The Sheik's Safety (9 page)

He inclined his head at that, the first sign of agreement he'd shown so far. “I do not want you to come to harm.”

“I skirt harm for a living.”

“It should not be so,” he said, his face serious once again. “A woman like you should be cherished.”

She groaned in frustration. “Can you not, even temporarily, consider us partners, working toward a common goal?”

His gaze burned into hers. “Partners in many things but not in fight.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You must know that you're a very desirable woman.”

His deep voice sent tingles to the bottom of her stomach. Then he stepped closer.

Not a good idea.
She held out a hand. “Your bath is ready.”

He held her gaze for a couple of eternities back-to-back. “I will not rush you,” he said, then walked away.

She sank onto a pillow and watched through the open flap as he walked to the edge of the pool, then she squeezed her eyes shut when he began to undress.

The water was cold. Good. Saeed leaned his head against the pool's ledge.

The woman was distraction personified. Just what he didn't need right now when everything around him was falling apart. Or perhaps, she was exactly what he needed.

The thought brought his head up.

He didn't like the idea of needing her, liked it even less that the need went beyond the physical. He hadn't expected ever to feel this way about a woman, wasn't sure if it was right.

He threw some water into his face and shook his head. And then he heard her scream. The startled sound bounced off the walls of the cave.

He launched himself out of the pool, wrapped one of the strips of silk around his waist loincloth-style as he ran for the tent. She wasn't there.

“Dara?” Fear filled his lungs. He grabbed his gun,
scanned the cave, blamed himself for leaving her alone. He shouldn't have assumed they were safe for even a moment. Had someone come after them?

“Over here.” Her voice sounded muffled.

He followed it, checking behind bigger rocks and stacks of crates.

“I fell through a crack,” she said.

And he saw it in a dark corner, an even darker opening in the rock floor. Then he was there and on his stomach, reaching for her.

She grabbed onto his arm. “I didn't see it.”

“What the hell were you doing back here?”

“Getting the lay of the land. Looking for an easily defendable spot should anything happen.”

He pulled her up, against him, and didn't let go.

“I'm fine,” she said, but her voice shook.

He lifted her into his arms, carried her into the tent, and laid her onto the pillows, pulling a lamp closer as he sat to examine her.

No new injuries but a small scrape on the shoulder left exposed by the silk. He waited for his heart to stop trying to jump through his throat.

“Your body looks like a battlefield.” His gaze skimmed from the purplish bruise on her right shoulder that peeked from under her makeshift dress, to the bullet wound on her left arm below the elbow, and settled on her latest injuries.

“I'm perfectly fine,” she repeated.

Relief untangled his guts at last. “You are.”

But he wasn't.

He couldn't stand the thought of anything happening to her, that he might lose her. The thought was akin to physical pain. And reminding himself that she wasn't his only made things worse.

She stood. “I'm going to get some water.”

Her movements were graceful and smooth, the creamy skin of her bare arms glowing in the lamplight. Her loose hair, the dark color richer than anything the best painter in the world could mix up, swung forward as she bent to pick through a handful of jars.

He looked at the way the silk fell from her waist over slim legs, at the kissable arc of her slender neck, and knew that a hundred years of looking would not be enough. “I want you.”

“Mmm,” she murmured, distracted.

“I mean to have you.” He gave her fair warning.

She turned, listening now, her eyes as round as the gold coins he had spilled earlier. Her breathing grew shallow. Then she gathered herself.

“What's this?” She lifted a jar in a transparent attempt to distract him.

He broke off the seal and sniffed the contents. “Myrrh and balsam. Both plants have medicinal qualities. Myrrh is thought to help in the healing of wounds.” He held her gaze. “Some women rub it into
their skin to soften and scent it for their lover. There was a time when it was worth as much as gold.”

He dipped a finger into the jar, then captured her left arm and smoothed some ointment over her velvet skin, careful with her injury. He moved up and spread some of the sweet-scented substance over her shoulder, letting his fingers play on her collarbone and the hollow of her neck longer than necessary. He caressed the edges of the fading bruises that peeked from under the silk on her right side.

“That one is fine. It doesn't hurt anymore,” she said in a breathless whisper.

