Free Her Royal Bed by Laura Wright Page B

about the man,” Rita said, strength in her tone. “And how he feels about her.”
    Sakir shook his head. “He is toying with her.”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œWhat makes you so certain?”
    Her hands cupped his face. The sun, hanging low in the horizon, bathed his handsome face in a reddish glow. “I know what need and longing look like in a man’s eyes.”
    A slow grin worked its way to Sakir’s face. “Yes, it would seem you do, dearest.”
    She leaned in and kissed him, warm and slow. “We had our struggles, too, Sakir,” she said against his mouth. “But we overcame them and look at us now. Happy, in love, our beautiful child sleeping upstairs.”
    â€œYes. I am a most fortunate man. I am proud of what we are and what we have. But Jane is my family now, too. She is Al-Nayhal.”
    â€œJane is a strong woman with a great head on her shoulders.”
    â€œShe will always be my little sister, dearest, and I would die before I let anyone hurt her.”
    â€œI know.” Rita wrapped her arms around him, kissed him deeply, passionately. “That’s why I love you so much.”
    â€œAnd I love you.” His mouth covered hers hard then, his hands fisted her sweater.
    â€œWhat can I do to take your mind off this?” she asked against his mouth.
    â€œOff what?” he muttered, lifting her up and placing her on his desk. A sinful smile tugged at his mouth as he eased her back and lifted her skirt.

Six
    â€œW hat’s the big idea?”
    The playfully gruff tone of voice made Jane grin. Poised at the stove, towel over her shoulder, she glanced over at Bobby, who was wearing a sexy pair of black jeans, a white shirt and a bewitching scowl on his handsome face. “Is there some problem, Mr. Callahan?”
    â€œYes.” He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded at the steaming pan of chicken marsala she was working on. “Here I thought my eggs and bacon—”
    â€œAnd toast,” she teased. “Don’t forget about the toast.”
    He rolled his eyes. “And my slightly charred toast…”
    She laughed.
    â€œWell,” he muttered darkly, “I thought my meal was pretty damn impressive.”
    â€œIt was,” she assured him, turning back to the stove.
    â€œBut look at this.” He gestured to the steaming pan of chicken and mushrooms in a wine and butter sauce. “It looks…professional.”
    â€œI did happen to mention that I am a chef, right?”
    â€œWell, sure, but you didn’t say what a big show-off you are.”
    She turned to glare at him, even tried to look shocked, but the sexy twinkle in his eyes had her busting out laughing again. “You won’t care when you taste this, along with the penne and pine nuts.”
    â€œWhat, no dessert?” he said sullenly.
    â€œI saw that ice cream in your freezer, Callahan. Ice cream trumps all other desserts, even the fancy ones.”
    He tossed a stray mushroom into his mouth. “I didn’t know that.”
    â€œIt’s a chef thing.” The late-afternoon sun settled over the house, bathing the spacious kitchen in a friendly, yellow light. “You know, some of my fellow chefs back in California actually prefer a hot dog with the works to sea bass and pesto butter.”
    â€œYeah, well, who wouldn’t?” Fork in hand, he stabbed a tender piece of chicken and popped it into his mouth. He groaned, and tossed her a hungry look. “I don’t want this to sound sexist, but damn, lady, your place is in the kitchen.”
    Feeling incredibly close to him in that moment, she smiled a little shyly. “Thank you. I think.”
    Upon Bobby’s insistence, and the fact that they were both starved and didn’t want to wait until the food was plated, they stood side by side at the stove, eatingchicken marsala and penne with pine nuts right out of their respective