Every woman in an arranged marriage has done exactly that, she reminded herself, thinking back to that old tradition, something that existed in every culture and society to some degree, even in the highest reaches of the so-called “civilized” societies of Europe and America.
Jan looked at her shoes as she thought, the shimmering waters of the Golden Oasis silently watching her. It really felt like she was at a crossroads. She thought about the logical decision, which would be to point those shoes back to reality, back to the United States, to her safe little office in Pittsburgh, her research, lesson-plans, student-faculty barbecues. Then she looked into the waters of the oasis, imagining what her life would be like if she went forward. Immediately she felt it within her again, like she’d already made a decision just by going this far. She was already in this new world. The question now was not if she’d do it, but how she’d do it.
Oh, God, she thought. If these two kings are so proud that they’d risk war and bloodshed rather than back down and lose face in public, then how are they going to manage their possessiveness when it comes to sharing a woman?! Was that what Darius meant when he said she was the battleground?! That these powerful men would have to battle their own emotions even as she fought to balance their pride along with her own goddamn sanity?! Oh, God, what was she getting into?! Two men? Two men! What would her mother think?
To hell with Mom, what do I think?! Isn’t this the true test of my beliefs? It’s easy to sit in a sterile university office and talk about theories and history, about how our ancestors shared close romantic and sexual relationships with several members of their tribes, how those shared marriages only became taboo over the past few hundred years. Can I walk the talk now? Can I experiment on myself, see if it really is possible, if my body and mind and heart can handle this without guilt, shame, fear even?
Jan looked towards the Sheikh again and realized he’d been off the phone for some time and was looking over at her, as if he was trying to figure out what was going through her mind. She gave him a half-smile, and he returned it, his eyes narrowing slightly, a knowing look passing between them. A look that said there’s only so much that can be said in words. The rest needs to be played out in experience.
That’s what you meant by ‘if it succeeds,’ didn’t you? she thought as she looked away and closed her eyes tight. You know that if we enter into this game, the emotions will be real—which means they will be unpredictable. You know that if this begins, it’s not clear how it will end.
And then immediately Jan knew what came next. The third piece in this puzzle. The third player in this game. That was the next move, as ridiculous as it seemed.
12
“This is ridiculous,” Jan said as she looked at the blue gown that had been fitted just right around her waist, hips, and chest but somehow floated beautifully around her shoulders and down to her feet. It was elegant, regal, and somehow sexy. It was a gown made for a queen. Or for a royal slut. “I can’t do this. What was I thinking?”
“You do not need to do anything,” the Sheikh said quietly from beyond the thick purple curtains that separated the dressing area from the rest of her sprawling chambers in the Eastern Wing of Noramaar’s Royal Palace. “We are simply attending a charity gala in London. You are my guest, and donors at my level are allowed many guests. Besides, this is a closed event. No press. Just the Foundation overseers, the top donors, and their guests. Now, may I enter and look at you? The Royal Tailors have spent a week slaving over this gown, and I would like to see why they are so proud of their creation.”
“You may enter,” she said with a flourish that surprised her. The gown was tight in just the right places, and Jan could feel a confidence she didn’t know existed in this body of hers. Yes, she’d felt sexy in dresses before, but this was different. This was more than just feeling sexy. There was an excitement so strong it almost made her sick. Or perhaps it was the thought that she was about to get on the Sheikh’s private jet and fly across the world to jolly old England, to a closed-door, black-tie, charity gala, where Sheikh Ephraim would be in attendance. Oh, God, what was she doing?! Especially in this dress?! Was she a royal whore? Nope, she wasn’t royalty yet, so if anything, she was just a common slut!
“Ya Allah,” Darius shouted when he pushed aside the curtains and rested his eyes upon her curves in that shimmering blue gown. “I will have to chop off the hands of the Royal Tailors so they never make a dress like this for another.”
