LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      SOMEWHERE ON THE trip to his bed, panic began to flood her system. But before she could react, he set her on the bed and stripped her nightgown from her body. And then he was hovering over her, kissing her until her fear melted and her body caught on fire again.

      Oh, this was so wrong—and so right. Sheridan put her arms around him, ran her hands over his broad back, the thick muscles and tendons, down his biceps and over his pecs. He was magnificent, and he no doubt knew it.

      He left her mouth to lick his way to her breasts again. He took his time, sliding his tongue around and around before he sucked one aching nipple into his mouth. Sheridan cried out with the intensity of the pleasure spiking through her.

      “You are sensitive,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin and yet cold where it drifted over her wet nipple. “So sensitive.”

      Sheridan couldn’t speak. Her stomach churned with anticipation and, yes, even fear. Because what was she doing? Part of her brain kept wondering, but the rest refused to entertain any alternatives to what was currently happening.

      And then Rashid moved down her body, his hands spanning her hips and peeling her panties down until he pulled them free and dropped them somewhere on the floor. She could see his beautiful face illuminated by moonlight, see the vaulted ceilings of the chamber, hear the exotic sounds of the Kyrian night drifting inside—and it made her feel as if she wasn’t herself. As if this was a fantasy. A thousand and one Arabian nights with her own desert king.

      Sheridan bowed up off the bed as he touched his mouth to the wet seam of her body. The pleasure was so intense, so spellbinding, that she practically sobbed his name. He gave her no relief from the feelings rocketing through her. He held her legs open and licked her until she was a shuddering mass of nerve endings.

      Sheridan’s world exploded in a white-hot blaze of light, her body tightening almost painfully before soaring over the edge. But before she could manage to come back to herself, Rashid was there, his mouth capturing hers, demanding her full attention. She melted into his kiss.

      And then she felt him, big and hard and poised at her body’s entrance. He put a hand under her bottom, lifted her toward him. She wrapped her legs around him, her heart pounding as she waited for what happened next.

      He seemed to hesitate for a long moment. And then he said something in Arabic, some muttered phrase, before he pushed into her body. He didn’t move fast, didn’t jam himself inside her. He took his time. And then he was deep within her, the two of them joined in the most intimate of ways, and fresh panic began to unwind inside her belly.

      What was she doing? What was wrong with her? Sex with a stranger wasn’t like her at all!

      Rashid’s head dropped slowly toward hers and she closed her eyes, tilting her mouth up until he captured it. She sighed—or maybe that was him. But then he started to move and she no longer cared about anything except what he was doing to her.

      He was gentle at first. But as she arched her body into his, he took her harder and harder, until they were moving into each other in an almost punishing rhythm. She ran her hands over his skin until he gripped her wrists and shoved her hands over her head, binding her.

      It was erotic, sensual and utterly exhilarating. Their skin grew hot and moist as they tangled together and the tension inside her coiled tighter than the lid on a pressure cooker.

      And then she couldn’t hold on a moment longer. He was too good at this, too compelling, and she came in a rush of blinding intensity that left her gasping for air and crying his name at the same time.

      She felt his body tighten inside hers, and then he flew over the edge with her, his breath a harsh groan in her ear. They lay together for a few moments, hearts pounding, skin slicked with perspiration, breaths razoring in and out. Sheridan’s legs trembled from gripping his hips so tightly with her thighs. She eased them down and lay still beneath him, her eyes closed and her brain finally began to whir into consciousness again.

      What did one say after sex like that? Especially with a man you hardly knew and definitely didn’t like?

      She didn’t get a chance to find out.

      He pushed off her and stood, and cool air wafted over her skin, chilling her. She wanted to grab the covers and pull them up, and yet she couldn’t seem to move. Because he was staring down at her, his face stark in the darkness, his chest rising and falling with more than exertion.

      He was angry. Or tormented. She wasn’t sure which, and it alarmed her. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to hide herself.

      “Thank you, Sheridan,” he said, his voice so courteous and calm. And cold. Sheridan shivered at the frost in his tone. He bent down a moment and then straightened, laying her nightgown and underwear on the bed at her feet. “Get dressed and I will escort you back to your room.”

      * * *

      Rashid was up at dawn. He’d tossed and turned for the past couple of hours in a bed that still smelled like the woman he’d shared it with. The corners of his mouth turned down in a frown as his stomach twisted with guilt.

      But why should that be? He enjoyed sex as well as the next man. He’d only ever loved one woman with his heart, but he’d loved many women in the physical way. He was not a monk and he hadn’t been celibate for the past five years. It had taken him over a year to take a woman to his bed again, but he’d done so.

      Sex with Sheridan Sloane was nothing out of the ordinary for him. And yet it was. Because she might be carrying his child, and though he’d been so focused and intent on her body, on tasting her and enjoying her, he hadn’t expected the gravity of that fact to hit him with such a jolt after he’d found his pleasure in her body.

      He’d bedded the woman who could be pregnant with his heir. A woman he didn’t love, but who he would have to take as his wife if she was.

      Still, he should be happy he’d finally released some of this pent-up tension. He was not. He was strangely restless. Keyed up.

      Ready to explore Sheridan’s creamy skin and secret recesses again and again.

      That was the part that unnerved him. The sex had been pretty spectacular, hot and exciting and intense, and he’d been utterly focused on it, lost in it.

      But then it was over and they’d lain there together, breathing hard, her heart throbbing against his own—and he’d wanted to escape. He didn’t understand how he could be so cold and unemotional one minute and so gutted the next.

      She’d gutted him. Sex with her had gotten into his head in a way that sex with other women did not—and he didn’t like it one bit. So he’d risen and gone to get her robe from the terrace while she dressed. When he’d come back, he’d handed it to her silently. It had been cold from being outdoors, but she’d put it on anyway and belted it tight.

      Then he’d escorted her back to her quarters because he hadn’t been certain she could find her way alone. She hadn’t spoken on the walk back down the corridors. He’d stopped in front of the door to the women’s quarters, vowing to himself to station a guard there at night in the future instead of outside the entrance to the private wing.

      There was another way to her rooms, through his own, but he’d refused to use it. It would be too easy to go through that entry again if he started now, so he simply didn’t.

      She’d hesitated at the door as if she wanted to say something to him, but he’d put his hands in her hair and held her face up for his kiss. To silence her. To end any awkwardness.

      When she’d been rubbery and clinging to him, when his body was beginning to respond with fresh heat that he knew would ignite into a fire at any moment, he’d let her go, striding away without another word.

      Her reaction had been a very resounding door slam. But

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