Jennifer Lewis - The Sheikh Who Desired Her - Secrets of the Oasis / The Desert Prince / Saved by the Sheikh!

The tension between the two brothers had always been palpable, and Jamilah was aware that this was the first time Salman appeared to be softening in some respect—taking an interest even if it was somewhat forced and clearly unwelcome. Did she want to be the person who sabotaged that?

If she was to make a fuss and insist on staying in Merkazad she’d merely be proving to Salman that to her the thought of returning to Paris with him equated to a minor mental breakdown. Her one saving grace at the moment was that he believed her to be over their brief liaison.

She came to a reluctant decision and told herself she was doing it for Nadim and for no other reason. ‘Fine,’ she said, as blasé as she could, as if it was costing her nothing. ‘I’ll go to Paris.’

His dark eyes bored into hers so intensely that she started to get hot and tingly. She wanted to ask him to stop looking at her like that, but that would only give away the fact that he had an effect on her. As if he wouldn’t know that already from the wanton way she’d reacted to him in the shower . Her lower belly felt hot.

He smiled, and her world tilted crazily. ‘Good. You can stay with me.’

Jamilah faltered as she turned to leave. She looked back at him. ‘But … surely you’ll stay in your apartment? I can stay in a hotel.’

Salman shook his head. ‘I sold that apartment years ago. I’ve been living in a suite at the Ritz. I have a spare room. You can stay there.’

Panic setting in, Jamilah blustered, ‘I can look after my own accommodation.’

Salman waved her suggestion away. ‘Don’t be silly. The meetings are taking place at the Ritz conference centre so it’s the most practical solution.’

Jamilah stepped out of the plane and breathed the cool November Paris air in deep. She felt stifled, having been cooped up on a small private jet with Salman for a few hours, even though he’d kept himself to himself—surprising Jamilah by immersing himself in documents. She’d seen the headed paper and known they had to do with the meetings and that had surprised her even more. She’d fully expected him to toy with her mercilessly during the flight, but she might as well have been invisible.

Much to her chagrin that hadn’t made her feel relieved or … good .

She felt Salman nudge her back. ‘Are you going to stand there all day?’

Quickly she hurried down the steps and into the waiting chauffeur-driven car. She heard Salman greet the driver by name, and had to assume the man was his personal driver. Within minutes they were joining the hectic stream of traffic, headed for the centre of Paris.

Emotion surged within Jamilah, despite her best attempts to keep it down. She hadn’t been back to Paris once since that fateful time. She’d been to Nadim’s stables, which were just outside Paris, but not to the city. And yet here she was, with Salman .

Salman was acutely aware of Jamilah, resolutely facing away from him, looking out of the other window. He could see the line of her exquisite profile. Those long dark lashes. She’d tied her hair back in a chignon, and in her long dark coat she could have been any of a number of stunningly beautiful women in this city. His chest tightened. She was so much more beautiful than any of those women.

He’d had to immerse himself in work on the plane just to stop himself from giving in to a primal impulse to drag her into the sleeping cabin at the back and ravish her. And then, to his surprise, as he’d read up on the topics for the meetings he’d found his interest being stirred and ignited. For the first time in his life he’d felt something proprietorial for Merkazad rear its head. That feeling of vulnerability made his skin prickle uncomfortably.

Jamilah turned and asked huskily, ‘Why did you sell your apartment?’

The unbidden answer rose up inside him. Because I couldn’t stand to live there after that day …

Jamilah watched as something enigmatic lit Salman’s eyes, and felt something in her own chest contract. But then it passed, and he looked away, shrugging. ‘I grew out of it. I wasn’t sure what I wanted instead, so I moved into the Ritz and I’ve been there ever since.’

‘It must be a bit … impersonal living in a hotel?’

Salman looked back and smiled devilishly, every inch of him the supremely successful businessman in his charcoal suit and black coat. ‘It suits me perfectly. And my needs.’

At the way he said needs Jamilah could feel colour flaring into her cheeks and looked away again. She could well imagine that it did serve his feckless needs. No woman being brought into the suite of a hotel would be under any illusion that their relationship wasn’t as transitory as his accommodation.

Suddenly angry, Jamilah looked back, to find Salman still watching her. She reacted to that as much as to his words. ‘I feel sorry for you, you know. You’ve cut off all ties with your own home, you live out of a suite in a hotel, you don’t even have a relationship with your brother—’

Her words were cut off brutally when the space between them was breached and Salman was suddenly there. Her head was in his hands, so close to his that she could breathe him in. She felt his powerful thighs right against hers. Her breath came short and jerkily. Her heart hammered.

Blisteringly he said, ‘I don’t need anyone’s pity, Jamilah, and I certainly don’t need yours. I’ve made my choices along the way, and if I had to choose again I wouldn’t do anything differently.’

At that pain lanced her so acutely that Jamilah gasped—but it all got eclipsed when Salman’s mouth covered hers and she was thrown into the fire. Full of emotion—anger mixed up with an awful treacherous yearning and, unbelievably, a helpless and inexplicable tenderness—Jamilah gripped the lapels of Salman’s coat and held him to her, matching his kiss passion for passion. The fire was stoked higher and higher.

With a guttural groan that resonated within her, he put his arms around her back and arched her up and into him, so that her breasts were crushed against his hard chest. They ached for his touch. Mouths fused again. Jamilah’s hands delved into Salman’s silky hair, moulding his skull, holding him to her. In that moment she would have gladly given everything up just for this. This hot insanity and distraction from the pain. The ever-present pain. Caused by this man.

That thought sliced through the frantic desire and the pulse beating through her blood. She pulled back in the same moment that Salman did. She was practically supine on the back seat of the car, Salman crushing her to the seat. She could feel the hard ridge of his erection against her thigh and her lower body throbbed painfully. She felt dishevelled, undone, and utterly exposed.

Salman lifted his head. The dark colour slashing his cheekbones and his heavy breathing sent only a sliver of comfort through Jamilah. She couldn’t speak. It was only then that she noticed the privacy partition had gone up, and mortification drenched her to think of the driver witnessing this.

Salman’s voice grated across her exposed nerves. ‘Like I said … I don’t want your pity. But I do want you. And you want me, too, Jamilah. Nothing’s changed. We want each other as much as if it were that first time all over again.’

She opened her mouth to deny it, ridiculously, and Salman ruthlessly cut her off.

‘Don’t even think of saying it. You’re not a liar, Jamilah. One of the things I’ve always admired about you is your honesty.’

She shut her mouth, and with an effort slithered out from under him, pressing her legs together and pulling her coat around her. She could feel her hair falling out of its chignon, and with shaky hands attempted to repair the damage. Her mouth felt swollen; her cheeks burned. It was futile to deny it any longer. ‘I may want you, Salman, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go there. You washed your hands of me once already, remember?’