The Sheikh's Destiny by Olivia Gates Page B

she’d thought she’d spend the night alone then leave to never see him again. Could it be that everything she’d ever dreamed of was coming true instead? She would finally be with Rashid?
    Her fingers dug into his arm, making him slow down. “I want you to be clear on something, Rashid.” He smoldered down at her, awaiting her conditions. “You will give me everything, too.”
    After a protracted, unreadable glance, he gave a brief nod.
    He accepted her terms, would abide by them.
    Elation fizzed in her blood even as arousal thickened it.
    And that was before he said, “Just remember, when I give you everything, it was you who asked for it.”
    Promises, promises, she almost said.
    But teasing Rashid would come later. When he opened up to her more. Hopefully soon. And fully.
    For now, she would take one miracle at a time.

Six
    T he miracle wasn’t unfolding as Laylah had anticipated.
    It had played to her expectations till Rashid had lowered her onto his bed. Then it had diverged onto a totally unexpected path.
    Instead of continuing his seduction, he’d risen to his feet. He now stood brooding down at her.
    “Rashid, arjook... ”
    Was that her voice? That thick, covetous rasp?
    But who could blame her? The man she’d fantasized about all her life was standing before her, proving her most extravagant fantasies of him modest.
    Instead of answering her plea, he was turning away, tossing words over his shoulder. “You won’t appreciate me all over you sweaty like this.” Before she could cry out that she loved him sweaty like that, would want him all over her even slathered in mud, he dragged his blunt fingernails down his face, producing a scratching sound that deluged her in a fresh bout of tremors. “I’ve also grown some industrial strength sandpaper.”
    Next second, he disappeared into the bathroom.
    * * *
    The moment he closed the bathroom door, Rashid bolted into the shower, turned it on cold and plunged beneath its freezing spray.
    Gulping down air, he squeezed his eyes shut, leaned his flaming forehead against the cold tiles, willing the icy needles to pummel arousal’s hold on his senses.
    What was he doing?
    This had progressed so fast. Too fast. Too far.
    Even when he’d been doing everything in his power to sabotage his own plans, it had only accelerated them.
    Now she was out there, the woman he’d meant to eventually have in his bed, begging him to take her, now, not later. When he hadn’t done a thing to seduce her, had done the opposite, trying to ward her away, giving her every reason to back off.
    It would have been an ingenious strategy had he meant it, pulling away so she’d be the one to pursue him, but he’d genuinely tried everything he could to dissuade her.
    Now that he’d failed, he couldn’t go through with it. For she wasn’t the woman he’d meant to seduce. That woman existed only in his preconceptions. The real Laylah was something he hadn’t known existed. A being pure of heart and magnanimous. And she wasn’t seeking him in response to a maddening challenge.
    She truly wanted him. And had for all her life, she’d said.
    He shouldn’t have let her touch him.
    Her hands and lips on his disfigured flesh had... Ya Ullah...
    He’d never known there could be sensations like that. They’d bolted from his flesh to his psyche, tearing into him, detonating his barriers, his brakes. Nothing had mattered after that first touch but that she kept on touching him. As she had.
    Then she’d told him she wanted it all with him. He had no idea how he’d stopped himself from dragging her to the ground right then and there and driving inside her, assuaging their mutual need.
    But he couldn’t take what she was so fervently offering. Not after the past hours’ experiences and revelations. Not now that he knew she wasn’t who he’d thought she was.
    He now owed her far better than that.
    Yet how could he deny her, after he’d promised her himself?
    He would give her one last