Curves for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 1)

by Annabelle Winters

  “Samir!” Zahain called out from where he stood, outside the Council session room, beside a bronze bust of their father. “Please.”

  Samir sighed and turned, slowly walking back to the room, pursing his lips and taking each step deliberately, like he was trying to make a point. Zahain watched his younger brother with curious interest, his own mind working hard to figure out what in Allah’s name was going on.

  “Yes?” Samir said. “What is it, Zahain?”

  Zahain waited for Samir to walk into the empty room, and then he closed the door.

  “Samir,” he said, motioning towards a wooden bench on the edge of the private garden. “I was surprised to hear your words.”

  Samir nodded, a thin smile showing on his round face. “Everyone was surprised, it seems. But it should not be a surprise, yes? According to law, I am to ascend to the throne at age twenty-one. I turned twenty-one three months ago. So, what is the surprise?”

  Zahain sighed as he sat down on the bench. He crossed one leg over the other and waited for Samir to sit beside him. His brother sat down, looking over at Zahain expectantly, but Zahain stayed silent as he gathered his thoughts, chose his words.

  He knew that Samir spoke the truth. The law was written clearly and carefully. But at the same time, Samir had made it equally clear through his comments and actions that he was in no hurry to become Sheikh. And so, although it was technically a violation of law, the Council had quietly decided to leave well enough alone until Samir actually stepped up and said he wanted to be Sheikh. The assumption, of course, was that it would be years before Samir decided to take on the role—after all, much of the work was routine, ceremonial, and administrative. It was a public relations job as much as anything.

  The concern of the Council, naturally, was that the Sheikh did have a lot of power in theory—absolute power, in a sense. Zahain had been judicious in exercising it—his decrees were all progressive and positive. With Samir at the helm though, it was not at all clear what might happen—perhaps nothing; perhaps everything. And so the Council had been resigned to a game of quiet, desperate hope—the hope that Samir would grow up a little before deciding to step up and claim his birthright.

  But all of it was off the record, never spoken of in explicit terms, understood only implicitly, like a game of cat and mouse where the cat chooses to ignore the mouse because it is too lazy to give chase. But how to say all this to Samir, Zahain wondered now. In some way Samir must already know it, yes? So what game is he playing? This man does not want to be Sheikh, does he? Could two weeks in Las Vegas change a man that much?

  Now Zahain thought of Wendy. He thought of the last three weeks of his own life, his life that had been changed by a simple visit to Wisconsin! He thought of the passion, the madness, the absolute insanity. He thought of the new life growing within her womb. Their child. His child. Farrar’s child.

  And now he glanced into Samir’s beady little eyes, wondering for a moment if he had underestimated his little brother. Zahain was no fool—he knew the walls had ears, that it could not be a secret that he had been visiting Wendy every day, that no matter how thick the walls were, there were many who would have heard them make love, again and again. And many attendants had witnessed Wendy throwing up in the garden that evening. Perhaps there were already rumors of the pregnancy spreading through the palace.

  None of it really bothered Zahain. He knew that although the royal staff talked amongst themselves, no royal secrets ever made their way beyond the palace walls. It was a strange sort of honor system that the Sheikh’s servants had maintained over the generations. So none of that really bothered him.

  But something was bothering Zahain, and now, as he watched his brother fidget restlessly, wiping the sweat off his broad forehead as he shifted uncomfortably, perhaps unnerved by Zahain's silence, now again looking like the overgrown child that he was . . . yes, Zahain knew what it was. It was shame. Shame that at some level he was cheating his brother, cheating him out of his legacy.

  Yes, he was doing it in response to a higher duty, on the explicit order of his father, on the basis of a promise made many years ago. Zahain knew full well that a great king must sometimes overrule his own emotions to make the right choices, just like Zahain’s father had overruled his own fatherly love for Samir in order to ensure the best future for his country and his people. But right now it was still Zahain that was doing it. It was still a choice Zahain was making, and he was answerable to his conscience for that choice.

