At The Sheikh's Command. Kate Walker

what? Abbie asked herself, scrabbling through the disorder of her thoughts, trying to find the original track they had been running on, the one she had meant them to follow.

      ‘Like—like sir,’ she managed hesitatingly.

      He was a sheikh, wasn’t he? A ruler. Of the royal house of Al’Qaim. Surely he must have some official title that she had to use.

      ‘Or—or Your Majesty—or…Highness—’

      The words broke off, her voice cracking as he moved suddenly, coming so very close. In spite of the heat, she found that she was once again shivering as if a cold draught had blown over her skin.

      Having looked into the dark depths of his eyes, she found she couldn’t look away again but was held frozen, mesmerised, captive. She couldn’t have moved away if she’d tried. But she didn’t try—couldn’t try—didn’t want to try.

      Instead she knew that the saving grace of all that anger was deserting her, evaporating in the warmth of that smile. And when she saw the faint golden glow of amusement that lit those amazing eyes then she was lost. All the resistance in her melted like ice before a fire.

      ‘Just Malik…’ he murmured. Somehow he had moved closer so that the heat of his breath on the words brushed along her cheek, stirring a tendril of hair at the lobe of her ear.

      She inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of him, the warm musk of his skin, and let her breath out again on a sigh.

      ‘Malik…’ she said softly, her tongue savouring the exotic sound of his name. The frantic beat of her heart had slowed, become heavy, indolently sensual, and the honeyed warmth of arousal was uncoiling low down in her body, all that was most feminine in her reaching out to all that was masculine in him.

      ‘Malik…’ she said again, wanting to say so much more but not having the courage to do so.

      Touch me! she wanted to say. Let me feel the heat of your skin on mine, the strength of your hand, the stroke of your caress…

      But the words died on her lips; she couldn’t make her tongue form the words even though she felt as if they were screaming inside her head. She had never felt this way before in her life.

      No—the truth was that she had never known that it was possible to feel this way. To know this hunger, this desire for a man she had only just met. A man who made her heart thud, her pulse race, who made her aware of him in every part of her body so that her breasts stung and heat pooled in the most intimate spot between her thighs.

      She’d had boyfriends in the past, but no one—no one—had ever affected her like this.

      ‘You’re beautiful…’

      Malik moved slightly, coming even nearer, and once again the scent of his skin, the faintest hint of the perfume of cedar wood, reached out to surround her, tormenting her senses. She couldn’t take it any more. Couldn’t bear just to stand here and know he was so close—and yet not close enough.

      She had to touch.

      Throwing caution to the wind and giving in to the primal need that made her skin burn, her bones ache with need, she reached out a hand at last…

      And encountered his hand reaching for her at the same time.

      Their fingers met, touched, and it seemed to Abbie that sparks flew in the air, fizzing between them like fireworks. But then those long bronzed fingers tangled with hers, twisting together, holding tightly, drawing her closer to him with an irresistible strength. Abbie knew she had to give in to the need that swamped her, dark waves of sensuality breaking over her head as she almost fell against him and his mouth came down to claim hers.

      The kiss that Malik had been imagining since the moment he had first seen her was far more in reality than it had ever been in his mind. The soft feel of Abbie’s lips against his own was like setting a match to the tinderdry brushwood of the hunger that was just waiting to burst into flames, flaring savagely through the whole of his body, making him burn with need. The taste of her on his own mouth, his tongue, was like the most potent aphrodisiac, driving him to plunder the soft interior as she opened to him, yielding in the same moment that she demanded more.

      And he would give her more. He wanted this woman so much it was like a thunder in his head, pounding at his thoughts, obliterating all sense of reality. He forgot where he was and why he had come here, the mission he had set out to achieve. All he could focus on was the soft, feminine body in his arms, the tender mouth that opened under his, the hands that clung…

      ‘You’re beautiful…’

      Her fingers were making a path up his arms, stroking their way over his shoulders, tangling in his hair. The faint scrape of her nails over the sensitive skin of his scalp made him drag in a raw, shaken breath before crushing her closer, taking her mouth yet again. His own hands had found the elastic band that fastened her long blonde hair back and tugged it loose, tangling hard in the silken strands, holding her just so—so that he could kiss her exactly the way he wanted to.

      And she wanted it too.

      There was no resistance in her supple body, no stiffening or drawing away; instead, she pressed closer than ever, the fine bones of her pelvis cradling the heat and hardness of his erection. Each tiny movement she made stoked the fire of need, making it flare higher and hotter and fiercer than ever before.

      ‘I want you…’

      He barely recognised his own voice, barely understood the language he spoke, it was so hard and thick and rough with the hunger that tortured him. His accent was harsher than ever before and for a moment it crossed his mind that she might not be able to make out a single word he had spoken.

      But the woman in his arms simply sighed and muttered something against his mouth, something so muffled and indistinct that he was forced to wrench his lips away from hers. He tugged her head back with his imprisoning grip on the blonde length of her hair to look down into her passion-flushed face, seeing the sensually glazed eyes, the swollen mouth.

      ‘What?’ he demanded, needing to hear the words in spite of the evidence his eyes were giving him. ‘What did you say?’

      ‘I said…’

      But she didn’t even trouble to finish the sentence, reaching up instead to fasten one arm tight around his neck and drag his head down to her again.

      ‘Yes…’

      It was a sigh against his mouth again—or a moan. A sound of surrender? A sound of demand?

      He didn’t know and he didn’t care. This wasn’t a time for words, for talking, but for action. And the action that his hotly aroused body demanded was that he take this willing and wanton woman hard and fast—and now!

      With his mouth still on hers, his hands locked in her hair, he half walked, half carried her backwards, moving awkwardly, stiff-legged, supporting her in his arms, dodging furniture by instinct rather than sight until they came hard up against the wall with a thump that drove the breath from her body on a gasp that went straight into his mouth.

      Swallowing down the shaken breath, Malik cupped her face in both his hands, tilting it again to get just the right angle to kiss her hard and long, taking the sweetness from her mouth and feeling it intoxicate his already fizzing senses, heat his blood even higher.

      ‘Yes!’ he muttered against her lips. ‘Yes! You’re mine. I knew that from the first moment—’

      The words broke off, raw breath rasping in his throat as he felt her hands push between them, tugging at his tie, pulling it loose at his neck, her fingers seeking the warm flesh beneath, raking it hungrily.

      ‘Abbie…’ Her name was just a rasp, a sound, barely a real syllable of a word.

      ‘Malik…’ Her voice was no better. It shook on his name, coming and going like an untuned radio. ‘Malik…’

      He crushed her against the wall, unable to get close enough, to