Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked up at him as he came, and the Sheikh’s eyes rolled back in his head as his climax seized him by the throat and pulled him into oblivion. She screamed as he blasted his load deep into her valley, pumping like a madman as his heavy balls slapped against her wetness. He had a yearning to put everything he had into this woman, possess her in a way that bordered on desperation. So many years he’d played this strange game of staying celibate all year long and then indulging himself for ten days. Was he a madman? Or was this what he’d been looking for? Was she what he’d been looking for? Was that why they’d sent her?
John and Mel, came the thought out of his frazzled mind as the Sheikh collapsed on Kathryn, his cock still deep inside her. He smiled as he felt her wrap her strong legs around him and hold him there, like she felt that same desperation, a need they both shared, two people who’d built barricades around themselves for reasons that weren’t always clear—at least not to them.
You believe this has a chance to work, don’t you, John and Mel, the Sheikh thought as he breathed deep of her scent. She smelled like flowers, he thought as he laughed into her matted hair, kissed her wet face, flexed his spent cock inside her as she giggled and tightened her legs around him. Which means the CIA has now become a matchmaking agency. Why not. Why the hell not?
Then the analytical part of the Sheikh’s brain kicked in, and before he could stop himself he was thinking about the scenarios, about what John and Mel thought they would accomplish if he and Kathryn truly did get together. It was clear that Kathryn had been sent not just to seduce him but because John and Mel actually believed they might fall in love, that something real might happen in the midst of all the lies and deceit.
“They are doing this on their own, are they not?” the Sheikh said, his thoughts flowing into speech. “If the CIA simply wants me taken out, they would put a bullet in my head or a bomb in my limousine. But John and Mel sent you instead of a sniper or a SEAL team. They have their own agenda. You must have realized that, yes?”
Kathryn frowned as she looked up at him. Then she closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, shaking her head again. “Oh, God, why am I telling you all this? I should be . . . I mean, I’m . . .”
“You are a patriot and an idealist. Just like John. Just like Mel.” He paused and took a breath. “Just like me.” Then he smiled and shook his head. “Which is why you do not need to tell me any more. Because if it does not work between us, I know you will do what you need to do, what you’ve been asked to do. Or at least you will try.”
Her eyes flicked open and she stared up at him. “Are you . . .” she started to say, but then she shut up, and the Sheikh knew he was right. Already he could see the curtains being drawn shut, the barricades coming down behind her eyes, the coldness that lived beneath those soft, warm breasts that were still pressed against him. Yes, this woman had it in her to finish the job, to finish him if it ever came to that. This was just the beginning of the game, was it not? And it was a game that would have to be played to the end. Ya Allah, John! Put two people in a room and see how it plays out, yes? The ultimate experiment, with perhaps the entire balance of power in the Middle East on the line?!
“Just know this,” the Sheikh said, feeling his own barricades coming down when he saw that stoic coldness in her eyes and knew her mind was twisting and turning just like his, playing out the scenarios, wondering who was playing whom, planning out the next move. “I am capable of anything you are.”
She stayed silent for a moment, her eyes locked in on his. Then a thin smile broke on her full lips, and she shook her head, almost regretfully. “I highly doubt that,” she whispered.
They stayed like that, naked bodies locked together, eyes focused and sharp, weapons drawn and ready. Then Kathryn blinked and shook her head.
“So it’s the ultimate bizarro arranged marriage,” she said. “And if it doesn’t work, we immediately jump to the point where we try to kill each other.”
The Sheikh shrugged. “Dream marriage on one side; nightmare divorce on the other.”
Kathryn snorted as the Sheikh rolled off her and slowly got to his feet. He looked at his watch and frowned. “Where is my phone,” he muttered.
“Here,” said Kathryn, reaching for his crumpled silk pants and pulling out his phone. “Gold plated iPhone? Bling bling.”
