Sheikh's Fake Fiancee Read online

  She knew better than to trust appearances. After all, once upon a time, her dad had probably swept her mom off her feet too.

  “Jennifer, my Goldilocks, you look lovely as ever. I do enjoy that necklace of yours,” he said, coming over to her and crooking out his elbow. “I would be the envy of every man at the restaurant tonight.”

  “Would?” she asked as they stepped through the door.

  Then she whistled. Except for the staff, they were the only people in the restaurant. She’d never seen a place so deliberately cleared out before, but there were acres of empty tables, not even set, except for the bouquets of roses placed atop them. The only table that was set contained an ornate silver candelabra, its dim light flickering for them both.

  He tilted his head toward the table. “Yes, exactly. I didn’t want to talk over a din. We did that last night, and I wanted to get to know you better. I feel that there are only certain ways you get to know a woman in a club.”

  She felt her cheeks flare as she thought over her behavior. Her own frustration and maybe a few too many Jim Beams had made her looser than she usually was. But that damage was done. She was used to the feel of his hands sweeping over her, to being close enough to smell his maleness as well as the spicy scent of turmeric that seemed to linger on him. She loved that tease of his hardness against her. But yes, they’d gotten to know each other just in one way at the club. They had so much more to do.

  He swept up beside her and pulled the chair out. It was probably those Oxford manners of his. It was rare to get that in New York. Either you ended up with some guy from Wall Street who was nothing more than a rampant narcissist who wouldn’t deign to move a chair, or someone from Jersey who wouldn’t know good manners if they hit him upside the face.

  Bahan smiled as he took his own seat. “What?”

  “I’m not used to having the ladylike treatment. It’s so rare here.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard about all that hustle and bustle New Yorkers are famous for. I’m just thankful I don’t have to deal with the teaming masses on the subway or even waving for a cab. I think you Americans are just too aggressive.”

  “What are the ‘teaming masses’ like then in Yemen?” she asked, even as she dug into some of the breadsticks in the basket set before them. “I think everyone is busy going out to a job or in the morning commute, however it looks. Wait, would there be camels involved there?” she asked, realizing soon after how dumb that must have sounded.

  He chuckled and she loved watching the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he did so. “There are some, but we have cars and busses too. Home’s only so different. I guess I’m not used to teaming masses anywhere. To be honest, when you’re a sheikh you’re set aside from everything else.”

  She dropped her bread and cursed when the oil spilled onto her dress. Grabbing for a napkin, Jennifer would have blotted it herself, but Bahan was there, kneeling before her and placing the linen against her chest. That blush that had first erupted on her cheek had to be neon red by now. She looked away, unsure of where to go from here. Frankly, she didn’t trust herself to speak, afraid that her voice would come out far too raspy and come hither, like Kathleen Turner.

  “Did I not mention being a sheikh earlier?”

  She swallowed and finally gathered her equilibrium when he was back in his seat across the table. “I think I would have noted that. So like royalty? Like Aladdin?”

  “Those are actually sultans, like in Brunei,” he said, winking back at her. “I honestly didn’t mean to hide that from you. I thought it had come up last night. Besides, if it didn’t, I figured you’d Google-search me based on my card and realize exactly who I was.” He shrugged as if he hadn’t just announced he was a royal. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “I think it is,” she said. “If I had known, I’d have tried harder not to get oil all over me.”

  “I think that was the most charming part so far,” he admitted. “Just be yourself. Trust me, if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have given you the card or told Narjit to let the call go directly through to me. I think you’re amazing.”

  “Because I was in a short, tight dress and we were enjoying each other?”

  “No. Because you’re honest but you’re also so responsible. You snapped to attention to take care of your sister in a flash. That’s what I like most about you. I know what it’s like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  “But you have a massive company, I’m assuming, now that I know you really are who you say you are and then some, and a whole country. One kid sister with diabetes doesn’t compare to that.”

  “She has that? She’s so slim,” he asked, taking a sip of the wine that had already been waiting at their table.”

  “She’s had it since she was a kid. It’s hard. I just…someone needs to take care of her, and Mom does a great job most of the time. Part of having her out here before Christmas was to give Sydney something to do but also to give Mom a break so she could prep for the holidays, you know?”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  Jennifer sighed and pulled a bit on the gold filigree around her neck. “What else could I do? She’s family.”

  “I understand exactly how you feel,” he said. “Now, let’s try and figure out what to eat. I’m starving.”

  ***

  She didn’t even know how she’d found herself here. The easy answer was that Sixth Avenue wasn’t that far from Saks. However, she could have chosen any attraction to see in the city. Sheikh Bahan Munir could have gotten them the most elite tickets to the hottest Broadway show, into the VIP section of the best clubs, or in for dessert at a celebrity chef’s crown jewel restaurant. Jennifer didn’t want any of those things. In some ways, her life was simple, but her job wasn’t. This weekend was a respite from the usual strife and shark tank she battled through. She needed the fresh air.

  So standing in front of the shop windows, decorated with amazing animatronics and marionettes among other things for the holiday shopping season, was exactly what had appealed to her.

