Iron Chef America
Argento Soma

The Sheikh's Accidental Heir(8)

By: Leslie North



Melanie’s hand tingled under his touch. Her palm dampened, and her pulse thudded quick and hard. She parted her lips and sucked in a breath. She’d always been the girl who always played by the rules—and where had that gotten her? Well, the business would be fine for two days—George, her assistant, would see to that. Two whole days of fun. Two days of being a guide for a sheik and being treated like a princess. It was a better deal than any Cinderella had ever had.



Turning her hand in his, she gripped his tightly. “And let’s enjoy each other without any unnecessary complications.”

His ran his thumb over the back of her fingers. He stood and pulled her to her feet. “That is a deal I am more than happy to make.” Pulling her close, he kissed her.





3





She tasted of vanilla and wine, and she parted her lips for him, invited him to do more than take a small sample. She came into his arms, willing, her slender body pliant and warm. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer.

Ah, but she was heaven—she was demanding and like nothing he had ever known. He lost track of time…lost track of everything except her. The feel of her in his arms. The softness of her mouth. The sharp edge of her teeth. He almost forgot to breathe.

She pulled back slightly and stepped from his arms, her eyes glinting. Picking up her glass, she drained the last bit of her wine, tipping her head back and exposing her throat to him. “I’m not wasting an ounce of a Montrachet.”

He laughed, poured the last of the wine into her glass—and the last of his wine, too. Taking her free hand, he pulled her with him, up the stairs and to the loft bedroom.

She came with him, her steps only a little dragging.

The maids had turned down the bed and had left only one light on. Below in the main room, the drapes hung open, giving a view of the lights of New York and light floated up from the open dining room.

Melanie glanced around, took a sip of wine and wet her lips. “I’ve never been someone to jump into a one-night stand.” She lifted a hand and fluttered her fingers.

“Good.” He came to her and put his hands on her waist. “Now I wish for the dessert I have been wanting all evening.”

Taking the wine from her, he set the glass on a night table. He unbuttoned her shirt, pressing a kiss on each inch of skin revealed. She sucked in a breath. Straightening, he pulled her closer. She was trembling. He shifted and urged her onto the bed. She lay down, her hair spilling around her face. He took a moment just to admire the breasts now straining against a very practical white cotton bra.

She lifted a foot. “Shoes?”

With a smile, he pulled off her shoes—something flat and sensible. The black sock followed, and then he had her foot in his hand—she had lovely feet. He stroked his fingers over a high arch. She didn’t paint her toenails. Putting down one foot, he took up the other and pulled off the shoe and sock and then he leaned forward and unbuttoned and unzipped her pants. He peeled them off along with her underwear, leaving her half naked on the bed.

Unlike the women of his country—and the prostitutes he’d known—she did not shave. Dark hair made a small triangle between her legs. The scent of her arousal wound around him, musky and warm. He wanted his fingers buried in her—wanted his mouth on her. But he also wanted to take his time.

Her breathing had quickened. She sat up, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. She shrugged off her shirt and flung off the last of her clothes. Ah, she was more than beautiful. Strong arms and shapely legs, a flat stomach and curving hips were a better feast than what they had had at that New York deli.

He spread her legs and knelt beside the bed, ready to worship this American goddess.

“Lay back—enjoy. Let me feast,” he told her.

She smiled and eased down on the bed again. He pulled her to him and spread her legs even wider so he could see into the mysteries of female delight. He put his mouth on that pearl that glistened. She rasped in a breath, and he knew he’d found what gave her pleasure.

He suckled and nibbled and licked at her, tasting the honey that poured from her. She moaned again and stiffened. He lapped even harder at her, slipping one finger into her. She shuddered and gasped, small nonsense pouring from her mouth as if she could not stop the words.

Ah, his sensual American—she loved this.

Pulling away from her, he wiped her juices from his mouth and beard and stood. His shoes thudded onto the carpet. He dragged off his shirt and his pants, and went to the nightstand to pull out a condom and slip it on. His father, he knew, had left bastard children around the world—he had no wish to do the same.

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