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

‘What the—?’ she spluttered ineffectually.

Salman knew he should be letting Jamilah go. He’d told himself that he would not pursue her. But faced with her now, her timeless beauty, that sleek curvaceous body, he knew it was too much for his battered soul to resist.

Salman arched one ebony brow. ‘Like I said, can’t you even greet me with a civil hello?’

Jamilah glared up at him, already cursing herself for having come here to deal with this. ‘Why would I want to bother saying hello to someone who can’t even treat his own home or staff with any respect?’

His eyes flashed blackly. ‘Exactly. This is my home, and you would do well to remember that.’

Jamilah spat out, ‘You mean remember my place? Is that it, Salman? It’s been a long time since anyone had to remind me that I’m not part of your family.’

She tried to break free, but his grip was too strong, and then two hands drew her round in front of him, and his gaze fairly blistered down into her defiant one. Of course she wasn’t a member of their family; for all of Nadim’s care, inclusion and protection after her parents had died Jamilah had always known her place—so why was she provoking Salman like this now?

‘That’s not what I meant at all, and you know it. The fact is that this is my home and I shall do as I like here. As acting ruler I don’t have to answer to anyone.’

Jamilah stuck her chin out pugnaciously, something deep and visceral goading her on. ‘You’ll answer to me . I may not be the ruler, but the staff here know who is in charge and it’s not you. You need to earn their respect first. And I won’t stand by and watch you come in here and desecrate Nadim and Iseult’s home.’

Before Jamilah could even question where that urge to provoke had come from suddenly they were a lot closer, and her breath faltered as Salman’s unique and intensely male scent washed over her. Dimly she recognised that she couldn’t smell drink on his breath. He hadn’t been drunk? That didn’t fit with the scene she’d just witnessed.

‘Like I said—’ his voice was as glacial as hers ‘—this is my home as much as it is Nadim’s, and I will invite whomever I want, whenever I want.’

Unable to articulate a response, and quickly becoming overwhelmed by Salman’s intoxicating proximity, Jamilah tried to break free of his hold again, twisting around in his hands.

All it did, though, was force her back into his hard chest—and then she heard a muttered curse. Suddenly strong arms were below her breasts, and she was being lifted clear off her feet and carried bodily towards the bathroom. She kicked out with her legs, but her struggles were futile and puny in the face of Salman’s overpowering strength. She was plastered against a hard, wet body. And that was entirely her fault.

She couldn’t even get a word out before they were in the bathroom, and Salman easily held her with one arm while he turned on the shower. Both her hands were trying to free herself, to no avail. His arm was like a steel bar. She could feel her hair loosening from its untidy ponytail.

The water was running, and steam had started to rise around them when she finally spluttered out, ‘What the hell do you think you are doing? Let me down this instant!’

In that moment Salman walked them both under the warm spray of the huge shower, and she heard him say grimly over her head, ‘Giving you a little taste of your own medicine, Miss High-and-mighty.’

THE inarticulate rage that had risen up within Salman seconds ago was already diminishing, and he knew it had had more to do with this woman’s effect on him than her belligerence and anger. And now he couldn’t see anything but Jamilah, her clothes already soaked through and sticking to that glorious body.

Jamilah was gasping in shock, her back against the wall of the shower. Water was streaming over her head, face, into her eyes, and Salman’s hand was splayed across her abdomen, holding her in place. Through the steam she could see his glittering obsidian gaze, his hair plastered to his skull, and water sluicing down that powerful chest, through the dark smattering of hair, over his blunt nipples.

She tried to smack his hand away, but he merely put it back and said grimly, ‘You’re not going anywhere.’

Humiliation scorched up through Jamilah as she became very aware of how drenched she was, and how her clothes were plastered to her body. As if reading her thoughts, Salman dropped his eyes, and she could feel her breasts respond, growing heavy, her nipples peaking almost painfully against her wet bra and shirt. She could only imagine how see-through the flimsy material must be under the powerful spray. A flash of fire lit his eyes, and they went darker in an instant—and, awfully , she felt an answering rush of heat.

Once again she tried to get free, but Salman merely moved closer and took her hands, raising them above her head. She struggled in earnest now, feeling intensely vulnerable, but it was a struggle against the fire that was gathering pace inside her body, in her blood. She had to stop abruptly when her hips came into explosive contact with his.

‘Let me go.’

She longed to go for his vulnerable area with a knee, but he quickly manoeuvred them so that he could thrust a thigh between her legs and shook his head, saying, ‘Ah-ah …’

The shock of feeling that powerful thigh between hers rendered her mute. All too easily he held her two hands in one of his, like an iron manacle. His other hand drifted down to cup her jaw and turn her face up to his. The spray bounced off him, cocooning them in steam. She gritted her jaw and tried to turn away, but he ruthlessly turned her head back.

He smiled down at her, and it was the smile of a dangerous predator. ‘Aren’t you even a little bit glad to see me?’

A treacherous kick of her heart made Jamilah all but spit at him. ‘You’re the last person I’d be happy to see, Salman al Saqr.’

He shook his head mock-mournfully and tutted. ‘All those strong feelings still under the surface, Jamilah?’

Cold horror snaked through her, despite the heat around them. She had to protect herself. She forced her body to relax and mirrored his own easy demeanour. She even smiled sweetly. ‘On the contrary. I don’t have feelings for you, Salman. I never did. Whatever you saw in Paris was a very transitory and misplaced affection for a first lover. That’s all. You mean nothing to me. I am merely angry because you disrespect your brother and sister-in-law, who I care about greatly, and your home. You’ve caused chaos in the castle, and I refuse to stand by and watch it for a moment longer.’

Salman’s gaze glittered down. His jaw clenched. It was getting harder to keep her body relaxed as he came even closer and she felt his hips grind into hers. And then it was all but impossible when she felt the thrillingly hard evidence of his arousal. Heat climbed upwards and she lashed out. ‘You’re an animal.’

Salman growled, ‘I agree. I feel very animalistic at the moment.’ His eyes had grown heavy and dangerously slumberous, but still with that provocative fire igniting in their depths.

He tightened his hold on her jaw and swooped down, his mouth a searing brand over hers before she could take another breath. Their bodies touched, chest to chest, hip to hip, and Jamilah felt an immediate wild excitement coursing through her blood.

She wanted to rip the wet clothes from her body and arch closer to Salman, to feel wet skin on wet skin. A vivid memory of another shower, another time, flared up. He had lifted her naked body against the wall and urged her to wrap her legs around his waist. He’d found the hot wet core of her and had surged up and into her, making everything blur into a heat haze of passion.