Valentine Vegas Gigolo Sheikh (4 page)

Interrupting him was fun, she decided. Every time she did it, she was rewarded with a barely discernible stiffening of those wide shoulders, as if cutting him off was some kind of horrible crime. Then he seemed to remember something, and relaxed.

He steepled his fingers and gazed over the pyramid at her. "You think that I believe your so-called frigidity is your own fault."

Great. So they were back to her.

She shrugged. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"I do not see that you have any problem with men or sensuality. How many partners have you had?"

She surprised herself by actually answering. "Five. Four long-term relationships, plus that one-night stand in college."

"None of them satisfied you?"

"Nope," she confirmed. "Though I have to admit that once Colin knew, he decided I didn't have the mechanism. Treated the whole thing like it was a
Get Out of Jail Free
card. I choose terrible men, really."

His eyes narrowed as he examined her, as if for flaws. "You do need the hand of a master. A man who will not bend to your strength of will."

Something inside her went cold and hard. He thought he knew her after an hour of conversation? "Well, that's your opinion. I suppose you also think you're that guy. You're definitely not."

"What I think—" He checked his gold watch. "—is that the time you paid for has expired."

Perfect, she told herself, ignoring the disappointment in her gut. It was time for him to go. She'd be just fine by herself.

He rose from his chair with the sleek, calculated moves of a predator. Even his small motions were calculated to seduce. His biceps flexed as he pushed off the arms of the chair. Each step showed off his fantastic ass in his expensive trousers.

He was halfway to the door when she remembered to follow him.

"Well, best of luck with your next client," she wished him, with an enthusiastic smile.
And don't let the door hit you on the butt on the way out.

He adjusted the arms of his suit jacket to show the perfect amount of white shirt cuff, and winking gold cufflinks. "I have no more clients tonight."

He didn't really have to leave. He just wanted to. She started to frown, but recovered and forced a wide smile.

"I guess there is rest for the wicked," she joked.

He was a paid escort after all, and just because she was lonely didn't mean they were friends or that he would stay and talk to her for free. It just stung to acknowledge he had only had a drink with her because he was paid for it. She was just one more client to him. Another paycheck. He was leaving because his shift was now over. What had she expected, really?

Chapter three

The disappointment on Stacia Keating's face was irresistible to him.

He had not intended to sleep with her, only to step out of his role as a prince for once and to be someone else for an hour. He had planned to reveal himself, not to take her to bed.

But her story intrigued him. She intrigued him. Everything about her surprised him, and it had been years since he had met anyone who had done that. Then again, no one had opened up to him the way she had. Of course she thought he was a male escort who she would never see again. She had no idea that she would be on his arm in front of all her friends.

He had acted far, far out of his character in playing this part. Now he found his role as male escort and the expectations of him as prince merged in a very pleasant way.

Stacia Keating had hired him to solve her problem, and he meant to do it. Perhaps tomorrow, she would hate him for doing this, but in the end, she would find being with him had been worth it.

He would make certain of that.

She reached for the handle of the door, intending, he guessed, to open it for him. He was faster. Her hand landed on top of his. Hot, and slightly damp. The woman was far more nervous than she allowed herself to show. Her confusion, however, was clear.

Had he thought her plain, not worthy of a second glance? He’d been wrong. Even without make-up, or perhaps because she did not wear it, her eyes drew him in and her out of control blonde curls begged for his touch.

Instead, he answered her unspoken question.

"The time you paid for has expired," he reiterated, before raising his fingers to caress her soft, inviting cheek. "I want you to understand that before I do
this
."

Slowly, giving her a chance to pull away if she desired it, he lowered his mouth to hers. She stiffened in surprise.

Their first kiss, his whim, had been heated and intense. He began this one with a light touch of his lips against hers. Earlier, as she had told him her tale, he had found himself wondering what she would do if he kissed her this way. She was not a woman who showed her softness to others. It was her rigid exterior that convinced him that a little excavation would reveal a woman who was more vulnerable than anyone imagined her to be. Yet, he sensed that if a man could get inside her defenses, he would be rewarded with loyalty that was rare in this world.

Her lips warmed to his, softening and yielding. Under his touch, the pulse in her neck quickened, as did her breath. It was no surprise that his own did the same.

Her hair against the back of his hand was still wet from her shower. She tasted of mint and smelled of the hotel’s citrus shampoo. How much better she would smell wearing nothing but the perfume from Ittar’s orchids.

When she pulled her mouth away, he permitted it.

"What are you doing?" she asked, breathlessly. "I thought you said my time had run out."

In response, he pulled her hips closer. He let her feel that he was already hard for her. "This has nothing to do with time, or money. It is not about my job. This is just you and me."

"Oh." Her tone filled with appreciation. "You
are
good. I bet you get a lot of repeat business."

Repeat business...
The strange words sunk in. She still believed that she had bought and paid for this seduction. She did not believe his attempt to convince her otherwise. It occurred to him that nothing short of him revealing his true identity would persuade her, and he doubted she would believe that at this point.

He might as well continue to play the part to the hilt.

"Tonight is about your pleasure. I am for you alone,
Sokar
." He loved the irony of calling this defiant, sharp-edged woman 'sugar.' If he'd done it in English, no doubt she would have treated him to a tongue lashing. "And I intend to bring you to the height of ecstasy."

As he said the last word, he wrapped his arm around her slender waist, promising himself he would explore that delicious backside before the night was over. She was easier to lift off her feet than he anticipated. At his height, he rarely met women who could look him in the eye. Stacia rarely did anything else.

In a few steps, he had her at the bed. By the time he did, she had recovered herself and twisted as he maneuvered her onto the mattress. Instead of being on top, he ended up underneath her.

It was not a position he found himself in often.