Better be sure. He prided himself on being thorough. A quick tug sent the cloth sliding obediently to the ground. She sank to her knees in front of him to retrieve it, bringing them to the same level, but when her fingers closed around the material she didn't get up.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he said, and it scared him to realize that his attraction to her went far beyond beauty. He dipped into the jar again. Some of the ointment, having the consistency of honey, dripped from his fingers before he reached her.

He caressed her soft skin and she swallowed hard, the sound making him smile. He worked the scented substance over her arms, shoulders and neck. When he reached the fabric that covered the rest of her body, he tugged it loose. The silk pooled around her waist.

For a moment he could but stare. Then once his limbs obeyed him again, he dipped into the jar and let his fingers glide over her breasts. She was soft and firm at the same time, the feel of her body starting a thousand burning fires in his. Her glorious breasts glistened in the flickering light of the lamps. She looked like one of the pagan goddesses his people had worshipped centuries ago.

 

D
ARA WATCHED HIS EYES DARKEN
at her quick intake of breath, as he trailed his fingers from her breasts to her waist and pushed the last of the silk out of the way.

“Lie down,” he said, and when she lay on her back, wanting him, ready for him, he surprised her by turning her over.

His hands felt like heaven, melting her bones wherever they roamed. He massaged the myrrh into her shoulder blades, down the curve of her waist, his long fingers caressing her buttocks, dipping between her thighs and pushing them apart. Heat pooled down below. She felt herself grow moist.
Now,
she thought, but he went on to work her legs, the bottom of her feet, covering every inch before he turned her again to take care of the front.

She was mesmerized by his intense blue gaze as he smoothed the scented ointment over her breasts for the second time, dragged his fingers over her belly, her hips, rubbed myrrh onto her inner thighs.
Her skin was so sensitized, each touch sent shivers of pleasure through her. He took his time, and when he was done, when she was a quivering mess beneath his hands, he pulled away.

No.
She gathered her strength and came to her knees to face him, wanting to touch his body in turn.

She dipped her own trembling fingers into the jar and let them glide over the muscles of his chest, shocked by the intense pleasure the simple touch brought her.

He came up to his knees, too. Their eyes were level with each other as he pulled her closer, bare skin to bare skin, and claimed her mouth. Her tightened nipples touched his chest at the same time that their lips met, sending a shock of pleasure to her core.

He did not take her mouth gently as he had touched her body, but ravished her lips, made them his in every way. Her heated blood drummed an erratic rhythm as he consumed her, and yet his fervor did not scare her. She reveled in it. He left barely a coherent thought in her mind when he moved back.

“Ya lilly ya aini,”
he breathed the words.

“What does that mean?”

“You are my eyes,” he said with a smile.

“That's beautiful.”

“
Ya noori.
You are my light.”

His gaze was on her face, but the burning expression in his eyes and his words touched her as pro
foundly as if he ran his hands over her body, maybe even more so, leaving not only her skin tingling, but reaching deeper inside.

She leaned forward, into him again, not wanting the sensations to end. She was a grown woman who knew what she wanted, without shyness or apologies. She had seen both the best and the worst life had to offer, too much perhaps of the latter. In her line of work, moments of respite were few and far between. Moments like this… She'd never quite had one like this before.

Saeed held her gaze, took her hand and placed it on the top of the fabric twisted around his waist. She understood his unspoken message: it was up to her how they proceeded. He was willing to stop even now.

She wasn't.

Without hesitation—although, with slightly shaky fingers—she pulled the material free. To see his obvious proof of desire was a heady feeling. Touching it raised her body's level of urgency a notch. She moved to straddle his lap, but he put a hand to her waist and stopped her halfway.

The protest died on her lips when his other hand cupped her, long fingers parting her flesh. He worked her with finesse and patience that took her breath away. When his hot lips closed around her nipple—his teeth grazing the hard tip—she held on to his shoulders and let her head fall back.

He felt right, and it went beyond what he could do for her body.

Faint intentions nudged the back of her mind. She should be doing something, give pleasure for pleasure. She slid her hands downward but they stopped over his chest, her fingers kneading his muscles while the pressure inside her built to the breaking point. A moan slipped from her lips as wave after wave of satisfaction washed over her body, cresting still when he cradled her against him.