  “I didn’t peg you as a Peanuts girl,” Bahan said.

  “Well that just happens to be the theme,” she said. “They did a big Mickey Mouse one last year, some team-up-with-Disney theme. Maybe next year it’ll be Looney Tunes or Rudolph or something wholly original. You never know out here.”

  “And you grew up on this,” he said. “You saw these windows as a kid and fell in love?”

  “Not exactly, not this way,” she admitted. “I’d see them on TV, or Mom would bring home magazines that highlighted style and décor, anything that might have big color pictures of the displays that year. Once the Internet was up and running, we’d search for articles about them, too, from actual NYC papers. It was the cornerstone of our Christmases down in Kentucky.”

  “That’s very far away to be so interested in a New York store,” he admitted. If he found her hobby weird or her family’s history somehow off-putting, he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, his voice was low and gentle. “Can I ask why you did this?”

  “Definitely. I figured you’d think I was very weird if I didn’t explain.”

  “No, I’ve learned in all my travels that there are millions of reasons why people do things, some are custom and some are just here,” he said, pointing to her chest. “The heart makes up so many rules.”

  “Or maybe just ways to survive. My dad walked out when I was just six and Sydney was a baby. Maybe he couldn’t handle having a sick kid like Syd, or he was just a philandering dick. Maybe both, but we didn’t have much money. We’d celebrate Christmas over New Year’s so we could scrape up a tree someone else threw out and Mom could buy a few discounted gifts and maybe candy. I mean a book here or a stuffed animal there. She tried her best, but the one thing we could do was pretend. We could look at these windows and at least imagine what Christmas could be like if we were rich. Once I got my job and had my first big raise, we had Christmas again, but for the longest time, these window
s and our imagination were what we had.”

  Bahan surprised her by reaching out and holding her hand. It was a simple gesture, far more innocent compared to things she’d done with him already, even with the temptation she’d presented dancing last night. “That’s one of the most honest things anyone’s ever told me.”

  “It’s just why things are the way they are,” she said, smiling a little as an animatronic Charlie Brown and Snoopy ice-skated their way through a pond in a snowstorm. “But these windows are beautiful either way, and sometimes I just like the simple, quiet things. I like to hear my thoughts.”

  “I never do,” Bahan replied, and for just a moment, his grip on her hand grew tighter.

  “What?”

  He swallowed and looked away. For a moment, Jennifer thought that he wouldn’t speak further and she couldn’t blame him. Clearly he’d said more than he’d meant to. Finally, though, he faced her again, those amber eyes of his seeming to probe into her very soul.

  “If I take too much time to think, then I can think about the possibility of things going wrong. One day I’ll be the sole leader of my people. My brother can help and so can my mother, but when I fully become the sheikh, their security and happiness—everything—will depend on me. Most of the time, I try and distract myself with anything I can…anyone I can.”

  “So am I a distraction?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest. Jennifer knew that after tonight, a simple yes wouldn’t suffice for her. Sheikh or not, Bahan meant more to her than just a quick roll in the hay, as they said back home in Lexington. It would pierce her very heart if he only wanted her as a distraction from his duties. “Is this all we’re doing tonight?”

  His response was so fast that he made her head spin as he grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. “No, I swear that’s the last thing we’re doing here. Anything that comes after this, it’s not for one night. I wouldn’t want that…not with you.”

  “Why?” she said, breathing in his scent, her nose almost tingling with the spiciness of him. “What makes me different?”

  “Because I’ve seen part of your soul tonight, Goldilocks, and there’s so much more to you than you know.”

  ***

  It could all still just be lines.

  That was what scared her the most—the thought that she could be giving her heart away again to a man who was weaving the tales that she wanted to hear. Yet, there was something so sincere when she looked into his golden eyes that made her believe him. Bahan had given her a bit of his own truth, shared his fears that one day he wouldn’t be enough for his people. He almost hadn’t, and yet he had.

  That kernel of truth had been enough to reassure her, to let her believe this could work. It was why she was back at his hotel suite, hoping that she wouldn’t be carelessly cast aside come morning.

  Curling a lip playfully up at him, Jennifer said, “I think we’ve covered the dance. I don’t know if you want me to do a striptease for you.”

  “No,” he said, winking back at her. “That’s not my thing.” Bahan continued gliding across the floor. The man was grace incarnate. Reaching down, he started to knead her shoulders, to loosen those muscles that were always tight from her working on a computer or, frankly, from the tension she carried worrying over her family. “I love to have control in everything, Goldilocks. I want to undress you myself.”

  He started by unclasping her necklace and then taking the time to set it on one of his chest of drawers. She appreciated that, especially considering the cost. For him, it would have been nothing, a price he probably spent on tissues or eggs or something marginal at a damn palace. But for her, it meant everything—the sign that she was finally successful.

  When he was back, Bahan brought his hand to the top of the zipper on her dress. “Is this alright?”

  She felt heat in her belly and wetness already pooling between her thighs. Her legs shook and a flush colored her cheeks. She was more than ready.

  God, I might explode if you called this off, Bahan.

