“Must you?” Her voice was muffled by the fabric.
“Must I what?” Issam’s voice was gravelly, but he wasted no time in scrolling through the phone. Tap. Scroll. Tap.
“Turn on your phone so early.” She turned onto her back and threw her arm over her eyes. “I hate to start the day with a barrage of news and status updates. And light.”
She felt him shrug. “That’s the life of a security specialist. I need to know what’s going on at all times. Besides, you have your phone with you all the time, too.” His weight shifted on the bed. “However—” He was probably going to get up now and rush to the gym, and the entire day would slip away before Mackenzie had a chance to see him again.
“However what?”
“It makes me wonder.”
“Hmm,” she said irritably.
“It makes me wonder how you do prefer to be woken up.”
The covers lifted, and Issam slid his hand down her bare leg. His calloused hands were rough from all the weights he had lifted, and probably all the guns he had held, and the sensation made her laugh. “Like this?”
“No,” she teased. “That’s not nearly enough.”
“Oh.” He moved again, crawling between her legs, deeper into the bed. “Like this?”
“How are you going to—”
“I see. Like this.” He tugged her panties down and off and spread her legs. Issam made a low sound, as if he had been delivered a plate of priceless delicacies.
“Not quite,” Mackenzie said from underneath her arm.
He licked her, long and slow, and she arched back against the bed with a gasp.
“Like that,” she said. “Just like that.”
By the time he pulled away from Mackenzie, drawing a disappointed little whine from the back of her throat, she was sopping wet and he was rock hard.
He climbed back up out of the covers, giving Mackenzie a look at his sleep-warm naked body. It was very nearly dawn, and in the gray light she could see that he had bedhead. Even bedhead looked sexy on Issam.
He caught her wrists in his hands and pinned them above her head, nudged her legs apart with a knee, and thrust inside of her with total abandon. Something about the morning made him a little rough around the edges, but Mackenzie relished the force behind each roll of his hips. He wasn’t holding back. Neither was she. She let him sink into her and she let herself sink into the raw pleasure of being helpless, taken, alive.
Had it been pleasant to wake up in the dark, that phone shining in her face? No. But this—this was worth it.
Mackenzie hooked her legs around Issam’s waist, drawing him in closer. He let out a pleased little growl into her ear, and she felt his abs flex against her as he changed angles. Issam pounded into her so hard on the next thrust that it took her breath away. She tested his grip around her wrists, fighting a little, and relished the way he held on tighter.
It was all raw, and she felt like a live wire. Pleasure arced through her over and over, there in the dimness, Issam’s body blocking out everything else.
By the time they were finished with each other, the sheets and blankets were a tangled mess. Issam rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, a grin playing over his face. Mackenzie felt languid and satisfied and very nearly like she might fall back asleep.
Until Issam shifted and reached for his phone again.
The phone. Always the phone. She tried to shove down another spike of irritation. She had, after all, come twice while he ate her, and he hadn’t complained at her fingers tugging his hair. There had been no distance between them under the covers. None at all. It was only bodies and sweat and feeling.
When the phone came up, it was like a door slamming shut in her face.
Someone knocked on the door of Issam’s suite.
“Can you get that?” He asked without looking at her. Mackenzie frowned. No doubt he had missed it, since he was back to checking…whatever he was checking.
She pushed herself up from the nest of blankets, ready to give in to her annoyance, when she caught a glimpse of what was on his screen.
It was a social media app, yes.
But Issam was using it to look up Middle Eastern weddings—music, at the moment.
Her heart softened, and the irritation drained away.
Maybe he had finally realized that teamwork would be instrumental in getting this wedding planning out of the way. Maybe he had also realized that he needed her to navigate the land-dispute negotiations. He was, at the very least, invested in the wedding. Sometimes Mackenzie still had a flash of fear that Issam might change his mind and she’d be left at the mercy of the unforgiving imam, but no. Not if he was looking at things like that on his precious phone.
Mackenzie threw her legs over the side of the bed, testing her weight on her feet to see if they’d stopped shaking enough to walk. They had, but it was a near thing. She grabbed her robe from the bedpost and pulled it over her skin. On the way to the door she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—tousled and pink from the lovemaking. She looked good. No wonder Issam wanted her by his side night and day. She blew a kiss to herself in the mirror.
Things were looking up. If this was how the day had started—albeit in the dark of the night—she was excited to see how it ended.
13
Mackenzie’s hopefulness waned as the hours went on. Issam made a point of feeding her delicious pieces of melon at breakfast, and then she had her first big break—she was invited to a meeting with the security and intelligence teams. That called for a skirt suit, and she chose her lucky one.
She felt instantly at home at the long table in the meeting room off Issam’s main office. Was there going to be some kind of presentation with all the information they’d gathered? She put her slim folder on the table in front of her and waited.
There was no such presentation.
Instead, Issam came in with six members of his team, who proceeded to grill her about the intelligence she had. How many people were staying in the fort. How long they had been using the ancient building as a shelter. What countries the women and children were from. Had any supplies been provided? If so, from who, and when? What level of supplies were needed?