Before she could catch her breath, he reached under her and shifted her slightly, then pushed inside her. The fullness of him nearly sent her over the edge again.

He rocked her, his hands splayed over her buttocks, massaging, squeezing, caressing. His lips found hers and they were gentle this time, almost reverent. He filled her to stretching, the slow rhythm he set making her want to jump out of her skin. He was holding back, teasing her. The sensation drove her mad.

She wanted fast and furious. She was ready. But he would not give it to her.

“We have all day,” he said and nipped her bottom lip.

When she arched against him, he smiled.

Then she moved her hips in a deliberate circular motion and he grew serious.

“A battle of wills?” The strain in his voice be
trayed what his restraint cost him. “I must warn you, the Bedu are legendary fighters. I come from a long line of warriors.”

“So do I.” She dipped her head to nip at his neck, tightening her inner muscles at the same time.

He groaned, but did not pick up the speed, shifted instead so he could reach even deeper. And there it was, that critical moment that comes in every battle when the outcome is decided.

She fought to win, with every weapon at her disposal.

She tightened her muscles around him, and again, hard quick squeezes even as she felt her own pleasure build to a peak. And he thrust inside her with force then, and pushed her over the edge.

Through the haze of complete satisfaction, she felt him shudder inside her body and empty himself into her. And she smiled.

Minutes passed before they were able to move. He took her with him to the carpets, cradled her in his arms. Their bodies depleted, their limbs intertwined, they rested.

She stared at the ceiling of the tent, trying to push her thoughts past the short-circuit in her mind. He had shocked her. Her own body had shocked her. She hadn't known it could be like this. Did other people?

“I feel like I discovered something,” she said, turning to him. “Something enormous.”

He came to his elbow to look at her, one eyebrow raised, a wide grin spreading on his handsome face.

Not too conceited, was he? Well, okay, with reason. “I mean like a lost city of legend in the desert. I feel like I should map the route or something and share with the masses. It seems unfair to keep it to ourselves.”

“Sometimes it's good to be selfish,” he said. “I'm keeping
you
for myself.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she ignored it smoothly and went on. “Not that I know how we got there, or if it ever could be done again.”

“Oh, it can be done. I'm planning on sending many, many caravans there.” He stood, surprising her.

Where did he get the energy? Her bones were still good and melted. As if knowing her inability to stand, he picked her up and carried her to the pool.

He walked in with her, lowering her into the cool water inch by inch. The water felt wonderful against her skin, almost as wonderful as Saeed's hands running down her body. He rearranged her slightly, pulled her against him, cupped her buttocks and lifted her. She wrapped her feet around his waist and felt the heat of his hardness nestled against her. “Another caravan so soon?” She toyed with his lips.

“Leaving immediately,” he murmured.

 

H
E COULD NOT GET ENOUGH
of her. Saeed captured her mouth, rather than dwell on the unsettling
thought. A part of him had already decided he would not let her go, while on another level he knew he must.

That he had brought her here, where he had never brought anyone, was insanity, perhaps even more—a betrayal of his tribe. But he trusted her, trusted her with his life.

When had that happened?

He kissed her lips, then tasted her fully, kept his gaze on her face, wanting to see her eyes darken when he slid into her tight, wet welcome.

She was like the water that surrounded them—a gift from above, necessary for survival.

He didn't like his need for her, the weakness of it.

She wasn't the right woman for him. She was a foreigner. An American. They had different backgrounds. She could never fully understand his family, his people. And he wasn't sure his people could ever fully accept her. Could Salah?

He was some kind of an assignment for her, nothing more. It cost him to remember that, but he could not afford to forget it, not even when every cell of his body was screaming for him to make her his. Forever.

He rubbed his hardness in a circular motion around her opening, watched her struggle for control then give up. And when he couldn't bear it any longer, he pushed into her quick and hard. He pushed deep, over and over, taking everything, wanting des
perately to satisfy his hunger. When she moaned into his mouth, he drank the sound, and thought he could feel their souls merge until they were one.