  She didn’t say anything quite that articulate. Instead, she half moaned in response as he unzipped her. The dress fell off her shoulders and she stepped out, revealing her lingerie underneath. It had been something she’d bought once for Dustin, but had never been able to wear. Not after she found out about…

  She banished those thoughts away, promising herself that, for tonight, she’d be happy.

  It was a black lacy thong and peekaboo lace bra. It had almost as many holes in it as substance, and she wondered if he’d be able to catch glimpses of her nipples through the translucent fabric.

  She hoped to God he would.

  “You’re a revelation, Goldilocks,” he said, running his hands over her breasts. “I can’t imagine a woman more perfect than you.”

  Now that has to be a line. Dustin always hinted about the gym…

  No, she wouldn’t do this. This was Bahan, and she had to give him a chance. This was all so new, and maybe he truly did see her as perfect. She thought he’d be crazy if he did, not with her too thick thighs and the swell of her stomach, but maybe there was something about her that he could see.

  Lord knew she couldn’t.

  Leaning over her, he ran his tongue first over the curve of her chin and then down her throat, stopping at her pulse point until he flicked against the delicate skin there. She moaned again, letting out a noise that was no more than raw animal need as he continued his ministrations.

  But Bahan was far from finished. His tongue crept over her chest, swirling patterns over the sensitive flesh there until he found her left breast. At first, he didn’t even slip off the lace, just went to work suckling and nibbling at the sensitive skin underneath the flimsy fabric. She arched her back and mewled at his efforts, loving the way his tongue felt rough and inviting all at the same time. Then he reached up underneath the band of her bra, finding her right nipple and tweaking it deftly. As his tongue teased and tempted her left side, his hand was playing with her right side, stroking everything there until it reached a rigid peak. By now, that flare of heat in her belly was an inferno, and the wetness was building to inestimable levels between her legs.

  She groaned and looked down at him, tangling her hands in his hair. “Please, Bahan, I need so much more.”

  “Are you ready for me then, Goldilocks? Ready for me to give you pleasure like you’ve never known?” he asked, his voice brimming with the confidence of a well-practiced lover.

  That was exactly what she needed tonight, what she craved.

  She nodded and tried to ignore the throbbing urgency of her most sensitive bundle of nerves.

  I’m going to explode if he doesn’t touch me. I’ll erupt or shatter into a billion tiny pieces without more of his touch.

  “Please, yes.”

  He grinned up at her, something equal parts saucy and evil. “Patience, Goldilocks. When did the best things come to people who rushed through life?”

  She gritted her teeth even as her precious pearl seemed to bother her even more, to beat even faster in time with her heart. “But only if they don’t die first.”

  “I don’t think anyone has ever actually died of sexual frustration,” he teased, kissing her throat.

  “I might be the first, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?” she asked.

  He shook his head even as he pushed his thumbs under the waistband of her panties and pulled as hard as he could. She hissed as the thin material tore in his grasp. Spreading her legs apart, she let Bahan take the lace away from her. He shocked her by bringing the panties to his nose and giving a quick, deliberate sniff.

  “You’re so very ready for me, aren’t you?”

  “Have been,” she said, surprising herself.

  His grin widened even as he shoved her ruined panties in the pocket of his pants. “I may very well keep those knickers for later.”

  “I love that random Britishness about you,” she said, her voice sounding raspy and desperate. It was all she could do to keep
up rational thought when the desire was pulsing out from her core so desperately.

  Bahan chuckled. “I aim to please, Goldilocks.” Then he ran his hands in tandem up her thighs, squeezing them lightly as he did so. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

  “Bahan…my sheikh,” she gasped.

  He slid one hand between her thighs, stroking at her secret lips and massaging the velvet of them. “And you’re so very ready for me. Does this feel good, princess?”

  She nodded and moaned a bit. Jennifer couldn’t utter a full sentence now if her entire life depended on it.

  God, just keep going.

  Then he slid two of his fingers—so thick and so long—in past her slit and deep into her core. She almost stumbled then, the sensation too much for her. He pulled his fingers out slowly and licked them.

  “Like the nectar of the gods.”

  She wanted to snort her derision, but she was too busy wishing that he’d attend to all of her needs. Still, it was something Dustin had always complained about. She’d rarely known a man who seemed legitimately interested in this.

  “I…”

  He leaned up and licked her secret lips, swirling his tongue over them, lapping up any wetness he found there before latching his mouth over her tender, pulsing rosebud. She bucked her hips against his face almost out of instinct, desperate to give him the best angle possible. Bahana started slowly, teasing her with light suckling of her pearl. Then he pulled back enough to flick his tongue fast and furiously against that sensitive bundle of hidden nerves. It amazed her how fast he could go, how the rapid laving of his tongue was so quick.

  She felt all of it then, the sensations swirling around her—the hard wall against her back, the strength of his hands as they dug into her thighs, and the scent of both of them, so sweaty and musky. But it was the cresting wave of pleasure that tantalized her, drove her mad as they made love. Her body quivered beneath his efforts, until the tsunami finally collapsed over her, sweeping all rational thought aside as she submitted to the ecstasy drowning her.