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Pregnant by the Sheikh
Olivia Gates


The sheikh bargains for an heir in this story by USA TODAY bestselling author Olivia GatesAt first sight, Sheikh Numair Al Aswad’s lethal sensuality overwhelms Princess Jenan Aal Ghamdi. And when he rescues her from an arranged marriage, he has a shocking price…an heir! Though logic screams no, her body and soul burn for him.Numair has come from the darkest of pasts to exact revenge–and to claim his throne. Jenan is vital to his plans. But his cold-blooded scheme melts under the heat of their passion. Now he must choose: his lifelong ambitions or the woman who carries his unborn child.







“You want an heir?”

Jen heard her voice as if coming from someone else.

“Yes. An heir you’ll give me.”

The room started spinning. “I knew you’d have a price for helping me, but I never thought it would be that.”

“What did you think it would be? Yourself?”

Yes, she’d thought he’d want an affair. But she wouldn’t have considered that a price. It would have been a reward.

His brooding gaze captured her wandering eyes. “I never bargain for sexual favors.”

“No, you’d just have to make your desire known and women would line up to give you your heir.”

“I am making my desire known. To the only woman I ever considered for the role.”

“Why me?”

He gathered her tighter against his incredible heat and hardness. “Because you’re in my arms, within an hour of meeting. The attraction between us combusted the moment I saw you, and it’s been raging higher ever since.”

She wanted to wind herself around him, to forget everything and act on the need burning them up.

For the first time in her life she didn’t have control. And she loved it.

* * *

Pregnant by the Sheikh is part of The Billionaires of Black Castle series: Only their dark pasts could lead these men to the light of true love.


Pregnant by the Sheikh

Olivia Gates






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


OLIVIA GATES has always pursued creative passions such as singing and handicrafts. She still does, but only one of her passions grew gratifying enough, consuming enough, to become an ongoing career—writing.

She is most fulfilled when she is creating worlds and conflicts for her characters, then exploring and untangling them bit by bit, sharing her protagonists’ every heart-wrenching heartache and hope, their every heart-pounding doubt and trial, until she leads them to an indisputably earned and gloriously satisfying happy ending.

When she’s not writing, she is a doctor, a wife to her own alpha male and a mother to one brilliant girl and one demanding Angora cat. Visit Olivia at www.oliviagates.com (http://www.oliviagates.com).


To Kathryn Falk. Words aren’t enough to describe what your unstinting support means to me, and how it has made what I feared might be impossible come true.


Contents

Cover (#u8ce07550-7b05-5902-971c-0657f1678a58)

Introduction (#u4e39bcbc-2366-5e4a-8a45-570a847837ac)

Title Page (#uebedbd88-8f77-5918-913a-e86592a84649)

About the Author (#u3d6ddda7-1829-59b8-82b1-094d05b92f77)

Dedication (#ua94fc9c1-049b-5892-a35c-db5174a39277)

One (#ulink_eedf447d-b2df-516b-a07a-0015fd9630fc)

Two (#ulink_7b4c6481-4bd0-5b2c-9bfb-de4358722ca3)

Three (#ulink_7dd32506-82b1-5115-b26a-de21424b7be5)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ulink_459fa738-b3c8-5cd1-bbcf-caf6c880aa9c)

Jenan Aal Ghamdi watched the man she was getting engaged to flit among throngs of congratulators—and almost barfed. Again.

It never failed. Every time she looked at him, hell, every time she thought of him, nausea overpowered her. It was a testament to her self-control that she hadn’t thrown up all over him yet.

The one thing stopping her from giving in to the compulsion was the stronger aversion to rejoining that tragic farce of an engagement celebration. It had taken her over an hour to escape the hordes of prying—and pitying—guests and take refuge at the far end of the massive ballroom. She’d managed to slink away unnoticed only because she’d refused to wear the getup her “fiancé” had sent her. He’d wanted to flaunt his newly massive wealth and drape his “acquisition” in an oppressively ornate costume complete with scaffolding. With the ton of clashing jewelry he’d provided, she would have glittered with the power of ten disco balls. As it was, in her most obscure and suitably mournful matte black evening gown, she now blended into the darkness of the ballroom’s periphery. It was a minuscule victory, but with her expectations reduced to nil, anything counted now.

