Privilege for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 12)

by Annabelle Winters

  “Oh, God!” she screamed as he unloaded into her. “What are we doing?! We can’t!”

  But the Sheikh just smiled and finished inside her, feeling her legs tighten around him as if her body was desperately trying to fight her mind. Clearly her modesty and common sense was still fighting this, still whispering in her ear that she was a wanton woman for sleeping with a man so soon, that she was being reckless by allowing him to pour his seed into her, that she was being a fool for getting herself into this situation.

  Who got whom into this situation, I wonder, the Sheikh thought as he kissed her warm, wet lips and collapsed on top of her, smiling as she sighed against him. Yes, who started this? You or I? Or was this thing set in motion before we ever laid eyes on one another?

  16

  “You two hadn’t even laid eyes on each other in three years and you slept with him?” Carmen said from across the hotel room as Lora sat by the window and nursed Damascus. “Well done. I’m finally getting through to you!”

  Lora tried to frown but it was hard when the smile was breaking so full she felt she was glowing like the sun. She looked down at her son suckling away on those same nipples that the Sheikh had ravaged one day earlier, and she almost laughed out loud at the memory of it. It seemed so crazy now—almost make believe. She’d never done anything like that before, and although there was still a sickening uneasiness of what those people outside the room must think of her, there was also an excitement that she couldn’t deny.

  “Oh, please,” Carmen had said, waving away Lora’s shame with a flick of her wrist. “Those were Europeans. And I mean real Europeans, not prudish Brits. They didn’t give a shit. Half of them were too drunk to remember anything the next day, the other half were too busy arranging their own wife-swapping parties and lesbian orgies to care about one divorced American woman sleeping with a super-hot Arabian dude while on vacation.”

  “Really?” Lora had said, her eyebrows raised. “Wife-swapping orgies? Really?”

  “No, I made that up. But seriously, hon. No one cares. The only one judging you is yourself! And me, of course. But I’m judging you favorably, unlike your prudish inner nun.”

  “Not that prudish,” Lora had muttered, thinking back to the way she’d run her hands along Amir’s naked body, feeling his muscled torso, pressing his hard buttocks, finally grasping his cock with confidence. God, he’d felt so big, so hard, so heavy in her hands . . . all for her. For her!

  And then he came inside me, she thought as she watched her son nurse at her breast. For a moment she pictured another child at her other breast, a beautiful baby girl, light brown with dark hair and green eyes. Then she gasped and shook her head, pushing at the thought until it was relegated to the back of her mind. But it was still there, watching her, and she knew she’d have to deal with it at some point. He’d clearly felt the need to come inside her. He’d asked, and she’d said yes.

  May I have the privilege, he’d asked. May I have this privilege.

  Yes, she said in her head. Yes, you may.

  “Hey,” came Carmen’s voice through it all. “What are you thinking?”

  Lora shrugged as she wiped Damascus’s mouth and dried her nipple and breast, letting the sun shine on her bare boobs for a moment before covering up. “I’m thinking now what, I guess.” She glanced up and smiled. “Do I have to wait three days for him to call? Are we dating now? I have no idea what’s next!”

  “Nothing’s next! I mean, everything’s next! We’re here for another week. He’s going to call, and you’re going to spend time with him. Then you two are going to fall in love and that’s that. It’s your fairytale, Lora. You’ve got your happy ending. It took three years of being married to a nightmare to get to it, sure, but you’re there!”

  Lora was about to respond when her phone beeped. She reached for it, scrolling down to check her new emails. Then she frowned and glanced up at Carmen, her gaze shifting to Damascus, who was in his crib, staring up at her with his big brown eyes. Her eyes. Her nose. Her lips. She smiled as she wondered if there really was nothing of Mark in her son or if she just saw what she wanted to see. But then the smile faded quickly when she looked at her phone again, re-reading the email just to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. Nope. The email was from Mark’s lawyer, and it was proofed and formatted perfectly. There was no mistake.

