“OK no,” she said, her eyes going wide as she saw him approach her slowly, rhythmically, thigh muscles flexing as he took each majestic step, legs splayed out like he had the biggest balls on the battlefield, like he was the king of his realm again, that alpha beast about to claim his mate, take her under sun and sky. “Zaal, no. Zaal, no!”
He shrugged and stopped before he touched her, holding his hands up, palms facing outwards. “No means no, my queen. As you wish. And so I will wait. I will wait until you say the word. I will wait forever if I have to. I will wait until my princess is ready, ready to become a queen again, ready to be touched again.” He paused now, licking his lips as he glanced down at her curves, the swell of her breasts, the way her nipples were stiffening all on their own, the way her thighs were slowly spreading all on their own, the way she was opening up for him like a flower opens for the rain, opening up again like that first blossom of spring.
Untouched again, untouched for him, untouched forever.
∞
EPILOGUE 1
“Thank you for seeing me,” Fran said to the four women gathered in the anteroom to her chambers in the Kirwaani Royal Palace. “And thank you for coming forward and revealing the truth about Zaal and your relationships.”
“It is we who are honored to be in your presence, your highness,” said Longbeard’s thirty-four year old wife, her gray eyes showing some color.
“And we would have come forward sooner, had we known about the fatwa at the time,” said Goatbeard’s wife, a round woman with a cherubic face lined from premature stress.
“Ya Allah, if you had simply called us, it would have been cleared without fuss!” said Baldbeard’s wife, a dark woman with lush eyelashes.
“Though it has worked out well enough now,” said the fourth woman, Redbeard’s woman, her smile beaming bright against her dark red lips as she pulled her hijab closer.
“Really?” said Fran, shifting on the shining green divan as she tried to appear as regal as possible, her mind reeling from how these women had called her “Your Highness!” God, she was technically a queen, she told herself as she felt the weight of that ring. A fake queen in a fake marriage. Things couldn’t be more real.
“Yes, of course,” said Longbeard’s wife.
“Even though your husbands are behind bars?” Fran said hesitantly, wondering if they would blame her for destroying their marriages or something.
Redbeard’s wife shrugged. “It is not so bad being . . .” She looked over at Goatbeard’s wife, both women showing some color against their dark skin, some mischief in their eyes. “Single again. Is that the word? Are we single now?”
Fran watched as these four women giggled like schoolgirls at a high-school dance, these noble women who had been given away in arranged marriages as teenagers, who were stepping out of the shadows of marital oppression for the first time.
Well maybe not the first time, Fran thought as she blinked at the realization that God, each of these women has . . . has been with. . . oh, God, Zaal. I don’t even know where to . . .
But she couldn’t help but smile, because there was no threat. She knew it and these women knew it. They whispered in Arabic for a bit, and then glanced at her, their faces almost . . . envious?
“So you are the one who has tamed him,” said Longbeard’s wife quietly, glancing up and down at Fran and then quickly blinking and looking away.
“Brought the king to his knees,” said Goatbeard’s wife, her jaw tightening for a moment before relaxing into a smile.
“Shattered his defenses,” said Baldbeard’s wife, shaking her head and leaning back on her oversized cushion.
“Taken his heart,” said Redbeard’s wife, sighing as the women slowly stood and prepared to leave. “And so we take no shame in bowing to you, my queen. No shame at all.”
And the four maidens bowed to their queen with no shame. No shame at all.
EPILOGUE 2
Elephant-man shut down the cash register at his Burlington gas station and glanced out into the empty streets. Three more months. Three more months and the money the Regents had paid him would finally clear the complicated network of money-laundering accounts that an intermediary had graciously offered to engineer so the IRS and Homeland Security would not pound on his door. He scratched his heavy stomach, which felt bloated from the extra pounds he had gained from celebrating his impending retirement with the finest Pakistani sweetmeats, those deep-fried sugar-coated flour balls!
He felt good. Certainly better than Mister Nosering, who perhaps deserved a little cash for keeping his mouth shut. Ya Allah, there is such a thing as honor amongst thieves, is there not?
And I am not so dishonorable, he thought as he locked up and headed to the dark parking lot. After all, the woman is alive and well, and things seem to have worked out just fine for that Sheikh bugger as well. So why should I not have my happy ending too?
He burped as he bent over and fumbled for his car keys, frowning as he saw movement from the corner of his eye.
Then he saw nothing as a black hood came down over his face and a needle slid into the soft flesh of his arm.
EPILOGUE 3
Elephant-man awoke to see five men in orange jumpsuits staring at him.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, sitting up and realizing he was on a cot in a prison cell and these bearded men in orange were his goddamn roommates.
“Hell is correct, my Muslim brother,” said the man with the long beard.
“Welcome to Guantanamo,” said the man with the goat beard.
“Gitmo, as you American Muslims might call it,” said the man with the red beard.
“Where you always git mo than you ask fo,” said the man with the bald face and chin-beard. “Our veteran cellmate taught me that line,” he said, gesturing at the older, quiet man who sat in the corner.
“Who is he?” said Elephant-man, frowning like he had seen the guy’s picture in the news some time back. Something to do with that sensational story about a Sheikh and a bank robbery and a bomb or something.
“They call him Uncle Bin,” said Goatbeard softly.
“I heard that!” shouted Uncle Bin, pointing and spitting on the floor.
“He does not like the name,” said Redbeard, rolling his eyes.
“None of us like our names,” said Goatbeard with a shrug.
“True,” said Longbeard, rubbing his face and sighing. “I feel I cannot shave for fear that no one would know what to call me.”
“And I feel I have to keep shaving or else suffer an identity crisis,” said Baldbeard.
“We do not like our names,” Uncle Bin muttered from the shadows. “But this is not our story, and so we must sit in the shadows and wait for our lines. Come, Elephant-man. Join us, and I will tell you the story of a great Sheikh and his American wife.”
“I think I have heard that story,” muttered Elephant-man.
“So have we,” said the bearded ones. “But it is the only story we have. Perhaps it is the only story ever written by the universe. The story of man and woman.”
∞
FROM ANNABELLE WINTERS
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Anna.
BY ANNABELLE WINTERS
THE CURVES FOR SHEIKHS SERIES (USA)
Curves for the Sheikh
Flames for the Sheikh
Hostage for the Sheikh
Single for the Sheikh
Stockings for the Sheikh
Untouched for the Sheikh
Surrogate for the Sheikh
Stars for the Sheikh
Shelter for the Sheikh
THE CURVES FOR SHEIKHS SERIES (UK)
Curves for the Sheikh (UK)
Flames for the Shei
kh (UK)
Hostage for the Sheikh (UK)
Single for the Sheikh (UK)
Stockings for the Sheikh (UK)
Untouched for the Sheikh (UK)
Surrogate for the Sheikh (UK)
Stars for the Sheikh (UK)
Shelter for the Sheikh (UK)
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Untouched for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 6) Page 18
