The Sheikh’s Fake Marriage (Sheikhs of Hamari Book 2)

by Leslie North

  “Wow.”

  Kishon moved easily into the massive space. It had to be twice the size of her apartment. Three times, even. The sunken living room alone could have fit the entire floor of the converted brownstone where she lived. The sheikh tossed his phone and wallet onto the sofa, then turned back to her, his blue eyes searching.

  “This is one of my favorite hotels in the world,” he said, his voice falling over her like a warm blanket. “Come enjoy it with me.” He held out his hand.

  Chloe took a deep breath. The rush of the adrenaline faded, her head clearing. She was in the fanciest hotel suite of her life with a king. With Kishon. Heat spread across her cheeks. He wasn’t a customer anymore.

  She stepped across the plush carpet and took his hand. Kishon looked down into her eyes and brushed a thumb over the line of her jaw. “Are you all right?” His voice rang with a sincerity she’d never heard from a man.

  “Yeah. Yes. I’m…I’m more than all right. But Kishon.” She hooked her hand around his wrist, pressing his palm to her cheek. It steadied her. She fought to school her expression before she asked, “Are we engaged?”

  A smile flashed across his face, and then his full lips settled into seriousness. “We should discuss that. I—”

  Chloe released her laugh. “Kidding. You said the best thing for the moment. I know we’re not really engaged.”

  He drew her to the sofa and settled her in, then went to get them both a glass of wine. The first taste was deliciously dry against her tongue. She could practically taste the fortune it must have cost. And the suite—the suite was a dream.

  So was the man who sat down next to her. Kishon curved his arm around her shoulders. The suite had a wide bank of windows overlooking Washington, DC, and they looked out at the Washington Monument together in a comfortable silence.

  Chloe had never been so aware of another person’s breathing. Yes, she was comfortable…and also getting hotter by the second, heat rising everywhere they touched.

  “This place really is special,” she murmured. “Do you have other favorite hotels? They’re probably all over the planet, knowing you.”

  “Oh, yes.” Kishon sipped his wine. “I have another favorite in Dubai, one in Hong Kong, and one in Paris.” His voice was as rich as the wine.

  “I’d love to see those places,” she said wistfully. “I’ve never left the United States.”

  “Never?”

  “Not once.” The wine was half gone already and making her feel delightfully relaxed. “If I had the chance, I’d paint them all.”

  “As in, the buildings?” A laugh edged Kishon’s voice. “I think they have people who handle that.”

  She nudged him with her elbow, a shock of pleasure moving through her at the ability to touch him. She could touch him now. “En plein air,” she said. “The landscapes and cityscapes.”

  “That’s right. You mentioned that once. And you said…” He seemed to search his memory, and she leaned in closer. “You said that it was key to feel connected with the scenes, by being there in person.”

  She sighed. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to save up for a trip, but that’s off the table now.”

  He shifted against her. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said lightly. “I could provide you with some travel. I know how much you want to work on your art. I’d be more than happy to do it.”

  She drained the rest of her wine, a low laugh warming her throat. “You could, but at what cost?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I couldn’t pay you back. Remember? I’m newly unemployed.”

  “I see it as newly free.” Kishon finished his own wine and set the glass down on a low coffee table next to the sofa. His deep blue eyes danced in the light of the suite, which Chloe realized now was very much mood lighting. “Or is something else tying you down?”

  “No,” she said, a strange tightness coming to her throat. “Nothing is tying me down. That…makes me sadder than it should.” She swallowed hard.

  Kishon ran his hand up and down her arm, his touch featherlight. “I have my own dilemma.” He sounded thoughtful, kingly…as he should. “I told you that my brother is waiting for me to marry so that he can wed his fiancée.”

  “Yes, I remember. But why? I don’t think we got to that part.”

  She felt his body tense against hers. “There’s an ancient law decreeing that the king must marry first. No other member of the royal family can marry until he is married.”

  “Yikes.” The pressure was on, then. “I didn’t realize it was law.”

  Kishon let out a sigh. “Yes. I’ll have to marry for one reason or another, but…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been avoiding it until now.”

