ROMANCE: Sleeping With The Sheikh (Billionaire Alpha Male Sheikh Romance) (New Adult Forbidden Series Short Stories)

by Knight, Kylie

  She swallowed. There was no denying that he was attractive.

  "Mr. Black is what?" he asked. The voice rumbled like gravel, dark and deep.

  "Here, evidently," the marshal sighed. "Ms. Webber, meet Mr. Black. Your assigned security and new boyfriend."

  April whipped around in her chair to face the marshal in full.

  "My what?"

  "Yeah," Byron commented dryly from the doorway, "nice to meet you too, Webber."

  April's blood boiled. Whoever this Byron guy was, he had a lot of nerve to burst into the office unannounced and then mouth off at her shock.

  "In order to protect you and to add authenticity to your new identity, we've made arrangements with Mr. Black that Tristan Webber will be his live-in girlfriend. As long as you confirm with us that he is actively guarding you and playing the role of significant other while under the public eye, he will be compensated."

  Was he serious? April studied the marshal's face and saw no sign of humor. If they were going for authenticity, why would a man as attractive as Byron settle for a girl like her? April didn't think she was hideous, but she knew she was a little too curvy to be considered conventionally attractive. It didn't matter that she had a sweet face and great hair, or that her fashion sense was on point; men that looked like Byron didn't dig curvy chicks.

  "And now that the introductions are out of the way," Byron said flatly, "can I take my girlfriend and get out of here, please? I've got a lot going on this afternoon."

  The marshal's lips grew thin as he stared at Byron from across the room. There was tension between them, and April wondered why someone as serious and professional as a U.S. marshal would hire someone like Byron Black to look after her. Out of all the men and women enlisted in the army and the police force, surely there were better bodyguards.

  But here Byron was, helmet under his arm, ready to take her away.

  April slipped her file from the table and stood, turning towards the hunk of a man blocking the door. It didn't matter how attractive he was — his attitude was ugly. Who did he think he was?

  "Remember," the marshal bade her, "you must report to us weekly to let us know he's holding up his end of the contract. As I said, it's not often at all that we have an arrangement like this made, but as your case is so sensitive..."

  "I got it," April said. Byron had turned and stepped into the hall, starting to head towards the lobby. "He makes sure I'm safe, I make sure he makes sure I'm safe. Nothing could possibly go wrong with that setup." Unnecessary complications was right. How was she supposed to stay safe when she had to be mindful of policing her new ‘boyfriend’ bodyguard?

  The marshal said nothing, but April could feel him silently seething behind her. Rather than linger, she slipped out into the hall and followed Byron towards the lobby. As she did he turned his head to look back at her.

  "Catch." He pitched the helmet back to her in a high arc, and April caught it with ease. "You ever ride a motorcycle before?"

  "No," April replied. Why anyone would want to risk their lives on one of those deathtraps was beyond her.

  "Well, I hope you learn fast." There was playful snark in Byron's tone. He hitched a dark brow, turned his head to face straight, and stepped out into the lobby.

  April turned the helmet in her hands, dumbstruck. The Witness Protection Program was all about assigning new identities to the people it protected, but never had she thought that she'd face changes so drastic.

  "Can't we just take a cab?" she asked, jogging to catch up with him. Byron walked fast, and even a moment's hesitation had distanced him from her.

  "My girlfriend," Byron said, "my rules. We ride, and if you don't stop complaining about it, I won't hesitate to pull out all the stops."

  How rude. April bristled and scowled, but continued to follow. Byron didn't seem like the type who'd cater to her, and if she didn't keep up she was sure he'd leave her behind. The click of her heels against the polished tile increased their tempo, and soon she stood outside in the late afternoon sun by a stunning piece of machinery.

  Byron's bike was chrome plated and unmarred by even a single fingerprint. Beneath the sun it glistened, and April wondered how something so bright could be street legal. Unlike some of the bikes she'd seen, this one looked skeletal. All of the inner workings, gleaming just as brightly as the exterior did, were uncovered. April didn't know much about bikes, but she knew enough to recognize that what she was about to ride upon was expensive, and likely custom made.

