The Sheikh's Innocent Bride. Lynne Graham

to what he had said. ‘What did I just say?’ he heard himself ask in the sizzling silence.

      ‘Something about the field…’ Her answer was uneven in tone and she was leaning almost infinitesimally closer. The soft peaks of her breasts had stirred into straining tightness beneath her clothing and she was hugely conscious of that tingling sensation.

      ‘You really aren’t listening.’ An instinctive charge of masculine satisfaction lanced through Shahir. He liked the fact that she couldn’t concentrate around him. He loved it that she was barely breathing. In fact all of a sudden he felt like a marauding pirate on the loose, for his desire for her was primal in its force. He wanted to lift her into his arms, spread her over the table and ravish her glorious body with the kind of exquisite pleasure that would enslave her for ever.

      His slow-burning smile hooked Kirsten like a fish. A split second later she found herself wondering what it would feel like if he pressed that beautifully moulded mouth of his down on hers.

      It was only then that she realised what was the matter with her, and she was shocked by her own ignorance. With difficulty she dredged her gaze from the burning hold of his and lowered her head. She was appalled that she had been standing there yearning for his touch like the brazen hussy Jeanie had teased her for being. How could she not have guessed immediately that she was attracted to him?

      ‘I’d better get back to work,’ she mumbled, half under her breath, but her legs refused to move her in the direction of the door.

      ‘That’s not what you were thinking,’ Shahir murmured thickly.

      His insight shattered her. ‘No, it wasn’t…’

      ‘So what were you thinking about?’ Shahir persisted, his voice husky and low, so intent on her that he could see his own reflection in her dilated pupils.

      Kirsten trembled, both frightened and wildly exhilarated by the charge in the atmosphere. Her body felt unbearably taut and sensitive. She could not take her eyes from him for a second.

      ‘Tell me…’ Shahir pressed thickly. ‘I trust you not to lie to me.’

      The revelation of the desire that held her on the edge of painful anticipation had brought down her barriers. She was still in shock. ‘I was wondering what it would feel like if you kissed me…’

      Shahir muttered something in fierce Arabic and then closed his lean strong hands over hers to ease her slowly closer. He was on automatic pilot, his blood rushing through his veins like a runaway juggernaut, and although at the back of his mind caution was shouting to be heard his sheer hunger slammed the door on that warning voice. ‘Let me show you…’

      His beautifully shaped mouth came down on hers. His kiss was hard and hungry and demanding, but somehow not quite hard enough to satisfy the terrible yearning that was flaming up from the very depths of Kirsten’s being. A low moan sounded in her throat and she closed her arms round him, stretching up on tiptoe to intensify their contact. Her hand slid up from his shoulder to sink its fingers into the ebony luxuriance of his hair, and spread there to hold him to her.

      She was in the centre of a storm, and it was whipping faster and faster around her. Excitement had dug feverish claws of need into her quivering length for the first time, and unleashed a wildness she had not known she possessed. Nothing mattered but the potent feel of his lean, powerful body against her softer curves, the crushing strength of his arms and the glorious taste of him.

      When he parted her velvety soft lips with his tongue and delved deep into the moist tenderness within the sensual shock of that tender assault roared through her. She shivered violently, a muffled little cry escaping her. She was so caught up in what she was experiencing that the sound of a voice on the inter-office call system made her flinch and gasp in surprise.

      That intervention in Arabic had the same effect on Shahir as a bucket of cold water, and he had faster reactions. He lifted his tousled dark head, spared one glance for the dazed expression on her exquisite face, and immediately released her from his hold. Caught unprepared, she stumbled and almost fell. Instantly he reached out to steady her again with careful hands.

      Breathing shallowly, she backed away into the cold support of the wall behind her while she made a great effort to get her brain back into gear. The confusion created by the sound of the foreign language being spoken on the call system did not help.

      ‘What is he saying? What is it?’ she muttered feverishly.

      ‘My PA is informing me that someone has arrived to see me,’ Shahir breathed, not quite evenly.

      The silence hung around them, suspended, heavy with uneasy undertones. Kirsten could not meet his eyes. Indeed, she could not bring herself to look at him at all. With a sudden moan of unconcealed distress, she sped past him to yank the door open, and she fled as though an avenging angel was in pursuit of her.

      Shahir drank in a deep, shuddering breath. Every natural instinct urged him to go after her and apologise for what had transpired, but his staff were already looking for him and Kirsten was obviously upset. It would be foolish to risk a scene that would attract adverse attention to her and increase her embarrassment. What the hell had got into him? He was furious at his loss of control, and could not work out how it had happened. It was as though his libido had hit an override button that had switched off all moral restraint.

      Waiting in the elegant reception hall, Lady Pamela Anstruther tapped an impatient foot. Through the glass insert in the fire doors she watched a breathtakingly beautiful blonde girl emerge pell-mell from an office along the corridor. The doors flipped back noisily one by one until the youthful blonde finally rushed past her in tears.

      A minute later Shahir came out of the exact same doorway, a forbidding reserve stamped on his devastatingly handsome features.

      The attractive brunette’s calculating gaze hardened and veiled as she angrily considered what she had just seen and came up with the most likely explanation.

      Kirsten stared at herself in the cloakroom mirror. Her green eyes were raw with guilt and shock. Her lips were red and slightly swollen, and tingling. Her body felt hot and tight and wickedly different. Shame engulfed her in a terrible drowning flood. Prince Shahir had been talking gravely about the damage to her father’s field. She remembered the way she had been looking at him while he spoke and she wanted to die on the spot. He had asked her what she was thinking about because he had noticed that she wasn’t listening properly. Only a very bold woman would then have told him that she was wondering what it would be like if he kissed her! How much more obvious an invitation could a woman give a man? It had been the provocative equivalent of telling him outright that she fancied him. Inwardly she cringed. She was to blame for what had transpired because she had tempted him into touching her.

      Finding an empty office, she got on with the job of emptying the bins and dusting and vacuuming. But, as hard as she tried, her response to that kiss kept on coming back to seize hold of her thoughts. In her whole life it had never occurred to her that a man could make her feel like that, and she was shattered by the passion that had lurked undiscovered inside her until that moment of revelation. She was even more devastated by the excitement and pleasure she had felt in his arms. He was a stranger, she didn’t even know him, and yet she had found him irresistible—had been so lost in the delight of it that he could have done anything he wanted to her! She felt even worse that it had been him and not her to call a halt to their intimacy.

      It was a relief to finish for the day. The staff locker room was very quiet because her usual shift had finished hours earlier. Buttoning her jacket, Kirsten crossed the coach yard to her bicycle. A man who had climbed out of an opulent sports car a few yards away was staring at her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable, and she dropped her head and quickened her step.

      ‘Hold on a minute…’ the man urged as she reached for her bike. ‘Let me have a proper look at you.’

      A bewildered frown denting her smooth brow, Kirsten focused on the tall, thin man in jeans approaching her. ‘Sorry…were you speaking to me?’

      ‘You are stunning…’