Retreating farther away from everyone’s line of sight, she started breathing normally again. And a surreal sense of detachment descended on her yet again. It was as if none of this was really happening to her but to someone else. As if this was some ridiculous dream she was confident would fade into nothingness the moment she woke up.

The artificial serenity lasted only moments before the illusion splintered and reality crashed over her again, with another wave of queasiness.

She was really getting engaged to Hassan Aal Ghaanem!

The man who happened to be the king of Saraya, who held Zafrana, his neighboring desert kingdom and her homeland, hostage.

No, she wasn’t getting engaged to the man, she was being bartered to him. Sold. Tonight felt like the beginning of the end of her life as she knew it. The end of her life, period. Whatever came after marrying him wouldn’t be considered life. Not in her book.

But though this fate was inescapable, she’d still refused to have this reception in Saraya, or even in Zafrana. It had been another empty triumph when he’d relented and agreed to hold it here, in her New York City stomping grounds.

The city had been her home for the past twelve years. It would stop being so once she started serving her life sentence as Hassan’s wife. But she’d refused to go back to that region to be buried there for the rest of her life a second before she absolutely had to. She’d fled, determined to never return, except for fleeting visits, which had been few and very brief.

But she’d been regretting her insistence since the moment she’d seen that man’s over-the-top arrangements. If there was anything more abhorrent to her than Hassan himself right now, it was being the center of attention in such an extravagant, overexposed event.

If this party had been held in their homelands, it wouldn’t have gotten any coverage, what with the privacy measures imposed by the ruling class. But in the heart of New York City and in such a venue with all those high-profile attendees, this engagement party would be all over the worldwide media. Which taught her not to struggle while sinking in quicksand. Her attempt to assert herself had only made her sink deeper in this mess.

But teaching her a lesson about defying him hadn’t been Hassan’s objective in arranging this spectacle. The man considered nothing but himself. And as the king of a recently prosperous kingdom—now that King Mohab Aal Ghaanem of Jareer was giving Saraya 30 percent of the new kingdom’s massive oil wealth—Hassan Aal Ghaanem had been on a splurging spree after decades of being held back by his kingdom’s limited finances.

So here they were, in the Terrace Room at The Plaza, where many a legendary celebrity had held prominent events. After all, Hassan considered himself on par with those people.

Any other time, she would have appreciated the almost five-thousand-square-foot ballroom that had been restored to its early 1900s grandeur. When she’d been here before, the painted ceilings, cathedral-like arches and elaborate pillars leading to its wraparound gallery had transported her to the Renaissance, while the original crystal chandeliers, wall paneling and carpeting had added a golden age refinement to the classical setting. Being here now, for this horrendous occasion, it felt like the setting of her life’s worst nightmare. It literally was.

Tearing her gaze away from the five hundred guests that filled the ballroom to capacity, her eyes fell to her bare hands. She’d refused to accept the priceless pieces from Saraya’s royal jewelry to be her shabkah—what literally meant “binding.” She was damned if she’d wear his shackles for all to see...

“Are you sure about this, Jen?”

The soft voice, barely audible above the Sarayan celebratory songs blaring over the sound system, sent a spasm through her chest with its melancholy. Zeena, her baby half sister. If anyone was feeling as bad as she was about this whole thing, it was her.

She turned to her, her lips crooking in an attempt at lightness. “Oh, I am, Zee. I’m sure there’s no other way out of the mess Father and Zafrana are in but for me to marry that old goat.”

And that mess wasn’t a recent development, but one with decades-long roots. It was also one she had an indirect hand in.

It had started when her father, Khalil Aal Ghamdi, had found himself on Zafrana’s throne after King Zayd, his second cousin, had died, with him as his closest male relative. Pushed into a position he’d been unsuited for, her father, a dreamer and an artist, had been unable to become a man of state and had been led astray by many an unqualified or malicious counselor.

When she’d returned to Zafrana after graduating from Cornell University with degrees in economics and business administration, she’d seen how her father’s imprudent policies had led to the kingdom’s steady deterioration. She’d tried to guide him, but his entourage’s opposition had been vicious. They’d undone everything she’d accomplished until she’d found herself with only two choices: dedicate her life to fighting that vicious cycle or withdraw from the battle and flee the whole region, where the very way of life was anathema to her. She’d chosen to give up and leave.