  "Helmet on," Byron instructed. He swung his leg over the motorcycle and sat comfortably in the seat, looking her over with his dark eyes.

  "What about you?" April asked. "Where's your helmet?" As she asked she secured the helmet over her head. The visor was spotless and the interior smelled brand new, like he'd stopped to buy it on his way over.

  "Don't need one — I don't crash. But I can see you falling off. I'm supposed to protect those brains of yours, not see them scattered across the asphalt. Now get on." He patted the seat extension behind him, jerking his head in its direction.

  "I've got a lot to get done today, and we're wasting daylight."

  The motorcycle. The leather jacket. The attitude. As April struggled to mount the bike she realized why Byron rubbed her the wrong way. He was exactly like Eric. And in the end, she'd had Eric put in jail. It was part of what had gotten her into this whole mess in the first place. That and her idiot brother, Ryan, also behind bars by her doing. What was the marshal thinking, assigning her to a man like this?

  The engine revved to life, and the flawless machinery beneath them vibrated as power coursed through it. April wrapped her arms around Byron's waist for safety, and he laughed.

  "The helmet's looking more and more like a good idea," he jabbed. "Hold on tight; I'm not going to go easy on you just because it's your first time."

  "You bastard," April gasped as the bike lurched back and then shot through the parking lot. The helmet she wore muffled most of what she'd said, and the speed they moved at obscured the rest. She clutched tighter. Riding a motorcycle was probably the craziest thing she'd ever done, and if she had her way it would be the last crazy thing she'd ever do. Between the arrest and her new bad boy bodyguard, April had enough excitement to last the rest of her life.

  Without stopping to look for traffic, Byron cut out onto the street and sped towards the highway. The wind whipped by them, and April quickly understood why he wore leather. Not only was it cold, but it stung. When they came to a stop at a traffic light just before the on ramp to the highway, she pressed her chest against his back and closed her eyes. Why would anyone choose this above a car? A safe, enclosed, normal car?

  The light flashed green and they sped off once more, gaining speed as they cut onto the highway. Soon tracks of city whipped by them, exit after exit disappearing. When Byron made a sharp exit off of a ramp leading to the heart of the downtown core, April was surprised. She assumed they'd be heading to one of the run down urban housing districts, but instead it looked like they were heading to the heart of the commercial area.

  Skyscrapers with more floors than April could imagine and towering buildings made of gleaming glass flashed by them. Every structure they passed gleamed in the sunlight, modern and chillingly beautiful. April had never had reason to come out to the commercial sector of her city, let alone this new one; she had worked a part time retail job and had been working on completing a university degree at night, but now that her life had been reassigned to her by the government, everything was different.

  Byron's hand slipped across to press a discrete black button hidden near the throttle, and ahead a windowless building with a shuttered door that looked like a parking garage opened. With ease, hardly slowing, he turned the bike into it and followed the winding passage into the depths. There were two basement levels. The first, from what April could see, was near empty. Two cars sat on opposite ends of the landing, both of them polished to gleam as if they were new. The second level housed motorcycle
s. As they slowed and pulled into an empty spot, April tried to count. Twelve bikes excluding the one they were on filled the area, all spotless. Black and red and blue and chrome, the different marks and makes seemed endless. When the engine died, April tore off the helmet and shook her head free, eager to ask Byron where they were. Byron wasn't looking to answer any questions. He'd already dismounted from the bike and was heading across the garage to a door.

  "Hey!"

  Byron turned his head, but he did not stop walking.

  "What?"

  "You're supposed to be taking care of me," April called after him. She struggled to dismount, and when she did she had to run to catch up. "If you're not going to do your job, I'm going to tell them as much. Then you won't get paid."

  Byron's face soured. He stopped and waited for her to join him, then gestured towards the door.

  "We're taking the elevator up. I'm going to get you settled, and then I'm going to get to work. You'll be safe here."

