Captivated by the Sheikh. Annie West

he caressed her he left a trail of sizzling excitement. It burned across her skin, coiled hard and tight inside her, till she was on fire, desperate for something to assuage the raging need.

      Then the welcoming heat of his big body encompassed her, the hard strength of bone and taut muscle.

      Automatically she clung to him, revelling in the sensation of his torso pushing her down into the soft mattress. Breathlessly she registered the way his broad chest flattened her breasts, but there was no pain, only a growing edginess, a delicious awareness tingling through every centimetre of her. She wanted to rub herself against him, explore his hard muscled form with her hands, her lips, her body.

      She wanted to imprint herself on him and to feel his flesh against hers. She wanted…

      ‘Rosalie.’ His deep throaty murmur against the corner of her mouth was enticing, seductive. Did she hear it or feel it? His lips brushed her own, caressed the sensitive corner of her mouth, dipped down to the pulse point low on her neck, and she arched up involuntarily, gasping with delight.

      The impact of that kiss reverberated to every pleasure point in her body. There was effervescence in her blood, a surge of energy so strong she felt almost faint with it.

      ‘I’ve waited so long for you,’ he whispered and now she felt his hands move, deftly unbuttoning her shirt.

      She opened eyes she hadn’t realised she’d closed and stared up at Arik. He was breathtaking, each severe line of his face, each angle and plane contributing to a whole that was compelling. He was handsome, beautiful even, in a hard, ultra-masculine way. But it was the inner fire, the spark of his personality, and of his desire, that overwhelmed Rosalie. There was a single-minded intensity about him that would have scared her a week ago.

      Now she revelled in it.

      She wanted Arik so much. Needed him. His expression: eyelids hooded, nostrils flared, mouth a taut line, made something leap inside her.

      Then she registered the caress of cool air as he spread wide the sides of her shirt, baring her from the waist up to his gaze.

      His eyes lingered on her bra, tracing its curve over her breasts. His gaze was smoky with desire.

      ‘You are beautiful, Rosalie.’ He lifted a hand and feathered his fingers along the upper edge of her bra.

      She jolted at the unexpected intensity of that light touch. Her breath was a gasp of pure pleasure. Without thought she arched her back, silently begging him to repeat the gesture.

      ‘And so exquisitely responsive,’ he murmured as he again stroked the upper curve of her breasts and her eyes fluttered shut.

      His tone was appreciative, knowing. It reminded her for an instant of the gulf of experience between them.

      ‘I’m not protected,’ she blurted out, then bit her lip as a fiery blush rose in her cheeks.

      ‘Of course it will be my responsibility to protect you, little one.’

      His gentle tone persuaded her to open her eyes. His gaze met hers and suddenly the embarrassment she’d felt a moment before was gone. She took a slow breath, saw the way his expression flickered at the deep rise of her breasts, but forced herself to go on.

      ‘I don’t have much…’ Experience, she’d been about to say. But then she’d been pregnant, had given birth. He wouldn’t understand. And she didn’t want to enter into long explanations, not now. ‘It’s…’

      ‘Been a while?’ he finished for her, his gaze piercing. ‘Don’t worry, Rosalie. Once learned, the lessons of love aren’t forgotten.’

      That was what she was afraid of. Maybe she’d better tell him. She opened her mouth reluctantly but he forestalled her.

      ‘Between us, little one, it will be easy.’ His deep voice was reassuring and his slow smile reminded her that she could trust him. His eyes glowed with an excitement that matched her own. Could she ask for more?

      Again his hand traced the outline of her bra, then dipped lower to find and tease her nipple through the cotton fabric.

      She sucked in her breath in a hiss of surprised delight. Who’d have guessed such a touch would make her feel…?

      ‘Perfect,’ he murmured as he lowered his mouth to hers. ‘It will be perfect with us.’

      Then there was no more thinking. No more worries. No embarrassment. There was only the hot dark velvet of his kiss, the rising excitement as his hand grew heavier, more demanding at first one breast and then another.

      She could grow addicted to Arik’s touch. So sure, so sensitive. Her body clamoured for more, pushing up against his hand, his body, relieved and yet unsettled at the weight of him over her. It was what she wanted, but it wasn’t enough.

      When he drew back a fraction, her hands clung to his shoulders, her mouth throbbed from the passion that had soared between them. A passion reflected in the blaze of his eyes and the heave of his chest with every breath he took.

      The last lingering shadow of doubt fled. She knew this was right.

      ‘I want to touch you, Rosalie.’ Arik was surprised at how steady his voice sounded. He teetered at the edge of his control, fiercely resisting the relentless urge to rip her clothes away and bury himself quick and deep in her soft waiting warmth.

      He’d known urgent desire before, had more than enough experience to be able to temper his urges to ensure his partner was satisfied. Until now. The intensity of each sensation, the effect of watching Rosalie come alive at his touch, breathless and eager and somehow vulnerable, was something completely new to him.

      His body felt as if it were on a rack, stretched almost to breaking-point by the weight of restraint placed upon it. Each muscle and sinew was stretched to the limit. But there was no alternative. He remembered the instant of doubt he’d seen in Rosalie’s face and knew he had no choice but to love her slowly. Even it if killed him.

      Gently he pushed her shirt from her shoulders. She shrugged out of it and he tossed it away.

      ‘Touch me,’ he ordered, hungry for the feel of her against his bare skin. For a moment she didn’t move and then, slowly, so slowly he wanted to reach out and yank her hands against his chest, she reached up to him. Her fingers fumbled with a button. And then another. And then her hand slipped into his shirt, right over the spot where his heart pounded its message of hunger and painful control.

      His eyes closed as he absorbed the sensation of her hand across his chest.

      ‘More,’ he demanded. The gentle exploration faltered and then, a moment later, her fingers worked his shirt buttons again. This time quickly, nimbly, and he sucked in a breath of relief. Another hurdle passed.

      He waited till his shirt hung open, then shrugged his shoulders and shook it away. Opening his eyes, he found her staring, absorbed, as if committing to memory the sight of his bare torso. The look in her eyes did dangerous things to his ego. He felt like a hero, a god, not an ordinary man, when she looked at him like that.

      She moved her hands over his chest, up and across, then circled down over muscles that spasmed at her touch. His arms trembled at the effort of remaining still under her caress.

      ‘You’re beautiful,’ she breathed.

      ‘No, Rosalie. But you are.’ He couldn’t resist the lure of such temptation any longer. He reached out and slid his hand behind her, making short work of her bra clasp, drawing her plain white, ridiculously seductive bra away in his hand.

      There was a hiss of frantic breath. A moment of stunned appreciation, and then he was touching her, stroking his index finger under the curve of her full, luscious breasts, up between them, then down and across the rose-pink nipples that tightened into buds at his touch.

      She was exquisite. Perfect. And the little tremors vibrating through her at his caress were delicious proof of her incredible sensuality.

      He palmed