Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter and she bit her lip, fretting that it might be Bahan and that she’d zoned out far too fast. When she glanced at the screen, she realized that it was her sister. Her heart stopped in her throat and she was terrified something bad had happened. Of course, if it had, her mother would have been the one calling, or Rose.
“Hey, Syd, what’s up?”
“Did you go to the Louvre yet? What about strolling by the Seine?” her sister asked, her tone as perky as it usually was. That was so Sydney. Nothing could get the girl down for long. She adjusted better than anyone Jennifer knew. “Tell me, is Paris da bomb?”
“What?”
“Puh-leeze,” her sister said, and she could imagine the younger girl rolling her eyes. It was, after all, Syd’s favorite motion. “Bahan did tell Rose and it wasn’t like Rose could keep the secret from Mom, and then yesterday I got the big honeymoon secret out of Mom. Thus, you’re getting to run away to Paris with royalty and it has to be the most fun thing you’ve ever done. So tell me. What have you seen so far?”
Well, there was the bedroom of his private jet…
Jennifer bit her tongue. Her sister was a college grad and not a kid anymore, but she couldn’t really share details that, well, detailed with her sis. That was too much. She still had to protect Syd from some of the big stuff in the world. After all, couldn’t she just like freeze her sis in carbonite and keep her safe and secure for the rest of her life?
“I’ve seen the hotel. We got here and I had to shower and unpack and I’ve had that jet-lag exhaustion. I…Bahan’s down in the lobby doing some remote business.”
“So you went to one of the most romantic cities in the world to nap? That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard!”
“Jeez, sis, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Jennifer said. Then she even felt guilty about that. How could she resort to sarcasm with a sick person, someone so ill they were in the hospital and getting their fucking blood filtered three times a week? If only her kidney had been a match. Then Sydney would already be on her way to recovery. “God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.”
“That was hardly snapping,” her sister said, her voice quiet and thoughtful. “Don’t stop having a good time because you’re worried about me. I’m going to be okay, and one of us needs to see the world. I’m going to every country when I get better, trust me. Right now, just remember that you’re seeing Paris for both of us, so go have the time of your life. I’ll be begging for the pictures when you return.”
“I…”
“Sis, I’d feel terrible if you were martyring your trip because you were worried about me. Have fun. You deserve it more than anyone I know, and I won’t be the block between you and Bahan getting to know each other. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and I want to know you came back with a ton of pics of you two smiling.”
“Thank you,” Jennifer said, her voice thick with emotion. Sometimes it felt like Syd was the older sister, caring for her in some ways, at least making sure that Jen didn’t burn herself out. Maybe it was just that all the times in the hospital gave one a different perspective on everything. Not that Syd was a Zen master, but she certainly was giving her advice today. “I’ll bring you a cheesy gift from the Louvre, some plush version of the Mona Lisa or something.”
“Now you’re talking!” she chirped again, her former jovial nature returning to her tone. “I love you, Jen. Never forget that.”
“I couldn’t. Love you too.”
***
The day had progressed like a dream. They’d had a VIP tour of the Louvre. Actually, with Bahan’s influence and power, he’d literally shut down the museum for the day. They (and Bahan’s security staff, of course) had been the only people strolling through the exhibits. While seeing the Mona Lisa had definitely crossed an item off her bucket list, Jennifer had to admit it was smaller and less impressive in person than she ever would have imagined. She much preferred the exhibits on the side. There was an entire hall of nothing but the Flemish masters, and she’d appreciated the darker, more nuanced art of Vermeer and Rembrandt. Even the wild colors of the impressionists had caught her eye more than the small wooden painting with the world’s most famous and enigmatic woman on it.
When they’d moved on to the Eiffel Tower, the same secluded, VIP experience had been hers. Jennifer had to admit that being a sheikha came with its advantages. Not having to wait in line or deal with crowds was a massive bonus. But those were the more typical tourist experiences, the ones that everyone had shared. Now they were standing on the Pont des Arts, overlooking the flowing river Seine as it passed beneath them.
