She was supposed to take a forty-five minute walk every day to get her needed exercise. The bigger she got, the harder it was, but it came with the reward of spending extra time with Zahir. It was a complete gift and relief. They weren’t back to the same intimacy they’d found on their outing to the market, but they were building a life together. They made out, a lot, but she couldn’t shake all the digs and insults thrown at her at the ball, and she still couldn’t quite believe the whole situation was real.
Zahir showed her tenderness in a hundred different ways every day. He defended her against Sheikha Adira until the other woman had stopped with her barbs and tolerated Felicia in grumpy silence. He made it clear that Felicia was the one, and that all she needed was to say she felt the same, and he would marry her.
But she wasn’t worthy and couldn’t bear to open her heart.
She could handle making out like teenagers, but no more, even if she went to bed with her pearl throbbing and need pulsing through her. She wanted so much more, but part of her was still so scared to take it. She might be dressed like a queen…but she was still that same nerd from nowhere, that same girl who’d learned, over and over again, that trust would be betrayed—by family, by supposed friends. She’d be better off if she stayed Felicia Ryan from West Virginia.
That whore.
As Akmul had called her.
Deep down, she wasn’t sure he was wrong.
“You’re so quiet,” he said as they rounded the corner to a part of the palace she’d never been to before. That wasn’t unusual. The place had its own postal code. “Was the ultrasound that tiring?”
“No, but I just…”
“Overthinking everything again? Don’t worry.”
“How can you tell I was worried?”
He reached down and stroked his thumb against her forehead. “You have the cutest wrinkle; it creases up just above your left eyebrow. What’s really on your mind?”
“Akmul. I know you threw him out, but no one’s even seen him for months. I don’t trust him, and I don’t trust what he wants.”
“I have my best spies and agents hunting for him. He won’t get far. Besides, next to me is the safest place you could be.”
“I know that, but there’s so much at stake now,” she said, rubbing her belly. “I just need to keep it together. The last thing I want to do is risk the baby or risk losing you.”
He kissed her. “You’ll never lose me, my artiste. In fact, I wanted to make you feel even more at home.”
“Huh?” she asked as he opened a set of double oak doors before her.
“I think you’ll see,” he said as he arched an eyebrow back at her.
Frowning, she entered the room and then gasped. Laid out before her was an art studio that put all the classrooms and private studio space at the university to shame. There were rows of paints, stacks of paper and canvases, brushes of all types, carving tools, a kiln, clay, and stone blocks of every type and size—all the media she could want to work in.
Whistling, she turned around. “You did this?”
“I didn’t think the small studio was sufficient, so I had some experts assemble everything you’d need.” Zahir started to unbutton his shirt.
Felicia couldn’t look away from the eyeful before her. In the alley, he’d stayed clothed, and she’d never been able to appreciate Zahir’s beauty and ruggedness except through the fabric of his well-tailored shirts. But this was a sight worth waiting for: the perfect slope of his shoulders, the ridges of his abdomen that cut into a mouth-watering six pack, and the tantalizing line of hair that disappeared below the waistband of his boxers.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Not that she wanted him to stop undressing.
“I don’t know how long it takes for you to do a piece, but I’d love to model for you,” he said, still grinning as he quickly stripped off his boxers and his slacks.
She couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping at the glorious sight of his member springing free, the sunlight streaming through the windows of the studio highlighting his virility. Pure, masculine beauty stood before her. Zahir was flawless.
“I…to sculpt from some of my favorite mediums could take weeks. I don’t think I’d last staring at you like this, even if I needed a model for the whole time.”
“Then what?”
“I can do something out of clay, maybe, but you need to take your position first and be ready for me.”
“With pleasure,” he said stepping toward the nearest window and standing proudly, as if he had his head cocked and his back straight, standing beside his throne. “Now, what is it some Americans say? I’m ready for my close up.”
“I’ll say,” she said, hurrying to gather her materials and start molding; Felicia would probably be engulfed by flames if she had to stare at Zahir for too long. “Just try not to move, and we’ll see how this goes.”
While she’d dabbled a bit here and there with her art since she’d come to Jardania, she hadn’t taken it as seriously as she should have. There was always something else on her mind—her tangled relationship with Zahir, the preparations for the baby’s arrival, and minding Elena were just the start. She called her mom at least once a day while she worked through rehab, and since the ball, worries about Akmul and what he might do kept her doubly distracted.
Eventually she stopped visiting the smaller studio in her wing of the palace. Now, as she worked the clay and then shaved it down, feeling the cool material against her hands, Felicia realized how much making art was like coming home. This was her, her life, no matter what other duties consumed her. Even if the swirling confusion her life had become made her feel off kilter, Felicia now understood that she couldn’t be separated from her artistic expression, at least not for long.
The giddiness of the fantastic view of Zahir’s body faded. It wasn’t that he suddenly became unattractive. It wasn’t that he didn’t drive her mad and leave her heart pounding in her chest. It was that the artist in her—the artiste, as he called her—took control. She focused on lines and compositions, on capturing the essence of the subject before her. She wished for nothing more than to do justice to the man she cared about.