“Um, then they’d never be able to make me a dress like this again, your dumbass highness,” Jan said, twirling once and marveling at how the skirts of the gown rose up just enough to show off the long side-slit that was beautifully hidden but breathtakingly revealing when seen. “And I kinda like it. Can I keep it?”
But the Sheikh did not answer, and when Jan looked upon his face she saw the cloud that had descended upon it. She didn’t need to ask what was wrong. It was obvious: The man was jealous. Jealous out of his goddamn mind.
He turned from her and stormed to the open balcony, gazing across the back courtyards and towards the banks of the Golden Oasis, which looked dark ocher in the light of the setting sun. She could feel the conflict in him, like a coiled dragon within his body and heart. Somehow it excited her, and she stood still for a moment, wondering if she was evil to the core, a sick, twisted woman for actually being excited from watching the Sheikh get pissed off and jealous.
They’d spent a week together, but they hadn’t made love again since the wild encounter on the plane. They’d been close, affectionate, passionate even. But they’d let the tension build and build, as if they both knew it was needed to get them through this first and perhaps toughest hurdle. It was clear by now that they felt the beginnings of something for one another, and without saying it they both knew that if their one-on-one bond became too strong too fast, it might prevent them from proceeding. And what came next was crucial. Could Jan feel a genuine attraction towards Ephraim? Could she follow up on it, even though she already felt the beginnings of a strong connection with Darius? Would Ephraim feel it? And if Ephraim and Jan did both feel it, could Darius get past that? Could she get past it?
So many questions. And they can’t be answered with theories and talking, Jan thought as she held herself back from walking to the Sheikh and embracing him like she wanted. They can only be answered in the real world, in the body, in the flesh.
And so she stayed still, in front of the diamond-and-ruby encrusted mirror, and looked at herself standing there all alone, in a dress fit for a queen. She stood there and looked into her own eyes, wondering if she even recognized herself.
“Who are you?” she whispered to herself as that sliver of dark excitement went through her and she saw her own lips curl into a smile that almost frightened her. “Who are you now?”
13
“I know who you are,” said Ephraim as he shook her gloved hand and bowed his head just a touch. His heavy mane was oiled and coiffed, and his dark green eyes sparkled as he glanced down into her eyes, the sparkling chandeliers of the ballroom almost blinding Jan as she looked up at him. “I have read some of your papers.”
Jan felt the blood rush to her face as she blinked and did her best not to pull her hand away from the muscular, dark-eyed Sheikh Ephraim. He was in a dark maroon tuxedo with a thin black tie that made his hard frame look wider and more foreboding. Ephraim was not as tall as Darius, but he was thicker and heavier, all muscle, with features rougher and more rugged than those of the handsome, always composed Darius.
“How many of her papers have you read, Ephraim?” said Darius, who seemed just a bit on edge in a way that both surprised and excited Jan as she watched the two Sheikhs face each other in the ballroom of the Royal Yacht Club in London. “Because she has published thirty-three of them, and if I remember correctly, you didn’t finish reading a single book at Oxford.”
Ephraim shrugged, not missing a beat, his eyes
locked in on Jan’s as she felt her heart race. “I was developing other skills at Oxford,” he said with a smirk. A quick glance at Darius, then all his focus back on Jan. “No, I have certainly not bothered to read all thirty-three papers. But enough to make me curious.”
“Curious about what?” said Jan, blinking and looking past Ephraim to where the band were tuning their violins on the low-set stage at the far end of the ballroom as men in tuxedos and women in gowns began to file onto the dance floor while a buzz rose up around them. Or perhaps the buzz was inside her. Hard to tell. Oh, God.
“About why Darius is so interested in the two of us making our acquaintance,” Ephraim said with shocking nonchalance.
Jan turned a bright red, and she hoped her makeup and the flattering yellow light would cover her color. She wanted to glare at Darius, but she held her polite smile and continued to look at Ephraim, who was clearly trying to rattle her. Already the game has begun, she thought. Except I have no clear idea what the game is, let alone how to play it. Perhaps I’m the game. Perhaps I’m the one being played.
