“You cannot run from your destiny forever,” the old Sheikh said now as he watched his son. “That is the definition of destiny in a way—something that will find you no matter which way you turn!” Now his voice dropped to a whisper. “And the funny thing is, sometimes when it seems you are running away from your destiny, in fact you are running straight towards it.”
Now the Sheikh closed his eyes and snapped his fingers, and two attendants came out of seemingly nowhere. One of them was wheeling in a medical drip-stand. The other began preparing a syringe from the medical supplies on the table. It was time to go, Kabeer knew. His father had—like he always did—ended the conversation on his own terms.
Kabeer stormed out of the room, his insides twisted and knotted from the conflicting emotions that threatened to rip him apart. He did not want to acknowledge them. They were like little demons living in his head, and the moment he gave them some attention, they would take over, he decided. So shut them down, Kabeer. Stay on the path you have chosen. Your father is wrong. Yasmeena is wrong. You are a lone wolf, not a leader of a nation of people looking for a damn role model.
Yes, you are a lone wolf, Kabeer thought as he summoned up the image of that curvy American woman who had gotten him so close to what he knew would bring him the peace he needed right now.
A lone wolf, he muttered as that image of Jenny’s smooth, pretty face, her big brown eyes, those magnificent contours flashed in his mind as he stormed up to the deck. He imagined her standing there against the railing, her full figure on display in the sunlight, her hair wild and flying like a battle flag, calling to him.
I’m coming, Jenny Jones. Ready or not, I’m coming.
10
“I’ve succeeded at every damned thing I’ve put my mind to, Jenny,” Kabeer said as he ran his fingers through his thick, dark brown hair. “My sister is not a fool. There is no way she’d have agreed to let me do this if she did not think I could pull it off.”
“And when is someone going to ask for MY opinion when it comes to, you know, MY restaurant?!” Jenny was red in the face, her hands shaking as she reached for the glass of water an attendant had just brought up on a tray.
They were still on that upper deck, sitting on a white linen couch that faced the back of the boat. Kabeer had burst up onto the deck a few minutes earlier, his dark face flush, his green eyes sharp and focused . . . focused on her.
Oh, God, she had thought for a moment as he approached. She could smell it on him, his desire, his need, his want. And she could feel it in herself again too, like her body was choosing to respond immediately to his, like they were already in tune, in rhythm, in sync. She tried not to look down, and in truth she did not need to, because there was no doubt that he was ready to take what he wanted.
A part of her wanted to give in right then and there. Jump in, right? But just as the Sheikh drew near, Jenny felt the boat change direction. She looked towards the horizon, where she could see the glass and steel towers of Chicago shimmering in the sun. Sure enough, the boat was turning. They were heading back. The clock was ticking. Jenny needed to give Yasmeena her answer.
She already knew that she’d sign that offer sheet—she really had no choice. But she still couldn’t make complete sense of the Sheikh’s strange demand to be head chef. It couldn’t be just about the “experience,” could it? He was a billionaire! He could open ten restaurants in Paris, play around in the kitchens, and close them down if he got bored! But it couldn’t be just because of her either, she had decided. If Kabeer just wanted to sleep with her, wouldn’t it be easier for a man like that to NOT volunteer to work closely with her every day for months, maybe longer?! What was this man trying to do? What was he trying to get?
And so instead of listening to her body, Jenny tried to shut it up, close it down, turn it off. She walked past the Sheikh as he approached her with that look on his face, and she quickly sat on that white couch, crossing a leg over the other, folding her arms tightly over her breasts. We’re going to talk, she told herself. This is still a damned business meeting, as far as I’m concerned. Isn’t it?
So she had started to talk, but the tone was heated, passionate, tense and dramatic as their shared arousal colored every sentence, underlined every word, heightened every emotion. And then, before she knew it, Jenny was red in the face and saying:
“And when is someone going to ask for MY opinion when it comes to, you know, MY restaurant?!”