  "And where is here?" April asked. "Do you work security in the garage or something?"

  A curt laugh was her answer. Byron shook his head and shouldered the door open. Two elevators waited there, and once April was through he moved over to the control panel. Instead of hail the elevator using the button, Byron took a key from his back pocket and turned it in the keyhole located over the up button.

  "Um, maybe you're the elevator mechanic?" April hazarded. She'd never seen someone use a key on an elevator before, and she figured that only someone connected with their upkeep would have something like that on their person.

  Byron shot her a glance, lifting one of his dark brows. His gaze pierced her, and April found the words stolen from her throat. There was something about Byron that was arresting, dominant and dangerous. Those very traits had helped Eric win her heart, and she'd be damned if she got caught up in something like that again. But Byron worked with the Witness Protection Program, her mind whispered to her, so he has to be different.

  The doors of the elevator on the left opened, and Byron stepped in. The bottom panels were made of matte metal, April assumed for maintenance reasons, but the tops were made of soft padded leather. Buttons sunk into the fabric at even distances, forming diamond shapes. The control panel on the inside had no floor options, only an up and down button. As she entered Byron pressed on the up button, and after a brief pause the doors closed. Nothing seemed to happen.

  "Are we not moving?" April asked. All of these questions made her feel juvenile, but Byron wasn't letting her know anything.

  "We're moving," Byron replied coolly. "The elevator is smooth and well maintained. I like to keep it that way. Little pleasures like that make life worth experiencing."

  What a strange thing to say. April crossed her arms and looked him over, feeling vulnerable. She considered herself an extrovert, but having her life entrusted to a stranger made her realize just how little she knew about this man. Even the men she'd loved had hidden facets of their life from her, so how was she supposed to trust a man she knew nothing about?

  "I need to know you, so I'm going to tell you about me, and then you're going to tell me about you. My name is Ap—"

  "Tristan Webber," Byron replied firmly. "Your birthday is November 7th, you're 27 years old. You gave up your life as a hostess at a restaurant to come live with me. I studied your file, Tristan; don't tell me you didn't study mine."

  The file. Tucked beneath her arm, somehow still intact after the wild ride Byron had took her on, was all of his information. She hadn't had time to read it before he'd showed up and whisked her away. Hearing about her own life and identity from his lips was shocking enough. She'd always been April Cosden, the cute bigger girl that worked at one of the bigger shoe store chains, and her birthday was in July, not November. There was a lot to take in, a whole new self to learn about in addition to her new beloved.

  "I..." Hesitation. Byron rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head.

  "You didn't."

  "I didn't have time. You barged in and—"

  "Then you'll have fun learning."

  On cue, the elevator doors opened seamlessly as his sentence ended. April turned to see what lay beyond and her jaw dropped. Stretched out before them was a spacious, open concept living room and kitchen. The back wall was made up of windows, tall and uninterrupted by frames. They overlooked the city, and April could see the roofs of many of the buildings she'd seen on the way there. In the distance loomed mountains and landscapes she'd seen from the plane ride in. The city was beautiful from so far up.

  Without waiting for Byron, April stepped out of the elevator and into the living room. The room was furnished with great tact, following modern color schemes and sleek designs. A television close to the size of a movie screen occupied one wall, surrounded by the most luxurious couches she'd ever laid eyes upon. There was a coffee nook located by a series of bookshelves in the other corner. A breakfast island stretched by the windows, offering a breathtaking view to its diner. The appliances in the kitchen were all new and sparkling, equipped with digital displays and buttons she didn't recognize. One door to the left and one door to the right of the main living space offered access to rooms unknown.

  "This," April turned on the spot, taking it all in, "are you telling me that this is where you live?"

  Byron stepped out of the elevator to stand before her, folding his arms over his chest. The leather of his jacket wrinkled, but despite his tough posture, he grinned. The gruffness melted from his face, white teeth dazzling as though he were a movie star instead of some punk biker with an attitude problem. For a moment April considered that maybe he was an actor; she was supposed to assume a new personality, after all. Maybe he'd be her coach.

