She felt hyper-aware of his every move. The way his thighs flexed in the legs of his low-slung jeans. His chest, solid as the massive mahogany headboard. Most of all, his gaze all over her. He didn't bother to hide his interest, to play it cool. He didn't wait for her to look away. He just drank her in.
Even when she wasn't looking, she sensed him watching her, and blushed to the tips of her ears.
To distract herself, she travelled back in her mind, searching for when they'd met before.
There were a few Arabic men at her software company. Programmers, mostly. Kalil was the most devout, going into one of the small meeting rooms to pray at specific times of the day, while some of the others didn't even observe the Ramadan fast. None of them were anything like Sayd.
She racked her brain for guys she'd known in college, but none of them were hot as her abductor. She definitely would have remembered him.
The only other candidate was the first boy from the Middle East she'd ever met. But that couldn't be him. It had been kindergarten, for crap's sake. The poor kid's parents had shipped him to Newark when he didn't speak a word of English. He hadn't been a bit like Sayd. Not handsome and confident. Definitely not motorcycle material. He'd been skinny and miserable and alone.
The bullies from fourth grade had picked up on his coffee-colored skin like sharks scenting blood in the water. He'd been too little, too different. Alone, he was an easy target. He'd tried to talk to the bullies in his native language, sending them into spasms of laughter.
The worst part of it was that on the first day he'd come, her six-year-old self had just been grateful the bullies had someone else to pick on instead of chanting "Maxi-pad" at her all lunch hour long. The thought of her relief still filled her with sick shame.
The day they'd dumped him in the mud was acid-etched into her brain. That was the day her strong sense of justice had been born. It had been so unfair. About six of the big boys had cornered him and shoved him down into a puddle.
Even now she burned at the cruelty of it. She'd hated those boys even then, and hated that she couldn't do anything about it. Hated their pointing and sadistic laughter.
But that day, the little boy hadn't fought back, as he'd done before. Weeks of teasing had finally killed all emotion in him. That was the thing more unfair than anything else. Even then she sensed some light inside him going out. He'd sat in the puddle, doing nothing, until they'd gotten bored and left.
She still didn't know why she sat down next to him, soaking her jean overalls, but she had. That morning, her granddad had given her a roll of Butter Rum Life Savers, which she'd brought out and shared with him. One by one, sitting in the cold mud, they'd silently eaten the whole package. She gave him the last Life Saver of the pack. When the bell rang, they walked back to the classroom together.
The next day, she heard he'd transferred to another school.
That boy's name was not Sayd, she knew. Besides, she could never imagine the big, masculine man prowling like a lion around the bed putting up with teasing. The idea was ridiculous. Plus that little boy hadn't been a prince. The bullies had called him something cruel. Something feminine. What had it been?
She would like to remember that boy's name, though. For his own sake. She hadn't thought about him for years. Part of her hated herself for forgetting. She should have kept up with him. Maybe she could now. If she had someone good at stalking people handy.
"Sayd?" she asked. "Are you really a king?"
"No."
Well, at least his delusion had limits.
"Not while my father lives," he clarified.
Or maybe not. "So your family has resources and power."
He looked into her eyes, searching for something there. "Do you need resources and power?"
"Maybe the resources," she said, for once hoping there was something to his fantasies. "There's someone I'd like to find."
He set his jaw. "A man? Should I be jealous?"
She shrugged. "Just this boy I used to know. I shouldn't have lost track of him. But I was really young at the time."
He smoothed a wrinkle in the sheet. "Sometimes it is best to leave the past where it lies."
It seemed like an odd thing to say for a man who was desperate for her to remember these years he said she'd lost.
"Come," he said. "It is time for bed.
Max stared at the three skimpy lace nighties Sayd had laid on the bed.
"I like the blue one best," he told her. "It matches your eyes."
"Well, I think you'll look fabulous in it. I'm not wearing any of these, buddy."
He lowered his lids in a classic smoldering look. "You're welcome to sleep nude. I like that even better than the blue one."