“He wants us to make our acquaintance because I asked him for an introduction, Sheikh Ephraim,” Jan said smartly, noting from the corner of her eye how Darius glanced at her as if he was surprised at her quick reply. “I hoped I might be able to interview you.”
“Interview me or study me, Professor?” said Ephraim, that smirk back on his face. “You are not a journalist. Though you are not quite a scientist either, so I suppose I should not take it to mean I am some creature of the desert to be examined as a curiosity.”
“Enough talk,” said Darius, cutting in and slipping his arm around her waist in a way that made Jan inhale sharply when she saw Ephraim’s eyes narrow as he glanced down at her breasts, then at Darius’s arm, and finally up into Jan’s eyes. “Ms. Johansen and I are about to christen the dancefloor. Come, my lady.”
“Um, I don’t dance,” Jan whispered as she felt Ephraim’s eyes still on her as Darius whisked her away towards the center of the dancefloor as the sea of coiffed and perfumed aristocrats and benefactors parted for the two of them. “And why did you pull me away? I thought the entire point of this was to meet Ephraim.”
“I will lead you, and we will dance magnificently,” Darius said firmly. Then he looked down into her eyes, and she saw that flash of possessiveness. “As for your second point, the answer is yes. The point was to meet Ephraim, and you have met him. Now we dance, we visit with the chairperson of the Foundation, pick at the awful British finger-food, and then ride our chariot back to the hotel.”
She frowned as she felt his grip tighten around her waist. The band had started up, the violins pulling them into a comfortable, gliding motion as the Sheikh remained true to his word and led her so well that Jan actually felt like she might have enjoyed dancing in the past if she’d had a partner like Darius.
A polite round of applause and some soft whispers, and then the other distinguished couples joined Jan and the Sheikh on the floor. Soon Jan was surrounded by men and women swinging and smiling as the band switched to a lively tune to loosen up the crowd, and eventually she realized she was actually enjoying herself. She laughed as the Sheikh twirled and spun her, gasped as he dipped and pulled her back into him, clapped and cheered when he took a few steps back and showed off some moves that surprised and delighted the crowd.
From the corner of her eye she thought she saw Ephraim standing by the bar, sipping a drink and watching her with that self-satisfied smirk on his dark face, but she was breathless and excited from the action on the dancefloor and she didn’t think much of it. It did occur to her briefly that Darius might be putting on a bit of a show to get to Ephraim, but she pushed away the thought. Why would Ephraim get jealous. He didn’t even know her, did he? He didn’t know Darius’s plan, did he? Did he?
She laughed as Darius dipped her again as the music reached its crescendo and the dance ended. Suddenly all that talk back in Noramaar seemed faraway and ludicrous, like a dream, and she joined the rest of the couples clapping for the band and each other.
Though this feels like a dream too, she thought as the Sheikh led her off the dancefloor and towards the far end of the bar. He pointed at the bartender and snapped his fingers, and the mustachioed man nodded and quickly poured an iced-tea with lemon for the Sheikh and a glass of white wine for Jan.
“No, I think I’ll stay away from alcohol for the moment,” Jan said, smiling at the bartender and pointing at Darius’s drink. “One of those for me too. Easy on the lemon, though.”
“You do not need to follow Darius’s code of conduct even if you are his guest, Ms. Johansen,” came Ephraim’s deep, mocking voice from the other end of the bar. He strode over to them and tapped the bar twice with his heavy knuckles as the bartender quickly made him a fresh drink. “And if you are afraid that he will get you drunk and have his way with you, I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from the good Sheikh Darius. His conduct with women is beyond reproach.” He glanced at Darius. “At least when Darius himself is sober.”
Jan caught the way Darius flinched, and she turned to him and smiled. “Wait, you used to drink?”
