The Sheikh's Reluctant American (The Adjalane Sheikhs #3) Read online

  The nearest hotel proved to be both luxurious and Nigella didn’t want to even think about the cost. Malid checked them in with a flourish—it seemed there were many advantages to the Adjalane name. Room service brought them sparkling water, a meal of roast meats and salads, and a dessert of something with a light pastry, honey and dates.

  Nigella didn’t wait for the room service, but had headed straight for the shower, tearing off her clothes as she went. She came out with a towel wrapped around her to find that Malid had the lights low and the meal set out on the balcony.

  She glanced at him and asked, “Can the food wait?” He nodded, his eyes darkening. She smiled. “Good,” she said and dropped her towel.

  In two strides Malid was at her side, swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He settled her on the bed, tore off his shirt and slipped his shoes and jeans off.

  God, how she loved his body—every muscular line, every inch of smooth skin. She opened her arms and he came to her, covering her with his body, slipping into her at once.

  She gave a sigh, wiggled her hips and he rolled with her, so that she straddled him. “Now—you may take your pleasure.”

  Smiling, she did. She eased her hips up…and down again, dragging a long, soft moan from him. His eyes slid closed, so she did it again. And again. But already the heat was building inside her. Tingles spread over her skin.

  Opening his eyes, Malid reached between them and touched her clit—that touch shivered over her and sank deep. Closing her eyes, she threw her head back and let the world come apart.

  ***

  They slept, ate, made love in the shower, and slept again. Nigella woke early, found Malid asleep next to her, his erection nudging her hip. She threw back the sheets, brushed her fingers over his cock, and leaned over to take him into her mouth. He moaned and came awake at once. It took a lot not to giggle at his gasp of pleasure, but she managed, sucking hard and licking until he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down on the bed so he could enter her.

  After, they showered and dressed—Malid made a face at his wrinkled clothes, so he made a call and fresh jeans and shirts appeared for both of them.

  Staring at the clothing, Nigella asked, “Just how did you know my size.”

  He put his hands on her hips. “How could I not?”

  They visited Sheikh Adjalane, only to find a line of well-wishers and a room full of flowers. The nursing staff looked flustered at trying to control the flow of visitors, and Malid took charge after one nurse muttered, “He should rest.”

  In less than five minutes, Malid had the visitors ushered out with smiles, the flowers sent to any new mother who had just given birth, and was lecturing his father on his care.

  Nigella could see Nimr’s mouth start to pull down, so she started to tug at Malid’s arm. “Don’t we have a contract to sign.”

  Malid agreed that was true, ordered his father to rest, and walked out—and Nigella could swear the old man looked relieved.

  A week later, the deal was done—Nigella’s was relieved both for that and the fact that Daddy had gone back to the States, and Nimr was allowed back home.

  It was over—finished. She had no reason to stay…so why was she hanging around? It was time to give Malid a kiss, tell him it had been fun, and let him get back to his family. She had work waiting for her—so why wasn’t she grabbing the next jet home?

  ***

  It took Malid an hour to convince Nigella she must make one last visit to the desert. She had been making noises about going home—something must be done about that.

  His father was home again, the deal with Opell Oil was set, and now he could focus on her. But did she want to stay? For once in his life, he was uncertain what a woman might say to him—and worried the answer might be no. It had never mattered before…but Nigella mattered. And his father’s near brush with death had brought home just how short life could be.

  He drove her back to the oasis—as he had once before. Nigella’s face had lit with excitement, and that had pleased Malid. The tents were few this time—just one for Malid and Nigella. They would keep no servants with them.

  Adilan was overseeing the construction of the pipeline—it was only right since he was CEO of Adjalane Oil. And Nassir was helping their mother look after their father.

  And still Malid was worried. Would Nigella think this was nothing more than a plan to intertwine their families permanently? In an age-old tradition, such family ties had built empires. But that was not what he wanted.

  Taking Nigella into the tent with him, he closed the cloth fastening over the door and secured it. Lamps lit the tent—pillows and tapestries made the space intimate and comfortable. A low, brass table had been set with food and water. Malid ignored all of that and pulled Nigella into his arms.

  They had dressed in traditional robes—and he approved of that. Her breasts pressed into him—already he wanted her out of those clothes.

  “Nigella—?”

  “Is this our last night together?” She lifted her chin. She looked fragile in the lamplight—delicate, and not the strong woman he knew her to be.

  He touched a finger to her face. “I wish it to be the first of many.”

  She frowned. “You want me to move to Al-Sarid?”

  Rubbing his hands down her arm, he shook his head. “I was thinking more that we split our time. Adjalane Oil needs New York offices. And Adilan thinks I should be in charge of setting up that division. We need to look to the future—to expand and change from just oil to newer technologies.”

  Her eyebrows arched high. “Is this a business deal we’re making?”

  Cursing, he let go of her, turned and rubbed the back of his neck, then faced her, his hands spread wide. “I am doing this all wrong. It sounded so good in my head, and now…now it sounds like the howl of a desert wind.”

  “You’ve become very philosophical.” Nigella stepped closer. “Why don’t you try saying what you feel—instead of any kind of rehearsed speech.” She put her hands on his chest.

  He sucked in a breath. “I cannot think when you touch me.”

  Smiling, she nodded. “That’s a good start.”

  Malid dipped his head, nuzzling her ear and whispering in her ear, “What I have to say is important.”

  Nigella hummed and said, “Yes, so is this. Am I a distraction?”

  “Of the best kind.” He pulled off her head scarf and tunic. She tugged off his shirt. “Nigella, I will want you forever.” He slipped one hand beneath the waistband of her trousers. She kissed his mouth and trailed kisses over his jaw line.

