One Night with the Sheikh
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“It still bothers you, doesn’t it?” Maysa asked.
He was not surprised she had noticed. “What bothers me?”
“Your shoulder. The one you fractured in that ridiculous fight with Aakif Nejem.”
“I believe we were fighting over you.” He smiled. “And I came away with two black eyes and a lacerated lip. I would have been unscathed had it not been for my falling against the iron gate.”
Maysa returned his smile, though she appeared to be attempting to keep it at bay. “The very gate you drove through earlier, designed by my father to ward off unwelcome suitors.”
“Yet that gate was not strong enough to keep me from you that night.”
A brief span of silence passed between them, as well as an exchanged glance that Rafiq remembered very clearly. The same knowing look they had given each other when he had laid her down in her bed, cloaked only by the cover of darkness, the threat of discovery heightening their desire.
Maysa broke the visual contact first and turned her focus back on the flowers. “That was a long time ago, Rafiq. We were both young and very foolish.”
“We were consumed by each other.”
She raised a thin brow. “Consumed by lust, you mean.”
Had it only been lust, he would have long forgotten that evening. Forgotten her. “Have you never considered what would have happened had your father come upon us?”
“Would he have forced us to marry?” She shook her head. “He would have sent me away from you.”
In many ways, that is exactly what had happened. The sultan had sent her into another man’s bed. A man who had not deserved her.
When Maysa hid a yawn behind her hand, then stretched her arms above her head, Rafiq suspected she would soon be leaving him again, at least for the evening. “It is time for me to go to bed,” she said, confirming his theory. “I have several early visits to make in the village tomorrow.”
He struggled for some way to keep her there awhile longer, and returned to the issue that had begun their journey into the past. “Would you examine my shoulder before you retire?”
“What do you believe I’d accomplish by doing that?”
She would be closer to him, at least momentarily. He pressed his palm against the spot that always gave him the most pain. “I would like to see what you think about this ridge. Perhaps you can advise me if it is an issue I need to have evaluated further.”
She sighed, rose from the sofa and took the space beside him. “Lean forward.” After he complied, she rested her left hand on his left shoulder and examined the offending shoulder with her right hand.
“Well?” he asked.
She pushed against one spot, causing him to wince. “Does that hurt?” she asked.
“Slightly.” More than he would allow her to see.
“That’s your deltoid muscle,” she said as she continued to knead the area. “You have quite a bit of tension there.”
The tension behind his fly began to increase with every caress of her fingertips. “Perhaps it is only stress-induced?”
“Perhaps, but I cannot tell for certain without an X-ray. You could probably benefit from physical therapy.”
The therapy she was offering him now was quite beneficial in terms of soothing the soreness. He could not say the same for his libido. And when she leaned over and applied more pressure, his palm automatically came to rest on her thigh, immediately above her knee, where he drew small circles with his thumb through the dress’s thin material.
Her hand froze midmotion. “What are you doing, Rafiq?”
“Nothing.” Not presently.
She released a shuddering breath. “We said no touching.”
He inched his palm higher. “You said no kissing.”
“Rule two, no touching.”
Despite her assertions, he did not bother to lift his hand, and she did not bother to shove it away. “Yet you have been touching me.”
“As a physician.”
“And I have reacted as any man reacts to a woman’s touch.”
“For that reason, I should go now.”
Rafiq predicted she would stand and leave, but she remained positioned next to him, both hands still resting lightly on his shoulders. He straightened, bringing their faces close, their gazes connecting immediately. He saw the indecision in her eyes, as well as a spark of need.
And then Maysa did something Rafiq did not expect—she broke her first rule.
Three
She had taken complete leave of her senses, but at the moment Maysa didn’t care. She only concerned herself with the play of Rafiq’s mouth against hers and the impressions he made with the gentle glide of his tongue.
At some point—and she had no idea how or when—he had shifted toward her and she had moved fully into his arms. A nagging voice demanded she stop before she could not, but she disregarded the caution. For once she wanted to be softly kissed, without undue force. Willingly kissed. She wanted to remember how it felt to be a desirable woman, not simply an object of brutal lust.
Yet all the reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this kept crowding her mind. She could be only a means to an end for Rafiq. A source of comfort. A temporary diversion. She was also keeping a secret from him. A secret that could ultimately destroy him emotionally, and her reputation literally.
Still, when he cupped her breast, she focused on the sensations, not solid rationale. He traced her nipple with a fingertip, causing her to shift restlessly against the building heat. But when he left her mouth to feather kisses down the column of her throat, sliding the dress’s strap down her shoulder, a barrage of bitter memories prompted her to automatically tense.
Rafiq reacted to her sudden change in mood by abruptly rising from the sofa, leaving Maysa alone steeped in self-consciousness. He walked away, his hands laced behind his neck, and stopped in the middle of the terrace, keeping his back to her.