She frowned and pointed to the hundreds of simple, hardware-store padlocks that greeted her on the sides of the bridge. “What is this?”
“This,” Bahan said, crossing over to the side of the bridge and leaning against all the slightly rusted brass and iron, “isn’t just any bridge.”
“I think I can tell that,” she said, arching her eyebrow wryly up at him. “But I don’t understand why there’s so much hardware on it. It can’t be good for the structural integrity.”
“One day it may very well collapse. I’ve heard they want to take the locks off,” he admitted. “However, these are the love locks. People often carve or engrave their names on the side, sometimes even with a pen or whiteout…whatever it takes. Then they lock the device through the chain link and throw the key in the river. Once they do, the story holds that they’ll be lovers forever.”
Her heart swelled in her chest. She stood across from him, her heart hammering in her chest and her breath coming in more ragged gasps. She was stuck there, completely uncertain about how to move forward or continue this conversation.
“Is this an educational tour? We’ve seen all the other sites. Is this about seeing this attraction as ingrained in Paris as Notre Dame or the Seine, itself?”
Bahan shook his head and pulled a brass lock from his jeans pocket. “You know it’s not. I think there’s no better way to bless a marriage than to start by taking advantage of all the good luck that we can.”
“A blessing then?”
“I suppose it’s no more real than a rabbit’s foot or horseshoe, whatever else you Americans prefer for a good-luck charm. But to me, I think it matters, that it helps set us up together in the best light and with the best of good fortune.”
She nodded and felt her body pulled closer to him, as if he were a magnet and she were the iron filings. Jennifer tried to stay independent, tried to remain outside of him, but she couldn’t ignore that any longer.
Drawing near, she reached out to his hand and traced her fingers over his own, feeling the warmth of his tawny skin. The pen clutched between his fingers was an afterthought.
“So I just sign it?”
“We both do it, put our initials on it, and the bridge takes care of the rest.”
She nodded and wrote “JW” on one side and watched as Bahan put on his initials on the other. He then locked the padlock in place, whispered something under his breath in Arabic, and tossed the key in the river below.
Jennifer frowned up at him, staring into those amber eyes that always managed to confuse her and throw her completely off-balance. It was like falling through quicksand, being slowly taken under no matter how much she struggled against it.
“What did you say?”
“It’s probably silly…too sentimental.”
“No, tell me. I think this whole tradition is nothing if not sentimental, but isn’t that the point? We’re both hoping, taking that leap like thousands of other people on the bridge before us. I think there are definitely worse ways to be sentimental and cheesy.”
“It’s a simple prayer, one that my father taught me. It’s for guidance from Allah and Mohammad both, to have the wisdom to see all my plans through.”
Reaching out, she stroked his face, loving the way the scruff of his goatee felt against the palm of her hand. The soft prickles that were driving
her wild. That hint of turmeric was in the air again, and she could stay like this with the man forever, basking in his kindness and his hope.
“Am I a plan too?”
“Do you want to be?”
She sighed and leaned against the locks as well, moving her back around until none of the locks were digging into her spine. “My parents are divorced.”
“I’m aware of that. I figured there was a reason I only saw Carol around, and you mentioned your dad and how he left…about the money being so tight.”
“Yes. I guess it’s better they were married and divorced than it was some common law thing, not that it’s not uncommon in Kentucky.”
“Fair point, but families that can’t stay together are common everywhere, even in Yemen.”
“Your parents didn’t have that problem.”
He shrugged. “They’re a good match, somehow. I don’t understand yet how. My mother is so strict and intense, and my father, despite his role, is very much invested in the more noble things in life. But they do complement each other. Of course,” he said, grinning down at her, even as he took her hand in his own, “it helps if there’s the pressure of a whole nation on you to stay together. I’m sorry that your father couldn’t take his responsibilities seriously.”
