A Sheikh To Capture Her Heart. Meredith Webber

mean a cup of coffee nearly five years ago and a stonefish sting?’

      ‘No!’

      He hadn’t meant to snap, but even in his own ears it sounded snappy.

      ‘A link, an attraction—a strong attraction that I think you can feel, too.’

      She looked up from her plate then looked down again, very deliberately choosing a slice of pineapple and lifting it to luscious pink lips.

      Every sinew in his body tightened—attraction? Or nerves about what, if anything, she might reply?

      ‘And?’ she said finally, when she’d chewed the pineapple far more than was necessary and swallowed it, the white skin on her throat moving up and down, the tip of her tongue sliding out to wipe the juice from her lips.

      The tightening this time definitely wasn’t nerves.

      ‘And what?’ The words scratched out from a throat thickened by emotion.

      She almost smiled, her lips widening just slightly, indenting the faintest of dimples into her cheeks.

      ‘And what would we do about it if, as you say, there’s something there?’

      ‘I don’t know!’

      He threw up his arms in exasperation. This wasn’t how his courtships usually worked. He met a woman, they liked each other, went out for dinner then usually ended up in bed.

      No, he shouldn’t have thought about the bed part, especially as his bed was so close and he could already picture a naked Sarah Watson spread out on it, while he licked the cream of her skin from her toes to her forehead.

      Possibly pausing on the way, here and there …

      He blanked the image and forced his mind to shut down the thoughts accompanying it.

      ‘It’s a long time since I’ve been in a relationship,’ she said quietly, setting down her plate and leaning back in the chair, the faded T-shirt she was wearing pulling tight against her full breasts.

      ‘Because?’

      He had to ask but all she did was shake her head and look so lost he wanted to scoop her into his arms and hold her tight against his chest until the sadness left her lovely eyes.

      ‘But I probably wouldn’t mind one.’

      Had he heard her right?

      ‘With me?’ he managed to get out, any semblance of the suave man of the world he thought himself completely gone.

      This time she smiled properly.

      ‘Well, you’re here, and I think you’re right, there is something between us, isn’t there? We’re both old enough to recognise attraction, and should be able to admit to it, for all it’s weird when neither of us seem to like each other particularly, and I don’t really believe in instant …’

      ‘Lust?’ he suggested when she faltered in her almost clinical dissection of what lay between them.

      ‘I suppose that’s as good a word for what we’re experiencing as any,’ she admitted, ‘and given I’m only here for a week—well, five days now—it wouldn’t have time to get complicated. It’d be like a holiday romance only without the holiday part—a fling.’

      He nodded, partly because he couldn’t find the words but also, in part, because he had no idea where to go from there.

      Taking her into the bedroom and peeling off all her clothes was one option, but it seemed a little abrupt—even more clinical than her words had been.

      Damn it all, how did he usually get a woman into bed? He must have some technique—some idea of how to get from a shared lunch to the bedroom!

      She was smiling, probably at the confusion that must be evident on his face.

      Had she really just suggested they have an affair—well, hardly an affair, surely they took longer …?

      I wouldn’t mind one. She’d definitely said that.

      Put the words right out there in the open, in a cartoon bubble above her head!

      Well, the man was the most handsome, sexy member of the species she’d ever met, and if you counted tingling nerves, and a racing pulse, and shallow breathing, then he was right about there being something between them.

      But an affair?

      Well, hardly that, a fling.

      A very short fling …

      What the hell!

      She looked into those slumberous grey eyes, studied the moulded lips, and, as panic yelled at her to go, to run for her life, she heard herself saying, ‘Well, what happens next?’

      He looked so stunned, she helped him out.

      ‘Either I kiss you or you kiss me, I guess. Do you have a preference?’

      He made a growling kind of noise and drew her close, studying her face, running his fingers through her hair, eyes wide now with a kind of wonder.

      ‘You’re serious?’

      ‘Well, I think I am, but the more you mess about the more worried I’m getting. Perhaps we should sleep on it, decide tomorrow.’

      This time the growly noise was more like a purr.

      ‘And miss tonight? No way.’

      Now, finally, he did kiss her.

      Well, she guessed it was just a kiss, although it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, sending her brain cells into a muzzy cloud and her body into a frenzy of desire.

      Lust?

      What the hell? Did it really matter?

      She concentrated on the kiss, on kissing him with as much heat as he was kissing her.

      Kissing him …

      He felt her momentary hesitation, remembered her tears, and lifted his head, cupping her face in his hands, and looked into her eyes.

      ‘You’re sure about this?’

      Well, nearly sure …

      She didn’t say the words but he read it in her eyes. Nearly sure wasn’t good enough—not this time, for some reason, not with this woman.

      Though at other times would he have hesitated?

      Hell, what did he know?

      Except he wanted her to be sure, so he kissed her lightly on the lips and tried a smile, although he knew it probably looked as false as it felt.

      ‘Think about it,’ he said quietly.

      She eased her body away from his and nodded.

      ‘I think I need to,’ she responded.

      And with that, she stood up, thanked him politely for the lunch, and walked away.

      Out of his bure, but not out of his life?

      He had no idea …