And God, it was attraction she felt for this new man, this beautiful hunk of a man, this Sheikh Dhomaar. Those broad shoulders. That towering height. The rock-hard bulk of his chest and arms. That strong, incredibly defined jawline. And those green eyes!
Is this a dream? Did that really happen? Is this man even real? Or was that red curtain a gateway to some alternate universe, where I just had sex with a god who wanted a taste of a human woman. The Greek gods used to do that, right? Same with the Indian gods and goddesses. Yeah. Sure. That’s probably it, Gracie.
She glanced at that empty seat again as a curly-haired man and a wiry, dark-skinned woman walked over to the table, the woman looking at Grace like they knew each other. Or at least like she knew Grace.
“Hello! I’m Grace Garner,” she said, relieved to be taken from her thoughts that were swirling round and round faster and faster, spinning her mind into a dizzying web of disbelief and distress, excitement and paranoia, guilt and . . . “Do I know you?” she said way too loudly as the wiry woman leaned over and shook Grace’s hand, making hesitant eye contact, almost like she was embarrassed.
“They are my employees and they not know good English,” Habib said gruffly, glaring up at the woman as she hurriedly nodded and sat down, pulling out her phone and staring at it. “And they are on the clock. No idle chit chat, yah?”
No idle chit-chat, Grace thought as she glanced at that empty seat next to her and wondered how the hell she was going to carry on a conversation with Sheikh Dhomaar while Jean stared her down. Hell, what would she say to this man even if Jean weren't here?! What do you say to a stranger whose semen is still inside you?! How’s the steak? Pass the bread? Oh, my God. Ohmygod. Oh. My. God! I can’t do this! Oh, God, Jean’s going to see it the moment he shows up! It’s going to be all over Facebook! My students are going to see! The principal is going to see! I’m going to be fired! Then I’ll be broke! And pregnant! And . . . and . . . and . . . stop!
And Gracie the Ruler managed to control herself, and she forced a smile and began to engage in that idle chit-chat with Jean even as her mind stayed on the empty seat next to her.
The empty seat that stayed empty as the wine was served, that stayed empty as the salad and bread arrived, stayed empty as the main course landed, stayed empty through dessert and coffee. Empty . . .
Empty like that strange, sinking feeling in Gracie’s stomach. Empty like her life inexplicably felt right now. Empty.
7
“This is empty!” roared the Sheikh, tossing the silver metal cup across the wide back seat of the stretch limo that was pulling away from the Rega Royal Hotel in downtown Tulsa. “I asked for a bloody cup of sweet tea! Am I not still Sheikh here?! I will have you bastards beheaded, your families executed, your remains fed to your camels. Then I will execute your camels and eat them! Ya Allah, I am going mad!”
“Good,” said Zareena, calmly watching him from the safety of the far side of the limo. She was still in her black hijab, a sequined veil covering her nose and mouth, black eyeliner on. She had not entered the hotel, instead choosing to wait in the limousine in the private underground garage. “Your rage is the sign you were successful.”
“No, Zareena,” the Sheikh said through gritted teeth as he tried to control an energy that threatened to overwhelm him. “My rage is a sign that I am angry! Simple as that, you damn woman! Will you stop it with your goddamn signs and omens! Ya Allah, stop this car so I can smash something! And where is my goddamn tea!”
“There is a public park in one kilometer,” Zareena said to the terrified driver, who seemed unsure whether or not to raise the bulletproof partition to protect himself from the Sheikh’s sudden outburst. She tapped her phone and nodded. “It will be open until midnight, and should be secluded enough. Stop there, and let our Sheikh smash something.”
The driver almost swooned in relief as he nodded and sped up before slowing down and pulling over. The Sheikh did not wait for the bodyguard to open his door—he barely waited for the car to stop moving—and within moments he had burst out into the open, ripping off his thousand-dollar bow-tie and tossing it, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt as he ran along the dark grass like a madman, a crazed energy flowing through him, a manic force that made him want to roar to the heavens, smash his fists into those silent tree-trunks, rip those lamp-posts out of the ground and bend them around the goddamn world itself!
