Desert Sheikhs Collection: Part 2. Susan Mallery

al-Huzzein Donovan Zamanat. For ever and eternity.”

      Jasmine repeated the words carefully and exactly. She’d made her choice, and she would see it through, but a deep shaft of pain ran through her at the thought that her parents weren’t present on this day. They’d cut her adrift with a callousness she still couldn’t comprehend.

      Once she’d finished, the elder picked up the other end of the ribbon and fed it through the lacy window halfway up the wall. A minute later, Jasmine felt a tug on her wrist.

      Tariq had just been bound to her.

      For ever and eternity.

      The haunting chant that began outside seemed to echo in her soul.

      Tariq stared at the small aperture that was his only window into the room where his Jasmine sat. As the blessing chant grew in volume around him, he kept his eyes trained on the opening. Images raced through his mind, competing to hold his attention.

      Mina, wearing the dress of his land. He felt fierce pride in the way she’d carried herself. A princess could not have been more regal.

      Mina, her red hair a fall of sunsets that beckoned him with promises of warmth. Soon he’d collect on that promise.

      Mina, looking at him with eyes that betrayed her awakening sensuality. Yes, Jasmine had grown up. It would be his pleasure to teach her the secrets of the bedroom.

      His need to possess her clawed at him, but underlying it was a deeper need and an even deeper hurt, things he refused to acknowledge. He allowed only a sliver of hunger to escape his control. Mina had always belonged to him, but in a few more minutes, the ties between them would become unbreakable.

      Then he would claim his woman.

      He was very hungry.

      Tariq’s words in the car refused to leave Jasmine’s mind. How was she supposed to relax, knowing that a hungry panther was coming to lay claim to her? With a groan, she sat up in the huge bed in the room next to hers. Tariq’s masculine presence was everywhere.

      The flimsy nightgown that she’d found on the bed was scandalous as far as she was concerned. The superfine white linen fell to her ankles like a sheet of mist. It was laced with blue ribbon down to her navel, and had long sleeves tied with the same ribbon at the wrist. Thigh-high slits on either side bared her legs with every movement she made. The sleeves were also slit from wrist to shoulder, exposing her skin. All that wasn’t as bad as the fact that the material was almost sheer, her nipples and the darker triangle between her legs far too visible.

      “They might be reserved in public but they could give lessons in eroticism,” she muttered, standing beside the bed.

      Uncomfortable in the sensual clothing, she crossed to the closet, with the intention of finding a robe to throw on over it. She found a large blue silk one that was clearly Tariq’s. It would have to do, she thought, and pulled it out.

      “Stop.”

      Startled, she swiveled around. She hadn’t heard him enter. Hadn’t heard him move across the room. Tariq was almost upon her, his eyes hot as they skated over her body. Her gaze fixated on his naked chest. He was magnificent. His shoulders were wider than she’d imagined, the muscles thick and liquid when he moved. The ridges on his abdomen appeared hard and inflexible, pure steel under skin. The only thing saving him from nakedness was a small white towel.

      “I did not give you permission to cover yourself.”

      Jasmine bristled at his autocratic tone. “I don’t need your permission.”

      With a single flick of his wrist, he pushed the robe from her nerveless fingers and captured both her hands in one of his own. “You forget that I now own you. You do what I wish.”

      “Rubbish.”

      “If it comforts you, feel free to disagree,” he said, magnanimous in victory. “But know that I am going to win.”

      Jasmine stared up at him. Not for the first time, she wondered if she’d taken on more than she could handle. Maybe Tariq really was the despot he was acting. Perhaps he did consider her a possession.

      “I wish to see you, Mina.” He turned her with such speed that she would’ve lost her balance had he not clamped an arm around her waist. His other arm came to lie under her breasts.

      When she looked up, she found, to her shock, that they were standing in front of the full-length mirror in the corner. Her hair was exotically red against the white of her nightgown, her pale skin a stark contrast to the darkness of his arms. His big body was curved over hers, his shoulders blocking out the night.

      “Tariq, let go,” she begged, unable to take the erotic intimacy implied by the reflection. She turned her face to one side, so her cheek pressed against his chest. Her worries about him were buried under the river of need that flooded her body.

      “No, Mina. I wish to see you.” He nuzzled her neck, brushing aside the strands of her hair in his path. “I have fantasized about this for years.”

      His rough confession made her tingle from head to toe. It no longer felt wrong to know that his eyes were on the mirror, seeing everything she attempted to hide. It felt completely right, as if she had been born for this moment. Born to be the woman of the Sheik of Zulheil.

      “Watch me as I love you.” He nipped at the side of her neck, then suckled the spot.

      She shook her head in mute refusal. Despite the feeling of rightness, she was too innocent, too untouched, to easily accept this level of sensual discovery. Tariq kissed his way up her jaw and over her cheek. Her earlobe was a delicate morsel to be sucked into his mouth and savored. He ran his teeth over her skin in a gentle caress. Jasmine shivered and stood on tiptoe in an unconscious attempt to get closer.

      “Look in the mirror,” he whispered, spreading his fingers across her stomach and under her breasts. “Please, Mina.”

      His husky “please” broke through her defenses. She turned her head and looked. And met his burning green-eyed gaze. Holding her eyes, he moved the hand under her breasts until he was cupping one full globe. She gasped and gripped the arm at her waist. In response, he squeezed her aching, swollen flesh. It wasn’t enough. She needed more.

      “Tariq,” she moaned, shifting restlessly against him.

      “Watch,” he ordered.

      She watched.

      He moved his hand up until his thumb lay near her nipple. Under her wide-eyed gaze, he rubbed his thumb over the throbbing peak once, twice, and again. She was panting for breath. Behind her, she heard his own breathing alter, felt his body harden, muscles and tendons settling into unyielding lines. She cried out when he stopped caressing her, only to sigh and whimper when he repeated the teasing stroking on her other breast. His hands were big, sprinkled with dark hair, and Jasmine ached to feel them everywhere. When he moved, she dropped her hands to her sides.

      He left her breasts aroused and hot. His hands moved over her stomach, smoothing their way to her hips. There, he very carefully spread his hands so that his thumbs met in the middle across her navel. She dug her fingers into the rigid muscles of his thighs behind her when she saw the way the action framed the shadowy curls between her legs. He murmured in approval against her ear and rewarded her with another teasing nibble of her sensitive earlobe.

      Then he smiled at her in the mirror, a very male, very satisfied smile. Still holding her gaze, he moved his thumbs. The curving arc rubbed the top of her curls. Jasmine tried to shift but his upper arms held her shoulders pinned to his chest. She watched in helpless fascination, her heart thudding in her throat, her knees losing their strength, as he slowly, deliberately pushed his thumbs down and inward.

      The sudden pressure on the tiny bundle of nerve endings hidden under the fiery curls made Jasmine scream and bury her face against his chest. He let her recover before repeating the intimate caress again and again, until she was arching into every touch, urging him on. Dazed, she met his gaze. His eyes were