“That is an overstatement,” said Darius. “I experimented with alcohol once when we were at university.” He returned Jan’s smile and then locked eyes with Ephraim. “Once.”
Ephraim smiled. “A king has to try everything once, right, Darius?” His eyes flicked to Jan and then back to Darius. “Or twice?”
Jan felt Darius’s body tighten next to her, but she couldn’t quite figure out why. The dynamic between these two Sheikhs puzzled her. She knew they’d been at Oxford together, and being kings of neighboring Islamic kingdoms, would have certainly crossed paths often over the years. But the energy between them was mystifying: It certainly wasn’t enmity or hatred. She got the sense that these two men might have been great friends under ordinary circumstances, which got her even more puzzled when she remembered that they had been trading threats of war in public for the past three years.
But right now they aren’t in the public view, she realized when she remembered that there were no reporters or journalists or even official photographers at the event. She figured it was because many of the Foundation’s benefactors had donated anonymously and wished to remain anonymous, so that was not too unusual. What was unusual was that these two Sheikhs seemed to be playing two games: One in public, with the Middle Eastern media, in view of their people; and one in private, where whatever they’d shared in the past was a factor.
At some point these private and public games will become one, Jan thought as she looked at Darius stir his tea while Ephraim clinked the ice in his glass. The only question is whether I’m stupid enough to still be around when it happens.
14
Do not be stupid, Ephraim, he told himself as he clinked the ice cubes in his glass and watched Darius and Jan greet the chairperson of the Foundation. Darius was playing his role as the good and elegant Sheikh, while Jan was smiling bright and nodding graciously. What role was she playing? Did she even know this was a game?
But you know it is a game, Ephraim. So do not be stupid. Darius has brought this woman here for one reason: To meet you. It is not clear why he is doing this, but there can be no doubt he is parading her in front of you, his royal arm around her waist, her curves on display in a gown that looks suspiciously like it has been created for her by Noramaar’s Royal Tailors. He has already slept with her—that much is clear from the way they danced, they way they look at each other. Yet I see a deep tension in Darius when the three of us are together. I can sense that a part of him wants to take her away from my presence, while another part wants to . . . what, push her toward me? Pull me toward her? What is your game, good Sheikh Ephraim? What are you thinking?
As he watched Jan and Darius, Ephraim’s thoughts drifted back to that night at Oxford, when Darius was drunk out of his young mind and Ephraim ha
d grudgingly left the party and helped the stumbling king back to their residence buildings.
“Ya Allah, never again,” Darius had slurred as the two young Sheikhs took the solid wooden stairs up to the third floor of the old manor house on the eastern edge of the Oxford campus. “I blame you, Ephraim. You did this.”
Ephraim had laughed. “If I recall, it was you who insisted that a king must try everything once, so he might gather experience and wisdom.”
Darius had stopped outside the dark oak door to his room and pointed at the ceiling with a flourish. “That is correct. Wisdom comes from experience, and tomorrow I will be wiser! Wonderful! My own wisdom already astounds me, so I cannot wait for tomorrow!”
“What are you two princes laughing about?” came a female voice from down the hallway just then, and Ephraim and Darius had turned to see the tall Norwegian heiress who was a year ahead of them at Oxford. She’d been at the party earlier, but had left to work on her final thesis. She wore red silk pajamas and a flimsy white t-shirt through which her nipples were clearly visible, and her blue eyes sparkled as they alternated between the two Sheikhs. Ephraim had slept with her several times the previous year, and in fact he’d wanted more than just sex. But she’d refused, saying she was committed to marrying a Swedish millionaire so that their two families’ business empires could be merged down the line. What was she doing in the hallway near Darius’s room, Ephraim had wondered at the time, a cloud of jealousy whipping through him.
“Darius was just saying he needs to try everything at least once,” Ephraim had said, frowning as he glanced at her erect nipples pushing against the thin cloth of her t-shirt. “What do you think about that?”
Shared for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 10) Page 6
