ALEXANDRA SELLERS - The Solitary Sheikh

“Good evening, Your Highness,” she said, blinking water from her eyes.

“Good evening, Miss Stewart.”

“I hope you don’t mind me breaking in on your solitary use of the pool. I often swim here in the evening, and no one told me—”

“It is quite all right. I told no one of my intentions.”

His voice was remote, and she thought he did mind. Since he was the sheikh and could have whatever he commanded, she wondered why he didn’t just tell her to go.

In the next moment, he had agilely leapt to his feet. He was clearly going to leave.

“Your Highness,” she called softly, but her voice had an urgency on the hot desert air.

He stopped and turned to her. “Yes?” he asked, as graciously condescending as any fairy-tale monarch in his throne room.

He had a fabulous body, she noticed by the light of the moon. Slim muscular thighs, strong arms and chest, tall and lean. There were one or two scars. His hips were narrow, his swimsuit small and snug, a racing suit, and she couldn’t help noticing, since he was practically standing over her, how generously he filled out the fabric between his thighs.

It wasn’t really like her to stare at a man’s sexual equipment. Jana dragged her eyes up to his. “You’ve been in the palace for several days, but you haven’t asked me for any English conversation.”

“Oh!” he said, and frowned. “Yes, I had...forgotten.”

She was sure that he had not forgotten, that he had changed his mind for some reason, and a curious kind of panic overtook her. “Well, if you’re free now, I have time. Maybe you’d like...”

She faded out. She pulled herself out of the water and stood dripping before him, and they stood staring at each other, without recognizing how much time passed.

Her figure was graceful and supple, and very sexy, with long smooth lines at shoulder, waist and hip, and beautifully delicate ankles. She was wearing a plain white onepiece that cupped her full breasts like a pair of masculine hands, and her nipples pressed against the thin wet fabric, visible even in the near darkness.

Omar thought of his ancient ancestor, who had been so proud of his wife’s beauty that he hid his best friend in a closet so that he could see her as she disrobed and know how fortunate was the king in his wife. He had always thought that ancestor a fool, rightly deserving his wife’s wrath when she discovered the ruse. But now he found himself wondering if his ancestress had perhaps been as beautiful as this. If so, no wonder her poor fool of a husband had been so besotted.

But he had no intention of trying to bed-his daughters’ English tutor, he reminded himself, no matter how lovely she was. Omar did not allow sex to complicate his life. He chose his sexual partners carefully and made sure they knew exactly what they could expect if they submitted to his proposals. This woman was much more valuable—be cause rarer—as English tutor to the princesses than she could possibly be as mistress, a role that many women could fill.

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