Wendy gazed at the Sheikh through the thick white steam, taking in the sight of his tightly cut beard, the way his jaw was set firm as he spoke, the intensity in his eyes, the way he carried his body upright with pride and confidence, even though he was naked to his toes.
He looked over at her now, blinking as he caught sight of her look of admiration. He smiled and shrugged. “It’s been hard doing it all alone sometimes, Wendy, you know?”
“I know,” she whispered, slowly moving closer to him through the steam. “Oh, Zahain, I can tell that it hasn’t been easy!”
He nodded as she came close, and he held her hand and pulled her down to the bench beside him. The steam drifted around them like white clouds, and Wendy breathed in deep as Zahain continued.
“Yes, it’s been hard,” he said quietly, and after a moment’s hesitation he looked into her eyes and whispered, “and it’s been lonely, Wendy.”
She felt a chill as he said it, warmth as he squeezed her hand, and she was frozen and melting at the same time when she saw the vulnerability in the Sheikh’s eyes, the fragility of his naked soul laid bare before her, naked as his body, exposed in a way that was so intimate, so profound, so . . .
“I love you, Wendy,” he said, the words coming out slowly, his voice trembling, but all of it coming without the slightest hesitation. “I love you, and I want to marry you.”
She almost melted into the wooden bench, and her head was spinning so hard she wished she could lie down. The white mist around her was like a surreal twister, gently spinning her deeper into this dream world where a Sheikh, the father of her unborn child, was sitting here naked and asking her to marry him, to be his bride, First Lady of a nation she had never heard of a month ago, the wife of a Sheikh.
The wife of a Sheikh, yes. But more importantly, the wife of a man she loved.
The wife of a man she loved.
And now the feelings she had held in check came bursting through, and she sobbed as he grasped her hand and went down on one knee, still naked, the steam heavy around them, and he told her he loved her, swore to her he loved her, loved their unborn child, loved the idea of them growing old together, raising children together, living lives that perhaps neither of them believed could be possible for people who had walked their paths.
“Marry me, Wendy,” he said from down on one knee, and he looked so ridiculous with his red-streaked beard and naked body that she still could not answer, still could not control her emotions, still could not be sure if she was crying or laughing, sobbing or screaming. “Marry me.”
“I . . . love . . . you,” she managed to say, and when the words came out, suddenly the chaos was gone, and the white swirling tornado was gentle mist again, and she said it again to him: “I love you, Zahain. Oh, God, I love you.”
He smiled up at her as she looked down at him, and he kissed her hand and looked up at her again. For a long moment they stayed like this in silence, and then finally he blinked and said:
“Is that a yes?”
32
“An edict, Master Samir?”
“Yes. Zahain will pass an edict now, and when I become Sheikh, I will ratify his edict so that it continues into the future. The edict will state that the next generation’s Sheikh will only be decided after a detailed review,” Samir said as he glanced over at Aya and reached for the bowl of popcorn she had carried over to him.
Aya looked down at the red and black Persian carpets as she felt the blood rush to her face. Trembling, she asked the next question.
“And when will you decide to step into your God-given role as Sheikh, Samir?” she asked.
Samir just shrugged. He was already engrossed in a rerun of The Walking Dead. “Huh? Ya, Allah, not for a while, I think. Besides, Zahain has things under control right now, don’t you think?”
Aya took a deep breath and stared coldly at the lumbering prince before her. “Oh, yes,” she rasped. “I think Zahain has things under full control.” She paused, wondering if Samir could see what seemed so clear to her—that Zahain was manipulating the innocent, bumbling Samir into giving up his lineage without even a fight. “And the child?” she asked. “There will be a child, yes?”
Samir sighed and nodded. “Yes, you were right. The waitress is pregnant, but Zahain seems ridiculously happy about it.” He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Good for him, I suppose. Though I warned him to protect his nose if he ever gets in a fight with her.”
