Brenda Jackson - Sleeping with the Sheikh - The Sheikh's Bidding / Delaney's Desert Sheikh / Desert Warrior

Sam despised the sudden intimacy between them, hated even more that the cowboy touched Andrea’s face then patted her bottom as if he had the right to do so. It took all of Sam’s strength not to scale the fence and go after the idiot with fists raised. Luckily the man turned and left before Sam acted on that impulse. He had no cause to intervene. Andrea could do as she pleased with any man she pleased.

Still, Sam couldn’t seem to get a grasp on his anger. It stayed with him all the way to the barn as he followed Andrea and the filly. The sway of her hips only fueled his fury when he thought about the man touching her with such intimacy, any man aside from him.

Once inside, Andrea turned the filly loose in the stall and came out holding a water bucket.

Sam leaned back against the opposite stall, hands fisted at his sides, no longer able to maintain his silence. “Who was that man?”

Andrea kept her back to him while she gathered the hose and began to fill the bucket. “Caleb? He’s a friend.”

“Only a friend?”

She regarded him over one shoulder. “The bay gelding at the end of the aisle is his. He stopped by to check on his progress. He’s letting me have him for thirty more days for the basics, before he takes him to a cutting horse guy.”

“Then you’re saying that his only interest in you has to do with your training skills?”

She shut off the water and turned, the hose still clutched in her fragile hand. “Of course.”

“Are you still so naive, Andrea?”

Her face melded into a frown. “About what?”

“That man has designs on you as a woman.”

She rolled her eyes. “Get off it, Sam. Caleb wants me to train his horse and that’s all.”

“He wants you, Andrea.”

“Good grief. What on earth makes you think that?”

“The way he touched you.”

“Touched me?”

“Are you saying you didn’t notice when he put his hand on your…on your…butt?”

When Andrea laughed, Sam’s temper flared again. “You find this funny?”

After recovering somewhat, she said, “I’m laughing because your assumptions about Caleb are ridiculous.”

“My observations cannot be denied.”

She tossed the hose to the ground. “You sound like a jealous lover.”

Sam acknowledged that fact, but he couldn’t stop his reaction. “Is he your lover, Andrea?”

Her eyes narrowed with anger. “That’s really none of your business.”

Regardless, Sam had to know. “Is he, Andrea?”

She leaned back against the stall. “Let me ask you something. Have you been celibate all these years, Sam?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Oh, I think it is. If we’re going to get into my business, then that gives me the right to get into yours.”

“I’m concerned about our son,” Sam said, grasping for anything so he would not have to admit there had been other women, but not so many as she might think, and none that could compare to what he had found with her. “I’m wary of those who would enter your life but have no intention of treating Chance appropriately.”

“If you must know, I’ve dated a couple of men, but it didn’t work out because Chance didn’t like either of them. For me that’s the test. Chance’s approval. Now are you satisfied?”

Only one thing would satisfy him, kissing the defiance from her expression, making her lips soften beneath his. “Obviously, this Caleb would like to be the next in line.”

“Your imagination is running wild, Sheikh Yaman.”

She was driving him wild, her eyes now as blue as flames. Sam wanted to touch her, to make her forget the fool who’d had his hands on her earlier. To forget every man she had ever let touch her. Yet he didn’t dare give her more than advice.

“Your clothing leaves little to the imagination, Andrea. I suggest that you consider how you dress from now on.”

“I’m wearing what I wear every day of the week. Plain jeans and T-shirt.”

“Tight jeans and a very thin T-shirt.”

She took a visual journey from his chest to the boots he had bought on a trip into town yesterday. “I’m thinking you’ve got the tight jeans market cornered. But I have to admit they look pretty darned good. I’m still surprised they fit.”

They did, but barely, and the fit at the moment was less than comfortable. “My attire is not the issue at present.” His gaze slid to her breasts. “You have on no bra. How can you expect a man to ignore this?”

She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it out. “This provides plenty of cover.”

“It shows far too much. Hides too little.” Made Sam ache.

“I don’t have that much to see, Sam. But thanks, anyway.”

“You are wrong, Andrea. Wrong and foolish to think otherwise.”

Her sudden smile caught him off guard. “Does this plain old T-shirt get your blood pumping, Sheikh Yaman?”

He couldn’t deny that. “It is practically transparent.”

She reached down and picked up the bucket. Sam believed she meant to carry it into the filly’s stall. Instead she tipped it toward her, spilling the contents down the front of her, then tossed the bucket aside. She pointed at her breasts. “Now, this is transparent.”

Sam could only stare at the dark shading of her nipples that showed through the saturated material. His hands opened and closed with the urge to touch her.

“Like what you see, Sam?” she asked, her tone full of challenge that he dared not answer.

But he couldn’t keep from answering. He spanned the space between them before his brain registered that he had moved. Yet his body was very aware that he now had Andrea against the stall. He took her mouth without consideration of the consequences, thrusting his tongue between her parted lips with the force of his need while his hands searched beneath the wet fabric to cup both of her breasts. She whimpered when he thumbed each peak. Her hips ground against him in a torturous rhythm that made him hard and aching, balanced on the point of losing all restraint. He wanted to take her right there, right then, without regard to location or lack of privacy.

When she raised her arms, Sam pulled the drenched shirt over her head and dropped it to the ground behind her back while he trailed a path of wet kisses down the valley of her breasts. She arched her back, and her chest rose and fell rapidly in sync with his pounding heart, then her breath completely stopped when he drew one nipple into his mouth.

So lost in the taste of her dampened flesh, in the feel of her softness against his tongue, it took him a moment to notice the downward track of his zipper. Realization caught hold and he clasped her wrist.

“No, Andrea.” He stepped back, away from her, then realized, with her standing there bare from the waist up, he was in danger of forgetting himself once again.

Yanking his own shirt over his head, he held it against her, shielding her from his eyes. “Put this on.”

“But—”

“Put it on.”

When she finally took the shirt, Sam walked to the opposite stall, braced his hands above his head and leaned into them. His chest burned from the effort it took to recover his breath and to calm his body.

When he turned again, thankfully she had honored his request. The knit shirt hit her at the knees, but the sharp sting of awareness was still present within him, even though she was now completely covered.

“I promised myself this would not happen between us,” he said, his voice thick with the desire that he couldn’t disregard.

She folded her arms across her breasts. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve broken a promise, Sam.”

“What promise have I broken?”

She strolled down the aisle a few steps then turned. “That night at the pond, you promised you wouldn’t leave me.”