The Sheikh raised an eyebrow as he bent down and took the phone from her hand, his long cock brushing her shoulder as he leaned in. “I am a billionaire king, you know.”
“Yeah, about that,” Kathryn said, sitting up and pulling her knees up to her chest. “I have some questions.”
The Sheikh looked up from his phone and raised the other eyebrow. “Yes? You want to know if I have a throne? A crown? A vault full of gold and jewels?”
Kathryn shrugged. “Girl’s gotta eat,” she said, winking up at him and drawing a laugh. “But no. Actually I had a question about oil. Oil so pure and naturally refined that it’s worth a hundred times more than the oil Saudi Arabia pumps from its wells.”
The Sheikh’s jaw tightened and he glanced away for a moment. So that was what John and Mel had told her. All right. “What is the question?” he asked, deadpan.
“Well, it’s more like a true or false question.”
“I do not understand.”
Kathryn laughed. “I mean, I’m going to make some statements. You just tell me if they’re true or false.”
“So we are already at the interrogation phase of our relationship.”
“That’s the most important phase,” said Kathryn.
“No,” the Sheikh replied. “The sex is the most important phase. The body cannot lie, whereas the mind lies all the time. To everyone, including the person whose mind it is.”
Kathryn turned slightly red. “Well, be that as it may, unless you know sign language or interpretive dance, talking is probably going to be a useful method of communication in our relationship.”
“Talking is for fools. Come here, my assassin,” he growled, dropping to his knees and reaching for her breasts.
But she slapped his hands away and pulled a throw-blanket off the embroidered divan and covered herself, pointing at him, her eyes clearly saying “stay back or else!”
The Sheikh sighed and leaned back on his hands, making no move to cover his nakedness. He grinned when she glanced at his long, glistening brown cock before looking into his eyes, which clearly took some effort on her part.
“All right,” he said finally. “What do you want to know about my oil, Miss American Heroine? Yes, the United States has wanted me to increase production of my oil for years, but I have resisted. And Saudi Arabia has wanted me to decrease production of my oil for years, but I have resisted. So now I am caught between the Saudis on one side and the Americans on the other.”
Kathryn frowned. “Wait,” she said. “So you aren’t pumping enough oil from your wells to make the US happy, but you’re pumping too much from the point of view of the Saudis?”
“Balance,” said the Sheikh. “Diplomacy in action. The Saudis would like the overall supply of oil to go down so they can increase prices. And of course the US always wants an endless supply of black gold, at the lowest price possible.” He laughed. “Allah has blessed my small nation with vast underground reserves of a quality that if pumped at full capacity, could make oil cheaper than seawater.”
“And so this balancing act of yours, pumping just enough to annoy both the Saudis and the Americans is the answer? How long can that last?” Kathryn blinked, her face hardening. “How long before either the Saudis or the Americans take you out and take over Sehaar?”
“You know it is not that simple,” said Hyder. “The Americans cannot simply put a bullet in my head and land their helicopters in Sehaar. The protectors of the free world cannot openly invade a country. You know that.”
Kathryn nod
ded. “What about the Saudis?”
Hyder laughed. “Well, the Saudis cannot just roll their tanks into Sehaar and invade either. The world would never stand for it. And if they take me down in secret—whether it is with a bomb, a bullet, or poison in my sweet tea—the Americans will know it was the Saudis, because the Saudis have the most to gain. And Saudi Arabia and America are friends and allies, remember. The Saudis need American military backing, weapons sales, and political support. Besides, even if the Saudis did take me out, there is no guarantee they would get control of Sehaar.”
Kathryn shook her head. “So for years both the Americans and the Saudis would have liked you dead, but neither of them could do it because the other would know it was them, which would have caused a political mess, not the least of it is which nation would take over if you died.” She blinked and shook her head. “But now, Hyder . . . Benson and Mel . . . they told me . . . I mean . . .”
