Charlene Sands - Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger - Saved by the Sheikh! / Million-Dollar Marriage Merger

But his conscience wouldn’t allow him to leave her homeless in case she really had been the victim of petty crime. He thought of his cousin Zara, of his brother’s wife, Megan. What if it had been one of the women of his family in such a predicament? He would hope that someone would come to their aid.

“Take it, please.”

She stared down at the note in his hand. “It’s too much. After that kiss it would feel … wrong,” she mumbled, her hair blocking him from seeing her face.

He couldn’t help noticing the catch in her voice.

“Okay.” Growing impatient with himself, for being so aware of the woman, he opened the billfold again and extracted a twenty and a ten before shoving the other note back. “Take this then—it’s not as good a tip as you deserve, but at least you won’t suspect my motives.”

She tilted her head back and stared at him for a long moment. “Thank you for understanding.”

Tears glimmered in her eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry,” he said roughly.

“I can’t help it.” She sniffed and wiped her fingers across her eyes. “I’m sorry for calling you a jerk.”

Rafiq found himself smiling. She enchanted him, this woman whom he couldn’t get a fix on. One minute he had her down as the cleverest schemer he’d ever met, the next she appeared as sweetly innocent as his cousin Zara.

She leaned forward. The scent of gardenias surrounded him. She rested her palm against his chest, her hand warm through the fine cotton of his shirt. Rafiq’s breath caught in his throat.

But the hunger he felt for Tiffany bore no resemblance to the sisterly love he showered on Zara.

By the time Tiffany rose on tiptoes and pressed soft lips against his cheek, he was rigid with reaction.

“Thank you, you’ve saved my life.”

She smelled so sweet, the body brushing against him so feminine, that Rafiq couldn’t stop his arms from encircling her. He drew her up against him. “Oh, Tiffany, what am I supposed to make of you?”

“I’m not very complicated at all—what you see is what you get,” she muttered against his shirt front.

He felt her smile against his thundering heart, heard her breath quicken as his arms tightened convulsively around her … and was lost.

A long time seemed to pass before Rafiq lifted his lips from hers.

As Tiffany’s fingers crept up his shirt and hooked into his loosened tie, Rafiq forgot that he’d started this driven by perverse curiosity and affronted male pride, to see if Tiffany would kiss him when she’d vowed that she wasn’t affected by his brand of charm.

It had all changed.

His tightly leashed control was in shreds.

All he could think about was tasting her again … and again.

Her fingers froze. “What are we doing?” She sounded as befuddled as he felt. “Anyone could walk in on us through those sliding doors.”

“No.” He shook his head. “That’s not true. This private pool and deck are part of my suite—my key card activated the entry doors onto the deck.”

Her breath caught—an audible sound. “Your suite? You said we’d have a drink…. I would never have entered your suite.”

She’d withdrawn. Her eyes had grown dark and distrustful. Rafiq gathered she was making unfavorable assumptions about his motives. He couldn’t blame her. “The bar downstairs is noisy—and full of inebriated men at this time of night. We wouldn’t have been able to hear ourselves think.” Much less talk.

“Oh …”

Unable to help himself he stroked a finger along the curve of her jaw. Soft curls trailed over the back of his hand. “You are very beautiful, do you know that?”

“Not beautiful.” She sounded distracted.

He stilled his fingers, and cupped the side of her face. Tilting it up, he looked down into her wide eyes. “Beautiful.”

She shook her head. “Not me. Pretty, maybe, at a stretch. But in this light you wouldn’t even be able to tell.”

No one could call her vain. “My eyes are not the only senses attuned to you. I don’t need bright intrusive light to remember that your eyes are the haunting tawny-brown shade of the desert sands streaked with the burnished gold of the setting sun. I don’t need light to feel.” Gently he rubbed her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “Your mouth is the crushed red of the satiny petals in the rose gardens of Qasr Al-Ward.” His fingers explored her cheeks. “Your skin is softer than an almond blossom. Your cheekbones are carefully sculpted by a masterful hand to ensure that as you grow older you will only grow more beautiful.”

Tiffany felt herself color.

A beat of time elapsed. Tiffany tried to summon the anger that had scorched her only a moment before when she’d discovered he’d brought her to his suite, but it had vanished. His touch, the heat of his lean body, the force of his soft words had overwhelmed her. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She’d never met anyone remotely like him. He was way out her league.

Finally she gave up trying to understand the emotion that flooded her. Linking her fingers behind his neck, she pulled his mouth back to hers, his hair thick and silken under her fingers. His thigh moved against her hip, making her aware of the hard, muscled strength of him. When the kiss ended, Tiffany discovered that her heart was pounding.

Tilting her head back, she looked up into his face. His eyes glowed, he’d warmed, he was a long way from being the remote, distant stranger. A heady sense of being on a precipice of discovery overtook her.

Before she could speak, Rafiq grasped her hand. “Come.”

He led her through a pair of French doors into a darkened room. A flick of a switch and dim lighting washed the room, revealing a king-size bed in a sumptuously decorated room.

Tiffany hesitated for a microsecond as Rafiq shrugged off his shirt. Then he turned her in his arms and the moment of cool analysis was gone.

Her wide, elasticized belt gave…. She heard something fall, and dismissed it. The zip on the back of her borrowed dress rasped down. His hands closed over the shoulder straps and eased them down her arms along with the tiny, dainty bag looped around her wrist. She didn’t have any time to feel exposed … or naked. Only relief that the tight dress was gone. Rafiq drew her against his bare torso, his skin smooth and warm against hers.

His fingers tangled in her hair, before moving in small circles down her back, setting flame to each inch of flesh he massaged.

Tiffany flung her head back. A moan escaped. Desire flared uncontrollably within her and her nipples peaked beneath the modest black bra she wore. She didn’t even feel Rafiq loosen the back before the plain bra gave and he removed it, tossing it over the bed end. Then he was on his knees in front of her, easing her heels off, sliding the cotton briefs down her legs, his touch trailing fire down the insides of her thighs.

She started to shake.

The explosive hunger that consumed her was unfamiliar. Powerful. Incredible. A new experience. He buried his face in her belly. Goose bumps broke out over her skin as sensation shook her to her soul. Her hands clutched at his hair, the texture rough as she closed her fingers over the short strands.

“I’m going to pleasure you—but we’re not going to make love,” he murmured.

Relief, instantly followed by a crazy kind of disappointment spread through her. “Why won’t we make love?”

Did he think he was too good for her?

“I’m not … equipped.”

“Equipped?” Then it struck her what he meant. “Oh.”

The next thought was that if he didn’t carry condoms around with him, then he didn’t do casual sex, either. It made her almost start to like the man who had her in such a sweat.