And this was how it went, for a frustratingly short thirty minutes every day. Mackenzie never had time to ask her own questions, and the moment she tried, Issam rushed her off to yet another wedding appointment.
Today’s appointment was with the florist, and she simply couldn’t pay attention. Daya and Adira were at a separate fitting for the event, and Mackenzie’s eyes slid over the pages of the catalogue on the table in front of her.
The florist, a woman named Sahr, noticed.
“Is something on your mind?” She asked the question rather gently, after Mackenzie had listened to her describe the relative advantages and disadvantages of two of her most popular centerpieces. She had listened, yes, but she hadn’t heard a word, and then Sahr had gone on to say how she’d combined both looks to create Mackenzie’s dream arrangement. “Cold feet?”
“I’m sorry.” Mackenzie shook her head. “It’s not cold feet.”
Sahr grinned. “I wouldn’t think it would be…hard to stay cool with a man like Sheikh Issam.”
Mackenzie thought back to the previous night. Issam had come back from a late security meeting with adrenaline coursing through his blood, and she had thoroughly enjoyed the aftereffects. “I can’t divulge that kind of information,” she told Sahr coyly, raising her eyebrows.
“What can you divulge?” Sahr was an elegant woman in her mid-forties with beautiful dark hair she wore in a coil at the base of her neck.
“I don’t want to bother you with…separate issues. We should concentrate on the flowers.”
“I’ve noticed that many brides need an outlet. Someone who’s not…personally involved in the planning. I’m happy to listen.”
Mackenzie blew out a breath. “It’s not really a personal matter. It’s…more of an international one.” And why shouldn’t
she tell Sahr? She was a professional at the top of her class, among the elite of Al-Dashalid. “Are you aware of the ancient ford at Al-Dashalid’s northeast border?”
Sahr cocked her head to the side. “I’ve heard of it. It’s a national landmark.”
Mackenzie gave her the brief outline: a women’s shelter in a technical no-man’s land between three countries. She left out the military tensions rising between the nations and focused on the people at the heart of the issue: the women and children.
Sahr put her hand to her mouth and shook her head. “Yes. I’ve heard that the fort is on its last legs, is it not?”
“It’s ancient, but it’s not a crumbling ruin. Al-Dashalid has worked to keep the fortress in good enough shape to be occupied. But now that might be…jeopardized.”
The florist’s eyes flashed. “At the expense of the women’s shelter?”
Mackenzie chose her next words carefully. “I haven’t heard of a firm plan to relocate them. But I also haven’t heard of many alternate shelters. The lack of safe places for these women is highly concerning.”
Sahr nodded sharply. “Very concerning. I agree with you.” She bit her lip and looked back down at the catalogue. “I’m not sure how much time you have for our appointment, but perhaps I should show you my design for the centerpieces.”
Mackenzie’s heart beat fast. This was it. This was the silver lining to all the wedding planning. She was meeting with women in the upper echelons of Al-Dashalid’s professional sector, and those women had information. They had connections. She wanted badly to steer the conversation back to the shelter, but she had to find a balance. The wedding was also a priority.
“Yes. I’d love to see the arrangement.” Sahr beckoned to someone behind her, who stepped out, probably to retrieve the sample centerpiece.
“Do you know of any efforts to put together new shelters?” Mackenzie asked quickly. “It seems that this is a problem that could be attacked from multiple fronts.”
Before Sahr could answer, her assistant reappeared with the centerpiece.
It was perfect.
The arrangement was everything Mackenzie could have wished for. As a girl, she’d imagined the details of her wedding when she was finished daydreaming about getting into an Ivy League school for undergrad and law school. But the flowers rising out of the narrow crystal vase didn’t hold much of her attention. The shelter was first in her mind.
“They’re lovely,” she said, forcing herself to study the arrangement. Long-stemmed roses gathered in the center, surrounded by forget-me-nots. Green shoots of something gave it an exotic look. The details blurred.
Once the assistant stepped away, Sahr asked a few questions about the arrangement and took note of Mackenzie’s answers on a tablet she kept by her side.
Then she looked back up at Mackenzie, her eyes shining with a kind of cautious excitement. “We’ve begun working with an NGO that has a special focus on women in Al-Dashalid and the surrounding countries.”
Now that was gold. Mackenzie tried to contain her excitement.
“Have they been providing supplies to the women’s shelter? Are there plans to open more locations, or at least leverage the royal family to make sure—”
“I’m not sure. I’ve only sat in on a few initial meetings, but that’s the overall direction. I’m not entirely convinced that the organization can overcome the legal barriers to fortify the existing shelter, since it’s not technically in any of our countries.”
“But there is some knowledge of it.”
“I believe so. At the time, I didn’t realize that this was such a delicate issue.” Mackenzie hadn’t given her any sensitive government details, and yet Sahr instinctively understood.
“All right.” Mackenzie remembered the real purpose of this meeting at the last moment and pulled her phone out of her purse. She did genuinely want to report back to Issam. “All right, that’s progress.”