  "Well, I didn't tell you anything. What you assume is right, though. This is where I live, and now it's where you'll be living, too. Until you get things sorted out."

  "A place like this must cost a fortune," April fixed her eyes on him, genuinely curious and surprised by the turn of events. All Byron did was shrug.

  "Costs enough," he mumbled.

  What secrets was he hiding from her? April could take the mystery no more. She untucked the folder from beneath her arm and selected his file from within in. Beneath Byron's name were several other bullet form points about his life. Age. Birthday. Height. Occupation. Several times she let her eyes pass over the words that followed, trying to get them to sink in and make sense.

  Dectyl Co. Chief Executive Officer.

  April looked up at him, then back down to his image on the top right corner. The faces matched. But this bad boy biker was far from the CEO stereotype.

  "Are you serious?" she asked. "The CEO? You?"

  Byron pursed his lips, and she realized how rude she'd been.

  "I'm sorry."

  "It's a recent development," Byron cut in, her sentence barely finished before his followed. "It feels a little surreal to me, too. But it is what it is."

  There was pain in his words. April swallowed then shook her head to clear her thoughts, then looked down at the papers again. The rest of the information written seemed trivial. There was some information on his background education and his present address for her reference, but nothing she saw convinced her that he had the type of personality to build a company from the ground up. Something else was at work, and it was something papers weren't going to clue her on to.

  "What about my clothes and my possessions? My makeup and my toiletries and—"

  "All taken care of." Byron uncrossed his arms. To April's disdain, he was fond of cutting her off. "I got your sizes from your file and stocked your closet with new clothes, and I had one of my assistants assemble a cosmetic and uh, other girly shit collection for you, based on your skin type and your coloring. She assured me she did a thorough job."

  It felt surreal. He'd done all of that for her? There had been no obligation, and yet he'd gone out of his way to make her feel at home. Beneath the leather exterior, April thought she could see a glimmer of a
softer man.

  "Let me see."

  "If it's not good enough I'll just get you something else." He gestured towards the door on the right. "The bedroom. The closet is on the right hand side, and the bathroom is through the door. While you explore and make yourself at home, I've got a work day to complete. So if you'll excuse me, I'll meet you back here later and then I'll take you out to explore the neighborhood."

  Byron had turned to leave, but April caught him with one last question before he did.

  "The cars in the garage," she said, "are they yours?"

  "Yeah." He glanced at her from over his shoulder, a hint of a smirk on his face.

  "Let's take one of them instead of a bike, okay?"

  "We'll see how I'm feeling after the day is done," Byron replied. He entered the opened elevator and turned to look back at her. "The deal is that I keep you safe, not that I bend over backwards to tend to your tiniest discomfort. A guy's gotta have some fun."

  Before she could retort, the doors slid closed.

  It was going to be a hell of a change, but April couldn't help but think that throwing Byron Black into the mix made it all the more palatable.

  By a wardrobe, Byron had meant that he'd bought her more clothes than April had ever owned in her life. Fine gowns, sun dresses, jeans, slacks, skirts t-shirts, tank tops, the cutest blouses she'd ever seen, and on and on. And the shoes. It was clear Byron had spent thousands of dollars to help her feel 'at home', and April was astounded. Money like this would pay for a good chunk of her education, and yet Byron seemed to shrug it off like it was nothing. How wealthy was the leather clad rebel?

  The closet was a room onto itself, a huge walk-in affair attached to a luxurious bedroom. This was how royalty lived, she was sure. The bed, at least a King if not bigger, was piled with rich pillows and the softest comforters she'd ever touched. The windows here were more modest, but still oversized. Uncovered by curtains, they offered a brilliant view. April wondered if Byron would be sleeping in the same room, but she shook the thought off quickly. Byron was rich enough to sleep wherever he wanted, so why would he choose to sleep beside her? There were women who were more slender and far more attractive to choose from.