The Sheikh’s Forced Bride(16)

He shrugged again and let her to her room. “Right is a matter of perspective at times.”“And other times it’s just a matter of right and wrong.”

His lips twitched. They stopped outside the door to her room and he touched a fingertip to her cheek. “So American—always seeing things in absolutes.”

She smiled. “It’s one of the things you love about me—remember?”

His smile faded. “And this is another.” Leaning close, he touched his mouth to hers. She put a hand on his chest, unable—and unwilling—to resist. She’d been wanting this ever since she’d seen him naked and dripping wet—and looking good enough to eat with a spoon. She gave a moan and he deepened the kiss, his lips softening, his mustache and beard scraping her skin ever so slightly. He smelled of the minerals from the spa waters, of spiced oil from his massage and of something male and compelling—some scent that had to be his own.

Her head spun and a spark sizzled through her, incinerating every intent to keep her distance. She wound her arm around his neck and pulled him closer. He tasted exquisite—exotic and all too tempting.

Before she could lose herself utterly, she pulled back, pushing gently on his chest. He let her break the kiss. She was breathing hard and so was he.

She stared at him. His eyes had darkened. “Invite me in,” he said the words a husky rasp that sent a shiver through her.

She kept her hand firmly on his chest. “I understand we need to keep up appearances, but let’s not start fooling ourselves. I’m gone as soon as I have my story, and you’re not a man who settles down with any one woman.”

“How do you know I have not met the right woman?” He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. Then he licked a strip across her wrist where her pulse was skipping. She gave a small laugh. “Yeah, I’ll believe that story when the world turns upside down. Good night, lover. Hope you have sweet dreams.”

She stood on tiptoe to kiss the corner of his mouth, because she couldn’t resist. Before he could put his arms around her, she opened her door and slipped inside. She closed the door fast, flipped the lock and collapsed against it, letting out a long breath. And she was still thinking about all that naked, dark skin and strong muscles she’d just turned down.

Chewing her lower lip, she wondered if she should open the door and invite him in after all. But she’d been honest—they had no possible future. He was going to be a sultan one day—she was aiming for a Pulitzer. Where was there any room for the two of them in that?

Could be a great fling.

Shaking her head, she pushed off the door. She needed to keep her mind on her story—and on the fact that women in Sharjah didn’t get much choice about their marriages or their lives.

A cold shower and changing from that amazing dress into her baggy sweats brought her back down to earth. She rummaged through her backpack and pulled out her laptop. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she booted up the computer and started to type notes.

With immeasurable wealth comes immeasurable power.

She wrinkled her nose. The black letters stared back at her on the white screen. While she agreed with the statement, it sounded trite and wasn’t a great lead line.

She deleted the sentence and stared at the blank screen again.

Her mind drifted back to Khalid’s kiss. She hadn’t expected him to kiss her like that—her lips were still tingling. So were other body parts. If things had been different, she might enjoy spending time with him. But there was always the specter of his reputation—he was a man who would be great for a few nights, but that was probably it.

And Casey knew she was too much a Midwestern girl at heart.

She’d tried the casual dating scene in New York and had been awful at it—she keeps looking for the happy ever after instead of the happy for just right now.

Shaking her head, Casey reminded herself she was here for a story on how women were nothing more than a possession in this country. But she was also starting to wonder if Khalid really felt like that. He’d gone out of his way tonight to treat her to something special tonight—and he’d seemed….well, different. Maybe he was as trapped in his role as any woman was.

Squaring her shoulders, she started typing up more notes. General impressions. Descriptions. She got a page done, and then sent an email to Luke to let him know she was scheduling interviews tomorrow. She needed those interviews—that was where the story lay. Not in these wandering notes. She needed Fadiyah’s perspective. And she needed to understand Khalid’s father—so far he was just an imposing figure. A man who took his role as sultan almost too seriously.