As a result of her withdrawal, Zafrana was now cripplingly in debt...to Saraya. And Hassan was now poised to annex the kingdom through a marriage of state. Which, her father had informed her, was the only way to save Zafrana. Knowing the depths of the debt, she believed him.

“But you can’t marry him. He’s—he’s old!”

At Zeena’s horrified lament, Jen huffed in bitter irony. “Yeah, I noticed. Hard to miss when your prospective groom is as old as your own father, and reprehensible to boot. Not to mention heinously boring. And to think when the marriage of state was first proposed, I point-blank refused to marry Najeeb.”

Zeena’s honey-brown eyes flared with hope. “Maybe it’s not too late to take your refusal back! I know you love Najeeb like a brother, but if you have to marry anyone, at least he’s a great guy. And a real hunk. You might end up loving him...that way!”

Jen regarded her seventeen-year-old stunning beauty of a sister and remembered again why she was doing this. She sighed. “You think I wouldn’t have grabbed that option if it was still on the table? But Najeeb was as adamant in refusing to marry me just to serve his father’s political ambitions. Then he left to places unknown on another of his globe-trotting humanitarian missions. That’s why Hassan decided he’d marry me himself.”

“Doesn’t this man have a shred of decency? He’s actually two years older than Father!”

“He actually considers he’s done the noble thing, offering his oldest son and crown prince first, and that it was my and Najeeb’s refusals that made him resort to this option. He feels quite righteous, I assure you.”

Zeena looked on the verge of crying again. She’d been looking like that ever since she’d heard the news. But she was clearly past the shock phase and into the bargaining one.

“But if you really have to go through with it—” she paused to shudder “—maybe it won’t be for long.”

“You’re hoping he’ll soon drop dead and release me from my life sentence?” She shook her head at yet more proof of how young and naive her sister was. “Zee, darling, I know anyone over forty is ancient to you. Hell, I’m only thirty, and you make me feel old whenever you’re shocked I do stuff you think reserved for only ‘young’ people. But Hassan is a very robust sixty-five, and I expect him to live another healthy, obnoxious thirty years.”

Zeena clearly couldn’t imagine that terrible fate, or could, and it horrified her. Her tears finally flowed, her voice breaking. “At least tell me it will only be for show.”

Jen sighed again, not knowing what to tell her sister. Their father had mumbled such an assurance, but she figured it had to be what he’d told himself so he wouldn’t feel even guiltier about sacrificing her. Hassan already had a chokehold over Zafrana’s resources and assets, but in their region, blood mattered far more than money when it came to political power. This marriage had to produce an heir, one who’d become her father’s, too, for Hassan to acquire all the power he wanted over Zafrana. Only through such an heir could Hassan rule Zafrana during her father’s lifetime, then fully annex it in the event of his death, once his heir became king, and Hassan became regent until said heir came of age. Hassan sure had his ducks in a row. And she was the first one he had sitting just where he wanted her.

Zeena must have read the truth in her resigned eyes, as her tears flowed faster. But she still tried again. “If all he has over Father and Zafrana are debts, maybe we can find someone to pay them off. Like the other royals in the region. Surely great men and kings like King Kamal and King Mohab will help.”

Jen shook her head, wanting to end this. “I approached everyone with power in the region myself, but all kings Kamal, Mohab, Amjad and Rashid could do was try to make Hassan relinquish those debts to them, and he refused. Without resorting to drastic measures, there’s nothing they can do.”

“Why won’t they employ those measures? This is drastic!”

“It isn’t as easy as that, Zee. These men owe it to their own kingdoms not to involve them in other nations’ conflicts. And since the influx of oil money, Hassan now has major foreign allies whose interests lie with Saraya and who’d take exception if the other kingdoms enforced embargos on it, or initiated a bigger conflict with it. Also, with the tribal nature of the region, those kings have family alliances with Saraya, making things even more complicated.”