“I just feel like you have to be independent. Mom…she believed in love and all it led to was being stuck with two daughters, one very sick, and then scrabbling with two or three jobs. Now I can send home money, I can help, but…”
“I understand,” he said, and he squeezed her hand.
Jennifer marveled at how big his hand was, how it swamped her own. Blushing, she remembered the lovemaking they’d shared on the plane. Considering the size of his manhood, maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised about his hands. After all, wasn’t there an old expression about size along those lines? Still, he was so large and comforting and safe, but she knew better than anyone how much of an illusion that could be. As much as it pained her to keep opening up about her parents’ disastrous marriage, to lay out how crushing it was for all three of them, she couldn’t talk about Dustin and how she’d personally been stomped on by a lover before.
Some days she tried to just think of him as a mistake of a boyfriend, but the louse had been far more than that and he’d crushed her anyway.
“Do you?”
“Yes. For the longest time, I just loved to have fun. I don’t want to sound shallow.”
“Oh please, go on. Would this be about all the women you’ve known?” she said, winking back at him and hoping he understood her wry tone.
Both of them had a past. It was just that Bahan’s was far more colorful. After all, he was royalty and fabulously wealthy. He could have any woman he wanted and often had. Yet, it had to mean something, damn it, that he’d chosen her now. She clung to that as hope kept blooming in her heart.
“I’ve been young.”
“If I Googled the big tabloids for November, that would still be part of your misspent youth,” she pointed out.
“Does that worry you?”
“No.”
Not much.
That thought bubbled through her brain, but she knew again that she wouldn’t voice it out loud. It would be too harsh to say. Still, a large part of her was scared she was just a blip for him. Some novelty tied up with an easy way to bypass an inheritance clause.
He turned to her and then stroked her cheek. “I’m so sorry about the pain your family has been through. I’m trying to help you all as best as I can. I never had a sister, and I have to admit that I enjoy her company. I’ve rarely seen someone so vivacious, even with her illness. But I am trying. I can’t make up for the pain your father brought to you, but I promise that I’m not the same man. I’m not going to run.”
“But this is temporary,” she said, and it was so hard to utter that part. It came out as a hoarse whisper, and if Bahan hadn’t been just a few inches from her lips, Jennifer was sure he wouldn’t have heard it.
He kissed her then, his tongue demanding and dominant as it probed her mouth. Her own tongue responded, stroking his back with a fierce rhythm, and they met one another in a dance for dominance that continued for innumerable moments, leaving her belly flaring with warmth and the wetness pooling again between her legs.
“It doesn’t have to be, wild one. You just have to think on that.”
Chapter Nine
“I don’t know how you do what you do,” she said, her voice still heavy with emotion.
Jennifer didn’t feel like herself today. Yesterday, Bahan had basically thrown the true gauntlet down, made no secret of his feelings. He would stay married to her forever if she asked, and Jennifer had no doubts about that now. He’d promised her the protection and security both her father and Dustin had denied her, but it all went against every instinct she’d ever had. In her twenty-seven years thus far, she’d learned that the only person you could really rely on was yourself. You had to be self-reliant. Everything else could be yanked out from under you like a cheap bit of carpet. He’d been kind enough not to press since then. Hell, as they’d done more tourist things today, he’d almost acted as if he’d never said it at all.
Part of her hoped that she hadn’t hurt him, dug fresh scars into his heart. She wasn’t exactly going to say no, but she wasn’t sure she was going to agree either. All Jennifer did know was that deciding to become the sheikha of a country she’d never even been to forever was a massive step, and she had to think about it, evaluate every angle logically. And she assuredly couldn’t agree until Sydney was healthy.
But that offer was still hanging over both of them, coloring their interactions throughout the weekend.
And yet, right now, she had a feeling that they were going to play.