The man she loved.
The father of her child.
She took a minute to stroke her belly with one hand as she appraised the work before her. It was done, but she wasn’t sure what to do with it. Firing it in the kiln meant that it would harden, that it would be permanent. She wouldn’t mind such a treasure in her room, but she wouldn’t exactly be able to explain a nude Sheikh Ahmed. Besides, with her luck, Elena would find it, and Felicia would have to suffer through her knowing smirks.
Still, it would be a shame to waste it.
“You’re frowning, my artiste. What for? Was I not a good, cooperative subject? Was I not gorgeous enough for you?”
She blushed and let her eyes trail to his groin as she started cleaning her tools. “The Greek gods would be jealous of you. Frankly, if you ever really study the proportions of the David, you’ll find that he’s rather lacking.”
“So are you finished with me?”
“Yes, but I can’t fire this up. Where would I put it?”
He stepped away from his pose by the window and grinned lasciviously back at her. “Fire it anyway, and I’ll keep it locked up in my quarters. I promise no one will see it there. I want my artiste’s masterwork there for me.”
She chuckled and blew a strand of chunky bang out of her eyes. “It’s not great. I’m out of practice, and I only took an hour with it and—”
While she was rambling, Zahir stepped up behind her, his hard length pressing into her back. “But you made it lovingly with your own hands, and that’s what matters to me. It’s the love you put into it, your dedicated eye. That’s what I want, a reminder of your talent and your spirit.”
“And the fact that it’s made to scale doesn’t hurt.”
He surprised her by kneeling by her stool. Reaching up, Zahir stroked her cheek. “I’m seri
ous. It’s not about me. It’s about you and the fact that I care about you; I love your talent. I meant my promise—after the baby is born and old enough for some nanny time, you can go back and finish your degree. You can work as an artist. I want you to be the new sheikha by my side, but I don’t ever want you to feel like you’ve lost yourself. Have you ever looked in a mirror when you’re working?”
“I had to sometimes, in my drawing classes. I’d do self-portraits as practice and see that line over my eyebrow pop up. I concentrate so hard.”
“It’s remarkable, like you’re channeling something. It’s so beautiful, and your art is too. You need to keep sharing that with the world. I’ll do anything to make that happen, even after the baby’s born.”
“You’ll change dirty diapers?”
“Why not? My father and mother took turns.”
“A sheikh changing diapers—now that’s a funny image,” she said, swiveling a bit in her chair so that she could rest her chin on the top of his head. “I didn’t date too much before I met you. You’re something special, Zahir.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t care if you’re less experienced. I certainly couldn’t tell that day we made love.”
He could have said only day, but she understood. How could she not.
“I know. I just meant that the few guys who have been in my life never got my art. They just thought it was a distraction. I didn’t think it would interest you, either.”
“I’ve had a typical cosmopolitan upbringing,” he said. “I’ve had private tours of some of the finest museums on Earth, from The Prado to the Guggenheim. You’re right though. I was never a David fan. If I had to pick anything from Michelangelo, I’d pick La Pieta.”
“But you’re, uh…” she fumbled. Not sure what to say about him favoring a piece of art depicting Mary cradling Christ after his death.
“I can appreciate stories from all traditions, and I appreciate mothers,” Zahir said, leaning over to kiss her belly through the thin fabric of her robes. “And there’s no mother I currently appreciate more than you. No woman at all, for that matter.”
He brought his head lower and kissed her lap and then down to her knees through the fabric of her kaftan. Then he made his way to her feet and picked one up. Pulling off her slipper, Zahir massaged her foot, then kissed it, his lips tracing gracefully over the arch. She mewled again, like the kitten she’d been for him in the alleyway. Zahir did that to her, made her helpless to his charms.
“I want to make love to you.”
“I feel fat.”
He slid his hands up over the fabric of her robe and stroked her belly. “You’re amazing, carrying my child. I want to show you how much I not only appreciate that, but care about you.”
She moaned when he slipped his hand underneath the waistband of her panties and ran his index finger down to her secret lips. “Oh God, just like that.”
“You should get on the floor. The last thing we need is to explain to Dr. Galud why you fell off a stool.”
“Good point,” she said, hating to lose contact with his marvelous hands even long enough to move. She rose, and he slipped the kaftan over her head. She stood before him in her panties only. She needed new bras—her growing breasts had overtaken her old ones. She had just been too embarrassed to bring it up with Malasha and Misha. Felicia was glad for it now, happy to be bare before the man she loved.
He licked his lips and then kissed her neck, working his way down, leaving delicate love bites until he could taste the skin at the hollow point of her throat. “You’re my beautiful artiste, aren’t you?”
“Always, Zahir,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and pulling his body close to hers. His erection was hot and strong against her belly. They didn’t fit together quite the same now, but the sensation of him—all of him—against her while he kissed her neck was divine.
“Do you trust me?”
“I think so,” she said.