  So the feeling of shame was justified, which meant it would not go away on its own. It would sit there and fester, grow like a tumor, poisoning his character, infecting his soul. Perhaps his father would have been OK with it, but Zahain was his own man, was he not? He had to address the guilt, now that he had acknowledged its existence.

  He stopped for a moment to think about Wendy and their unborn child, suddenly wondering if he had made a terrible mistake. But it took a single thought for him to release any doubt that he was doing the right thing with her—Oh, God, yes it was the right thing: just the thought of having a child with Wendy filled him with such joy and delight that he could have no doubt about that. No, the only person being wronged here was Samir, and Zahain could not do that, no matter what kind of man his little brother had turned out to be. Zahain could not keep it a secret from his brother. Samir should know what was happening and why it was happening.

  Perhaps he already knows, Zahain thought now as he prepared to speak. Yes, he knows. And that is why he is here. It is a bluff, isn’t it, brother? Fair enough. I have deceived you, and so I cannot point a finger at you for playing a game. But I will not allow lies and deceit to come between us, brother. Family is family, and we will always be brothers, like it or not. And so it is time to just speak honestly, like brothers.

  A great relief passed through Zahain as he thought all this, and now he looked across at his brother, for the first time seeing him as a pure human spirit, an innocent child of Allah, someone who was lost, just as Zahain himself had been lost once.

  “Samir,” he said, smiling as he reached across and touched his brother’s shoulder. “Do you really want to be Sheikh right now?”

  Samir looked almost taken aback—not so much at the question, but perhaps at the genuine warmth in the way Zahain spoke, the sense of a real connection that his older brother’s touch conveyed. He stayed quiet for a moment, looking down at his stubby fingers and then back up into his brother’s eyes.

  “Are you kidding me?” he said, exhaling so hard he almost collapsed. “I can’t think of anything more f-ing boring, Zahain.”

  And Zahain pulled his brother close, hugging his chubby frame, and the two of them laughed together now, laughed together like brothers as a silent ripple made its way across the still waters of the lotus pond before them.

  They shared the moment of mirth a while longer, and then they began to talk.

  30

  “Four hours? Really? What did you two talk about?”

  “Everything, Wendy. Oh, God, we talked about everything. Our father. Our mothers. The way we were raised. The choices we made.” Zahain paused, looking almost embarrassed for a moment before shrugging. “We also talked a lot about drugs, partying, and sex.”

  Wendy burst out laughing, playfully slapping Zahain on the back as he shrugged again, his brown skin turning a distinct shade darker as he looked into her eyes almost apologetically.

  “I mean, come on, I had to give the boy some advice,” he said as Wendy laughed again and backed away from him so the Sheikh wouldn’t get splashed as she prepared to swim a little.

  The Sheikh and Wendy were standing in waist-high water in the shallow end of a beautiful round swimming pool lined with black Italian marble. It was outdoors, but the area was enclosed by high bamboo walls and lined with thick date-palms and other indigenous plants. Wendy had commented that she felt like she had stepped onto a Hollywood movie set—the plants looked so perfect, the water so still, the marble so precisel
y cut that it looked like an illusion.

  Wendy gently leaned backward and pushed off from the edge, allowing her legs to float up as she kicked out and did a slow backstroke that felt very graceful to her but probably looked very clumsy, she was sure. She wore a black bikini, which the Sheikh had miraculously produced for her (along with a full range of traditional clothes), saying not much more than “I had them made for you, Wendy.”

  The top fit her cups perfectly, supporting her heft and pushing up her boobs just right, making everything feel secure and safe. The bottoms fully covered her butt, and when Wendy had looked at her ass in the women’s’ cloak room she was very impressed with the way her cellulite was hidden. Bikinis had never been her thing, but this made her feel good. Good and sexy.