Kabeer laughed as he took a seat right beside her, very close, too damned close maybe. “You are not a fool either, Jenny. You know that Bukhaara Capital will be the majority owner of your company once you sign that term sheet. That’s how venture capital works. My family is bringing the money, and we have the final say in how this business is run. This is how it is going to be.” He paused now, touching his lips and looking at her in a way that almost made her uncomfortable, certainly made her shift in her seat, perhaps loosen up her posture just a bit. “And you know what, Jenny? It just occurred to me that you—innocent brown eyes and all—would NEVER be able to work with an actual celebrity chef, someone who already has a culinary style and reputation, years of training and experience. Ya, Allah, no damned way! Oh, I already see it! You have TOO strong a belief in your own vision! You are SO determined, SO focused, SO clear on what you want this to be that it’s . . . it’s . . . it’s goddamn intoxicating.”
And he just leaned over and kissed her, hard on the lips, his right hand grazing her cheek as he firmly gripped her hair just above the back of her neck, grasping down near the roots and pulling as he forced his tongue into her mouth.
“Kabeer!” she gurgled as she felt a wave of panicked ecstasy RIP through her as she opened her mouth and let him in, let him kiss her full, kiss her hard, kiss her the way he wanted, kiss her the way SHE wanted.
He gripped the back of her neck now as they kissed, his hand moving down along her upper arm, massaging her flesh so hard it made her groan. That hand on her hip now, her thighs, already trying to push her legs apart, slide in there, deep in there where she could feel her wetness once more. Perhaps it had never gone away.
“Kabeer,” she said again, but this time it was a whisper as she touched his face, ran her hands along his stubble, touched his full, dark red lips with her thumbs and forefingers, looked into his deep green eyes. “What is happening? Oh, God, what’s happening?”
Kabeer pulled away and abruptly stood up. He was panting hard, smiling wide, his thick hair mussed from the way Jenny had clawed at it when he kissed her like that . . . kissed her without warning, without permission, just because he damned well wanted.
And now as she looked up at Kabeer standing in the sun before her, unbuttoning his crisp white shirt until it hung open all the way down, six-pack abs looking tight and bronze, like they were shrink-wrapped and polished as that shirt flew like a flag in the wind . . . yes, now, as the sun hit this man from behind, casting his body in a million little shadows that made her toes curl up . . . yes, she got a strange image of him standing in the desert, a sandstorm at his back, that white shirt looking like a flowing white caftan as it billowed in the storm winds. He looked like a king for that strange moment, like something out of an old story, something out of the past . . . perhaps something out of the future . . . something out of THEIR future . . .
And then, as he changed position, coming closer to her as she looked up at him, she once again saw his modern trousers, his collared shirt, those rock-star good looks and that killer grin. Who is this man, she wondered. Which image is the right one? Is he Sheikh Kabeer Bukhaara, leader of his ancestral homeland, or is he just K.B., international billionaire. Was there a depth to him that she was refusing to see even though some part of her was begging to acknowledge it. Or was this just her frazzled brain getting twisted and turned by the blaze of the sun, the heat of arousal.
The heat of arousal, Jenny thought as she became eminently conscious of her wetness seeping through her panties and tights now as she caught Kabeer
glancing at her chest, the swell of her breasts beneath that jacket. And now the sun felt very hot as she shifted on that linen couch, and she could feel perspiration along her arms as her breathing became labored. Kabeer’s shirt was off now, and he looked so damned hot, his flat stomach and rock-hard chest exposed, those thick veins like ropes circling his arms, that grin that had gotten her wet twice today already. And now she felt dizzy as the unsatisfied arousal began to bubble up so hard it SCARED her, and she blinked and looked away and then up once more at the Sheikh as he towered above her, almost blocking out the sun.
“You look warm in that suit, Jenny,” Kabeer said, his grin widening as he leaned over the low table and reached for her. “Here. Let me.”
Jenny’s arms were still folded across her chest, and Kabeer held her wrists and slowly, with overwhelming strength, pried her arms apart and raised them up and to the sides, pinning them across the back of the couch as he leaned in and kissed her full, gently but with absolute power, focused intent.