Above him was the picture of a woman determined to have her sexual satisfaction. And yet, he knew this wasn't true. She reached down with confident hands and began to undo the buttons of his shirt. But as confident as she might act, he knew it was just that—an act. She was doing what she was comfortable doing in bed, but this would not lead to her orgasm. She required something else to reach her peak.

Her white robe gaped revealing the curves of generous breasts. The garment parted to show her cream-colored thighs, to permit—no, to demand—his entry. He slid his hands up the sides of her legs, opening the robe further. She wore nothing underneath. The sight of her golden curls sent a fresh wave of arousal through him.

It would be so simple to ease off his trousers. The way she acted—the confident, cool woman, in charge of herself and everything happening in the bed—made him think that she would have a condom on him in seconds, and would ride him to satisfaction.

She smiled down at him. Coy, yet dominant. Though his cock throbbed with the desire to have her, he saw through the mask she wore. This position gave her all the control, and all the responsibility. The temptation to allow her to have her way was severe. Especially when she leaned down to him and ran her tongue down his breastbone. This rubbed her breasts against him, which added to the temptation. While she did this, she unfastened his belt.

He let her believe that she was in control for as long as it pleased him.

Which was not long.

It was a simple matter to flip her on her back. And the result was so rewarding.

Flustered and outraged, she looked adorable. Irresistible. What a shame that what he had planned for her next would mean he would not get to see the fury glittering in her brown eyes.

"What are you doing?" she spluttered.

He took a moment to lower himself and kiss away her angry words. She attempted to hang on to her wrath, but couldn't. He sensed the moment her passion overwhelmed her rage and she succumbed to her own sensuality.

She kissed with abandon, her resistance falling away. He nearly lost himself in her enthusiasm. Nearly. It took all his restraint not to simply take what he wanted from her. But he allowed her eager hands to remove his jacket and shirt.

Her skin against his. He'd slept on the most luxurious sheets, beneath the finest fabric. But all that was nothing compared with the sensation of her smooth skin against his body. The graze of her soft breasts and hardened nipples against his chest drove him to the edge.

When she opened his belt buckle, and began to free the leather from its loops, he knew it was time to turn the tables. She'd had the upper hand long enough.

First, a distraction. He tore himself from her mouth and began to kiss and suck at the smooth skin of her neck. She made a low moan, a sound of appreciation that he echoed. From her wriggling beneath him, she clearly loved it. He moved higher, taking her earlobe between his teeth.

He took advantage of her writhing to lift her and slide the belt around her naked hips, trapping her own hand between them.

Once he fastened the belt, he leaned back to admire the view. Her fingers trapped on her own sex. Her lovely breasts, framed by the white hotel robe.

The confused moue on her cherry lips was quickly joined by a dark red blush as she realized how exposed she was to him. She immediately began to pull her hand away from under the belt, flushing furiously. The belt was tight, but she would be able to free herself, with a little effort.

He would not allow that to happen.

Rolling to his side, he grabbed her wrist and held it where he wanted it. When he gazed down at her, she blushed deeper crimson than he thought possible. She was not as in control as she wished others to believe.

She opened her mouth, no doubt to once more ask what he thought he was doing.

Time to play the gigolo.

He nuzzled to her ear. "Do you wish to solve your problem?" he whispered.

"My prob—"

He licked the pink shell curve of her lobe, making her words disappear. "The wise Musa ibn Maymun said, 'Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.' I will show you how to give yourself pleasure."

She clamped her jaw shut. No doubt she fought her every instinct to resist him, to free herself and throw him from the room. But on some level, she must know that this was what she needed.

He could tell it took every ounce of her willpower not to throw him off and escape. She had to close her eyes to face the battle within herself. Her mouth twisted as if she was in pain—how could she allow him to control and manipulate her? But she wanted the experience. And she couldn't deny the heat that was between them any more than he could.

He had no desire to make the decision for her. If she wished him to go, he would. But she needed to submit to him.

She just needed a little incentive. A taste of what lay ahead for her.

He tangled his fingers in hers, still holding it on the mound of her curls. Moving both their hands, he parted the lips of her sex. Moisture coated his fingers instantly. He teased her, making tiny whorls that barely touched the very tip of her clitoris.

She gasped, her eyes opening wide.

"Feel yourself," he instructed her.

She hesitated. This was the moment. Either she would give in to him, allow him the control he needed, and she secretly craved, or she would step back and end it.

"You have not done this with a man," he said, distracting her.

Her cheeks fired crimson. She gave her head a little shake, though whether her embarrassment came from the admission or touching herself in front of him, he did not know.

Both were powerful aphrodisiacs. Knowing she was doing something with him that she had done with no other lover, and that she was being more honest with him than with any other man. Of course she would discover his betrayal soon enough. For now, he could only enjoy the affect she had on him.

She made her decision. The fire in her cheeks settled to a simmering coal glow. And her fingers relaxed.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay," he repeated back to her, amused by the slang.

He placed his finger on top of hers, and pressed down into her sex. "Touch yourself for me."

She swallowed hard as he kissed her throat. But she nodded silently, her words locked inside her. Her finger twitched twice in hesitation, then she began to touch herself as instructed.

"Do not stop," he told her. "No matter how good you feel, no matter what height of pleasure you reach, do not stop. You need to do this, Stacia. And since no man has brought you to satisfaction, you will do it yourself."

While she touched herself, he took one of her pretty breasts in one hand. And he tasted the nipple of the other with a light flick of his tongue.

Too much
, Stacia thought. The sensations were too intense. Her body was too sensitive to each touch. What made her most sensitive of all was knowing that Zaq, this stranger, watched everything. His eyes drank her in like she was a porn star performing for his amusement instead of him being a hired gun with the job of serving her.