She knew each king wanted to tear Hassan apart with his bare hands. But those hands were tied by so many protocols. They were forced to accept any form of peaceful resolution, even if they itched for something extreme. Said peaceful resolution was now her, and her hopefully fertile womb.

“So this is for real?” Zeena asked. “There’s no way out?”

“No.”

Her succinct response fell like a blow on Zeena, rocking her on her feet. The next second, Zeena’s arms were convulsing around her, and her tears were wetting her bosom.

Jen’s eyes filled, too. She hadn’t shed tears since her mother’s death when she was seven. But she’d never been able to bear her baby sisters’ distress.

Apart from loving her most in the world, Zeena and Fayza looked up to her. Her every success had been a triumph to them. She’d been their role model, her life one they hoped to model theirs after. Zeena wasn’t only weeping for Jen’s derailed future, but for a loss of hope in her own.

But that was why Jen had agreed to this marriage. To protect her sisters’ futures.

She’d only told Zeena there was no way out so she wouldn’t compound her distress with guilt. For there certainly was a way out for Jen had she wanted to take it. She could have told her father and Hassan to take flying jumps off their respective kingdoms’ tallest skyscraper. But she hadn’t. For two reasons.

The first and lesser reason was that she couldn’t stand aside and let their father be humiliated and hurt. She loved him, in spite of his weaknesses, felt even more protective of him because of them. She knew he shouldn’t have become king, that it continued to be an unbearable burden. But fate had conspired to put him on the throne, and it had been the one thing that had appeased many a tribe at the time. He’d sacrificed his own desires for Zafrana’s. This current mess was not solely his fault. In her pursuit of independence, her career and immigration to the United States, she’d stopped following the developments in Zafrana, until things had deteriorated beyond resolution. The internal situation was now so volatile, if the major tribes didn’t get a solution soon and with their interests finally threatened by Saraya’s impending takeover, civil war would erupt.

But the major reason she’d agreed to the marriage remained her sisters. Even if she’d been able to leave her father and her people to a doom they’d caused, she couldn’t leave Zeena and Fayza to a fate they hadn’t brought on themselves. If Hassan couldn’t have her, he’d ask for one of her sisters. And their father would be forced to comply.

But they were nothing like her. They were too young, too sheltered and too inexperienced in life and with men. They didn’t have the power of another nationality and the protection of personal wealth. If Jen left, neither of her sisters would be able to resist being shoved into this marriage. Zeena would crumble, and the two-years-older Fayza would do something drastic.

So it was up to her to protect them. She had to marry that power-grabbing old man and save them. And along with them, her whole family and kingdom.

She hugged the sobbing Zeena tighter, kissed the top of her head soothingly. “Don’t worry about me, Zee. You know me. I’m a survivor, a winner, and I’ll find a way to...to...”

Words and thoughts petered away. The whole scene in front of her blurred, then disappeared. Nothing remained but a man. The most magnificent male she’d ever laid eyes on...

“To what?”

Jen started at the question, blinked as if coming out of a trance. For seconds she couldn’t remember where she was, why she and Zeena were sharing this fervent hug and why her baby sister was looking up at her with such entreaty.

Then noise and lights and movements and memories started to register again. But her senses remained trained on the man as he stood at the ballroom’s wide-open doors, surveying it with all the somberness of a general studying a battlefield. He filled her awareness, the sheer force of his presence nullifying everything else. As if he had some kind of gravity well that nothing could resist or escape.

Then he moved, and the crowd parted for him, seemingly unable to withstand being in his path. It felt as if he had a spotlight trained on him, illuminating him even as he dipped in areas of shadow. What else explained why he looked more vivid, more in focus than anyone else who was dozens of feet closer?

“Who’s that?”

She blinked again as she forced her eyes back to her sister. Zeena had followed her entranced gaze to the mystery man and was staring at him openmouthed. So he had the same effect on her. Of course he did. He had everyone around mesmerized.

It seemed so weird that she didn’t know who he was, since she felt she...recognized him.

Exhaling at her inexplicable reactions and thoughts, she shrugged. “I have no idea.”

An assessing expression came into Zeena’s eyes as she let her go, before impishness suddenly replaced anguish on her face. “Want me to go find out?”

Jen raised one eyebrow. “And how would you do that?”