“What is happening to me?” he panted as he finally stopped running and turned around to see Zareena standing there in the moonlight, her black hijab shining silver in the half-moon, those sequins on her veil glimmering like stars from the light reflecting off a small duck-pond to their left. “Ya Allah, I feel calmer now after letting out some of this energy. But by God, Zareena!” He snorted with incredulous laughter as his green eyes went wide. “For a moment I thought perhaps I was turning into a werewolf, some kind of beast-like transformation.”
Zareena calmly glanced at the moon. “If I remember those movies, you would need a full moon to turn, dear Sheikh. But not to fear. I would make the sacrifice of putting a silver bullet into the beast to save you from a life of torment. Especially now that you have passed your seed on.”
Dhom grinned as he finally gathered himself and realized that he was soaked in sweat, almost like a fever had broken. He felt alert and alive, powerful and manly. But there was something else he felt. A strange, gut-wrenching, empty feeling. Like something had been taken away from him. Like a part of him had been ripped away and left behind. A part of his body. A part of his very s—
“Passed my seed on,” he repeated, exhaling hard as he took his jacket off and stood with his hands on his hips. “Ah, so this inexplicable burst of madness is just the end of a release that has been building up for six months. Yes, of course. It has been so long without a woman that I had forgotten how a woman can make a man feel like a goddamn animal! A beast! A bloody king!”
“I will take your word for it, Dhom,” Zareena said with some amusement as she carefully removed her veil from one side, letting it hang down against her left breast. “Yes, I would expect that after six months of holding back, tonight’s release has driven you a little mad—which is all right, of course. It is natural. You have seen how the male animal frolics like it is possessed by a demon after it has taken its mate. But it is not just that animal instinct. It is something else, something very human. It is fascinating to see, actually. Ya Allah, it is fascinating to see it at play, how it actually—”
“So now I am some animal to be observed for your fascination,” Dhom said, grinning as he looked around at the grove of silent elms, the pond with its lily-pads and curious frogs, the hedgerows lining the paved paths, painted wooden benches symmetrically placed, all bearing silent witness. He held his arms out wide, flexing his muscles in a way that made him feel damn good—though that strange pit in his stomach still nagged at his peace in the most annoying manner. “So observe. Take notes. Ask questions.”
Zareena smiled a little, her eyes narrowing as she took a step and then folded her arms across her chest. “OK, Dhom. Here is a question. Even though your body feels alive and strong, powerful and virile, do you feel something else?”
Dhom swallowed as that emptiness reared its head as if it had been called by name. “Something else like what?”
Zareena shrugged, blinking and looking down at the dark grass for a moment. When she looked up her eyes were slightly glazed over again, that trancelike look returning. “Like perhaps something is missing. A feeling of . . . of . . . yearning, perhaps. Yes?”
Dhom grunted and turned away as that feeling rose up like a specter from the shadows, its dark fingers wrapping themselves around him from the inside, squeezing at his core in a way that almost made him sick. His jaw went tight now, eyes narrowing, mind swirling like a roulette-wheel in spin, spinning images and emotions, fears and fantasies, visions and wisdom, spinning again, faster and f
aster until it abruptly stopped, drawing all those images and visions, emotions and energy down to a single point, a single image. Her.
Ya Allah, the Sheikh thought, slowly turning on his feet as he sensed that feeling inside him literally reach up and grasp at the mental image of this woman, Gracie Garner, this curvy American woman who had feel so damned good against his body, felt so bloody warm against his skin, felt so goddamn perfect around his cock!
