Uncorked for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 14)

by Annabelle Winters

  “Listen, Peg,” Nat said as they broke from the hug. “I can’t even tell you how often I’ve felt envious of your life, your happy marriage, your beautiful kids. Like we agreed the other day, the grass is always greener, right?”

  Peggy nodded, sniffling a few times even though there wasn’t a tear to be seen. “So we’re both jealous of one another? Can we switch lives? Just for a bit?”

  “Just long enough for you to take it in the butt?” Nat teased, turning red as she shifted on her seat. Should she tell Peggy? No! No way!

  “Oh, God, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me, Nat!”

  “Hey, it was funny, Peg!” Nat said, forcing a laugh that turned out surprisingly real. She cocked her head and closed one eye. “I didn’t know you read Sheikh Romance novels.”

  Peggy shrugged and turned slightly red. “I have since I was a teenager. I found one in my mom’s underwear drawer and I stole it. Probably read that thing so many times it literally fell apart in my hands one day.”

  “What was it about?”

  “Oh, God, I barely remember. Mostly butt-sex, I think. I don’t even think the guy turned out to be a real Sheikh.”

  They both laughed, and Nat turned to the computer monitor and frowned. “Well, this guy might turn out to not be a real Sheikh either, if what this Siddiqui character says turns out to be true. Can we find out some more about Zameer’s brother? Where is he? Dead? In exile? Missing?”

  Peggy shrugged, typing in a few more search terms and then shrugging again. “Nothing. There’s very little on the web about Sheikh Zameer or the kingdom of Ladaak. It’s almost like it’s been whitewashed.”

  “Whitewashed?”

  Peggy nodded earnestly. “Like scrubbed from the web. Search results removed from Google and other search engines.”

  “You can do that?”

  “I think so. If you threaten legal action, or say that what’s written about you is libel. I don’t know the details, but with enough money and lawyers you can definitely clean up after yourself.”

  Nat took a breath as she stared blankly at the lonesome article on the screen. “So what happens if Saudi Arabia decides Zameer isn’t the legitimate Sheikh of Ladaak?”

  Peggy squinted and shrugged. “I guess they would boycott the kingdom of Ladaak in some way. They’ve already placed some sanctions on them. Let’s see here . . .” She read some more, muttering under her breath. “All right, so it looks like they would expel Ladaak from the organization of oil-exporting countries in the Middle East.”

  “Which means what? That Zameer wouldn’t be able to sell his country’s oil to the rest of the world?”

  Peggy nodded. “Yup. Looks like it. And if oil is the major source of revenue for Ladaak, that move could be devastating to its economy.”

  “Why can’t Zameer just sell his oil directly to the U.S. or Europe or Asia?”

  “Because the U.S. and other countries don’t buy oil that way. It’s a highly political issue, and the Saudis are very much at the top of the chain when it comes to who we buy oil from and how we buy it. It all goes through the organization of oil-producing countries, and they set the prices after back-room negotiations with politicians.”

  Nat took a breath. “Zameer is in Washington today,” she said quietly. “I’m sure he’s working it out.”

  Peggy frowned, the change in her expression coming instantly. For a moment Nat thought she saw anger in Peggy’s eyes, but then Peggy blinked and shook her head. “Listen,” she said. “This is a good thing, Nat! If Zameer’s in financial trouble, he might need to start selling off his investments to raise cash. It’s possible that he runs his kingdom using the cash from oil-sales, and if that suddenly stops because of this Saudi boycott, he might face a serious cash-crunch.”

  “Um, I think he’s a billionaire, Peg,” Nat said, feeling strangely defensive as she talked about Zameer. “Besides, if he really does need quick cash to run his kingdom, I don’t think selling my itty-bitty winery is going to cut it.”

  Peggy shrugged, looking away and reaching for her glass. She cupped her elbow with one hand, raising the glass and drinking deep. “You never really know what’s going on behind the scenes, Nat,” she said quietly. “You never really know.”

