CHAPTER ELEVEN
'I AM GLAD you have been given everything you need,' Sharif said, glancing round the sumptuous pavilion.
'Everything except my clothes.' Britt was becoming increasingly aware that the gown the women had dressed her in was almost sheer. 'I believe my own clothes will soon be here.' She had no idea when they were arriving, or even if they would ever arrive. She only knew that her body burned beneath Sharif's stare as his lazy gaze roved over the diaphanous gown-she had never longed for a business suit more.
Sharif's lips tugged a little at one corner as if he knew this.
Turning away, she ground her teeth with frustration at the position she found herself in. Of course she was grateful to Sharif for saving her, but being housed in the harem at the sheikh's pleasure was hardly her recreation of choice-
She had to calm down and accept that a lot had happened in the past twenty-four hours and she was emotionally overwrought. The temptation to do exactly as Sharif suggested-relax and recline, as he was doing-was overwhelming, but with his familiar, intoxicating scent washing over her-amber, patchouli and sandalwood, combined with riding leather and clean, warm man-she couldn't be answerable for her own actions if she did that. Business was her safest option. 'If I'd seen a photograph of you before you came to Skavanga, I wouldn't have mixed you up with Emir and maybe we could have avoided this mess, and then you wouldn't have been forced to risk your life riding through the storm to find me.'
'I don't make a habit of issuing photographs with business letters. And as it happens, I did see a photograph of you, but it wasn't a true representation.'
'What do you mean?' she asked.
'I mean the photograph showed one woman when you are clearly someone very different.'
'In what way?'
Sharif smiled faintly. 'You're far more complex than your photograph suggests.'
She pulled a face beneath the veil, remembering the posed shot. She had been wearing a stiff suit and an even stiffer expression. She hated having her photograph taken, but had been forced to endure that one for the sake of the company journal.
'Well, I haven't seen a single photograph of you in the press,' she countered.
'Really?' Sharif pretended concern. 'I must remedy that situation immediately.'
'And now you're mocking me,' she protested.
He shrugged. 'I thought we agreed to call a truce. But if there's nothing more you need-'
'Nothing. Thank you,' she said stiffly as he turned to go. Her body, of course, had other ideas. If she could just keep her attention fixed on something apart from Sharif's massive shoulders beneath his flowing black robe, or those strong tanned hands that had given her so much pleasure-
'I'll leave you to rest,' he said, getting up.
'Thank you.'
And now she was disappointed?
He was leaving while her body was on fire for him.
Yes. And she should be glad, Britt told herself firmly. A heavy pulse might be throbbing between her legs, but this man was not Emir-and Emir had been dangerous enough-this man was a regal and unknowable stranger, who could pluck her heart from her chest and trample it underfoot while she was still in an erotic daze. She stood too and, lifting her chin, she directed a firm stare into his eyes. Even that was a mistake. Lust ripped through her, along with the desire to mean something to this man. For a few heady seconds she could think of nothing but being held by him, kissed by him, and then, thankfully, she pulled herself round.
'This is wonderful accommodation and I can't thank you enough for all you've done for me. Your people are so very kind. They let me sleep, they tended to my wounds, they-'
'They bathed you?' Sharif supplied.
The way his mouth kicked up at one corner sent such a vivid flash of sensation ripping through her she almost forgot what she was going to say. 'I...I had a bath,' she admitted in a shaking voice that was not Britt Skavanga at all.
'They spoiled you with soothing emollients, and that's so bad?'
'They did,' she agreed, wishing he would look anywhere but into her eyes with that dark, mocking stare. And every time she nodded her head, tiny jewels tinkled in a most alluring way-she could do without that too!
'The women have dressed you for their sheikh,' Sharif observed.
And now she couldn't tell if he was joking or not. Her chest was heaving with pent-up passion thanks to her desire deep down to be angry-to have a go. He can't talk to you like that! She wasn't a canapé to whet his appetite-a canapé carefully prepared and presented to the sheikh for him to sample, then either swallow or discard.
'They have prepared you well,' Sharif said, showing not the slightest flicker of remorse for this outrageous statement. 'Would you rather they had brought you something ugly to wear?' he demanded when her body language gave away her indignation. 'Moral outrage doesn't suit you, Britt,' he went on in the same mocking drawl. 'It's far too late for that. But I must say the gown suits you. That shade of blue is very good with your eyes...'
So why wasn't he looking into her eyes?
Straightening up, she wished her jeans and top were dry so she could bring an end to this nonsense.
And yet...
And yet she was secretly glad that Sharif's gaze was so appreciative. Why else would she stand so straight? Why were her lips parted, and why was she licking them with the tip of her tongue? And why, for all that was logical, was she thrusting her breasts out when her nipples were so painfully erect?
'It's a very pretty dress,' she agreed coolly.
'Our desert fashions suit you,' Sharif agreed.
She shivered involuntarily as he reached out to run the tip of his forefinger down the very edge of her veil. There was still a good distance between them, but no distance could be enough.
And now her thoughts were all erotic. Perhaps Sharif saving her life had added a primitive edge to her feelings towards him. The desire to thank him fully, and in the most obvious way, was growing like a madness inside her. Thank goodness for the veil.
'I'll call back later-when you've had a rest,' he said.
She watched without saying anything as Sharif drew the gauzy curtains around the sleeping area. She reminded herself firmly that she might be dressed like the sugar plum fairy, but she had no intention of dancing to his tune. She was here for business, and business alone. She had to be wary of this man. Sharif had spoken to her sisters without telling her. He had taken mineral samples from the mine, and yet he hadn't had the courtesy to share the results of the tests with her. This might be a seductive setting, she reasoned angrily as the curtains around the sleeping area blew in the warm, early evening breeze, and Sharif was certainly the most seductive of men, but, grateful or not, she still wanted answers, and he had a lot of explaining to do.
He was back? She tried not to care-not to show she cared. She must have failed miserably as breath shot out of her when he dragged her close. This was not even the civilised businessman-this was the master of the desert. There was no conversation between them, no debate. And there was quite definitely no thought of business in Sharif's eyes. There was just the determination to master her and share her pleasure.
'Well, Britt?' Sharif demanded, holding her in front of him. 'You had enough to say for yourself in Skavanga. You must have something to say to me now. Why did you really come to Kareshi when you could have wired your test results and I could have done the same? When you could have laid out your complaints against me in an email message without making this trip?'
Why had she listened to Eva? Eva was hot-headed and impetuous, and was always getting herself into some sort of trouble, while Britt was cool and meticulous, and never allowed emotion to get in the way.
How had this happened?
'Why are you really here?' Sharif pressed mercilessly, smiling grimly down into her eyes. 'What do you need from me?'
He knew very well what she needed from him. She needed his hands on her body, and his eyes staring deep into hers. She needed his scent and heat to invade her senses, and his body to master hers-
* * *
His senses raged as Britt pressed her body against his. This was his woman. This was the woman he remembered and desired. This was the fierce, driven woman he had first met in Skavanga, the woman who took what she wanted and rarely thought about it afterwards.
'Sharif?'
Could it be possible that he didn't want that part of her? he marvelled as Britt spoke his name. Did that wildcat bring out the worst in him? Loosening his grip on her arms, he let her go. When he had first entered the pavilion he had seen the tender heart of a woman he had started to know in Skavanga-the vulnerable woman inside the brittle shell-the woman he had walked away from before he could cause her any hurt.