Seated behind a curved glass desk, the sheikh nodded, saying simply, “I find it a distraction.”
I shook my head. “Figures.” He was one of the world’s most serious-minded sheikhs, whose jet-setting lifestyle consisted of purely political trips abroad. I could search the Internet forever, and I knew I’d never find a photo of him, say, dancing in Sao Paolo, raving in Ibiza, or sailing his yacht in Alaska.
My gaze drifted to the sheikh’s desk, and another thing struck me – the lack of personal mementos. No framed photos, no souvenirs from his travels – there wasn’t anything but tons of paperwork, a huge-ass monitor, and a wireless keyboard.
It was a sad sight, but I pushed away all thoughts of pity. He wasn’t going to win any sympathy from me, not when he made me lose sleep almost every night, waiting for his call. He hadn’t even sent me a text message. Not even one!
“Lady Ella?” The sheikh’s tone was quizzical.
Reluctantly, I looked his way, unable to stop sulking.
His icy blue eyes narrowed. “You are…angry.” His tone actually held a note of surprise.
Bastard, I thought. Out loud, I asked sarcastically, “You think?”
“Why are you angry?”
The note of puzzlement in his voice made me scowl. “Very funny.” Did he really think I’d buy that?
The sheikh leaned back against the chair, a frown darkening his face. “Enough with the innuendos. If you really do not want to tell me then you wouldn’t have sulked so obviously.”
“You—-” But my irritation was more because he was right. I wanted us to talk about how he had been an ass.
The sheikh crossed his arms against his chest. “Well?”
I threw my hands up in exasperation. “You promised you’d call!”
His eyebrow remain arched, his expression unimpressed. “And?” His tone bordered on bored.
I wanted to strangle him.
Astonishment flickered in his gaze. “That truly is the reason?”
God help me, I was this close to killing the sheikh.
“Come here,” the sheikh suddenly said.
I threw him a look of disgust. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“Do not make me ask the second time, ukhayyah.” His voice lowered, his voice commanding and authoritative at the same time as he said, “Come to your sheikh.”
And just like that, it happened again.
One moment, I was mad as hell, the next moment I was panty-soaking wet and unable to do a thing about it. The sheikh only had to use that cruelly beautiful voice of his, and I was aroused beyond belief.
The realization had me torn between self-loathing and helplessness.
Why, God?
Why did he have this effect on me?
He was the sheikh, the king’s heir, and a man I was forbidden to yearn for.
So why couldn’t I stop myself from wanting him?
Even now, I found it impossible to take my gaze away. In my eyes, he was the most beautiful man alive and would always be so. Black hair that was amazingly soft to touch, a face that was perfectly carved, with blue eyes that could seduce with just a glance, and oh, don’t even get me started on his body. Muscular was such an understatement, with the way every inch of his lean but powerful form had been toughened during his years in the army. Even now, with the sheikh dressed in loose traditional robes, there was no mistaking his strength, no mistaking the sheikh’s commanding aura—-
“You are staring.”
I mentally cringed. Busted again.
“Also, you are making it hard for yourself,” the sheikh admonished.
Cheeks still red from being caught staring, I asked, “What am I making hard for myself?” I genuinely didn’t understand.
“You’ve been staring from afar,” the sheikh answered lazily. “Why make it hard when you can come near and see everything…up close?”
I nearly expired at the words. God, how could he say such things with a straight face and get away with it? The words should have made him sound obnoxious, but all I could think of was that it was true. I was making it hard for myself. Just a few steps and I could be near all that deliciously beautiful hardness—-
The sheikh smirked. “You’re practically undressing myself now, ukhayyah.”
Aaaargh.
He crooked a finger. “Come now. Do not make me wait any longer.”
Ugh. I wished I could deny him, just to dent his ego a little, but I couldn’t. The more arrogant he was, the more my stupid, sick self wanted him.
“Your face is an open book,” the sheikh noted.
“Don’t flatter yourself. You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“Don’t I?” the sheikh contested. “Right this moment, are you not hating yourself, unable to deny how much you want me?”
Shit.
Not only were his words true but they also served to me throb down there even more. There was just something thrilling about the fact that the sheikh knew I wanted him.
The sheikh was looking at me knowingly, as if aware of how I struggled just not to drown in need of him. Suddenly, he laughed. “Stubborn and proud as always.” As he spoke, his wicked blue gaze raked over my body, slowly, from head to toe.