The Sheikh Who Claimed Her: Master of the Desert / The Sheikh's Reluctant Bride / Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife. Teresa Southwick
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dolphins, and in spite of everything that had happened that day Antonia wondered if a day had ever ended so well. Saif was a much stronger swimmer than she was, and when a giant wave crashed over her head he was there in moments, drawing her to him where she felt safe. She was intensely aware of the brush of his hard, warm body against her own.
She felt safe and yet at the same time in the worst danger of her life, if only because no one had ever made her feel so aware of her physical self before. Saif made her want to swim better and to tease him all she could. She wanted to show off and flirt with him—with danger. Some small inexperienced part of her hoped he wouldn’t notice her attempt to attract him, but the rest of her most definitely hoped that he would.
She would wait a long time for another night like this. They were miles away from anywhere on a desert island, with no one to see them as they stepped out of their normal lives and did whatever they wanted to do; they could be whoever they wanted to be …
And she wanted to be attractive to Saif.
She plunged into the waves at his side and began powering out to sea, leaving him with no alternative but to go after her. Seizing hold of her, he trod water, demanding, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
Her answer was to playfully spray a mouthful of salt water in his face. Astonishment barely covered it. He gave her a look. She dodged out of his grip and started swimming away. ‘Last time I was too gentle with you!’ he exclaimed, catching up with her again.
Her answer this time was to splash him as she called out, ‘If you don’t like it, catch me and punish me.’
And, like a sleek young otter she slipped out of his grasp and swam away again.
‘Okay, I’m sorry!’ She shrieked with excitement when he caught hold of her. She was playing with him as if they were lovers. But this was the Gulf, and he was a king, while she was … wonderful. She felt so warm and supple beneath his hands, and it was impossible not to notice that they fit together perfectly when he struck out for shore.
‘You’re not a bit sorry,’ he accused, rejoicing in her defiance.
‘Okay, not that sorry,’ she agreed, her lips curving in a mischievous smile as she turned her head to look at him.
‘Do you always live so dangerously, Tuesday?’ he demanded as he matched his stroke to hers. This was shifting rapidly from surreal to erotic, he realised as he waited for her reply.
‘Never as dangerously as this,’ she admitted.
He could believe it.
‘Anything rather than live a dull life,’ she declared, putting her head down and diving into the waves as she used the power of the sea to drive her into shore.
There was nothing dull about her. She had more verve than his entire court put together. In a few short hours she had pointed out what was missing in his council of elders—personality, youth and vigour were just a few of the qualities he could name. And however passionate he was about taking Sinnebar forward he couldn’t steer each new initiative himself. It would be good to have someone like her on board, he thought fleetingly, before dismissing the idea as ridiculous. But she was young and vital, and though she made mistakes in many ways Tuesday was a kindred spirit. How could he blame her for getting things wrong, when the only people who never made a mistake were those who never tried anything new?
‘Can’t you slow down?’ she begged him finally. ‘I’m exhausted pretending I can keep up with you.’
He laughed and called back some taunting challenge, but slowed his pace and waited for her. He was already standing, well within his depth when she swam past him. Her safety was paramount to him and he rode shotgun behind her as she waded into shore. She was strong in mind and in body, and he could understand how she had escaped the pirates, but did he need the complication of such a high spirited young woman in his life? The answer to that was a firm no.
Building a case against Tuesday was easy, he concluded as she turned to smile at him over her shoulder—another point in her favour, he conceded wryly. She would challenge him. She would prove more than a match for most men.
But most men couldn’t have her.
He was suffering a bad case of desert-island fever, he decided, determined to put her out of his mind.
‘Where are you going, Saif?’ she demanded, catching hold of his arm when he turned to walk away from her.
As she stared into his eyes he felt tugged right in, as if Tuesday’s eyes held the secret of life. ‘Isn’t there enough sand to go round?’ He pretended impatience as he stared at the vast stretch of beach turned silver by the moonlight. ‘Must we inhabit the same square metre of sand?’
‘That’s up to you,’ she said.
He held her gaze. Her eyelashes were clogged with water and her lips were slightly parted and moist. She was excited at the thought of what might happen next, while he knew only too well he could offer her none of the things she dreamed about.
Nor would he stand by while she heaped more reasons for regret on top of what had already been a traumatic day for her, he determined, pulling away. But then he knew this was the opportunity he had been looking for to ask Tuesday a question that had been nagging at the back of his mind. If she had been assaulted during the attack, he would call ahead and arrange specialist counselling for when she returned to the mainland.
Saif’s question should have embarrassed her, but it didn’t. They had past that marker some time ago, Antonia realised, and now she owed him the truth. ‘The boat was attacked,’ she explained, ‘But I jumped into the sea before they could touch me.’
‘Bad enough,’ Saif commented.
And it could have been so much worse; they communed silently in a moment of real contact between them.
Then, incredibly, Saif’s eyes warmed as he stared down at her, and his lips tugged in a slow grin. ‘You came out of it well,’ he said.
Time stood still as they stared at each other, while her heart pounded louder than the surf. It wasn’t that Saif touched her—he didn’t need to when she swayed towards him.
They were cool from the sea, but she was hot, hot enough to make the sea boil when he kissed her. He tasted salty and clean and wonderful, and her wildest fantasies could never have conjured up that hot-cold, salty-sweet kiss.
‘Am I safe?’ she murmured when he released her, without opening her eyes.
‘You’re as safe as you want to be,’ Saif told her.
‘Not safe at all, then.’ Her lips started to curve in a smile as she looked at him.
‘You’re not frightened of me?’ he said.
‘A little,’ she admitted.
He shook his head. ‘How can the girl who swam through a storm in no visibility and no guarantee of success be frightened now?’
‘Because I think you are a very dangerous man,’ she told him softly.
‘Hmm. Are you cold?’ he demanded as she shivered with anticipation.
Her answer was a sigh, and so he nuzzled her neck, and everything inside her melted.
‘You can always go back to the yacht and sleep safely in a bunk,’ Saif murmured.
‘Why would I do that?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
And then he strode across the beach, holding her in his arms as if she weighed nothing, while she linked her hands behind his neck and snuggled her face against his chest. It was the easiest thing in the world to believe they belonged together, and that this was their island with no outside world to complicate things or muddy the water. There was no tomorrow here, no yesterday, there was only now, with the ocean lapping rhythmically on a sugar-sand shore, with a sickle moon and diamond stars to light their way. There was just one man,