He held her arms pinned down to her side as they kissed, and then he let go. She looked up at him as she licked her lips. She did not move her arms back across her chest, and now she shivered and blinked, exhaled quickly as he pulled her jacket open, inhaled sharply as he touched the tips of her breasts through her top and bra, teasing her nipples with the back of his rough hands before gently pinching them to hardness through the cloth.
“I want to take this off,” he whispered as he pushed the low table away from her and then sat on it, his hands gripping the lapels of her jacket. He touched her breasts again now, drawing a whimper from Jenny as she felt electricity zip through her hot body as her nipples responded quickly. Then he pulled at her jacket again. “This is in my way. It comes off now. Now, Jenny. Come on.”
Kabeer pulled her forward and she let him slip the jacket off her. He tossed it onto the chair behind him. Now he reached down for the bottom of her black top, pulling it up over her breasts firmly, with authority, no hesitation.
“Oh, God, Kabeer. We’re outside! What are you doing?!” she whispered as she gasped at the heat of the sun hitting her exposed skin, her bare stomach, the top of her breasts that were bursting out of her bra, her bra that felt very tight and uncomfortable right now, like it needed to come off right now, right now, ohgod right now . . .
“You ask too many questions,” Kabeer muttered as his strong hands closed tight on her breasts, squeezing HARD as Jenny arched her back and moaned involuntarily.
The sturdy couch creaked as Kabeer knelt down and leaned in, pushing her legs apart with his body as he began to kiss her furiously, pinching her nipples through her bra. She gasped and tilted her head back as he moved down to her neck. Her eyes were clamped shut, everything looking red as the sun warmed her upturned face. She felt Kabeer massage her naked upper arms as he licked her neck, now grasping her wrists and raising her arms above her head as he kissed her cleavage, sucked her nipples through the sheer black bra, soaking the thin cloth with his warm saliva.
“Kabeer, we’re out in the open,” she whispered, but she didn’t stop him as he slid his tongue between the globes of her breasts, his hands up her skirt, fingers digging into her thighs and bottom through her tights. “Someone’s going to come up here.”
“Nobody will come up here,” Kabeer rasped in her ear as he gently pulled on her earlobe with his teeth, his hand caressing her bare neck, squeezing once and then letting go. He kissed her on the lips again, gently now, carefully, his eyes looking into hers. His hand moved down to her breast again, and he lowered her bra-cup and gasped as his fingers closed on her stiff, rock-hard nipple. “And if they do, it means nothing. I do not give a damn, and neither should you. We are not stopping for anything. For anyone. This is happening, Jenny Jones. Right here. Right now. No goddamn questions. Your body has already answered the only damned question that is relevant right now.” He looked down at her creamy white breasts, the nipples pert and hard, dark pink and proud in the sun. “Oh, God, Jenny. I am so bloody hot for you. So damned hard for you. Come here.”
And now he stood up off that low table, pulling her off the couch with all his strength, and she was breathless as she slammed against his hard body. He held her tight as he whipped around and KICKED one of those heavy deck chairs out of the way, sending it tumbling along the wooden deck, colorful striped cushions flying everywhere. He kissed her face again, his warm lips exploring every inch of her smooth skin—her cheeks, her nose, her lips, her chin, her forehead, even her eyelids as she blinked and moaned under his touch.
His strong hands were squeezing her ass with tremendous force, pulling her cheeks apart even through her tights and skirt. Fingers clawing at the expanse of her bottom, now hands moving down to the hem of her skirt, pulling upwards, hiking up her skirt over her ass now, all the way up to her hips. Those long fingers running down along her rear crack now, pushing their way underneath, between her legs from behind, teasing her most secret space from beneath as she wriggled and moved.
Now Kabeer’s hands moved up to her waist and found the top of her tights, quickly sliding in, down into her tight black panties, fingers spreading and clutching fistfuls of her naked ass. The sensation of his fingers on her skin was raw, sensual, goddamn WILD, and Jenny felt her own wetness against her inner thighs as Kabeer slowly pushed her panties and tights down even as he caressed every inch of her round buttocks.