  “Why? Do you love your freedom too much?” she teased.

  He laughed. “I don’t believe I’ll ever find a woman who doesn’t want me for my wealth or my power. Why not use it to make your dreams come true, rather than lining a gold digger’s pockets?”

  Everything she knew about Kishon came into sharp focus then. He’d enjoyed the corner seat at the bar, where he could be as unobtrusive as possible. And she’d treated him like any other patron. He’d craved that.

  And now here they were, in a penthouse suite that probably cost a month’s rent per night. The penthouse suite of a hotel she had never dared set foot in—it was that expensive.

  Chloe blinked. It was possible—probable, even—that she’d way underestimated just how rich and royal Kishon was. Yet the feeling that throbbed beneath her breastbone didn’t seem related.

  She shifted on the sofa so that she could see his face. The cut line of his jaw called to her, and now that there was no bar between them, she didn’t resist.

  “From the bottom of my heart…” She drew a fingertip along that line, his five-o’clock shadow tickling her fingers, waking up all her nerves. Her heart beat faster. She’d wanted to do this for so long. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Kishon’s eyes met hers with an intensity that made the back of her neck feel flushed and hot. “I hope I do, too.” His voice had taken on a different character—lower, beckoning—and she was only half-surprised when he leaned in for a kiss.

  The touch of his lips was like scratching an itch that she’d had between her shoulder blades all her life. The relief was instant and powerful as Kishon explored her, his lips strong and soft. That same relief tightened, heating up her belly, and when he slipped his tongue against hers, she let out a moan she’d been holding in for far too long.

  “What a gorgeous sound,” he murmured against her mouth. “Make it again.”

  “Make me,” she whispered, nipples peaking with the brashness of it. She’d never once thought in all her life that she’d be giving orders to a king.

  “It would be my pleasure.” A wicked edge came to Kishon’s voice. He kissed her harder, hotter, his tongue more demanding, and desire wrapped itself around Chloe like winding vines. She was breathless when he stopped to press kisses in a line down her body, first her chin and then the bared flesh of her neck. Kishon’s hands worked magic on his clothes, then hers, and then she was naked in front of a king. Naked and panting. On a luxe leather sofa, in front of a massive window.

  Kishon looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His eyes raked along her skin, leaving trails of heat over every inch. He followed his gaze with the pads of his thumbs, coaxing her nipples into peaks and working lower. “You’re exquisite.” The husky growl of his voice, paired with the sight of his truly astounding abs, was the last straw.

  “If I’m so exquisite,” she groaned, “why are you making me wait?”

  “Patience makes the heart grow fonder.” He dipped his head down and pressed a kiss between her breasts. She arched her back—when had she stretched out underneath him like this?—and spread her legs, offering. Inviting.

  “Kishon, that’s not a saying.” She was breathless, floating in a dream. This had to be a dream. This room. Th
is man. “And I need…” The sentence trailed off into a moan.

  “I need more of you. You…you have enchanted me for weeks.” His words were raw, and she heard the truth there, bright and shining. “And you’ve been such a terrible tease.”

  Chloe put a hand to her lips. “Oops. What are you going to do about it?”

  He kissed her again, so possessive it took her breath away. “Don’t tempt me.” His lips brushed the shell of her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “Or I’ll have to make you mine.”

  “And how will you—”

  He caught both her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head. “I’ll start like this.” So matter of fact. “And then…” He palmed her pussy with his other hand, testing her hot core with his fingers.

  “Oh,” said Chloe. Kishon pushed one finger inside, then another, and then he did something that felt so good she tried to curl away from it. “Oh, that’s—oh.”

  “So wet and ready,” he commented, and the casual tone in his voice snared her. Was it the wine making her feel this intensely alive, or was it the sheer power of him? She flashed back to him dragging two men at once out of the bar. Oh, it was hot. “But how ready? Shall I get a condom?”

  “Don’t you dare leave,” Chloe said through gritted teeth. “I’m on the pill.”

  “Good.”

