At the Sheikh's Bidding. Chantelle Shaw

not yet,’ Zahir conceded. ‘It is only three weeks since my brother died. But at some point you will want to satisfy your sexual urges. I would guess that you possess a deeply sensual nature,’ he remarked, in that same coldly clinical tone that was so at odds with the heat in his gaze as he trailed a blatantly appreciative path down her body. ‘Kazim will become an encumbrance, and I refuse to allow him to spend his childhood forced to vie for your attention with your latest lover.’

      ‘I don’t want a lover!’ Erin shook her head wildly, her temper heating to boiling point.

      Zahir made her sound like a rampant nymphomaniac, with his talk about her sensual nature and needing to satisfy her sexual urges. Little did he know! She was about as sensual as a limp lettuce, and she had never experienced the faintest urge to have sex with any man—until today, a voice in her head taunted. She ignored it and allowed her anger to build as she dwelled on his disgusting offer to buy Kazim from her. She stared down at the cheque, and the row of scrawled noughts, and felt sick.

      ‘Get out!’ she breathed as she ripped the cheque into pieces with controlled savagery. ‘Kazim is not for sale.’

      Zahir showed no reaction, merely stood surveying her disdainfully from beneath raised brows, his lip curled in a derisive smile that snapped her control so that she flung the pieces of cheque at him. ‘How dare you come into my house and demand that I hand you my child?’ She emphasised each word by jabbing her finger into Zahir’s chest, uncaring that he towered menacingly over her. ‘Faisal begged me to adopt his son, and now I know why. You are an arrogant, overbearing bully, and I will do everything possible to prevent you from having any role in Kazim’s life.’

      ‘Enough!’ The authority in Zahir’s icy command sliced through her furious tirade, and she gasped when he seized her hand, which was still raised to his chest, and jerked her so that her body slammed hard up against his. ‘You will not talk to me in that insolent tone.’

      ‘I will talk to you in whatever tone I like, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.’

      Zahir fought to control the murderous rage coursing through him. Never in his life had he been so insulted. He couldn’t believe Erin had actually prodded him. If she had been a man, retribution would have been swift and deadly. But she was a woman—a woman who needed a few lessons in respect.

      She was glaring up at him, her grey eyes stormy and her cheeks stained with angry colour. Her wild red curls formed a fiery halo around her face and he pictured her lying beneath him, flushed and furious, daring him to kiss her…

      With a savage oath he lowered his head, forcing her slender neck back as he captured her mouth in a kiss that sought to dominate and subjugate her to his will. This had been building from the moment she had stared at him across the library and he had recognised the undisguised hunger in her eyes. Sexual attraction at its most primitive—and they were both caught in its spell.

      ‘No!’ Erin’s cry of protest was lost beneath the punishing force of Zahir’s lips as he ground them against hers.

      How dared he kiss her? How dared he slide his arm around her waist and drag her even closer against the rock-hard wall of his muscular chest? His other hand moved up to cup her nape and angle her head so that he could plunder her mouth with humiliating ease. Beneath his civilised veneer Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir was a barbarian: frighteningly powerful and supremely masculine. His arms felt like steel bands holding her fast, and when he forced his tongue between her lips she moaned and tried to turn her head to evade his ruthless assault.

      Her attempts to resist him were futile. The blows she rained on him with her bunched fists had no impact. Finally she laid her hands flat on his chest, unable to fight him any more. He must have sensed her submission, because he eased the pressure of his lips a fraction and the stroke of his tongue inside her mouth became a slow, sensual exploration.

      Suddenly each of her senses seemed acutely alive. She could feel the heat of his body through his fine silk shirt, and the mingled scents of his cologne and male pheromones caused a curious weakness in her limbs. Her anger was dissipating, giving way to another emotion she had never experienced before: a slow, insidious excitement that unlocked her taut muscles so that she stopped trying to pull away from him and instead melted into him.

      Her eyes flew open in shock when she felt the hard ridge of his arousal push insistently against her belly. What was the matter with her? she wondered, appalled at her shaming weakness. Zahir was a tyrant—a man used to always having his own way, according to Gordon Straker. She despised his arrogance. But the pressure of his hand on her spine was forcing her body into intimate contact with his, and nothing else seemed to matter except that he should carry on kissing her.

      She felt his hand slide down to her bottom and then round, over her hip, smoothing a tantalising path up to her ribcage, where it came to rest just below her breast. Heat flooded through her veins and she felt her breasts swell, felt her nipples tighten in anticipation beneath her tee shirt. He only had to move his hand a little further… In an agony of excitement she pressed closer to him, her body trembling with desire.

      Nothing existed but the firm pressure of his mouth on hers, the sensual sweep of his tongue and the warm weight of his hand resting so close to where she wanted him to touch her. Lost in this new world of sensory pleasure, she shifted closer still, rubbed her pelvis against his—and then suddenly, shockingly, he wrenched his mouth from hers, his fingers biting into her flesh as he thrust her from him.

      The ensuing silence throbbed with a sexual tension that was almost tangible, and for a few mad seconds Erin wished he would draw her back into his arms and kiss her again and again, until they were both mindless with wanting. But then he spoke and she wished instead that she could curl up and die of humiliation.

      ‘I see that my assessment of your nature was spot-on,’ he drawled in a hatefully sardonic tone. ‘My brother has been in his grave barely three weeks and yet you’re already clearly sexually frustrated. How long, I wonder, will it be before you invite a steady stream of boyfriends into the house? And what sort of care will Kazim receive then, when you are too busy for him?’

      ‘I want you to leave,’ Erin said tightly, her chest heaving as she fought to drag oxygen into her lungs.

      She could not bring herself to look at him. It was pointless trying to defend herself—pointless to explain that she’d never had a proper boyfriend in all her twenty-two years. Zahir clearly believed she was the Mata Hari of the Yorkshire Moors, and after the shameful way she had responded to him she couldn’t really blame him.

      Shaking with reaction, she yanked open the library door and stood aside for Zahir to pass—then gasped when he caught hold of her arm and slammed the door shut again, the blaze of anger in his eyes filling her with trepidation.

      ‘I came here to collect my brother’s child, and I’m not going anywhere without him,’ he warned her savagely.

      ‘So what are you going to do? Kidnap him? Take him from me by force?’ Erin demanded shakily.

      Ingledean was eight miles from the nearest village, and she had always loved its remoteness, but Zahir was strong and powerful and she and Alice would be no match for him if he chose to snatch Kazim.

      ‘If you don’t leave now I’ll call the police,’ she told him with a bravado she did not feel, aware even as she spoke of the emptiness of her threat. He could carry Kazim out to his car, parked on the driveway, and disappear into the dusk before the local constable even had cycled out from the village. ‘You say you want what is best for Kazim, but how can scaring him out of his wits be good for him?’

      ‘Of course I do not mean to scare him,’ Zahir snapped impatiently. But her words had hit a chord, and he stared at her, his conscience prickling when he glimpsed the fear in her eyes.

      He had not meant to lose his temper, and he was furious with himself for his loss of control. He shouldn’t have kissed her like that—but she had made him angrier than he could ever remember, and she had responded to him, damn it. He could still taste her, could remember