  15

  “What do any of these people really know about my kingdom, my brother, or my ascension to the throne?!” the Sheikh thundered as he stormed out of the nondescript building on Pennsylvania Avenue in downtown Washington.

  The building stood less than ten blocks from the White House, just down the street from the Trump International Hotel, where the Sheikh had already hosted multiple meetings beginning at seven in the morning. Lobbyists, representatives, fixers, and every other type of dealmaker on the Washington scene, but not one of them could assure him of the outcome he wanted: Siddiqui on a plane back to Ladaak, and the end of this ridiculous rumor that he’d somehow stolen the throne from his own brother!

  “They know what they have been told,” Laila said from the Sheikh’s left as she hurried to keep up with his long strides. “And what their researchers can find out from the web. They have neither time nor inclination to dig any deeper.”

  Zameer turned halfway and glanced back at Laila, then at his two-man security detail walking a few steps behind them. He didn’t trust Laila, and once again he wished he hadn’t slept with her. Still, the Sheikh did not spend much time in the United States, and the only person he’d trusted here—Siddiqui—had betrayed him in the worst possible way.

  There is someone else you can trust, came the thought as he rubbed his stubble and got into the black Lincoln Towncar waiting silently by the curb. He thought of Nat, blinking and shaking his head as he told himself he’d known her just a few days and it was ridiculous to count on her loyalty in any shape or form. She wanted something from him, just like everyone else.

  But at least Nat has been honest about what she wants from me, Zameer reminded himself as he watched Laila get into the car with him, her black skirt riding up her smooth brown thighs as she leaned back on the black leather seat. The Sheikh turned away from her, narrowing his eyes and glancing out the window as the car pulled away. They rode in silence for a while, and then Laila spoke.

  “What happened with your brother?” she asked, reaching out and touching the Sheikh’s arm. “Where is he?”

  The Sheikh whipped his head toward her, anger rising as he pulled his arm away from her. “I do not talk about my brother. You question me again about it and I will have you on the next plane back to Ladaak as well. Understood?”

  Laila turned red, her eyes narrowing. But she nodded and moved away from Zameer. “Yes, Sheikh,” she said softly. “As you wish.”

  “Now I have some questions for you, Laila,” the Sheikh said, his jaw tightening as he looked straight ahead. “First: Did you know that Siddiqui was stealing from me?”

  Laila’s eyes widened, and she blinked several times as she turned to the Sheikh. “Of course not!”

  The Sheikh grunted. He believed her. What he still couldn’t understand was why Siddiqui was stealing from him in the first place—after all, he paid the man an obscene amount of money to manage his American investments. By Allah, he’d made the man a millionaire! What need did he have to embezzle money from the Sheikh’s investments?!

  “Why do you think Siddiqui stole from me in the first place? Have I not been generous enough with the people who work for me?” he asked, his tone softening slightly.

  Laila shrugged. “Sometimes it is not about money. Sometimes it is about power. Ego. The rush of doing something wrong, something forbidden.”

  Zameer frowned, glancing quickly at Laila and then straight ahead. Again an image of Nat came to him, and he could almost see that curvy American woman, wine-glass in her hand, her lips red with the forbidden drink, her smile wide and inviting. He blinked as he tried to shake the ima
ge, but it only got stronger as the car wound its way through traffic, and by the time they pulled into the hotel’s underground parking lot, the Sheikh realized he was hard beneath his tailored pants.

  “Leave me,” he said quietly as the car stopped in the darkness and the driver cut the motor.

  Laila hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the Sheikh’s crotch. Then she pushed open the door and stormed out of the car, her heels clicking on concrete as she walked away without turning. The Sheikh snapped his fingers at the driver, who bowed his head and stepped out of the car as well, saying something to the two security guards who’d been following in an unmarked rental. The guards nodded, taking stances on either side of the Sheikh’s car, facing away from the Sheikh.