He looked at Zareena now, his majestic face twisting into a frown that was part confusion and part realization—realization that Zareena was right. The feeling inside was indeed like . . . like yearning! But why? He barely knew this woman! He had slept with countless unknown women in the past, and surely this feeling would have emerged before, yes? But no. This was new. It surprised him. Shocked him. Damned well terrified him! What if it did not go away? How in Allah’s name—
“It is the human need for pair-bonding,” Zareena said now, her voice quiet and steady, betraying some tenderness but with an undercurrent of concern. “Many animals bond in pairs, but in humans it is heightened to a level that goes beyond the physical, that reaches to that place deep inside the human spirit, the seat of the soul, the source of the god and goddess that lives inside us. You have denied yourself that feeling your whole life, committed to our mirage of a union and keeping your private needs in the realm of the physical. But this one coupling with Grace Garner has awakened that feeling in you, Dhom. That desire to bond with one person, form that divine union with a woman. Indeed, I expected it, yes. But not to the extent that I am seeing in you. Ya Allah, it is beautiful to see, but also concerning. It must be killed before it sinks us all.”
Dhom swallowed as he felt his stomach go tight, the muscles in his torso flexing like thick cords of steel. “Pair bonding,” he said slowly, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “So this feeling will go away?”
Zareena nodded quickly, blinking as she broke eye contact. “Of course,” she said. “But it is best you go away as well.”
Dhom frowned. “Back to Mizra already? I thought the plan was to remain in the United States for a few weeks while Habib’s people keep track of . . .” He swallowed hard as her name caught in his throat like she actually meant something. “Keep track of the woman,” he finally said, steeling himself as he realized that by God, perhaps he did need to go away and clear his head. Because if he didn’t, if he stayed here in Tulsa, just a limo-ride from her, then . . . then it would be damned hard to not take that car-ride. Damned hard to not take her! Again and again!
Ya Allah, I want her again, he thought. His cock moved in his pants now as he felt a spark of energy, that emptiness momentarily transforming to elation, like a part of him was saying, “Yes, yes, yes! We must go to her again! We must have her again! She is ours, Dhom! She is yours, Dhom! Take her again! Take her now. Bloody hell, take her forever!”
“You will not need to see her again, I believe,” said Zareena slowly, studying his expression with those sharp eyes of hers. She tilted her head slowly now, looking past Dhom and towards the dark blue night sky. “ And so I do not think you need to be here. Something tells me you have done what you needed to do. I believe the power of your reaction is a sign she will conceive from tonight’s coupling. I think that is why you have reacted so strongly to being separated from this woman. A man feels a need to protect the woman who is carrying his child, just like the woman feels a need to remain with that man. It is done. Ya Allah, it is done, and you must separate from her. So go, Dhom. Go and clear your head. Clear your body. It is done, and now I will handle it. I will stay in Tulsa and coordinate with Habib’s people. They will watch her and keep me abreast.”
Dhom nodded silently as he clenched his fists and looked towards the dark street on the fringes of the park. He nodded again as he began to walk back to the limousine, his mind slowly coming under his control even though his body still held on to that sickening feeling, the sense of yearning that he hoped would go away soon. This had always been the plan, he knew. One night. One try. One time. Make it count, Sheikh. There would be no further contact between the Sheikh and Grace. As far as Grace was concerned, it would be a one-night stand that resulted in a pregnancy. A spontaneous sexcapade. A frivolous fling. An exciting episode with a mysterious stranger. She would perhaps be a little hurt, but certainly in today’s America it was not a shocking thing to have a one-night stand, yes? She could not have expected anything more given how things played out, yes? Just one night of anonymous passion! These days so many women actively sought such encounters!
Not this woman, though, the Sheikh knew. Of course, he did not know anything about her other than her name and the fact that she was a schoolteacher. Zareena had wanted their meeting to be genuine, spontaneous, unrehearsed as far as possible. And by Allah, it had worked, had it not? It did not feel like meeting Gracie was part of some devious scheme to hijack her womb! It felt like . . . like . . . by God, it felt like some other kind of plan! God’s plan? Destiny? Signs from the universe? Was he going mad and starting to believe Zareena’s nonsense about angels and cupids, dancing fairies and giggling gnomes, all of them playing a hand in our lives at the behest of the gods and goddesses, the puppet-masters playing their games? Ya Allah, madness indeed!
