He held her much, much closer than Darius had. They probably presented a very indecent silhouette to the party guests. She didn't care. More importantly, Javad didn't care.
He gazed into her eyes. She didn't turn away, though she knew what he'd see there. Her months of longing, her shyness and frustration, and her unspoken acknowledgement that she loved him. That her love for him had been planted when he'd visited Ottawa as a teen, but hadn't blossomed until she'd returned to Ulai from Ottawa and had seen what an amazing man he'd become. She refused to hide her feelings behind shyness and ugly dresses anymore.
"Arya," he said, and that one word told her he'd seen it all.
She snuggled against his chest, and for a long time, just savored the feeling of moving as one with the man who'd declared himself hers in front of everyone.
After a time, she knew the moment was right. She hadn't spoken his name for the same reason she hadn't danced with him. She wouldn't risk betraying herself. Now, it no longer mattered. They were going to be together. This was the beginning of a new life they would build, one where nothing would separate them.
"Javad," she said, putting a world of love in her voice. "My heart is yours."
He kissed her temple in response. "My name on your lips is the sweetest sound I have ever heard."
"I want to ask you something."
He shot her an expression of pure heat. Thank God she'd never seen that look on him before, or no power in the universe could have stopped her from slingshotting her panties at him from across the ballroom.
"Yes," he told her, sighing over-dramatically. "I will marry you. If you insist."
She laughed, but shook her head. "Okay. But that wasn't what it was."
"Anything." His midnight eyes fixed on her with the ferocity of a man set to fight for what he wanted most. "Everything. Do you want the moon?"
His hands locked on her hips. She was caught between the stone of the balcony railing and his hard body, and she never wanted to be anyplace else. She didn't want the moon. It could stay where it was, so long as Javad stayed with her.
She flashed him a mischievous grin. "I want you to ask your brother a question for me."
"I will never do that," he said, moving in for a kiss.
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And now, a preview of Strange Academy, by Teresa Morgan writing as Teresa Wilde
Chapter One
"...Don't care if her aunt was Pippa Strange...don't care if you can't get someone else this close to Christmas..."
Coming to you live from Radio R.A.G.E., thought Sadie. Through the dark wood door of the principal's office, she heard the enraged father's voice drift in and out like a radio station on the edge of transmission range. He broadcast his fury loud and clear as he ripped into Principal Cross for hiring the wrong English teacher.
Her, specifically.
She narrowed her eyes as she looked at the waiting room. No matter how hard the snobs tried, she wouldn't let them intimidate her with their mahogany furniture and high ceilings and velvet curtains with silken tassels. They'd had gothic architecture and superiority complexes at the University of Toronto, too. Never stopped her before.
Only sheer will kept her from leaping out of the waiting room chair, barging into the office, and taking a piece out of the interfering father. In the post-Fabian era, she no longer took this kind of crap from men. She'd worked too hard to build up her confidence to let a snobby elitist get to her. But she had to make a good impression on her new boss, so she had to suck up these insults.
"...Not one of us..." Speakerphone. That would explain the hazy quality of the conversation. "...poking around..."
Sadie tried to catch the eye of the middle-aged secretary, but only caught the blue reflection of the computer screen on her glasses. Must take dictation, type sixty words a minute, and be highly trained in ignoring uncomfortable situations. The only other occupant of the room was a Wednesday Addams clone swinging her legs over the chair edge and looking as miserable as Sadie felt.
Sadie had expected politics here, but she'd also expected to have time to shower before having to defend herself. After sitting for the seven-hour drive from Toronto to a remote private school an hour north of Montréal, she wanted to jump up and pace the ivy-leaved carpet. She was grungy and exhausted and needed to massage blood back into her aching ankles. Why had it seemed like a good idea to drive in a thrift store suit and pinching heels?
Her ears filled with pressure. Weird. The hill she'd driven up must be higher than she imagined.
"...be themselves here...hide soon enough."
From an enormous oil painting, a pair of gold-tinged eyes scowled down from a wrinkly male face lacking all human feeling. Quinlan Strange, said the brass plaque. Our Illustrious Founder. Hide all the secrets you want, She thought. The mystery of Aunt Pippa's death won't stay a mystery. Still, his glassy eyes gave her the creeps.
"...Security of this establishment... be removed."
Security? Removed? Apprehension jolted through her. Did the Mafia send their kids to private boarding schools north of Montréal these days?
A sudden bang sent her leaping from her chair, head swinging around, searching for the gun-wielding Mob hit man. But it was only the door, flung open so hard it shook on its ancient hinges. She flattened her palm against her polyester blouse to calm her pounding pulse.
Out of the office door stepped the hottest man she'd ever seen. Under her hand, her pulse just stopped.