  The Sheikh took a breath and closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness, enjoying the silence. A day full of meetings with politicians and lobbyists had worn him down, and he smiled as he understood why Zayaan had chosen to walk away from this life. His older brother had always been a bookish, solitary man, an introvert who cared not for money or fame or power. In fact Zayaan had always hated life in the Royal Palace, despised the endless ceremonies and rituals a Sheikh had to conduct as part of his duties, loathed the negotiations and political dealings that were the responsibility of a king in the modern Middle East.

  They’d made a pact that night, the night before Zayaan was to be named Sheikh of Ladaak. A drunken pact, made in blood when the two brothers had drank themselves to the point where reason and tradition no longer held sway over them. Zayaan would leave Ladaak before the sun came up, taking enough cash to begin a new life, a life he wanted, a quiet life of obscurity, the life of a common man.

  “Where will you go?” Zameer had asked as the two brothers embraced for the last time. “How will I find you?”

  Zayaan shook his head. “You will not find me. That is the only way to guarantee no one will be able to track me down.”

  Zameer’s eyes had widened when he saw the seriousness in his brother’s face and understood what this meant. It meant he would never see Zayaan again—not unless Zayaan chose to return. “Ya Allah, brother! You mean . . . are you saying . . .”

  “I am saying goodbye, Zameer. The throne is yours. The kingdom is yours. Goodbye, my brother. Goodbye.”

  16

  “Did you think I would leave without saying goodbye?” came the voice from behind her, and Nat almost fell off the wicker chair in shock.

  She hadn’t heard a helicopter or a car, and she’d been sitting on the tiled porch overlooking the vineyard, nursing a bottle of pinot, getting herself good and drunk as she watched the sun set and decided that Zameer wasn’t coming back after all.

  “Where did you emerge from?” she asked, smiling and then hastily covering her mouth when she realized her teeth would be dark red from the wine and she probably looked horrendous.

  “You rubbed that old brass lamp and lo and behold I emerged!” the Sheikh said, spreading his arms out wide and swirling his hands around.

  “So you’re my Arabian genie?” Nat said, grinning stupidly when she realized she was indeed good and drunk now. “Not a very good belly dancer, though.”

  “No, but I can perhaps grant you three wishes.”

  “Just three?”

  “Do not get greedy, or I will reduce it to one.”

  Nat stood, stumbling and slamming her hand down onto the back of the wicker chair to steady herself. “Ow!” she cried as she felt a thread of wood poke her in the finger. “A splinter! Dammit!”

  The Sheikh was by her side in a second, furrowing his brow as he took her hand in his. Nat leaned against his heavy, hard body, taking in his scent as she felt a tingle go through her. He grunted as he looked at the tiny speck of red on her finger where the splinter had entered.

  “Would you like me to take it out?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Um, yes. Please. Of course I want you to take it out.”

  The Sheikh nodded. “It will count as one of your three wishes.”

  Nat opened her mouth wide with indignation. “What! That’s a gyp! No way that counts as one of my wishes! It doesn’t count unless I say the words ‘I wish . . .’ first!”

  “That is absurd. A wish is a wish, and you do not need to say the words.”

  “That’s a violation of genie rules,” Nat said firmly, pulling her hand away from his and stepping back, her head spinning—partly from the wine, and partly from the giddiness of being with Zameer again. She’d missed him, she realized. Shit, they’d been together one day, been apart less than a day, and already she was missing him! This had trouble written all over it. This was not going to end well. She was going to get hurt. Get out, Nat, called that inner voice. Get the hell out before he breaks you.

  “I do not yield to the rules of a common genie,” the Sheikh whispered, grabbing her hand again, bringing her fingers to his mouth, sucking the speck of blood and then carefully pulling out the splinter.

  “You have a surprisingly delicate touch for a muscle-bound bear of a genie,” Nat said, grinning like a fool as she watched the Sheikh hold the splinter up to the light and examine it like it was a prize he’d found in her.

  “You are mixing up your metaphors. Am I a bear or a genie? I cannot be both,” grunted the Sheikh, flicking the splinter into the night and looking her directly in the eyes.

