"You should go to sleep," Tariq said. "You'll need your strength in the morning.

He was right. Sara turned away from him. Sleep would be good, just so she could forget about his nearness for a while. It couldn't be smart for the two of them to be lying like this, pressed together.

"What if you fall asleep, too?" she asked, dismayed at how throaty her voice sounded.

"Unlikely," he murmured, so close his hot breath fanned her neck.

He wrapped a strand of her hair around one long finger.

Okay--sharing body heat she could write down to doing whatever they had to for survival. This she could not. And yet she couldn't pull away. Her body refused to.

"Look, I'm not the affair-on-every-business-trip type." She didn't dare turn around.

"I'd hope not. But you feel this." It wasn't a question.

"We've both been traumatized. We're tired," she said, unwilling to acknowledge the attraction out loud.

"You think it's too fast."

"Yes."

He thought on that for a second. "Among my people, a bride might see her groom only once before the wedding."

"And you think that's normal?"

"No. Yes. For some people. I didn't grow up here."

"You said you lived in the U.S."

"From age five to thirty-five."

Which explained his flawless English. "So you're practically an American." She turned to look at him, curious about his life, about what had taken from his country at such an early age, and what had brought him back.

She wasn't sure she could live here. But she was a woman, and their circumstances were vastly different. He was a sheik. She drew a slow breath, still not used to that thought.

"Don't let the civilized veneer fool you. America might have rubbed off on me. But it's nothing more than frosting like you have on those cupcakes that are so popular over there. Beneath that, I'm Bedu."

Looking into his dark, glittering eyes, she had no trouble believing that. But the image... She bit back a smile.

"You don't believe me?"

"I do. I just wouldn't compare you to a cupcake." She grinned, then grew serious as her gaze fell to his chiseled chest and the shadows dancing on his tanned skin. He was a businessman, as cultured and competent as any she had met. But she'd seen him fight. Under his tailor-made suit he was a warrior.

"Then what am I?" He arched an eyebrow and watched her soberly.

She thought for a moment. "A mountain lion."

He seemed to be pleased with that. "And you?"

Right now, under his intense gaze, she felt like a deer caught in headlights. She couldn't tell him that.

"You are a lioness. We are the same," he said, when she took too long to answer.

And then he leaned forward and kissed her.