both been traumatized. We’re tired,” she said, unwilling to acknowledge the attraction out loud.
“You think it’s too fast.”
“Yes.”
He thought on that for a second. “Among my people, a bride might see her groom only once before the wedding.”
“And you think that’s normal?”
“No. Yes. For some people. I didn’t grow up here.”
“You said you lived in the U.S.”
“From age five to thirty-five.”
Which explained his flawless English. “So you’re practically an American.” She turned to look at him, curious about his life, about what had taken him from his country at such an early age, and what had brought him back.
She wasn’t sure she could live here. But she was a woman, and their circumstances were vastly different. He was a sheik. She drew a slow breath, still not used to that thought.
“Don’t let the civilized veneer fool you. America might have rubbed off on me. But it’s nothing more than frosting on one of those cupcakes that are so popular over there. Beneath that, I’m Bedu.”
Looking into his dark, glittering eyes, she had no trouble believing that. But the image … She bit back a smile.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I do. I just wouldn’t compare you to a cupcake.” She grinned, then grew serious as her gaze fell to his chiseled chest and the shadows dancing on his tanned skin. He was a businessman, as cultured and competent as any she had met. But she’d seen him fight. Under his tailor-made suit he was a warrior.
“Then what am I?” He arched an eyebrow and watched her soberly.
She thought for a moment. “A mountain lion.”
He seemed to be pleased with that. “And you?”
Right now, under his intense gaze, she felt like a deer caught in headlights. She couldn’t tell him that.
“You’re a lioness. We are the same,” he said, when she took too long to answer.
And then he leaned forward and kissed her.
His lips were warm and firm and imbued with some magical power that wiped her mind clean. The passion between them was palpable, the kind that up until now she hadn’t been sure existed outside of her favorite books. Though they were practically strangers, the chemistry they shared had a force of its own that made the raging sandstorm seem puny by comparison. She felt picked up and swept away, drowning in sensations that were impossible to resist, impossible to turn away from.
This was no tentative good-night kiss that might come at the end of a first date. This kiss was meant to brand a woman’s soul. Tariq possessed her, instantly and completely. Heat pooled between her thighs when his tongue touched hers, even as she tried to resist his pull.
His long fingers caressed her hair, her face, her neck, dipping to the blanket and loosening it. Then his hand closed over her breast. Pleasure skittered through her, a thousand points of light.
She was so not going to do this. She had to stop. Now.
She kept kissing him and arched her back, pressing her distended nipple into the heat of his palm. He dragged his thumb over the sensitized tip, and she felt the shock down to her toes.
The deep, hungry growl that escaped his throat should have sobered her. She did pull away a little and look into his dark eyes, which gleamed with endless passion and heat. She could not glance away; she could not move back another inch. He held her enthralled.
With one long finger, he parted the blanket from top to bottom. She let him, mesmerized by the obvious need behind the soft fabric that covered his waist. Then he pushed her onto her back with one gentle hand and pressed closer, half covering her with his body.
Part of her said she was crazy for allowing this to go on. Another part insisted that she’d never felt this way before with any man, and what if she never would again?
He trailed his fingers between her breasts, over her stomach, to the cropped patch of hair below. Pleasure shot through her and had her trembling. Too fast. Too fast. The sensation scared her as much as it possessed her—frightened her because it possessed her.
She laid a hand on his chest and pressed against him. At this slight display of resistance, he stilled. When she drew her lips from his, he did not follow. But he leaned his forehead against hers, his breathing shallow and ragged, the first sign that he was as affected as she’d been. No, not the first. The hard proof of his desire pressed against her thigh.
She had come close to—
“We can’t,” she said, her voice weak.
“Why? What purpose would denying ourselves serve?”
“This is not how it works.” She wished she could form a coherent thought. What was happening here? What she had nearly done, and some part of her was still contemplating … She wasn’t like this at all.
“There are no one-night stands and quick hookups in the U.S.? That’s not how I remember it.”
She wondered how he had lived when he’d been there. A billionaire sheik. He’d probably had his choice of partners. And Sara was stupid beyond reason for allowing the thought to dismay her.
She pulled farther back, until they were no longer touching, until she could look into his dark eyes.
“I’m not a one-night stand sort of woman.”
“Good. I’m not a one-night stand sort of man.”
She retied the blanket around her. Tightly. And was proud that her fingers trembled only a little. “I’m not going to do this.” She marshaled the last of her willpower and resistance. “It’s not going to happen.”
The hyena laughed under their window, startling her back into his arms.
Chapter Five
Tariq crept through the night, sticking close to the buildings, staying deep in the shadows. Dawn had not yet arrived, but the moon lit their way. The storm had died down and their clothes were dry. Time to look around.
He couldn’t sleep, anyway. Not after he’d touched Sara and experienced the depths of her passion, the sweetness of her mouth, the feel of her under him. She had drawn away. He’d pushed too fast, too hard. Found it difficult not to. His sudden and fierce need demanded he have her.
“This way,” he murmured, and dashed across an open area, toward the large building near where he’d seen the tire tracks before. She ran behind him. Whoever had arrived in the middle of the night, in the middle of the storm, was most likely there.
Sara had come because they had but one weapon between them, the tire iron, and they’d had to put out the fire now that the wind was no longer blowing. They couldn’t risk someone smelling smoke. Tariq