  “Speaking of being married to a nightmare,” Lora said, doing her best to keep her voice steady. “Carmen . . . he’s . . . I don’t even . . . why the hell would he even . . .”

  “What?” Carmen said, walking over with her long strides and snatching the phone from Lora. Her eyes widened as she read it, and she shook her head and cursed the phone and then Mark and then the phone again. “He’s decided not to sign the divorce papers?! Why? You aren’t contesting the pre-nup. You aren’t suing him for anything except the statutory child-support—the minimum required by law. You aren’t even using a lawyer, for heaven’s sake. What’s his game? What’s he up to? What does he want?”

  Lora glanced at Damascus again, and then she quickly snatched her child up from his crib and held him close to her breast. No, she thought. There’s no way. Mark barely wanted his wife, and there’s no way he wants his kid. And even if he does, he’s not getting him. Not Damascus. Not my son.

  Carmen was biting her fingernails as she paced the room, shaking her head. “You can still get the divorce, even if he doesn’t sign the papers. Louisiana is a no-fault state, which means either spouse can ask for a divorce and the court will enforce it. Mark and his lawyer would know that. All this does is delay things, because if one spouse doesn’t want the divorce, you’d actually need to go to court and get a judge to make it final. Still, not a huge deal. It should be straightforward enough.”

  Lora blinked as she rocked her son in her arms. She sat on the soft camel-leather couch and stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows, taking in the view of the minarets and domes of the Capital City of Johaar. “Read the rest of the email,” she said quietly.

  Carmen picked up the phone again and swiped a couple of times. Lora watched as her friend’s face slowly turned red, her eyes narrowing. Finally Carmen looked up and blinked. “He’s saying that since you two were married in Johaar, your marriage and hence your divorce falls under the laws of Johaar. And although in Johaar a wife is allowed to divorce her husband if he cheats, if the husband repents for his transgressions and asks for another chance, then the wife must grant him that second chance.”

  “A second chance,” Lora said, a distant smile coming to her face as she stared out the windows at the sand dunes rising up like mountains of gold on the horizon. “Mark wants a second chance at his pot of gold. Amir’s billions.”

  Carmen frowned and looked at the phone again. “I don’t get it. Where does it say that?”

  “It doesn’t. I’m saying that. Listen, there were photos taken last night. Something must have hit some news-site or blog or hashtag—maybe not CNN, but somewhere that Mark or his lawyer got a hold of it. So maybe Mark thinks I’m with the Sheikh and that . . . I dunno . . . that Amir will pay him off to grant the divorce according to Johaari law?”

  Carmen laughed, but not because anything was funny. “That money-grubbing loser. I hate myself for even letting that marriage happen in the first place. Still, Amir is the Sheikh and supreme ruler, isn’t he? Even if this crap about your marriage being governed by Johaari law is valid, can’t he just void it with a wave of his royal wand?”

  “Scepter, you mean.”

  “What?”

  “You’re thinking of a scepter, not a wand. Kings have scepters. Wizards have wands.”

  Carmen snorted. “You’re such a nerd. How are we even friends.”

  They both laughed for a moment, and Damascus coughed gently and pawed at Lora’s breast. She sighed and gave him her nipple, and the three of them sat in silence as the madness of the situation sunk in.


  “So Mark’s gonna call at some point, yeah?”

  Lora shrugged. “I guess. Not sure what I’m gonna say to that piece of work.”

  “You say ‘Go fuck yourself and die in a hole somewhere, with worms coming out your ears’!”

  “Carmen! Not in front of the baby!” Lora said, laughing as she covered Damascus’s tiny ears.

  “Seriously though. Can’t we just have Mark killed? The Sheikh can get that done, can’t he? Then all Mark’s money would go to Damascus, you two would be set for life, and you won’t need anything from these weirdo men you seem to be attracting.”