Samir laughed at his own joke as a zombie ate someone’s brain on the screen before him, and Aya stared at the television and then the boy, both with equal disgust.
“So the child will be born while Zahain is still Sheikh,” Aya said quietly, the wheels turning again in her head.
Samir looked up at the ceiling for a moment, frowning and then shrugging. “Yes, I suppose,” he said. “Nine months. That is correct. Yes, of course Zahain will still be Sheikh. That’s a no-brainer, Aya.” He exhaled quickly, apparently relieved at the thought that he had several more years to “find himself” before he needed to step up and take over a job that his older brother was quite happy to keep doing.
“Then by Islamic tradition and sacred law, the child of Zahain and the American will be the next Sheikh after your reign is complete,” Aya said, the words coming out as a statement rather than a question. “Their child, this child growing within her, will be the first born child to the Sheikh of Farrar! The child will be first in line, no matter what happens after. You will be Sheikh when you decide, yes. But your children will not be Sheikh! They will be cut off! Do you not see?”
Samir took a deep breath, eyebrows raised in annoyance at the incessant questioning. “No, Aya. I just told you. The edict, remember? We will postpone the decision until the time when I have children too. Perhaps Zahain will have more children then as well. Then we will all decide, in collaboration with the Council, who is most fit to lead Farrar. It seems fair. And easy.”
“Easy because you do not have to deal with it for another twenty years!” Aya shouted. “Easy because it allows you to live your lazy, degenerate life while your brother calmly steals all that is yours, all that is OURS!”
Samir recoiled at the outburst, and then finally, shaking his head, he pressed the Pause button and gave Aya his attention. “Zahain is not stealing anything from me, Aya,” he said, shaking his head again. “Or from . . . from . . . us! What does that mean, anyway—us?”
Aya took a deep breath. “Nothing,” she said, holding her tongue. This was not the time to remind Samir that she was as much a part of his inner family as anyone. She had bathed him, fed him, cared for him. She would have nursed him if she could. She was his mother! Could he not see that? The only true family he had left! Certainly she seemed to be the only one who cared for his legacy, the legacy of his unborn children. “What I mean is that the edict may be overturned by the Royal Council. Even if it is accepted right now, who is to say that when you ascend to the throne the Royal Council will continue to accept the edict? Many members of the Council are old. Some are not in good health. At least one member is close to death, I am sure of it. It could be a different Council in place when you are Sheikh, Samir. Even if you as Sheikh ratify the edict, they may deny it at the time! And then the laws revert back to tradition, which means Zahain’s child—this child who will be born in nine months—will be heir to the throne and there will be nothing you can do to stop it! You must act now, Samir! Many things can change in twenty years! YOU can change in twenty years! Act now, Samir. I beg of you. ACT NOW!”
33
“Now?”
“Yes, Wendy. Now.”
“But I don’t know how to get in touch with her, Zahain. You don’t understand . . . Cindy is . . . she’s gone, Zahain.”
Zahain frowned, and then his eyes went wide. “Wait, you’re saying she’s—”
Wendy snorted and raised her hands, shaking her head wildly. “Oh, God, no. That’s not what I meant. Hah! No, she’s fine! Perfectly fine. Alive and well. Great, in fact.
The Italian Riviera is great this time of year, she says.”
Zahain frowned again now, looking up at Wendy, who was standing by the circular windows of the Sheikh’s private office, up at the top of the palace’s tallest spire. This was the first time she had been up here, and the view was breathtaking—as in Wendy literally had a hard time breathing when she stepped out of the elevator and was greeted by the 360-degree panoramic view of the kingdom of Farrar, its gold and silver domes, pristine white houses, minarets rising like arrows in between, perfectly planted rows of palm trees lining the immaculately angled streets, all of it against a background of smooth white sand dunes that looked like rolling hills. In the distance she could see the great oasis of Farrar, its water drawn from natural underground rivers that ran a hundred feet below the burning sand, giving life to this sacred spot in the desert.