He hesitated for just a minute, hurt filtering through his warm, brown eyes before he shook everything off. “Lie down. Don’t worry. I’ll be mindful of the baby,” he said, grinning at her with a look that had wetness pooling between her legs.
With his help, she lay down on the tarp, and she looked up at him, expectant and eager for him to join her. Join with her. They needed it. She needed it.
“So, what’s on your mind, my sheikh?”
“Only this,” he said, as he got to his hands and knees before her. She shivered at the image, at his approach, so like a jungle cat looming over her.
Zahir lowered his head to kiss his way up her legs, letting his tongue trail over her knees. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he tore the thin strips of lace around her pussy away. Again.
She laughed and batted at his hands. “You know that I have to get new ones when you do that!”
“I’ll buy out every damn store in the country just for the joy of doing that, my artiste.”
“You probably could. In fact—”
He buried his nose deeply in that thatch of hair, and she gasped. Words fled as his hands caressed her thighs.
Zahir didn’t talk anymore, didn’t play. This was about need, now, about the all-consuming throbbing between her legs and the heat flaring through her belly, about his hardness pressing against her leg. Reaching down, Zahir delicately parted her lower lips and traced his tongue over her folds. She bucked against him and groaned.
God, I hope we’re as far from everyone else as I think we are.
He licked tenderly at first and far too slowly for her liking. The bastard was teasing her, a bit of oh-so-evil payback for the months she’d felt too scared to commit, for the times she avoided intimacy. That wouldn’t do. Her heart was beating out a frantic tattoo and her nerves were on fire all over again. She had to have him.
Now.
Running her fingers through his hair, she grasped him as tightly as she dared. “Please, you have to go faster. I’m going to explode.”
He pulled back just long enough to smirk deviously up at her. “All good things come to those who wait.”
Then he went back to his ministrations. He slipped two thick fingers inside her and found her clit, his teeth grazing over it just slightly. She felt as if her blood were on fire. She howled again and hoped that no one ever found them. Of course, if she could keep feeling like this, then she didn’t much care who walked in on them. A million fireworks were going off inside of her, and every bit of light and heat in the universe were consuming her.
Then Zahir started suckling at that most sensitive bundle of nerves. He did it in tandem with his fingers thrusting in and out of her, a rhythm that sped up—it seemed—with every beat of her heart. She closed her eyes and arched her neck, giving into the sensations—the smell of the damp clay mixed with his spicy musk of turmeric and cinnamon, the scratchy tarp against her back contrasting with the sweat-slicked body above her, and the blazing inferno rioting through her.
Then Zahir sucked her in deeply one last time. She detonated, her body falling apart in a riot of heat and power and sensation.
Her orgasm swept through her, and it seemed like she spent hours tangled in that bliss. Eventually, rational thought came back to her, and she looked up at the sheikh.
“I really do love you, you know?”
He chuckled and, after wiping his mouth on convenient paper towel, kissed her lips. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you. I’ve just been waiting for you to not run away, waiting for you to see what we have.” He punctuated his statement by wrapping her up in his arms and holding her tightly, one hand straying to lay a palm flat against her stomach. “And no matter what comes, no matter what stunts Akmul might pull or how Mother schemes…no matter what trouble Elena gets into or what else your mother needs to get better…we’re together.”
She nodded and arched her neck back to kiss him, relishing the way their tongues tangled, a devilish dance they’d be doing for the rest of their lives. “That’s all that ma
tters.”
“To me, my sheikha, our family is the only thing that matters, now and forever.”
She smiled and snuggled deeper into his body, the heaviness of sleep starting to steal over her. “Forever, I like the sound of that.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I am so bored,” Elena said as they took their seats in the media room.
Felicia had discovered some advantages to being a sheikha, and chief among them were the perks and comforts of the Jardanian royal palace. The media room had fifty massive overstuffed recliners and a screen as big as any back home in the theaters in West Virginia. Settling down to watch the newest superhero movie her sister was nattering on about was beyond comfortable and a nice rest for her aching back and swollen feet.
“Aren’t we watching that movie—Mr. Weird or whatever the title was?”
“Not even close.”
“But how can you be bored if we’re watching the movie you want?” Felicia asked.
“Because now that there’s the Ahmed Foundation business keeping both Zahir and Jaheer busy, I’m dying of boredom. There’s no one to hang out with now that Zahir is traveling and no one to annoy with Jaheer gone too. It’s so boring.”
“You don’t have to harass Jaheer all the time. He and his brother have been so nice to take care of us.”
Elena rolled her eyes. “Please, Jaheer needs someone in his life to speak the truth to him. Also, they do owe you. We might be getting treatment for Mom out of the deal and money for my college and all that, but it’s your body that’s being changed by pregnancy and the risks you take with that.”
“Dr. Galud is pleased. He says both the baby and I are perfectly healthy. I just don’t think you need to always tag along with Jaheer. He humors you, but he still has very important business to take care of every day.”
Elena shrugged. “I’ll quit when he asks me to. Right now, I definitely think he likes having a little sis around, and I enjoy doing that. But he’s not here, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”
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