  The Sheikh wore classic surf-trunks, fitted as usual, ending just above the knee, the dark navy color going well with his bronze skin. Wendy had been admiring Zahain’s wet body as the two of them swam and waded together for the past hour. Although she had seen every part of him by now, it was still hard to believe how chiseled he was, the ridges of muscle on his chest and abs casting shadows from the overhead sun, shadows that defined his edges even more sharply.

  The Sheikh himself could barely keep his eyes off Wendy’s curves, and she was consciously aware of how her large, soft breasts were pushed up and out, the contrast of her lightly tanned white skin striking against the black of the bikini top.

  Yes, striking, and Wendy could see the Sheikh’s reaction to her curves when she glanced beneath the water’s surface. He had made no effort to hide his arousal from the moment she stepped out of the changing room in that black bikini, and Wendy had almost been embarrassed at the way Zahain stared unabashedly as she walked toward him, his eyes riveted to the way her thighs shone in the golden sun, the way her bikini bottoms formed a deep, perfect V at exactly the right spot, the way her hips moved as she walked.

  Still, it felt nice to be watched like that, she thought. Watched like that by someone who had proven again and again that he could not get enough of her.

  But Wendy resisted the urge to reach for him beneath the warm waters of this pool, resisted the urge to coax his arousal to full mast like she loved to do, perhaps today squat down beneath the water, pulling his tight trunks down over his swollen hardness, taking him into her—

  “What else, Zahain,” she said quickly, taking her eyes off the bulge at the front of his trunks as she let her feet touch the pool floor, straightening up as she smoothed her wet hair down. “Did your brother ask about when I’m to be brought up in front of the Council to be sentenced to death?”

  Zahain smiled and winked. “Well, he has figured that since I have already managed to seduce you, there is no pressing need to scare or threaten you at the moment.”

  Wendy blinked, her face going red. “Wait. He knows?”

  “Knows what? That we have slept together? Wendy. Everyone in the palace knows, I would think. It has been three weeks, my darling. And we have no doors, remember?”

  “Oh, right. Open-door policy,” Wendy said, still red but smiling now. But her smile quickly faded as she looked down past her breasts, down at her round stomach that she could swear was looking bigger, even though she was eating healthy and certainly burning through a few calories every day—several times a day, in fact.

  Zahain laughed, his eyes narrowing for a moment as he glanced down and then back up into her eyes. He blinked now, as if forcing himself to get back on track. “He knows about everything, Wendy,” he said, glancing at her midriff and then up at her meaningfully. “Everything.”

  Wendy licked her lips nervously. She wasn’t sure what to think. Yes, Zahain had assured her repeatedly that Samir was past the whole diner-punch-out incident—not because Samir had forgiven her, but because it would simply require too much effort for him to do anything about it now. Sure, he could still pursue the lawsuit, but now with the incident fading into the distance, dealing with lawyers and perhaps courtrooms back in Wisconsin would be way too tedious for Samir. Samir’s temper is on a short fuse that burns hot but not for long, Zahain had said.

  But the pregnancy was different, and truth be told, Wendy was a bit hurt that Zahain had so casually mentioned it to his younger brother, an unpredictable man that Zahain himself did not trust. And you trust him with this information, Zahain?

  “What do you mean by everything?” Wendy asked, shivering a little as the water suddenly felt cold to her.

  “About us, Wendy.”

  “The pregnancy?”

  “Yes. It cannot be a secret for long, Wendy!”

  “And what else, Zahain!” Wendy said, cutting him off as a fear gripped her tight. “What about all that other stuff? About fathering a child while you are still Sheikh. About cutting off your own brother’s bloodline without his knowledge. About that, Zahain. Oh, God, what was I thinking! How did I let myself get involved in this?! Am I in danger, Zahain? Is the baby—”

  “Wendy, stop,” Zahain said, his eyes going wide as he rushed to her in the pool, his lean body cutting through the water as he pulled her into him. “Stop. Hey, listen. It’s OK. I know that everything is just crazy right now, and I know you are in a strange land with strange traditions and the only thing you’ve got to go on is what the two of us feel for each other. I understand that, Wendy. And honestly, I am continually impressed that you have kept it together this long, you know? That you haven’t run, Wendy.”