  Quickly, he stripped her of her remaining clothing. Laying down, she spread herself on the pile of pillows, her white skin almost seeming to shimmer in the light. He pulled off his trousers and lay down next to her. Gripping her hips, he pulled her up onto him.

  “Ride me,” he urged her, lifting her up slightly and then settling her over himself. He eased her down gently, and guided her movements until he couldn’t resist palming her breasts one more second.

  She threw back her head and smiled. Slowly, hips moving, she brought her gaze back to his. He pulled her down to capture her lips with his own. She moaned into his mouth, and shivered, and his own orgasm took him in gentle waves that seemed to last a life time.

  Nigella collapsed against his chest, her breathing fast and her body limp. Sweat slicked her skin, and Malid rubbed a hand down her back. “Nigella, you once told me you do not make leaps—you want careful decisions. But I am going to ask you now to leap.”

  She turned to stare at him, her eyes wide and huge. He drew a finger down her cheek. “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me? Will you camp with me in the desert and help me weather sandstorms? Will you help me figure out better ways of getting along with people? Will you…will you be part of my family?”

  Nigella wet her lips, and Malid held his breath. She lifted one pale shoulder and ro
lled off him so she lay next to him. She trailed a fingertip over his chest. “You know I like to consider all angles.”

  He frowned. “Yes. And what angles must you consider.”

  “Well, do you like and want children?”

  “Do you?”

  “No fair—I asked first.”

  He threw out a hand. “Yes, I want children.”

  “Good. So do I. Two. What about my working?”

  Impatient, he caught her hand and rolled up onto one elbow. “What about it? You wish to stop?”

  “No…not when Daddy’s finally thinkin’ I can run the company.”

  “Good. You have too much energy to waste it lounging around a palace.”

  She laughed. “Does that mean I get my own palace?”

  Malid rolled her over so that he was above her. He dipped his head and kissed her, then shifted, reaching to the low brass table. He pulled a silk wrap off the table and put it into her hands. She tugged open the knot and a sapphire ring of dark blue fell into her fingers. She gasped, and Malid said, “Not only a palace, but all the riches I can shower on you.”

  He could see she was fighting a smile, but she shook her head, clutched the ring and asked, “You don’t think our fathers ever suspected this might happen when they put us in charge of these negotiations, do you? So they could get some grandbabies?”

  Malid looked at her and laughed. Taking the ring from her, he held it out. “Let us hope they are not such manipulators, but I don’t care. If putting us together was their way of controlling us, I owe them gratitude.”

  Nigella pushed her finger into the ring. She tilted her hand to make the gem sparkle, then settled herself across his chest. “Maybe we should send them a thank you card?”

  “How about a wedding announcement?” He kissed her forehead, then her lips, and murmured against her lips, “Always and forever, Nigella. You have my soul in your hands. Enta habib alby w hayaty ya habibi. You are the love of my heart and my life, my love.”

  Smiling, she slid her hand behind his neck. “Big words—how about you set about provin’ it to me?”

  Grinning, he rolled her underneath him—and took his time pleasing his bride to be.

  END OF The Sheikh’s Reluctant American

  Book Three of the Adjalane Sheikhs Series.

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  Kim Atkins watched Sheik Karim Sharqi lift free weights on the courtyard below her, sweat glistening off his body in the intense sunlight. Staring down at him, she had never seen a man so strong, so muscular, so alluring, as she imagined that perfect body pressed against hers, his hands holding her waist as she stroked his rippling muscles.

  Kim turned her head to see three maids watching him from a distance. One of them was fanning herself as they whispered and giggled amongst themselves. Kim did not blame them -- Karim Sharqi was a very attractive man.

  Closing her eyes, she imagined herself looking into his eyes, his dark hair neatly framing his face as his brown eyes smiled down at her. In her mind, she fisted her hand to keep from touching his perfectly straight nose perched atop luscious lips that invited her to lean in for a kiss.

  She briefly wondered what his stubble would feel like rubbing against her fevered skin, as he kissed his way down her body. She swayed slightly on her feet as her all too active imagination made her body tingle at the thought of his touch.

  “Does this sentence make sense?” Amare asked, interrupting her daydream.

  “Huh?” Kim snapped out of her thoughts and returned her attention to Amare. She had forgotten where she was and what she was doing. “Sorry, show me,” she said and took the notebook from him.

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  “Well done,” Kim said, as she handed the notebook back to him.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re doing really well, Amare.”

  “Really? I am?”

  Kim grinned at him, tousling his hair, “Yes, you are.”

  “Cool. Father expects me to excel on all my exams,” he told her as he squeezed the notebook before setting it down.

  “I have no doubt that you will.” Kim smiled at the young sheik. She was impressed with how hard he was working. When she had first accepted the job, she did not expect to meet such a serious student. In her experience, children born with silver spoons in their mouths tended not to work very hard.

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  “We’ll do the best we can,” she said, handing him a sheet of paper. “See if you can interpret this poem for me.”

  “Sure.”

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  He had taken off his shirt and his torso was bathed in sweat as Kim contemplated licking the salty sweat from his chest. Lost in thought, she watched as he reached for a towel and slowly dried the sweat from his body leaving Kim to wo
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  A noise from behind her made her jump as she finally realised that Karim was looking straight at her with a smirk on his face. She gasped and looked away quickly.

  “Crap,” she muttered under her breath.

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  Brock Wells exited the bar, heading for his ’66 Mustang. The twang of a sad love song followed him out, and his head buzzed with the four beers he’d had. The team had just finished a training operation in South America and Slade had given everyone some much needed time off—meaning Brock had come home hoping to find some female company.