Page 15 of At the Sheikh's Bidding
He raised an eyebrow and indicated the setting. “And this is work? You think there is nothing personal about this situation?”
“That’s correct,” she said.
“Then,habibti, you’re in deeper denial than I imagined.”
The wind rose suddenly. She stopped and turned to him. “Amare, listen to me. My past has nothing to do with who, or what, I am now.” She was desperate to change the subject. “Likeyouhave moved on fromyourpast.”
He frowned. She could see from his expression that he understood she’d been doing more than a little research into his background. And she relaxed a little, as the focus switched to him. But then his frown lifted as his eyes scanned her face.
He reached out, and she held her breath as he gently nudged a long strand of hair, which the wind had teased from the slide.
“You look like you did that day,” he murmured, his eyes searching her face. He was too adept at control to allow her to turn the tables so easily.
“What day?” she asked. She knew, but denied that knowledge through habit.
His lips quirked. He understood what she was doing.Howhe did, she hadn’t a clue. They barely knew each other, had barely spent any time together, and yet he seemed to look deep inside of her and know her despite this.
“I thought you were different when I saw you.”
“Me? There are lots of Aussie girls like me.”
“Long blonde hair. Tick. Tall, slender, tick. But there are no other girls—Aussie or otherwise, with your eyes. There’s something in them which made me stop, made everything inside of me stop, when I saw your eyes—their color, their expression. They got to me.”
She swallowed as he took a step closer.
“Do you remember what I said?”
She nodded, unable to break the moment. “You said that you’d just seen something that completed you.”
“And when you asked me what that was, I said…”
“You.” She licked her lips as her eyes dipped to his own lips, which had moved closer to hers. “You said I completed you.” She huffed an uncomfortable laugh. “I should have run a mile then.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And do you remember what we did next?”
She nodded. She was out of words, out of thoughts, only aware of his face leaning closer to hers. Of his hands cupping her cheek and his lips pressing against hers.
And in that moment, she knew she was lost. She wanted him to open his mouth against hers, to feel his tongue against hers and the pressure of his body against hers. Every inch of it.
But he pulled away and dropped his hand.
“We kissed,” he said.
She nodded, clenching her fist so she didn’t reach out and grab him and make him give her what it was she wanted so much.
“And I thought to myself, this woman is different,” he continued.
She grimaced to hide her discomfort. “In what way? Forked tongue? Weird kisser?”
He shot her a cute lop-sided smile, which created a fluttering deep in her belly. He took hold of her clenched fist and drew out her fingers.
“You know I don’t mean that,” he gently chided. “I mean”—he tugged her a little closer, and she willingly came—“you engaged me on a different level to any other woman. You intrigued me and yet…” He narrowed his eyes as if he couldn’t fathom his own thoughts. “It was as if I knew you already. Didn’t you feel the same?”
“I…” She faltered. She never lied, but there was no way she could admit how she’d felt after only one glance and a few minutes with him. She’d felt as if she’d been coming home.