The Sheikh nodded. “Yes. It sounds like John and Mel received the go-ahead to take me out. Which means the higher-ups in the US government have decided they no longer give a damn about angering the Saudis. Perhaps after all these years they decided to say to hell with it, put a bullet in my head anyway, and influence the United Nations to send peacekeeping forces into Sehaar and take over. And the UN, though very useful and powerful in certain situations, is still mostly funded and armed by the United States.”
Kathryn took a breath and exhaled. “But what reason would the United Nations have to send peacekeepers in? Why would there be unrest in Sehaar if you were killed suddenly?” She cocked her head and glanced up at him. “Wait a minute. Your file—at least the one I read—said nothing about children or heirs. Who would be next in line for the throne of Sehaar?”
The Sheikh closed his eyes tight and shook his head. This was so twisted, it was almost comical. Almost. He ignored the question, but he knew he could not ignore it much longer. He shook his head again. “What matters is that John and Mel ignored a direct order and sent you here, Kathryn.” He glanced up at her. “They are patriots to their country, but they are also idealists. They understand what would happen if I am assassinated openly, and although that would likely result in the United States coming out on top, it would be messy. If the UN takes over, perhaps the Saudis will secretly fund rebels to fight in Sehaar. Then the US might fund their own anti-rebels, or even send in American soldiers. People would die. Soldiers. Civilians. It could be a mess. John and Mel have gone rogue, just to give us a chance.” He paused. “To give the two of us a chance to work this out. Put two people in a room and see how it plays out.”
Kathryn pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders. “I’d already guessed this was Benson and Mel acting without their superiors knowing. But I don’t know, Hyder. It seems insane.”
The Sheikh took a breath and looked up at the ceiling. It was painted with a fresco depicting a scene from the Quran—a scene identical to one from the Old Testament of the Bible: Ibrahim praying to his angry God, the angels and devils looking on, waiting for a decision to be made. Would Ibrahim sacrifice one of his children?
“Listen,” Hyder said. “Think about it. What was your directive? It was to marry me, become next in line for the throne, and then kill me, yes?” He paused when he saw her expression change, her eyes betray her feelings, betray the fact that there were indeed feelings! “But John and Mel’s philosophy in foreign relations has always been to put the players together and see what happens. See how the game unfolds. Always plan for the game to change.” The Sheikh’s eyes met hers, and he saw a bead of warmth beneath that hardened coldness that had come from years of not trusting anyone but herself. “Kathryn, we are the two players. John and Mel put us together because they know there’s a chance . . .”
Kathryn closed her eyes and exhaled hard. When she opened them again, he could see tears. “A chance of what?” she whispered.
“A chance that perhaps you will not want to kill me when all is said and done. They are betting on the fact that one of two things will happen: Either you marry me and then kill me, which would put you in position to be heir of Sehaar.” He shrugged and smiled, pulling at the blanket even as Kathryn held it tight around her body. “Or you marry me and not kill me, which would still put you in a position of influence, and more importantly, put you—put us—in position to create the next heir of Sehaar. A half-American child, ensuring that Sehaar and the United States will always be allies. A peaceful solution to a volatile situation.”
Kathryn pulled away from him and stared into his eyes. “This is goddamn insane. I can’t believe we’re even talking about this. This isn’t real. It can’t be. It’s too damned crazy.”
The Sheikh snorted and shook his head. Should he tell her? If he did, there would be no turning back. She would know too much. It would bring them to a point of no return, where if it did not work out, perhaps John and Mel would take her out!
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Kathryn said, and the Sheikh couldn’t hide his surprise. Already she could read him, see through him . . . understand him? “What is it?”
Hyder shook his head again. Then he breathed deep and nodded. To hell with it. If everyone was going all in, putting it all on the line, then perhaps he should too. Yes, to hell with it. Just tell her. “There is another reason neither the Saudis nor the Americans have killed me yet. It is because if I die without a wife or a child, there is another who might have a claim to the throne of Sehaar. And that would complicate things. She would complicate things.”