  “How is the Sheikh a weirdo?” Lora asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Carmen laughed. “I just suggested you get your ex-husband killed and you’re more offended by me implying that the Sheikh is a weirdo? I think you’re the weirdo, hon.” She stood from the couch and faced Lora. “OK, obviously I’m kidding about getting anyone killed. But listen, hon. This Amir guy . . . he’s no joke either. I mean, you’ve got to be careful here. I know it must feel amazing to be wanted by a wealthy, handsome, exotic man with big muscles and a big . . . wand. But remember, three years ago he pretty much assaulted you in public, then pressured you into visiting him in private. Then last night . . .”

  “OK stop, Carmen,” Lora said, frowning as she felt her anger rise. Was Carmen jealous? “Can we just stay focused on this divorce problem. What am I supposed to do here?”

  “You need to talk to your new boyfriend,” Carmen said, rolling her eyes and then turning away.

  “He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t even know how to get in touch with him!”

  Carmen snorted, walking to the window and pointing. “Um, there you go. That palace over there? That’s how you get in touch with him.” She turned, her expression softening, her gaze dropping to the carpet for a moment like she was feeling guilty, like maybe she’d recognized that flash of envy within herself.

  Lora smiled. She loved Carmen like a sister, and sisters sometimes got jealous of one another. That was part of the bond. Part of the love. Part of it all. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “I can watch Damascus,” Carmen said quietly. Then she winked. “Just in case you need both hands to . . . um . . . handle things.”

  “Did you just call me a slut?” Lora said, turning red and laughing.

  “A royal slut. The best kind. Now gimme my godson and put on your black dress.”

  Lora thought a moment. Then she shook her head. “Yellow sundress. And I’m taking Damascus with me.”

  17

  So do I just knock, she wondered as she stared at the massive teakwood double-doors that marked the front gate of Johaar’s Royal Palace. From her visit three years ago, she remembered that this first set of doors opened into a vast courtyard, with the inner palace far back. There was no fence or barricade or anything other than this one gigantic door that was large enough to drive a semi-truck through. The Palace itself was in the center of the city, and Lora recalled reading something about how these doors were once kept open to the public so they could visit the courtyard freely. Now, however, the doors were closed, and there wasn’t a guard or attendant in sight.

  “Maybe he’s skipped town,” Lora said to Damascus. “One night with me can get a king to leave his kingdom and head for the hills.”

  Damascus giggled and then reached out and pawed at the smooth aged wood of the door. Lora watched him, smiling and shaking her head.

  “You’ll have to knock a little harder than that, Sweetie,” she said. But just as she spoke the door opened as if by itself, and suddenly she and her son were facing that massive open courtyard that brought memories from three years ago rushing in like the wind.

  “Um, we’re here to see the Sheikh,” Lora said to the two silent attendants who stood before her in white tunics, the sigil of the Royal House of Johaar emblazoned on their sleeves. They had no weapons, and although their expressions were stoic, their presence was not threatening in the least—almost welcoming, in a strange way. Indeed, Lora had to grab Damascus as the little tyke leaned forward and tried to pull on one of the guards’ long black beard.

  “Inaha almar’atu,” said the first guard, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at Damascus, his lips moving slightly as if he was trying to suppress a smile. “Yes. Sheikh Amir is expecting you.”

  Lora frowned slightly, the blood rushing to her cheeks as she followed the guard past a line of old statues, around a blue sandstone fountain, down a black marble pathway that looked like it would be cool to the touch. They rounded a corner and finally she saw him, Sheikh Amir, seated in a gazebo that was surrounded by desert palms, all of which were exactly the same height and might have even had the same number of leaves.

  The Sheikh stood when he saw her approach, and his smile almost melted Lora as the relief washed over her so hard her knees felt weak. It was only then that she realized how anxious she’d been about seeing him again, about looking into those green eyes, about allowing herself to think about what came next.

  “How is it you’re expecting me?” Lora said as she stepped up into the gazebo. “Do you have spies at the hotel? Were you listening to me and Carmen talk?”