“I’ll walk right up to him, introduce myself as the sister of the bride and just ask.”

Jen winced at the word bride, but waved dismissively. “Thanks, darling, but you probably wouldn’t be able to move, let alone speak, if you come within talking distance of him.”

Zeena looked back at the man who kept coming closer to their hideout and sighed. “Yeah, I’d probably turn to stone if he even looked at me.”

So even Zeena with her limited experience with the world in general and men in particular felt the impact of this man. As for herself, she’d been exposed to some of the most powerful men on earth in over a decade of studies, travels and public and private work, and she knew beyond a doubt that this man was exceptional among even those. More than that. He was one of a kind. The way he affected her was unprecedented. And that was from afar, when he was completely unaware of her.

Suddenly, knowing who he was became the most important thing to her. Before she led a mockery of a life dictated by everyone else’s interests, she was due for one thing all her own. What better than to indulge her unstoppable curiosity about this man? After all, where did being perfectly responsible and in control lead her? But then, why should she even need a reason? She was just going to find out who he was, not have a fling with him.

Yeah, right, as if such a force of nature would look in her direction, even if he weren’t here attending her engagement party.

But she would do this, for herself. Even if for some reason she felt the simple action of discovering his identity would have some unpredictable and serious consequences.

Straightening, she rolled her shoulders, as if readying herself for a fight. “I’ll do it. I’ll go investigate.”

Before she strode away, Zeena’s hand on her forearm stopped her. “Just be careful. This guy is radiating something fierce.”

Jen’s gaze went to him again, and she nodded. “That’s called power. The unadulterated form.”

“I guess. But he just feels—” Zeena looked suddenly uncomfortable “—dangerous.”

Jen’s lips curved as she repeated to her sister what she’d just been thinking. “Darling, I’m just going to find out who he is, not have a fling with him.”

Zeena gave an embarrassed giggle as Jen swept her velvet cheek in one last reassuring caress before striding away.

As she rejoined the crowd, heading for the one most likely to know who that man was, Jen exhaled a ragged breath. For Zeena was so right.

She had no doubt this demigod was very dangerous. Deadly. But that only made her desire to find out everything about him even more overpowering.

She zeroed in on Jameel Aal Hashem, her five-years-younger maternal cousin, a walking encyclopedia of social gossip and celebrity news. She’d bet her mystery man hadn’t escaped her cousin’s all-encompassing curiosity.

And she was right. Before she could even ask Jameel, he pointed out the stranger in a fit of ecstatic excitement. After gushing about how he couldn’t believe he was here, Jameel told her who he was. Numair Al Aswad.

And how fitting that name was. He was indeed as majestic and sleek and powerful as his namesake. He was actually known by the English version of his name: the Black Panther of Black Castle Enterprises.

Now that she knew his name, she knew far more about him than Jameel possibly could. Since she’d become deeply involved in the world of business, anywhere she’d turned there it had been, the global corporation he’d founded that was shaping the market in every major field that made the world go round.

As the senior partner, Numair was a leader among the gods of science, finance and technology responsible for Black Castle Enterprises’ staggering success, and one of the most individually rich and powerful men on the planet. And now she’d found out that he was also the sexiest thing to ever walk the earth.

But not much was known about his personal life. Only that he came from Damhoor, a kingdom in her region, but had immigrated to the United States in his childhood, and his parents were long dead. As far as she knew, he’d never been married.

Then at one point, as Jameel joined her in openly drooling over the man, Numair turned and looked straight at them.

At her.

His gaze slammed into her own with the force of a lightning bolt. Feeling as if it had fried her brain, nothing was left in her mind but alarm.

Had he felt her staring at him?

Before her stalled breathing could restart, people moved in front of her, severing the electrified visual contact.

Shaky with relief and disappointment at once, she murmured something to Jameel and hurried away, unable to risk being in Numair’s crosshairs again.

Secure that Hassan hadn’t bothered to look for her, she maneuvered around the few people who recognized her to rush back to her retreat. She wanted to continue watching Numair from its safety. The memory of savoring his magnificence would be what she’d remember from this wretched night.