“She?” said Kathryn. “Ex-wife?”
The Sheikh laughed. “More like ex-sister.” But the laughter could not last. “A half-sister.” He shook his head and exhaled. The connection was too much to be believed. She would never believe it was just a coincidence. Still, he had to tell her. She had a right to know.
The Sheikh opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by the screams of women and the shouts of men from beyond the heavy door of the suite on the private floor of the brothel. Then he heard the gunshots, and immediately he snapped to attention even as Kathryn leapt to her feet and grabbed her clothes.
“This way,” he whispered urgently, grabbing his pants and pointing to a door at the back of the room. It led to the flat roof of the ten-story building . . . the roof on which his private helicopter was waiting.
And just as he pulled Kathryn through the door and closed it, the throaty sound of Russian-made AK-47s drowned out all thoughts and words as the naked couple raced up the sandstone stairs to the roof, bursting into the sunshine and tumbling into the chopper. The rotors whirred and the engines rumbled, and then they were up and away.
They glanced down at the roof below them. Men in full-black with patchwork scarves covering their faces were swarming up, shouting and pointing, aiming and firing at the chopper. But the Sheikh’s pilot had been there and done that, and he swerved and counter-swerved and within moments they were beyond range.
“I swear I heard Russian,” Kathryn muttered, turning to the Sheikh wide-eyed. “They’re dressed like Arab jihadists, but they’re speaking Russian. Why are they speaking Russian, Hyder? What the hell is going on?”
The Sheikh closed his eyes and smiled thinly. They were already at the point of no return, no turning back. So he turned to her and he spoke. “My half-sister,” he said. “Her birth name was Nishaani Al-Sehaar. But now she goes by Nisha.” He paused and smiled, which was the only thing he could do, this was so damned twisted. “Nisha Gorka.”
He watched the shadow pass through her, and for a moment he thought she’d either faint or slap him across the face. But she swallowed and blinked, and then just shook her head as the madness of the situation sunk in. “Yuri Gorka’s . . . wife?”
The Sheikh turned and looked out into the blue skies, then down toward the golden expanse of desert below, finally turning to her, his eyes narrowed, his voice thick with meaning. “Yuri Gorka�
�s widow, to be precise.”
12
Kathryn pulled the blanket around her shoulders and looked out the other window of the helicopter, taking in the sight of rolling sand dunes dotted with the occasional oasis. The deafening whir of the chopper’s engines and blades made her feel like she was sinking into oblivion, and a strange peace came over her when she decided there was nothing to do but let go, to realize that nothing could possibly make sense again, to resign herself to the truth that she was in some kind of a dream or nightmare. Her life so far had been conspiracy and secrets, sinister plots and twisted plans. But this was too much. Did Benson and Mel know about the Gorka connection? Of course they did. Was that part of the plan, somehow? Or was it just the weirdest coincidence ever?
“You have not spoken for almost an hour,” the Sheikh said softly, and Kathryn whipped around at the sound of his voice. She’d almost forgotten he was there. She’d almost forgotten she was there!
“How would anyone know I was there, in Habeetha, in that brothel?” she said quietly. “Benson and Mel were the only ones who knew.”
The Sheikh glanced at her, rubbing his chin and tightening his jaw. “What makes you think you were the target?”
Kathryn snorted. “So the widow of a man I killed decides to assassinate her half-brother, just when I happen to be in the room with him?”
Hyder was silent for a moment. “What makes you think this was the first time she’s tried to kill me?” he asked softly.
She studied his expression. “When was the last time?”
“Two years ago.”
“How?”
“My men found a bomb attached to the underside of my Lamborghini,” the Sheikh said.
Kathryn thought for a moment. “That’s a two-seater car. With very low clearance off the ground. Notoriously sensitive to sand and dust. You drive that a lot around Sehaar?”
Assassin for the Sheikh_A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel Page 6