He turned, and his stony gaze latched onto her. A languid, almost carnivorous, smile spread across his face, making her toes curl. He was a world tour. Island sun skin. Imperial Roman nose. Intense granite eyes.
Thick and black desert sheikh hair. She reminded herself she didn't like long hair on men. But damn, those dark waves leaking over his collar looked good. They would look even better with her fingers in them. She resisted the urge to fan herself, Scarlett O'Hara style.
Fabian had given her the vapors, too, before The Incident. Her back stiffened. Her perceptions told her His Hotness was pure gorgeousness. Therefore he must be pure evil.
"Gray, Pippa was very specific. She predic—" Some other guy walked out of the office talking, but stopped when he saw her. It must be Principal Cross. To her surprise, the blond man wasn't the 70-year-old she'd imagined from his voice on the phone. He wasn't more than thirty and was probably very attractive. Hard to tell with His Hotness so close.
She couldn't stand around gaping at the male scenery; this wasn't grad school. She was damn well going to fit in here. Long enough to get the truth about Pippa's death, anyway.
"Principal Cross?" she said.
Dr. Cross looked her up and down, blinking in confusion. His Hotness had a good long look, too, but with pure male appreciation that she felt bubbling up her spine.
"You have to be Miss Strange," said Dr. Cross. "You look like your aunt in her younger days. I feel I know you already."
"Was she your teacher?" she asked.
"My teacher?" Dr. Cross looked confused.
"When you went to school," she explained. "Otherwise, I don't know how you could have known her in her younger days. Did you go to school with my sister Chloë?"
"Of course." His words slipped out too quickly, like the
y'd been greased. "Welcome to the Quinlan Strange Academy for Exceptional Children. I'm Dr. Cross. Christian, when the students aren't around."
She shook his offered hand. Everything he said made sense. So why did Dr. Cross set off her B.S. Detector? The internal Geiger counter she'd developed as Dr. Timothy's assistant, to warn her when undergrad "research" bordered on fiction, screamed that Christian was lying.
His Hotness smiled at her and she could have sworn something warm stroked the back of her neck.
"Introduce me, Cross," said His Hotness.
Her blood crusted with ice, like a river in January. Not a speakerphone. This voice had just demanded Dr. Cross fire her. As if The Fabian Incident wasn't enough, here was proof her perceptions had lied again. Not beautiful. Bad.
"Lord Gray—," the principle began.
"Lorde, with an 'e' on the end," Lorde Gray interrupted. When he spoke, the imaginary caress of her nape intensified. The rhythmic stroking made her pleasantly drowsy.
What a strange name. Though of course she couldn't point fingers. Her own name was strange on a couple of levels.
"Sadie is Pippa Strange's niece, here to fill her position in the English Department." Dr. Cross went on exactly as if Lorde Gray hadn't just tried to get her fired.
She swallowed and she extended her hand, regretting it in advance, and anticipating the worst.
Of course the worst happened as bare skin met bare skin. Every nerve in her body went live. The electricity generated could have lit a small city. Two of his fingers circled small caresses on the pulse point in her wrist, activating the charge. Gray smiled again, right up to his incisors, and something got all warm and liquid in her insides. He smelled like cinnamon. A man who smelled like cinnamon couldn't be bad. She felt herself starting to smile back...
She snatched her hand away. The jerk smiled to her face and stabbed her in the back. She slapped the imaginary hand from her neck, and frowned when chill air replaced the warmth.
"Lorde Gray is our Alchem—, uh, Chemistry teacher."
Kill me now. She had to work with him. Eye, don't twitch, she willed. Don't twitch, eye.
"I'm also an alumni. Why is your eye twitching?" asked Lorde Gray.
Dammit. Her hand flew up to cover her left eye. "It's er—" Her stress tic. "Nothing. Just something in my eye."
Gray's eyes lit from within. Nice eyes. Really nice eyes. No. No, she reminded herself, shaking the last of the hypnosis from her brain. Horrible eyes. Scheming, devious eyes.
"Why is the sign on the gate wrong?" she blurted. Anything to stop the two men from trying to stare through her hand.
"Is it?" Gray asked.
"Considering it predates Columbus' discovery of the New World, I doubt the Academy was founded in 1318," she pointed out.
"Oh that. 1818. Been meaning to fix it." Dr. Cross smiled disarmingly.
She stayed armed. "For a hundred and eighty-seven years?"
Dr. Cross shrugged and the needle on Sadie's B.S. Detector inched upwards. "No money."
"Funny." She didn't laugh. "There's some construction on campus—"
"Aquatic center," Dr. Cross interrupted. "Have you coached? The swim team will need a coach. When we get a swim team."