She snapped her fingers in front of his nose. "Wake up. You're dreaming already."
"Very well," he conceded, pointing to the drawer where he'd found the tiny excuses for sleepwear. "There is another."
The silver silk pajamas were more acceptable. Except there was the problem of getting into them while wearing handcuffs. He seemed to read her mind and brought out the key. With one hand, he unlocked her. The other held her wrist in place, one thumb caressing the sensitive pulse point where her palm met her arm. Warmth spread through her body, touching places she didn't know were connected to her wrist.
As soon as she was free, she ripped her hand away and grabbed the pajamas to hold like armor in front of her. "I'll just be a second."
She took a step toward the door-and found a too-handsome sheikh in her way. "What now?" It dawned on her. "You don't expect me to change in here?"
"You have no need to be shy. I have seen your body hundreds of times."
Yeah, through binoculars. Just when she started to think he was sane, out came the crazy. She sighed. At least he seemed devoted to this marriage fantasy, to a slow seduction.
As if to encourage her, he pulled his shirt over his head.
Damn, it should be illegal to have shoulders like that and belong in the loony bin. And with such a pretty hallucination-that he loved her more than anyone in the world. What woman wouldn't be tempted to indulge in a little Stockholm syndrome with this guy?
Then he pulled the leather strap out of his hair, letting it fall in a soft, sexy wave. She whimpered mindlessly.
When he began to unzip his jeans, she came back to herself and turned away, volcanic magma rising to her cheeks. Not letting herself think twice, she scooted off her own jeans and stepped into the bottoms. She dashed off her tee shirt and mashed the pajama top down over her head. Once she had it on, she maneuvered her bra off through the sleeves.
"You do not normally sleep wearing panties," he said, his voice a low rumble.
She turned back to see him lying under the covers, one shackle still around his wrist. The other lay open, waiting for her. She couldn't see any way out of it. If she went for the door, he'd be on her before she got there.
Max climbed onto the bed and offered her wrist. "You're right about the panties. But I think I'll wear them tonight."
He fastened the cuff around her with as much gentleness as possible. Then he looked at her from under dark lashes. "Doesn't matter. I can take them off as easily as anything else."
With her suddenly dry throat, she couldn't make a peep. All her thoughts focused on what he was wearing under that sheet. Clearly he didn't wear a shirt at night. Bottoms or not?
Trying to put it out of her mind, she rolled on her side and faced the wall. Her eyes just didn't want to close, though. So she just listened to the sound of the blood thrumming in her ears.
It didn't get better when he rolled against her back and whispered. "No goodnight kiss for your husband?"
"You're not my husband. You're suffering from insanity."
"Truly, I am suffering. But I'm also your husband, though I don't expect you to believe that now." His masculine scent enveloped her. His hand flattened on her belly. "I will get you help, Max. We will find out what has been done to you, and the Crimson Hand will pay."
She rolled her eyes. The Crimson Hand again. "Tell you what, Sayd. I'll kiss you if you promise to stop talking."
"A bad bargain," he said. "I enjoy talking to you almost as much as I enjoy kissing you. And I haven't seen you for three months. However, if it pleases you, I agree. I assume we can talk again in the morning."
No way would he be satisfied with a fast peck on the cheek. Her blood heated at the thought of another kiss like the one they'd shared earlier.
She had to try anyway. She turned her face to give him a quick kiss. He was quicker. He untangled from her and lay on his back. Clever boy. This would force her to lie on his chest to reach his mouth.
Well, she was clever, too. She got on her knees and bent over him, minimizing contact. Or at least that was the idea.
His hands cupped her jaw, drawing her toward him. Despite her doubts, she let it happen. Their lips met, soft and sweet.
The kiss was almost-but not quite-chaste. He moved his mouth, catching her bottom lip between his for the barest instant. It came close to being less of a kiss and more of a promise of one. That kiss revved her body like nothing else would have. Her heart thundered under her ribs. Her thighs went weak. Every part of her ached for more.