Was it though, the Sheikh thought as he stood by the limo and watched Zareena calmly step to her side of the car and give him a strangely knowing look before getting in. Yes, was it all madness? Or was there something to all this stuff Zareena believed in. That even though they were planning and scheming, there was also the plan of the universe at play. All of her “this feels right” and “this feels off” and so on and so forth? Does she not simply mean to say “this feels in line with God’s plan” or “this seems to be where the universe is leading us?” And is that not the same sense I am getting as I feel this strange yearning for this woman?
Now something occurred to the Sheikh as he got into the car, and he frowned and then suddenly flicked his eyes wide open as he glanced over at the Sheikha.
“Zareena,” he said softly, doing his best to keep his voice steady even though that crazed energy was beginning to surge again.
“Yes, Dhom?” she said, that look still in her eye.
“It just occurred to me that you never actually showed me a photograph of this woman before sending me into that ballroom. You gave me her name, yes. But that is all. You did not give me any way to actually find her in a crowded room,” he said, his voice wavering as he tried to stay calm and not panic as if the world suddenly did not make any sense to him. “She was by no means the only pretty American woman in the room. Perhaps she was not even the prettiest one! But I noticed her immediately. I went to her without thought. Why did you not think to show me a picture beforehand, Zareena?”
“An animal does not need to be shown a picture to find his mate,” she said quietly. “That is why I had you hold back from orgasm for six months. Those sages and mystics who practiced semen retention were not impotent men who did not desire women. They understood the power of self-mastery, how it connects a man with the universe’s wisdom even as it connects him with the deepest instincts of his own body, the animal-like sixth sense that enables a beast to find his match, his mate, the one most suitable to carry his seed.” Zareena blinked now, turning away and towards the dark window as the street lights of Tulsa whipped by. “And now it is done, and you need to clear your head.” She turned back to him, face calm and composed. “I suggest Las Vegas,” she said without missing a beat, like she had planned it already. “I believe you know your way around the private circles in the city of . . . of clarity.”
The Sheikh grunted as he turned to his window and stared out. Then he nodded. “I will drop you off at the hotel and then go directly to the airport. Call and have them file a flight plan for the jet.”
“Already done,” Zareena said quickly. “And the car will drop you off first. I do not mind the ride to the airport. I will do some Oklaho
ma sight-seeing from the window.”
The Sheikh grunted again, reaching for the large silver cup of tea that had been prepared and left on the table by his seat.
“Yes,” he said as the sweet tea shocked him awake, that sharpness returning as his eyes went wide. “Some clarity would be good. Channel away some of this energy that your mystics and sages were able to direct with better care. I do not pretend to be a master of my needs to such extremes. Six months was enough to almost break me, clearly. You are correct, my Sheikha. This will bring some clarity. Perhaps some relief.”
8
But Zareena was the one most relieved as she watched the Sheikh lean back and sip his tea while the black limousine cruised through the Tulsa streets, gliding onto the open highway and speeding up now as the queen turned back to her window.
Yes, relieved. Relieved that Dhom did not seem to realize that not only had Zareena not told him how to find Grace Garner in that crowded room, but the Sheikh had never even asked.
Ya Allah, Dhom had never even asked.
9
“Did you ask me something?”
“No,” said Gracie, quickly walking past the pharmacy window and fumbling for the handle of the glass-doored cooler set off to that side of the store. She reached in and grabbed a bottle of something. Iced tea, it looked like. “I was just talking to myself.”
“I do that all the time,” said the bespectacled pharmacist with the clean-shaved head and white coat. He smiled up from the table where he had been sitting, back from the pharmacy counter, reading a newspaper of all things. “That’s why I like to hold a newspaper or a phone in front of me when it’s slow. That way people think I’m just reading aloud, instead of some crazy guy who stares into space and mumbles to aliens.”
Surrogate for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 7) Page 7