He was trying to distract her. Her curiosity piqued. "And the copper roof on the library was just replaced. It hasn't turned green yet."
"Did you know they pour horse urine on it to speed the oxidization process? What's the chemical reaction there, Gray?"
"I don't know," said His Hotness, earning himself an elbow jabbed into his flat stomach from Dr. Cross. "I mean, it's really complicated."
"Yet, you claim the place has no money." She realized she sounded like a character in an Agatha Christie novel. At least Miss Marple always got her man.
Dr. Cross looked at Gray, who shook his head. "Um. The sign has—" Dr. Cross snapped his fingers. "Been declared a heritage site by the Alumni Association." Dr. Cross shook his head. "Can't fix the sign. They're going to put up a plaque."
"A plaque for the sign?" Sadie asked.
"A plaque for the sign." Dr. Cross confirmed.
"A plaque for the sign?" Gray scoffed.
"Don't you have a class?" Dr. Cross asked Gray, irritation dripping from his voice.
"On Sunday?" Gray's gaze held hers as if sharing a joke. Warmth grew at the base of her spine.
"Prep work," Dr. Cross growled.
She had to do something before the testosterone in the room reached toxic levels, so she cleared her throat and nodded toward the little girl, who stared at them all with eyes so round they belonged in a Japanese cartoon.
Gray frowned at the girl, and then revealed those perfect white teeth in a smile that would have melted the Titanic iceberg. "Miss Strange. The kids loved your aunt. I'm sure you'll do fine here." His gaze sparked, holding hers for a long moment. She wasn't falling for it, but damn, he faked sincerity well. "If you need anything, please let me know."
She nodded. It had been fast, but Gray had frowned. He didn't like the little girl any more than he liked her. One may smile and smile—and be a villain. You tell 'em, Hamlet.
"Sadie, let me say a quick hello to our newest student." Dr. Cross nodded at Wednesday Addams. "Then we'll tour campus." Dr. Cross's words wha-wha-ed like the adults in Charlie Brown. She was busy watching Gray lope off, treating herself to a fantastic view of his butt.
When had she slipped into an alternate dimension where men who hated her flirted with her?
After he'd gone, her head cleared. Without all His Hotness distracting her, her B.S. Detector went into the red zone. Poking around. Hide soon enough. Removed. Lorde Gray, haughty hottie, was hiding something.
To read more, pick up Strange Academy, by Teresa Morgan writing as Teresa Wilde for the special low price of $1.99 until June 15 only.
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More stories by Teresa Morgan:
Handcuffed to the Sheikh
Over six months in the Amazon Top 100 Romance Anthologies
#1 Bestselling Romance Short Story on Amazon.co.uk
Best. Abduction. Ever.
When she opened her front door, the last thing Maxine Foss expected was a hot stranger with a set of handcuffs. Now she's shackled to a sexy, but crazy, person who claims he's an Arabian prince—and her lover. No way. If she had ever gotten naked with a guy this delicious, she would never forget.
Insanity is catching...
Alone in a secluded cabin, Sayd offers his body for her pleasure. But the price for giving in to his temptation could be her sanity, not to mention her freedom... and just maybe, her life.
Buy now!
Cinderella and the Sheikh
She's about to get charmed...
Libby Fay's safe little life as a waitress at a posh New York boutique hotel implodes when Sheikh Rasyn Al Jabar, black-eyed and seductive, crashes into her world and swears that he loves her.
The powerful sheikh will do anything to prevent becoming the ruler of his North African homeland, including marrying a woman who is inappropriate to be queen. When he sees the beautiful, bubbly waitress, he knows that she is the perfect wife to help him avoid the throne—all he has to do is make her fall in love with him.
All her life, Libby has longed for the same loving, equal partnership her parents had—something she couldn't possibly have with a forceful sheikh who ignores all her objections. But Rasyn seems to be able to charm her into anything, including his bed. Soon, she finds herself on a plane to Abbas, transported into a fairy tale come true.
Unfortunately for Libby, a Cinderella is the last thing this Prince Charming wants.
Buy now!
About Teresa Morgan
Teresa Morgan is the author of Cinderella and the Sheikh, Handcuffed to the Sheikh, and Sheikh with Benefits, available at Barnes and Noble, the iBookstore, Amazon.com and wherever else hot contemporary romance eBooks are sold.
By day, she's a mild-mannered technical writer, but by night (
and lunch hours, and weekends) she's a digital Scheherazade, weaving tales of sexy Sheikhs and the strong-willed heroines who love them.
Sheikh with Benefits Copyright 2012 Teresa Wilde
This is a work of fiction. Incidents, Names, characters, and places are either a product of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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