  Kishon lined himself up with her entrance, the fact of him there huge and insistent. She opened her legs wider and wriggled in his grasp, trying to work herself onto his crown. It didn’t work. She was trapped. Chloe threw her head back in frustration, and when she opened her eyes, he was watching her with such fire in his own gaze that she started to melt.

  “Mine,” he said simply, and then he pumped into her with a tortuous, lovely slowness. Kishon was in control of every inch, never letting go of her wrists, and she felt her body stretch for him.

  When his hips settled firmly between her legs, she forced her eyes open. This was a once-in-a-lifetime sight—she could sense it. Kishon stared down at her, eyes lidded and lips slightly parted, his need written all over his face.

  Chloe lifted her head to kiss him, and all at once he was unleashed. He let her hands go, and she threw her arms around his neck, moving with him. Their bodies fit together so well it should have been impossible. He grazed her clit with every stroke, working his hips so that he made more and more contact, driving her up and up and up until finally there was nothing left but an explosion of pleasure and desire. Who was making that sound? It was her. She couldn’t stop. She could only hold on for dear life as Kishon lost himself to his own release. Oh, it felt so filthy, the way he emptied himself into her…and so right.

  When they were finished, Kishon took her in his arms and rolled them off the leather sofa and onto the rug beneath. Chloe took the fall with a burst of giggles.

  “The floor? Really? You have this entire suite, and…” The rug was nice. It was luxurious, actually. “Oh. Okay. I see now.”

  Kishon pulled her close and kissed her temple. “That was incredible.”

  She stared up at the ceiling. “It was even better than I imagined.”

  He pushed himself up on one elbow. “You imagined us having sex?”

  Chloe bit her lip. “Yes, only…”

  “What?” The grin that played across his face lit her up inside.

  “Only we did it more than once.”

  3

  A gentle rustling, like leaves in the wind, seeped into Kishon’s dream. In the dream he was in the gardens at the palace, lying on his back and looking up through the branches of a flowering tree. He’d never felt so relaxed in his life. His body ached so pleasantly, as if he’d used it well, and he stretched out his legs. Smaller sounds crept in—fabric on fabric, feet padding across the room…

  “Kishon.”

  He opened his eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. Chloe. The stunning bartender who’d refused to date him and in doing so had become his friend.

  And now, something else entirely.

  Calling what they’d had a one-night stand seemed…wrong.

  She looked at him with her big, green eyes, a satisfied smile on her heart-shaped lips, a grin curving the corner of her mouth.

  “Are you awake?”

  “I’m looking at you,” he said, voice gravelly from sleep.

  She bent to kiss his cheek. “I have to go.”

  He stretched again. “No. Stay.” His body was ready for her.

  Chloe bit her lip. “I’ve got to catch the light. Go back to sleep.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him, a fleeting brush against his lips. No. He wouldn’t fall back asleep. He’d follow her to the door, and…

  Kishon woke with a start to an empty room, his phone ringing on the nightstand. He snatched it up, heart feeling surprisingly tender. He was usually the one to do the leaving, holding them at arm’s length as he went. Whatever catching the light was—something to do with painting, probably—it shouldn’t have beaten him out.

  “Hello?”

  “Good. You’re up. We need to talk.”

  He shook his head, trying to clear it of all the intoxicating thoughts of Chloe. He had to move on, and right now. He owed the tribal council a quarterly check-in, and his brother Chakir sounded grim. “All right.”

  “Skype?”

  “Sure. Switching to video.” Chakir’s face appeared on his phone. His hair looked tousled, as if he’d been tugging at it with his fingers. That wasn’t like him. Kishon’s gut went cold. “What is it, brother?” It wasn’t just his hair. Something very serious had happened. He could tell from his brother’s expression.

  “We received word that you’re engaged.” Chakir stared hard into the camera.

  The previous night at the bar came back to him in a rush. Claiming to be Chloe’s fiancé had seemed like a minor detail after the things they’d done on the sofa…and the rug…and the bed. But he had said it, and there had been plenty of people taking videos. “Who’s we? You and the elders?”