The presidential suite that he’d secured for her had a massive bathroom. The tub before them barely fit the moniker. It was four feet wide and seven feet long. There were detailed instructions on the wall in several languages about how long you had to let it run to essentially fill up the wading pool before you could get in it or start the jets. But he’d done it all for her, set up the hot bath, the rose petals on the floor and sinks, as well as the candles laid out on the counter’s surfaces. Bahan had even secured some kind of bath bomb or gel so that the Jacuzzi was now a deep, hearty violet.
“Will I come out of this looking like Barney?” she quipped, trying again for levity.
“No, my wild one. The dye is far from permanent and shouldn’t stain your skin,” he said, slipping off his silk bathrobe and standing there before her.
God, she couldn’t help but adore his physique. She licked her lips as she eyed him and the one bead of sweat dripping down his chest, curling over his abdomen, and then running down that infamous happy trail and to his hips. She wanted to run her body over him. Hell, a cheekier part of her wanted to test that old expression and see if she could do laundry over his abs. She figured that with his eight pack, one so rigidly cut to boot, that she definitely could.
He seemed to know the power that his body had over her, since he paused longer than he had to before getting into the water. Now it was her turn, and despite their budding relationship, she hesitated. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she slipped off her own robe and felt far more than just naked when she stood before him.
It was like being flayed open before him.
He was like a damn Greek or Persian god come to life, and she was still a bit too heavy, with hips she loathed and a body that didn’t always match to the latest fashion. How could he look at her and want her as much as she wanted him? Craved him?
Blushing, she looked down at her feet, and vowed to hop as fast as she could into the bath.
“Wait!” he said, his voice ringing out loudly between them.
“What?” she asked.
“Stand there.”
“I…why?” she asked, covering her breasts with one hand and her soft thatch of pubic hair with the other. “You know what I look like.”
“So
mewhat, but you want to hide with the lights off so often.”
“I don’t.”
“You do, but you shouldn’t. You have a woman’s body, all soft curves that I can’t help but want to touch.”
“Sure, lay it on thick,” she said, her voice a bit more of a growl than she wanted it to be.
“No, that’s not a line,” he said, reaching down and stroking his erection.
She watched, transfixed a bit, as it bobbed in the bubbling water before her. It wasn’t impossible to see through the translucent violet water, and just the sight of it left her desperate and needy. Her pearl pulsed between her legs, and she was more than ready to make love to him.
“But you don’t have to give that to me. I’m already yours for now,” she said, sighing a bit when she mentioned that last part.
With his free hand, he reached out and touched her arm. “I love you. I love you more than anyone I’ve ever known, and I know you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever dated. You should be proud of your body. It’s the one that a royal craves.”
She blushed, and for a moment, it was impossible to swallow. That lump in her throat like a wad of cotton shoved down there and hard to maneuver around. Finally, it seemed to go down even as she eased into their massive tub as well.
“Thank you.”
He smirked at her, even as he began to suckle her right breast. His tongue flicked against her nipple, teasing and tempting it until it pebbled into a rigid peak. Then his hand slid low, under the water, and teased her thighs apart. Bahan’s hands tickled her most sensitive lips and she angled her legs wider, let her lover have greater access to her womanhood.
Bahan took full advantage of it, letting two fingers slip inside of her, even as his thumb pressed against her most sensitive nub. He pressed against her and started to rub it in semicircles, and already she felt the stars seem to blast behind her eyelids.
“You’re the most amazing woman,” he said, lifting his neck up and then staring eye to eye with her.
Those damn amber eyes again. She could never resist them. If he stared at her much longer, then she’d feel pulled into his orbit and would beg for anything that he was willing to give her, but she couldn’t do that. She had to resist, had to stay herself. Deep down, as much as she wanted to fully give herself to him, she was terrified that Bahan would end up being a rock that she broke herself against, and that was something that she couldn’t allow.
Sheikh's Fake Fiancee Page 7