  Wendy forced a smile as so much started to come rushing to the forefront, threatening to erupt if she let it. But she wouldn’t let it, she told herself. So much made so little sense, but what she felt at the deepest, purest, most physical level with this man could not be denied. Their passion told the truth, she knew, no matter how cheap and silly it sounded. That was the only reason she had been able to hang on, she knew. The only damned reason.

  Her smile brightened as she felt Zahain’s body against hers. But he was looking at her with a frown on his handsome brown face now, and she furrowed her brow as she looked up at him.

  “What?” she said, caressing his hard, rippling back. “What is it?”

  Zahain took a deep breath, his smile hardening. “Cutting off my own brother’s bloodline,” he said. “So you think what I am doing is wrong.” He took a step back now, his gaze narrowing. “You think this baby is wrong? You think what I feel for our child, for you, for us is nothing more than a political power play? Just ambition without passion? Cold reason without love?”

  Wendy just stared at him. “What? Of course not, Zahain! That’s not what I said. I would NEVER say that? Oh, GOD, Zahain!”

  The Sheikh smiled gently, his eyes still narrowed, but not in anger. No, he was looking at her with an expression that Wendy could only interpret as respect.

  “I know, Wendy. The feeling of magic when our bodies touch is real and it is pure, simple, and cannot be denied. It is the truth just like you are the truth, like we are the truth, like this child is the truth.” He sighed now. “But you are right about cutting off my brother’s future children from the throne,” he said quietly. “What I was doing was wrong, even though it was following through on a promise made to my father. My father . . . he was a different man, Wendy. I am not him. I cannot make that clean separation between what is right for my family and what is right for my country. In my mind there is just one right thing to do in every situation, and that action is right for every arena of life.” He blinked as he took a step closer to Wendy now. “And you recognized that, didn’t you? That I was wrong? I could tell from the way you just spoke to me. The . . . the CONTEMPT in your voice when you said I was cutting off my own brother’s bloodline behind his back!” He trembled now as he came closer, clenching his fist, his jaw tightening. “I never want to hear that in your voice again, Wendy. And I will never give you reason to speak to me that way again.”

  Wendy gulped. She had spoken without thinking, and to be honest, she had never truly analyzed all of it as right or wrong when the Sheikh first expl
ained everything to her three weeks ago. At the time she had listened to everything without judging, accepting the fact that Zahain came from a different world, a different culture, a different set of obligations and expectations. In some sense his father’s argument was correct: Sometimes a king might have to betray the bonds of family for the good of country. But where does that end, she wondered now as she looked into the dark green eyes of Zahain, the man whose child was growing within her womb.

  “It was not contempt for you, Zahain,” she said softly. “I would never—”

  “Yes, it was,” Zahain said, taking her hands in his and bringing them up to his lips, now kissing her fingertips carefully and delicately as he looked down into her soft brown eyes. “And I deserved it. I was blindly following someone else’s values while ignoring my own, and you could sense that even if you did not realize it. It gives me faith, Wendy. Faith that between the two us, we can—”

  But he stopped there, kissing her hands again before looking past her thoughtfully, like he had reconsidered what he was about to say. She did not press him, and soon enough they moved on with the conversation.

  “So when I realized that I could not carry the guilt of doing that to my brother,” Zahain said, “I knew I had to tell him everything. And so I did.” He smiled now, holding Wendy’s hand as the two of them waded through the warm water towards the poolside, where a tray with crystal glasses filled with pomegranate juice sat waiting for them. “Of course, Samir had already worked out all of it himself, it turned out.” The Sheikh carefully handed a glass of the dark red juice to Wendy and then raised an eyebrow. “It surprised me, actually. Samir is not often motivated to do so much thinking.”

  Wendy shrugged, sipping her drink and smiling. “Perhaps someone else helped with his thinking.”