The Sheikh's Destiny (Harlequin Romance) by Melissa James Page B

sorry.’
    â€˜Don’t blame yourself. It was inevitable given the restricted diet we’ve been on, all the walking and running and where we’ve been sleeping.’ His hands reached for her feet. ‘Let me help.’ He removed her shoes and socks, and, from their awkward positions, he used his fingers to massage her soles, her heels, her ankles.
    And up…up, calves and knees and— oh …slowly he pulled her legs straight as he released her muscles from their bondage.
    It was bliss. It was an angel’s touch, soothing, freeing…arousing. It was symmetry and beauty beyond his poetic words, magic beyond anything the Arabian Nights could conjure, and not because he was a prince, a leader, but because he was Alim …because it was Alim’s touch. Because it was Alim, who enjoyed both her teasing and her imperiousness, her laughter and her silence…Alim, who wanted her only to be herself in his presence.
    The ache replacing her pain was languorous, and again she felt more feminine, more alive than she’d ever been. How ironic that a sheikh was the only man who’d ever made her feel glad to be a woman…
    He’d half pulled her out of the hole before her back spasmed and she cried out in pain.
    â€˜Hush, Sahar Thurayya, I have you.’ And his hands pulled her the rest of the way out of the hole. He turned her around so tenderly the pain was bearable, and his fingers worked their enchantment on her hip joints, her spine…
    She leaned back, falling until her head rested against his chest. She wept in joy with the exquisite relief. ‘Alim…ah, it’s wonderful …’ She heard herself moaning his name over and over. The uncoiling of her muscles was almost as incredible as the more sensual awakening. She felt as if she could fly, yet she was chained, chained to him, and it wasn’t frightening, it was perfect.
    It was Alim, and she’d never felt so alive as when she was with him.
    â€˜Yes, my dawn star, it is…wonderful,’ he murmured huskily in her ear. He was moving to her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing the rock-hard muscles beneath her shoulder blades. ‘Lean on me. Trust me. I’ll never hurt you.’
    Something in the words made her heart stutter—but then those marvellous fingers moved to her neck, soothing, relaxing, arousing her anew. ‘I love the way you talk to me,’ she whispered as her head rolled around, luxurious freedom once more.
    â€˜I’ve never spoken to any woman this way before,’ he murmured roughly, sounding surprised by the words. ‘You inspire me.’
    She turned her face, smiling at him, half drunk on the physical release of her singing muscles; intoxicated by his touch, by the way he made her feel. ‘What a beautiful thing to say…especially to a woman who smells so bad she offends herself.’ Her eyes twinkled.
    He chuckled. ‘I think I lost my olfactories with the cigarette-mud infusion.’ As if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, he kissed her forehead. ‘And I must have lost my taste buds to those energy bars. I can’t even taste the mud on your skin, just oats and raisins.’
    She was asleep; she had to be. She was on the hot sands dreaming of her perfect man in a strange oasis. Alim couldn’t be real, this incredible man who seemed to need her.
    She’d always been a late bloomer. She’d waited until she was twenty-five to dream of her teen idol, The Racing Sheikh, and make him hers. Any moment now she’d wake up in Shellah-Akbar, with Malika shaking her awake, and the rounds of the day would face her, caring for the babies and children, cooking the foods their little stomachs could handle, treating the men and women whose hunger made their teeth weak…
    Not ready to let go of her dream, she moaned and lifted her face to his. ‘Alim…’
    The lovely ache sitting low in her belly intensified