Sleeping with the Sheikh. Brenda Jackson

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СКАЧАТЬ wearing what I wear every day of the week. Plain jeans and T-shirt.”

      “Tight jeans and a very thin T-shirt.”

      She took a visual journey from his chest to the boots he had bought on a trip into town yesterday. “I’m thinking you’ve got the tight jeans market cornered. But I have to admit they look pretty darned good. I’m still surprised they fit.”

      They did, but barely, and the fit at the moment was less than comfortable. “My attire is not the issue at present.” His gaze slid to her breasts. “You have on no bra. How can you expect a man to ignore this?”

      She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it out. “This provides plenty of cover.”

      “It shows far too much. Hides too little.” Made Sam ache.

      “I don’t have that much to see, Sam. But thanks, anyway.”

      “You are wrong, Andrea. Wrong and foolish to think otherwise.”

      Her sudden smile caught him off guard. “Does this plain old T-shirt get your blood pumping, Sheikh Yaman?”

      He couldn’t deny that. “It is practically transparent.”

      She reached down and picked up the bucket. Sam believed she meant to carry it into the filly’s stall. Instead she tipped it toward her, spilling the contents down the front of her, then tossed the bucket aside. She pointed at her breasts. “Now, this is transparent.”

      Sam could only stare at the dark shading of her nipples that showed through the saturated material. His hands opened and closed with the urge to touch her.

      “Like what you see, Sam?” she asked, her tone full of challenge that he dared not answer.

      But he couldn’t keep from answering. He spanned the space between them before his brain registered that he had moved. Yet his body was very aware that he now had Andrea against the stall. He took her mouth without consideration of the consequences, thrusting his tongue between her parted lips with the force of his need while his hands searched beneath the wet fabric to cup both of her breasts. She whimpered when he thumbed each peak. Her hips ground against him in a torturous rhythm that made him hard and aching, balanced on the point of losing all restraint. He wanted to take her right there, right then, without regard to location or lack of privacy.

      When she raised her arms, Sam pulled the drenched shirt over her head and dropped it to the ground behind her back while he trailed a path of wet kisses down the valley of her breasts. She arched her back, and her chest rose and fell rapidly in sync with his pounding heart, then her breath completely stopped when he drew one nipple into his mouth.

      So lost in the taste of her dampened flesh, in the feel of her softness against his tongue, it took him a moment to notice the downward track of his zipper. Realization caught hold and he clasped her wrist.

      “No, Andrea.” He stepped back, away from her, then realized, with her standing there bare from the waist up, he was in danger of forgetting himself once again.

      Yanking his own shirt over his head, he held it against her, shielding her from his eyes. “Put this on.”

      “But—”

      “Put it on.”

      When she finally took the shirt, Sam walked to the opposite stall, braced his hands above his head and leaned into them. His chest burned from the effort it took to recover his breath and to calm his body.

      When he turned again, thankfully she had honored his request. The knit shirt hit her at the knees, but the sharp sting of awareness was still present within him, even though she was now completely covered.

      “I promised myself this would not happen between us,” he said, his voice thick with the desire that he couldn’t disregard.

      She folded her arms across her breasts. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve broken a promise, Sam.”

      “What promise have I broken?”

      She strolled down the aisle a few steps then turned. “That night at the pond, you promised you wouldn’t leave me.”

      “I meant that moment, Andrea. That night. Not forever.”

      “That’s not at all how it seemed.”

      Sam recognized that he probably had led her to believe that he had meant always, bringing about more guilt. “I said many things to you that night, but we were both in pain.” Lost in each other, lost in love both timeless and forbidden.

      “Then you didn’t mean any of it?”

      He had meant most of it, but he hadn’t stopped to consider that he couldn’t keep those promises. “With you in my arms, I had forgotten who I was, what was expected of me. I regret that I was such a fool.”

      Andrea shrugged. “Guess that goes for both of us. Except there’s one thing I don’t regret.”

      “What is that?”

      “Our son. Having him made Paul’s death more bearable, easier to accept that you had left for good. I thank you for that gift. For him.”

      Sam doubted that he could feel any worse, any lower. “I regret that I have not been here for him, or for you.”

      “And you’re going to have to leave us again. Do you regret that?”

      More than she would ever know. “I do not have the luxury to dwell on regrets, Andrea. I’ve very little time left to know my son before I have to return home.”

      “Then why don’t we make the best of that time together?” She sent him another lazy smile. “Do what comes naturally.”

      Sam clenched his jaw tight. “If you are saying that we should make love, then that would be unwise.”

      She moved closer to him, almost close enough for him to touch her again. It took all his fortitude not to reach out to her once more, finish what they had begun.

      “In case you haven’t noticed, Sheikh Yaman, I’m a grown woman now, not a girl. I’m not going to fall apart when you leave.” Her gaze faltered, belying her confident tone. “So just in case you decide to change your mind…”

      She brushed past him and headed toward the tack room. After a moment she came out and called, “Catch.”

      Sam grabbed the baseball midair, confused. “And the point to this is?”

      She smiled a devious smile. “Just wanted to let you know that the offer still stands, in case you decide to play ball. Unless, of course, you can’t handle it.”

      He could not handle hurting her again, and he would, once he told her the reasons why he could not stay.

      She pivoted on her booted heels and swayed toward the barn’s opening. Without turning around, she said, “Water the horse, will ya? I seem to be a little clumsy this morning.”

      For the second time in as many days, Sam slammed the ball against the wall, thinking it might be best if he did СКАЧАТЬ