“It’s a lot of progress, but…” Sahr trailed off as Mackenzie snapped photos of the arrangement from every angle.
“But?”
“I shouldn’t,” Sahr said. “Bother you, that is. Wedding planning can be all-consuming, and—”
“Tell me.” Mackenzie dropped back down into the seat across from Sahr.
“I do know one struggle that the NGO is having.”
“What is it?”
“The language barrier.” Sahr frowned. “Most of the workers on the ground for the NGO only speak English, and with the added legal component…well, there are many legal components, but in the case of your shelter, it’ll be significantly more complicated. It’s been a struggle for them to navigate.”
Mackenzie wanted to stand up and cheer. “Then I’m your girl.”
Sahr raised her eyebrows. “You are?”
“I’m told my accent isn’t half bad,” she said in the local dialect, and Sahr laughed out loud.
“No, it’s not,” she replied in the same language. “Where did Sheikh Issam find you? An American interested in our political landscape and who speaks our language?”
“He found me on the sidewalk in front of the city’s biggest mosque,” said Mackenzie. “It was a meeting for the ages.”
“I can only imagine.” Sahr’s eyes sparkled. “I’m so glad to have spoken with you about this. I’ll get in touch with my contacts from the NGO and see if there’s additional news.” Her expression became serious. “It’s a light conversation we’re having here, but to the women and children who rely on these shelters, it’s a matter of life and death.”
“Yes,” Mackenzie said, her voice verging on a shout. “This is my point exactly. I’ve been working on this project for too long without enough forward progress. Some of the leaders in many governments don’t seem to understand the gravity of what we’re dealing with.”
“I understand,” answered Sahr. “And many of my colleagues and friends are aware of the situation, too. I’m sure you’ve already met with some of them. Or, if you haven’t, you will soon.”
Mackenzie thought about to all the other meetings she had attended. Sahr was right—many of the top-rated wedding vendors in Al-Dashalid were owned and run by women, and those women had no trouble speaking to members of the royal family like Daya and Adira.
It was a foot in the door, and Mackenzie hadn’t recognized it.
Now she had, and she wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass her by.
She stood up from her seat, gathering her purse. “You’re right about that. I have other meetings scheduled for today.” Sahr stood up too, and the two women clasped hands. “I’ll be in touch. And, Sahr?”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to keep doing everything I can. We’re going to get this done.”
14
The football field didn’t have a foolproof security system.
Issam had noticed it at Inan’s earlier practice, though he’d put it from his mind. The open gate was still an issue, with people coming and going freely to the football sidelines. Most of them had children on the teams, but some came singly or in pairs, and it set the alarm bells in his head jangling.
Under the tent with Kyril, Issam had a view of the field and the complex. The gate wasn’t the only problem, not by far. The building itself wasn’t secure. He checked on Inan again, who was tearing across the field at full speed, nowhere near the ball.
He was too vulnerable.
They were all too vulnerable. The families who signed up for football had been vetted, of course. Kyril had wanted Inan to have a real experience playing the sport, and that meant he had to join a local league. It was open to anyone who could pay the entry fee, and many of the area mosques sponsored scholarships for children whose families couldn’t afford the fee.
But that meant friends. That meant relatives. That meant crowds. The area under the tent where Kyril and Issam stood was more controlled, but only because their security forces made a perimeter around the brothers wherever they went.
Still, they were
too open to attack, especially Inan.
He watched his nephew sprint back across the field in the herd of children, the coaches trying their best to wrangle them into some semblance of a football strategy. Most of them ignored him completely. They were just running for the joy of it.
They had no idea that they could be in danger.
And neither did the rest of the crowd.
None of them, except Issam and Kyril, had any idea how strained relations were between Al-Dashalid and Caldad. They had no idea about the tension between Al-Dashalid and Al-Madiza about the fort in no-man’s land. They had no idea how one woman could have brought them to the brink.
Inan ran back in front of them again, and Issam followed his trajectory to the sidelines.
They were full of parents, some of whom had brought other children with them to watch the game, and all of them were talking and laughing, focused on the game.
He thought of the women in the shelter. Those women weren’t watching their children zigzag across a field. They weren’t having the time of their lives. They were on the run from a variety of horrors, and now their place of safety was squarely in the middle of an international feud.
They were out in the open.
So were the citizens of Al-Dashalid.
Kyril was watching Inan with a proud smile on his face, clapping fiercely for the boy. He had at least begun running in the right direction.
Issam had to get Kyril on his side.
“There’s too much space,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What do you mean?” asked Kyril. “Between the children? Are your eyes working, brother? They’re practically on top of each other.”
“On the field. Between the children and the security.” He pointed across the field to the open gate. At this moment, two people were coming in and three people were going out, and Issam felt he was the only one who was paying attention. “There’s a gate that’s not being controlled at all. The security in this place is a joke.”
“Issam—”
The Sheikh’s Fierce Fiancée: Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid Book Three Page 7