  “I have better things to do than listen to a woman tell her best friend how incredible I was in bed,” Amir said, his green eyes sparkling as he looked her up and down, his gaze pausing on her cleavage for a long moment before he focused on her face. Then he looked down at her son and smiled. A warm, genuine smile that made Lora tremble both inside and outside, on every side. “And you must be Damascus. I am honored to make your acquaintance.” The Sheikh paused for a moment, nodding slowly and looking deep into the child’s eyes. “I see a lot of your mother in you. Not much of your father. Perhaps that is for the best, because from what I have seen, your biological father is . . .”

  The Sheikh trailed off, and Lora’s heart almost stopped when she heard Amir use the term “biological father.” What was he implying? That Damascus would have another father someday? That Amir had already considered that if Lora and he were to be together, Damascus would become his son? Had Amir already been thinking about that?

  All of what she’d read about the tradition of Sheikh’s Privilege came rushing back to her as she watched her son hold the eye contact with Amir in a way that surprised her. What was happening here? What had happened last night? What was going to happen in this conversation, in this moment, in this . . . lifetime?

  The thoughts were too much, and Lora quickly shut them out with a blink and a smile. “Are you criticizing my choice in men?” she said hesitantly, doing her best to match the lighthearted tone he’d used when he made the quip about listening to Carmen and her talk about the Sheikh’s prowess in bed.

  “Three years ago I did,” Amir said, looking into her eyes. Then he glanced back at Damascus and shrugged. “But between your handsome son and myself, you are keeping much better company in men now, so I will hold my judgment. Please sit, Lora.”

  Lora looked around, realizing that both she and the Sheikh had been standing in the middle of the round enclosure. She nodded and sat on the purple velvet seating that circled the gazebo, carefully holding Damascus in her arms. The Sheikh sat beside her, so close they were almost touching. She’d thought he’d sit across from her, like he’d done three years ago when she’d entered his chambers. Was it symbolic that he was sitting right next to her now, close to her and her son? It almost felt like they were a family, the three of them.

  That’s ridiculous, she thought as she watched Damascus reach out and paw at the Sheikh’s thick arm, giggling as he did it. Soon the child was clearly trying to crawl his way from her lap to his.

  “No, Damascus,” she said. “Sit still.”

  “Please. Let him come to me,” said the Sheikh, reaching out and taking Damascus from her arms without hesitation, without permission, like he wanted to hold him, like it was nat
ural, real, genuine.

  Amir held the boy close to his chest, smiling as Damascus pulled at his flowing white tunic, rubbed his heavy stubble, patted his strong jaw, touched his sharp, perfectly shaped nose. The Sheikh smiled, and soon both man and boy were laughing—for no reason and for every reason.

  What’s happening, Lora thought as she watched the Sheikh—this man who in some way had started all of this—play with her son like the boy was his own. Does he really feel like he’s responsible for me and Damascus because of that tradition he invoked three years ago? And if he does, what do I do?

  You’ve already done it, came the thought as she recalled the madness of the previous night, how he’d kissed her, loved her, taken her like she was his woman, his wife, his . . . whore?

  Doubt flashed through her as she blinked and reached for her son, quickly taking him back into her arms as she reminded herself that every instinct she’d had about a man had proved to be wrong. Maybe Carmen was right: The Sheikh was perhaps as unreliable and untrustworthy as Mark—just in his own way. Just do what you came here to do and leave, Lora told herself. Ask him to void your marriage to Mark so you can be free of all this madness. All of it!

  “I cannot void your marriage to Mark,” the Sheikh said matter-of-factly as he leaned forward and poured two glasses of cool lemon-juice from the silver pitcher on the table before them. He handed one to her but Lora shook her head.

  “What . . . I mean how . . .” she stammered, wondering if the hotel room had really been bugged or something.

  The Sheikh smiled and took a long drink from his lemon-water. “I received a message from a New Orleans lawyer this morning,” he said slowly. “Your husband Mark’s lawyer.” He paused and shrugged. “He appears to be quite good at his job, I will say.”

  “He’s a sleazebag ambulance-chaser with dollar-signs tattooed on his eyeballs,” Lora muttered, shaking her head. Of course the lawyer had gotten in touch with the Sheikh. The Sheikh was the target. The Sheikh was the prize.