  “This is my fantasy, so you’re whatever the hell I want you to be,” she replied, wondering where her words were coming from, if it was the wine talking or if she really did feel this comfortable around him, this man who was a king . . . and also a muscle-bound bear-genie.

  The Sheikh put his hands on her hips, slowly rubbing her sides as she felt her heat rise, her blood pump in her temples, her buttocks tighten as she felt his crotch harden against her body. “Your fantasy?” he whispered. “Tell me more about it. Tell me all of it. I will make it come true.”

  Nat giggled, and then she gasped as the Sheikh pressed her boobs so hard she almost choked in ecstasy, her nipples stiffening to hard points under her black top. “If I tell you my fantasy,” she muttered as the Sheikh pinched her nipples through the cloth, plucking at them until they hurt in the best possible way, “and you make it come true, does it count as one of my three wishes?”

  Zameer shook his head, leaning in and kissing her gently on the lips. Then he pulled back, narrowed his eyes, and leaned in again, this time kissing her hard, smothering her lips and pushing his stiff tongue into her mouth as his fingers clamped down on her nipples and pinched so hard she screamed into his mouth.

  “No,” he whispered. “Making your fantasy come true will be a bonus genie-gift.”

  “Well, don’t I feel special,’ Nat muttered, groaning as she felt the Sheikh’s right hand move down her sides, circle around to her back, cup her ass and squeeze hard. She felt her rear pucker close up around the cork, and she smiled when she sensed the Sheikh tighten as he ran his fingers along the seam of her pants and discovered that she’d left that plug in her hole all day for him.

  “Good girl,” he whispered, his voice thick with arousal. “Your king is pleased with your obedience.”

  He tapped on the cork, and she moaned out loud as waves of arousal flowed through her in the most deliciously filthy way. But it also felt strangely clean in a way, pure and new. And it was new to Nat, because although she’d allowed a lot of men into her bed over the years, she’d always shaken her head when one of them circled around to her rear with his finger or lined up his cock there and tried to enter. It had never been appealing to her, but for some reason the Sheikh’s touch, the way he touched her there, the dominance and authority with which he pushed that oversized wine-cork in there and tapped on it . . . hot damn it was getting her wet, making her weak, making it her . . . fantasy.

  She smiled to herself as she thought of what Peggy had said about those cheesy Sheikh Romance novels where the white
heroine always got it up the butt from the savage desert king. Perhaps it was the exotic atmosphere the Sheikh brought with him that was opening her up, making the filthy and forbidden seem so appealing suddenly, almost natural.

  Nat took a breath as she gazed into Zameer’s green eyes, took in the sight of his light brown skin. He was not particularly dark-skinned, and Nat could tell he was also sporting a heavy tan that made him look darker than he might look if he stayed out of the sun for a few months. She didn’t care either way, of course, and she smiled again as she wondered what their child might look like, the thought passing through her so casually that she almost panicked at how natural it seemed!

  “Your fantasy,” he whispered, tapping on that cork again and then moving his hands to her front, stroking her mound through her pants as he kissed her neck. “Tell me.”

  “I . . .” she began to say, an image appearing of his thick shaft moving into the space where that cork was sitting like a placeholder. “I . . . can’t say it.”

  “Yes, you can. There is no shame in it, and you know that. Our bodies were made by God to be shared and enjoyed, and there is no sin or shame in doing exactly that.”

  Nat shuddered as she felt the Sheikh’s strong fingers tug at the waistband of her pants, slowly pulling them down past her hips. “I agree,” she said softly, arching her head back as the Sheikh licked her neck. “And by that logic, shouldn’t we also be sharing and enjoying all kinds of food and drink, enjoying all of nature’s gifts?”

  The Sheikh pulled his head back, but his hands kept moving her pants down her wide hips as he grinned at her, his eyes narrowing, still shining green in the dim yellow light of the silent porch of the dark winery building. “If you are talking about wine and alcohol, I do not think the logic extends to that. Alcohol is not the work of God and nature.”