“But your sister . . .” Jenny muttered as she felt the warm breeze against her bare ass and thighs and realized that her panties and tights were almost down to her knees. “Kabeer, your sister said . . .”
Kabeer pulled back his head and blinked as he stared at her. “Why the hell is my sister relevant right now? Are you insane?”
“No,” Jenny shuddered as she exhaled. “Before she left she warned me that I’d need to learn how to keep my personal feelings separate from my business relationships, and—”
But she couldn’t finish the sentence, because just as she spoke Kabeer touched her with the back of his hand, touched her right down there, right in front, and it sent a shudder through her as he rubbed her with the back of his hand, his knuckle grazing her clit, his finger reaching out and tracing its way lengthwise against her slit that was so wet, so wet, so DAMNED wet right now.
“Listen to me, Jenny Jones,” he whispered hungrily as his fingers slowly teased the edges of her slit until she could literally feel it opening up for him, “we are not in business together until you sign that offer sheet. So right now, this here . . . this is one-hundred-percent personal. One hundred percent personal. Just you and me. Man and woman. Man and woman. And right now, right here, you are my woman. MY damn woman.”
And he slid his middle finger into her as he said it, his thumb resting on her clit as his middle finger drove deep and smooth, and she almost CHOKED in ecstasy as he gently curled that thick, long finger up inside her, and he was controlling her with that finger, owning her with his thumb, ruling her with his touch.
They stood there in the sun, bodies pressed against each other, him kissing her on the lips, tongue pushing inside her just like his fingers were inside her, and she muttered as he worked her, moaned as he tasted her, shuddered as he tapped his thumb against her.
The orgasm came silently, sneaking up on her like a tornado in the night, and she gagged and flailed as she came, convulsed as the full force of that orgasm hit, swooned as he held her close, his fingers still and motionless inside her as she exhaled in short, gasping, desperate breaths as the ecstasy took over her senses one by one until the only sensation left was touch. The feeling of him touching her.
11
The sun and the sky, the water and the wind, the boat, the waves, the view . . . all of it disappeared into the background as Kabeer kissed her lips, touched her body, caressed her curves. She was overwhelming him in a way he had NEVER experienced—not with European supermodels, South American popstars, Asian beauty queens, or American millionaire-princesses. And it wasn’t just her body—it
was everything. The way she carried herself. That hint of self-doubt and insecurity that existed side-by-side with a deep faith in herself, a real inner strength, the kind of strength that made her challenge herself, to move forward even when she was scared.
Kabeer had always been good at reading people, and although he knew he was right about her so far, he also knew that there was so much to this woman that he didn’t have a clue about yet, that he would still need to discover . . . and DAMN it was going to be a fun journey of discovery. Yes, suddenly he wanted to experience every part of her—mind and body, inside and outside, soul and spirit. Just like his tongue was exploring her smooth skin, just like his fingers were seeking her secret spaces, just like his eyes were looking into hers, looking for . . . looking for . . . looking for what?
Love?
Am I insane?
The thought struck him as he felt Jenny come in his arms, under his deep touch, her body thrashing and shivering as he held her close, held her tight, held her like he had known her for years, held her like she was his.
Like she was his.
He felt so damn close to her as she came. He could feel her hot breath against his chest as she gasped and sputtered her way to that silent climax. It made him feel connected to her in a way that was so much deeper than his fingers curling inside her secret depths.
This is not a woman who gives herself easily, Kabeer said to himself as she finally opened her eyes and gazed up at him with those big brown eyes that looked just a bit hazy right now as she whimpered and blinked. Even when I first saw her I thought she was unlike so many other American women whose names and faces all blend into one meaningless set of events that suddenly seem to be in the distant past. And now I can only confirm what my body was telling me when I first touched her curves in that dark, silent underground garage, those black limousines our only witnesses. Allah knows I have been with enough women to instantly sense when something is different, when SOMEONE is different. And this one is different. Oh, God help me, she is different.
Flames for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 2) Page 9