“The Italian Riviera is indeed nice this time of year, if I remember correctly,” Zahain said, his frown still apparent. “But I thought you said you didn’t know where Cindy was.”
Wendy turned away from the window, leaning against the cool marble window sill as she shook her head. “I didn’t say I didn’t know where she was. I said I didn’t know how to get in touch with her.”
Of course, Cindy had included her cell number in every bit of correspondence she had sent, but Wendy had trashed every letter and deleted every email before writing down the number, and so in a way she wasn’t lying. She really didn’t know how to get in touch with her sister!
“Well, how did she tell you she was at the Italian Riviera? You must have her phone number or email address, right?”
Wendy shook her head. “Just a postcard.”
“How about Facebook?”
Wendy laughed. “She’s not on Facebook, Zahain. Trust me. Her husband would never allow it.”
Zahain raised an eyebrow. “So she’s married. Wonderful. Perhaps she will have some advice for you, Wendy.” He winked at her. “Some tips for the wedding night, maybe? Yes? No? Haha. But in all seriousness, you WILL call your sister, Wendy. She is family, and family is everything. Family is everything, and soon she will be part of MY family too, and so I insist that you call her. I INSIST, Wendy. I will not take no for an answer. I will NOT take no for an answer.”
The Sheikh turned and faced Wendy directly as she laughed, her head tilting back and gently bumping against the thick glass of the curved windows.
“Careful, my love,” Zahain said as he took a step closer, his voice getting lower. “These windows are hard as stone. Bulletproof.”
Wendy nodded, her head raised, lips slightly parted, eyelids drooping as she felt her lover’s breath on her face, smelled his subtle cologne, the hint of his natural musk in the background. “Bulletproof?” she whispered. “Why, Zahain? Do you have so many enemies?”
He was impossibly close now, his lips almost against hers, and she was slipping into that trance she always seemed to fall into when the Sheikh drew near, when she could feel his heat, sense his need, matching it with her own heat, her own rising need. And she could feel it now, that rising need, her need for him, the need to feel him on her, against her, inside her . . .
She was in a khaki button-down blouse, top two buttons undone, with a knee-length dark green skirt that fit well against her wide hips and round bottom. The Sheikh was in a black linen shirt, fitted and narrow around his slim torso, designer jeans made with thin Japanese denim. Button-fly. No belt. The waist of his jeans hung low, exposing the flatness of his lower abdomen, and Wendy glanced down as she saw the front of those jeans slowly rising to a thick peak as he pressed against her.
“I have no enemies,” he whispered as he delicately ran the tip of his tongue around the outline of her mouth, tracing a path along her full lips, her lips that were parting hungrily, waiting for his kiss. “The bulletproof glass is just so that it is strong enough.”
She trembled as his tongue made its way closer to her panting mouth, and she was barely able to whisper back. “Strong enough for what, Zahain?”
“For this,” he said, and as he said it he kissed her full, kissed her hard, kissed her like he damned well meant it, and as she swooned and swayed she felt his hands slide up under her skirt, grasping her buttocks firmly, lifting her easily, like only he could, and as she gurgled and gasped, kissing him back with all the passion inside her, she felt the Sheikh lift her clean off the floor and push her firmly against the thick, bulletproof glass, his body pressing against her and holding her in place as they kissed.
“Oh, GOD, Zahain,” she gasped as she felt her entire body weight against the glass, and she opened her mouth wide and let him enter her, reveling in the way his tongue met hers as they kissed with a passion that she was sure would steam up that glass.
They kissed and kissed again, and suddenly Zahain turned, still holding her up from below as she wrapped her thick legs around his hard waist, and he turned until his back was now to the window, and then the Sheikh dropped back against the glass, his back crashing into the bulletproof glass so hard that Wendy was afraid it would shatter and send them both to their deaths, a hundred feet below, the two of them locked in passionate embrace.
