The Sheik's Command Read Online Free PDF Page A

straightening his spine. As she came closer, he saw that her robe was shot through with bold threads of gold. She’d piled her freshly washed hair up on her head in a careless fashion, loose tendrils escaping a clasp to fall softly about her face.
    Her allure, Zakir realized—angling his head slightly to theside so he could use his peripheral vision to see her better—was in the way she managed to come across as radiantly natural yet sensually elegant at the same time. A mesmerizing cocktail that made him want to know her deeper, to find out who she really was inside.
    Up close he saw that she wore no makeup even though Zakir’s guest quarters provided for everything a woman might want. He could detect no fragrance, either, apart from a soft hint of coconut oil that she’d obviously used to soften her desert-dry skin after she’d bathed. A little spurt of heat quivered inside Zakir as she came almost within touching distance. He had to tamp down a sudden urge to reach out for her.
    She stopped directly in front of him, her turquoise eyes tunneling pointedly into his. Zakir felt himself falling, drowning into the intensity of her gaze. She thrust a piece of paper at him. “Here is my list of supplies.” There was no smile, no warmth in her voice.
    Zakir took the note from her, a frisson of electricity arcing up his arm and crackling into his chest as his skin connected with hers. He swallowed, shocked, and set the note on a table beneath a massive oil portrait of his father. “You’ll have what you need by daybreak if your papers check out.”
    “You’re not going to read it?”
    He couldn’t, not in this light.
    “My assistant will take care of everything.” He held his hand out, diverting her attention toward the table. “Please, do take a seat. My chefs will be bringing in the main course shortly. In the meantime, some wine.”
    Instead of complying, Nikki’s attention shifted to the bold oil study of Zakir’s father on the wall behind him. She stepped closer to it, peering up at the burning, coal-black eyes, dark brows, aristocratic nose and sharp cheekbones of His Highness Sheik Ahmed Al Arif.
    “Is that him? The previous king?”
    “My father, yes.”
    “You have his features,” she said quietly, absorbed by the painting. She turned suddenly and looked directly into his eyes. Zakir’s stomach tensed. There was something so visceral and intelligent about this woman that she made his blood tingle. But she was making him edgy, too, as if she could see right into his secret vulnerability. He didn’t like this. Very little in life made Zakir truly nervous. He reached down to touch the head of Ghorab, drawing reassurance from the dog. Her gaze followed his hand, and again Zakir felt she could detect something.
    She turned and began to walk slowly along the wall, studying each of the oils that lined the length of the great dining hall as she went. The paintings depicted his family tree, ranging back to antique portraits of legendary Al Arif warrior sheiks posed on prized stallions with hooded falcons on their arms, all the way to an image of Zakir and his family that had been painted when he was younger.
    Zakir watched Nikki move, the slight sway of her hips. She carried herself with unconscious ease. Yet he could sense her calculating, scheming.
    Nikki paused in front of the large family painting with Zakir in it. “Are those your siblings?” she said, gazing up at the massive work of art.
    He came up behind her, closer than was necessary, and her body braced in his proximity. But she didn’t move away. It fed something deep and primal inside Zakir, and he inhaled her scent, felt her warmth. “That’s my younger sister, Dalilah.” Zakir pointed over Nikki’s shoulder, bringing himself closer yet, almost touching her. “And those are my two younger brothers, Tariq and Omair. Standing behind them is my older brother, Da’ud.” Zakir hesitated, feeling a sharp stab of grief. “Da’ud was killed