends.” She held his gaze, finally admitting to herself what she’d been trying to ignore for the past couple of days. That she was attracted to him. That she wanted him. Wanted this sheikh. “Kiss me again.”

A spark flared in his gaze, but he made no move, staring back at her. “Why?”

“Because I’ve let Dan have far too much power. I’ve let him ruin things for me for far too long.” She took a breath. “I’ve never felt attracted to anyone, Sheikh. Not until I met you. And I’ve been afraid of it. Well, I don’t want to be afraid of it any more. I want what I should have had if he hadn’t touched me. I want the kiss I should have had years ago.”

Isma’il’s blue eyes never left hers. “You’ve already had that.”

“I want it again.”

“No.”

She blinked. “No? Why not?”

“Because I do not want to give you the kind of kiss you expect, Lily.”

Heat swept over her skin. Stopped her breath, her heart thudding loudly in her ears. “And what kind of kiss do you think I’m expecting?”

“Something gentle. Something light.” Turquoise eyes glittered in the light of the setting sun, burning her. “And I cannot do either with you.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you think? I want you too much.”

“So?” She leaned forward, the lean, powerful length of his body sitting so close. He was hotter than the sand, hotter than the sun. And she was sick of running from the heat between them. Sick of letting memories of Dan pollute her life. “I want you too.”

“No, Lily.”

“Stop protecting me. You’re worse than Dan, treating me like a bloody victim!”

The heat ignited in his eyes and suddenly he moved, a hand at the back of her head, hard fingers lacing through her hair, gripping her. Holding her still. “You really want to know what I want to do to you, Lily Harkness? You really want a taste of what I’m capable of?”

The breath shuddered in her throat, but she didn’t look away, meeting the challenge in his eyes with her own. “Yes,” she gasped.

“Last chance.”

“I don’t need a chance. Show me what I should be so afraid of, Sheikh.”

His fingers in her hair tightened almost painfully. “Isma’il,” he said, in a fierce, hard voice. “That is my name. Say it.”

“Isma’il,” she breathed, because she’d been dying to say his name, but hadn’t allowed herself the pleasure of it.

And then his mouth came down, hard and hot and sure on hers.

This kiss bore no resemblance to the one she’d given him. Hers had been careful, hesitant. But his wasn’t. One hand gripped her chin, forcing her head back, his thumb pushing her lip down, opening her mouth to his. She gasped and he took advantage, the heat of his tongue invading her, exploring her, raw and hot and dominant.

So good. So intense. She pressed her palms against the hard wall of his chest, his skin burning through the cotton of his shirt, felt the heat of him like a fire against her. He answered her touch by pulling her head back further, kissing her harder, deeper.

She could taste his need for her. Feel the intensity of it. Rough and demanding, no holding back. And she revelled in it. Loved the feeling of power it gave her. How it made her into a woman instead of a victim.

She wasn’t ready when he let her go and she couldn’t stop the moan of protest when he released her with a sharp movement, surging to his feet.

“I didn’t say stop,” she panted, kneeling on the sand, staring up at him.

He towered over her, one hand pushing his black hair off his face, his eyes glittering with desire, color burning on his sharp cheekbones. A thrill went through her to see his usual urbane charm stripped away, leaving something raw and passionate in its place.

“That is not up to you,” he said in a cracked voice.

She got to her feet. “Why shouldn’t it be? Why shouldn’t I have what I want for a change?”

“Because you do not understand what you’re asking for.”

“Don’t patronize me, Isma’il. I know exactly what I’m asking for. And if that kiss is an example of what you can give me, then I’m telling you, that’s what I want.”

“Sex in the dunes? Is that truly what you want? Because that is exactly what you’ll get if I kiss you again.”

She swallowed. “What would be so bad about that?”