But the glass bent and shook and it did not break, and now the Sheikh sat down on the wide window sill, lowering Wendy onto his lap, and she gasped as she felt his hardness press against her underside as the Sheikh hiked her skirt up over her thighs, pushing the cloth above her hips as she placed her bare feet against the intersection of the window and the sill.
He kissed her neck hungrily as his hands caressed her thighs and ass, his fingers flicking at the bottoms of her panties, which were riding up deep into her crease like a thong even though they were by no means thong underwear. She leaned back and gasped as his strong hands slid into her panties from below, fingers spreading her cheeks as he positioned her just right so his hardness pressed up all along her slit, his own length lining up against her length, the sensation making her moan and arch her back, pushing her chest out into his face.
Zahain ripped off the button to her blouse with his teeth, spitting the plastic knob off to his left and then pushing his face between her breasts even as he bucked his hips up into her. She started to grind against his enormous erection as his tongue slid between the warm globes of her breasts, snaking its way left and right, teasing a wet path to her nipples, first the left, then the right.
The Sheikh was grabbing fistfuls of her ample buttocks as she rode him through his jeans, her panties soaked now, the wet cloth rolled up and ridden far into her crotch and rear, the friction making her even hotter, all the wetter, so ready, so DAMNED ready!
“Can anyone see us?” she gasped as she looked past his broad shoulders and out the window, realizing for a moment that the windows went all around and here she was with her skirt hiked up over her hips, panties almost invisible, thick thighs raised, feet firmly against the glass. She must look a sight, she thought, but the thought only enhanced her arousal, peaked her need, and she moaned in approval as she felt Zahain undo the rear button to her skirt, untucking the bottom of her blouse so he could slide his fingers up along her bare back.
She shivered as she felt his firm fingers run up her spine, and she gasped as he expertly popped the clasp to her bra, releasing the pressure on her breasts so suddenly that her eyes went wide.
A moment later he whispered, “Hold on to me, Wendy. Yes, like that. Hold tight now.”
She held on to his shoulder and the back of his neck, and Zahain brought his hands to her front and in one swift movement RIPPED the last few buttons off her blouse until the khaki shirt hung open all the way down, her bra draped loosely over her breasts which were hanging down beneath the white lace, dark-red nipples so damned hard and erect, goosepimpled and firm from the way Zahain had worked each tender nib with his tongue.
He kissed her again, suckled at each nipple until she moaned, and then his hands were back under her bottom again, spreading her, his long fingers running up and down along her crease, his thum
bs pushing her soaked panties deeper into her slit as she ground her hips and ass against his peaking erection, his hardness pushing through the rough cloth of his pants and rubbing against her crotch in the most exhilarating way.
“Hold on again,” he said, this time positioning her on her haunches just a few inches above his lap. Wendy’s feet were pushing hard against the window, and she was hanging on to the back of Zahain’s neck and holding on for dear life as she felt the Sheikh quickly unbutton his jeans below her raised bottom and push them down past his knees.
The smell of his sex came through to her and almost made her dizzy with need, and she muttered, “Hurry, Zahain. Oh, God, please hurry!” as she stayed suspended above him so he could roll her dripping panties far enough down her thighs for him to get access to her from below.
Her panties were rolled halfway down her thighs now, and she could feel herself spread incredibly wide because of the way her legs were stretching, and now the massive head of Zahain’s cock began to tease her wide-open slit as he slowly lowered her heavy body onto his hardness . . . slowly, slowly, slowly . . . his swollen tip spreading her opening even wider as he made contact, spreading her so wide, so DAMNED wide!
He slid in easily because she was so wet, so spread, so ready, and her mouth opened so wide in silent ecstasy that her jaw almost locked as she felt her entire body weight lowering down on his rock-hard, incredibly solid erection. When he was in all the way, she felt him so deep that she could barely move, she was so filled.
She could feel his breath in her ears, against her neck. She could feel his heart against her breast. She could feel his need within her depths. And she could feel his seed within her womb . . .
Curves for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 1) Page 13