  “Me and the world. The internet is a deluge of headlines.” Chakir looked at his computer screen. “‘Sheikh Saves Sweetheart.’ ‘Engaged Sheikh Enraged.’” A small smile broke into Chakir’s composure. “My personal favorite is ‘Busted Bachelor Turns Bridegroom.’ That one was very clever.” The smile fell away from his face. “And yes, the elders have caught wind of this.”

  Kishon blinked, thoughts jumbled up like the sheets around his legs. He could still smell Chloe—sweet and clean, like a cherry garnish—and it was highly distracting. But that fact warred with a pull he felt in his bones. Tradition. It was a constant tug-of-war with him. Some days, he woke up burning with passion for the ancient customs of Hamari, passed down to him from generations of kings before him. Other days, those traditions chafed against him like cheap cotton. Today was…

  He had no idea what today was.

  “Is it serious?” prompted Chakir. “I’m beginning to think it is. You’re never this quiet.”

  “Sometimes, I do pause to think,” Kishon said good-naturedly, studying his brother’s face on the screen. He couldn’t help but see the hope in Chakir’s eyes. The previous year, Chakir had come to the States to find a child who had been born to the royal family and flown under the radar all his young life. Chakir had convinced Ryan and his mother Hannah to come to Hamari. Now Chakir and Hannah were engaged. Kishon clenched his jaw, then consciously relaxed it. He tried to maintain an appearance of calm when it came to royal matters like these, but this tradition put him on edge. Chakir was in love. Chakir wanted to marry. How could Kishon deny him that? “I’m not sure if it’s serious.”

  “What happened, then?”

  Kishon told Chakir about Chloe. How he’d met her six months ago at the beginning of the diplomatic meetings in the US. How they’d grown to be friends. How she’d turned him down.

  “Everything’s settled here.” He ran his palm over his face. “I have no further trips planned to the US, so maybe that’s why I went back. I don’t know. But when
I got there, I saw—” Anger knotted at the soles of his feet, and he worked to let it go. “A group of men were harassing her. I intervened.”

  “By proposing?” Laughter shone in Chakir’s eyes.

  “By dragging them out by the jackets,” admitted Kishon. “It was a rare departure from our traditional decorum.”

  “Of course. When I think of you, I always think of decorum.” Chakir snorted. “You’re the one who dates like it’s going out of style, but that’s beside the point. How did you end up engaged?”

  “We’re not actually engaged, is the point. One of the goons asked me who I thought I was, to have the right to kick them out of the bar. In the heat of the moment, I said I was her fiancé. In front of about thirty phones.”

  “Ah.” Chakir’s eyes flickered downward, and Kishon didn’t miss the fall of his cheeks that signaled disappointment. “So, what now? Do you want the palace to make an announcement? Chalk it up to a momentary indiscretion?”

  Kishon’s stomach twisted. Despite his complicated feelings about marriage, he hated the thought of Chloe reading that piece of news. He could see the headlines now. “SHEIKH WOULDN’T MARRY HER.” That’s what it would boil down to.

  He couldn’t do that to her.

  But what was the alternative?

  “No, I don’t,” he said slowly.

  Chakir’s eyebrows shot upward. “You don’t?”

  “Would it be the worst idea? We could help each other.”

  “You and Chloe?” Chakir looked suspicious. “Help each other with what?”

  “Did you see the footage from last night?”

  “I did,” Chakir said cautiously. “Am I missing something?”

  “She got fired for the punch,” Kishon told him.

  Understanding dawned on Chakir’s face. “How unfortunate.”

  “Perhaps not so unfortunate,” countered Kishon. “She’s always wanted to travel and paint. I could let her do that. In return, she could play my wife for a short period of time.”

  Chakir pursed his lips. “And then what?”

  “Then our issue with the elders is resolved. I was going to propose suspending the marriage law, but I didn’t have much hope that they would approve it.” Kishon wanted that dearly. He worked hard to maintain his relationship with the council of elders, but he disagreed with their insistence on using adherence to tradition as a proxy for good leadership. Chafe, chafe, chafe. “And it will allow you to marry Hannah.”