The Oil Tycoon and Her Sexy Sheikh by Ros Clarke Read Free Book Online Page A

gesture. One night that no one else would ever know about. She could give him that.
    She made up her mind.
    She took a deep breath and knocked on his bedroom door.
    Khaled opened it so fast she knew he must have been waiting for her. He didn’t say anything, just waited for her to enter.
    “I brought two glasses.” She handed them over along with the decanter of whisky.
    “You can pour while I build the fire.” He built a pyramid of logs, with practiced skill. Long fingers placed the kindling deftly in the gaps and added crumpled newspaper around the base. She smiled at the concentration in his face. He would be like this with his work: intensely focused and supremely competent.
    When he was satisfied, he glanced over his shoulder at Olivia. “Do you want to light it?”
    “It’s your fire,” she told him. “You should light it.”
    “Are you sure? It’s the fun part.”
    “No, you can do your caveman thing.”
    Khaled grinned and took the box of matches. He struck one right on his first go, and held it to the corner of the newspaper. Bright orange flames shot up immediately at each point where Khaled held the match. He tossed the remnant of the match onto the fire and sat back on his haunches to monitor its progress.
    “The chimney’s drawing well,” she said after a few minutes, when the fire had well and truly caught.
    “Seems to be. Come and sit with me.” He was the very image of temptation, grinning up at her from the flickering light of the fire, inviting her into the circle of sensuous pleasure. She was on the point of refusing when he added, in a low husky voice, “I promise not to bite.”
    That wasn’t what she was afraid of. Still, she went to join him on the carpet in front of the fire and handed him a cut-glass tumbler with a good inch of whisky. She clasped her hands around her knees and rested her chin on top. Next to him, but signaling her inaccessibility. They sat in companionable silence, watching the fire burn deeper into the pine logs. Occasionally, Khaled took the poker and rearranged the wood, letting the oxygen fuel the flames. He laid the poker aside and shifted so that he was behind Olivia, his long legs stretched out on either side of hers. He took her empty tumbler from her hand and set it beside his.
    “That’s better,” he murmured.
    His arms circled her lightly, enough that she felt wanted, but not so much that she felt trapped. His breath was warm against the exposed skin of her neck. His scent was deep and rich and masculine with whisky and smoke. Olivia leaned comfortably against the hardness of his chest and relaxed.
    “Did you grow up in this house?”
    Surprised by the question, Olivia twisted her head to look at Khaled. “Yes. Why?”
    “It’s very big. And cold.”
    “I suppose so. I’m used to it, though.”
    “Were you lonely here?”
    She turned away again, staring into the depths of the fire. “Not when I was little.”
    “But you are now?”
    She took a deep breath. “Since my mother died, yes.”
    Khaled’s embrace tightened perceptibly and his hand stroked hers softly. “I am sorry. Was it recent?”
    “I was eight years old.”
    He stilled. “So young.”
    Olivia blinked back her tears fiercely and continued with a steady voice. “It was a long time ago.”
    “And you have been lonely ever since. You didn’t have any brothers or sisters?”
    “No.” She’d done her best to be the son she thought her father would have preferred. She’d worked hard at school. She hadn’t bothered him with requests for clothes or makeup. She’d studied engineering because she hoped it would please him.
    “I’m too warm here.” The fire warmed her front and Khaled her back. The whisky warmed her from the inside.
    His long fingers tangled in the hem of her sweater. “You could take this off.”
    This was her moment. This was their moment, and in that instant, Olivia determined to make the most of it. She pulled the sweater over her head and turned to