As she reached her previous vantage point, another jolt hit her again. It was fiercer this time, making her stumble and drop her purse. Cursing when it opened on impact, spilling its contents, she crouched to retrieve them...and felt as if the place was plunged into darkness. The next second, she knew why. It was the massive figure towering over her, seeming to block out the whole world. She didn’t need to look up to see who it was. The current that now mercilessly arced through her told her who it was.

Numair.

As her chest filled to bursting with erratic heartbeats, he dropped to his haunches before her. Before she could raise her eyes to his, his hands, cool and calloused, brushed hers and zapped her with another thousand volts as he took the purse from her limp grasp and put everything back in it, his every move the essence of control and elegance.

As he handed it back to her, she mustered enough volition and looked up...and lost what remained of her compromised balance. Only the hand that shot out to support her stopped her from flopping back on her ass.

Finding herself inches from him was as heart-stopping, literally, as finding herself face-to-face with his predator namesake. All that lethal power coiled and simmering under the polished, perfect veneer of savage beauty.

She now realized she’d gotten it wrong before. He was no demigod. This was a full-fledged god, one who ruled over a whole pantheon of deities. A desert god in specific, forged from its heat and harshness, from its mystery and moodiness and magnificence. He might not have lived long in her region, but his heritage was carved in his every line.

And carved was an accurate word. Every inch of him seemed to have been hewn by some divine force. His all-black formal silk suit and shirt clung to a body she had no doubt was solid, chiseled muscle. The clothes offered not an inch of padding to the breadth of his shoulders and chest, no accentuation to the hardness of his abdomen and thighs or the sparseness of his waist and hips. This was the full potential of the species realized, a powerhouse of virility and manliness.

And that was before she took in the details of his face. From a luxurious mane of raven silk that would reach almost to his shoulders when freed, to stunning emerald eyes that seemed to radiate a hypnosis, to sensual lips and polished teak–colored skin spread taut against a bone structure to tear heartstrings over, he was breathtaking.

Then he was pulling her up to her feet as he uncoiled to his full height, and for the first time ever she felt dwarfed. She stood six feet in three-inch heels, and he still towered over her by what appeared to be half a foot.

Then he did something that once again made her heart hammer as if it was trying to ram out of her chest. He raised a hand and swept back the swath of hair that had cascaded over her face, ensnaring one strand, rubbing it between his fingers.

“You hate being here.”

No preliminaries. Just...bam. Of course he would follow no rules. It made it even worse that his voice was like darkest velvet gliding over her every nerve. Did he have to sound mouthwatering, too?

Without meaning to, she found herself responding, as if under the effect of a truth serum. “I do.”

He nodded, as if he’d already been certain, but approved her corroboration. “This—” he swept the whole scene in a disdainful flick “—is unworthy of your tolerance or your presence.”

She had to force the mouth that kept dropping open closed. “Sometimes we’re forced to put up with much, for the sake of what’s more important than our own preferences or what we think we’re worthy of.”

His lips and eyes hardened, clearly disapproving. “Nothing is more important than your preferences. And your worth is not a matter of opinion. Only the best is good enough for you. The only thing you must always expect and get.”

The heart that seemed to have taken permanent residence in her throat expanded at his praise. Even if it was empty hyperbole, it sounded fantastic coming from him.

“Uh, thanks...but you don’t really know anything about me. And it’s clear you have no idea who I am.”

That dismissing wave again. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew everything I need to know about you. As for your identity, that makes no difference to who you really are, what you truly deserve.”

“Oh, believe me, it does.”

“Because you’re Jenan Aal Ghamdi, and this is supposed to be your engagement party?”

He knew who she was. And it didn’t seem to make a difference to him.

His next words made that clear beyond a doubt. “It’s all quite irrelevant to me. And should be to you, too. You don’t want to be here. But you want to be with me.”

“I—I do?”

“Yes. As much as I want to be with you.” His words were dripping in arrogant certainty. From another man, it would have been offensive. She’d handed other men their asses over way less. From him, though, it was just right. He had a right to such supreme self-assurance.

His eyes flared in the dimness as they caressed her half-open lips before settling back on her no doubt shell-shocked eyes. “Let me take you away from this farce. I’m the only one who can give you everything you need.”

She gaped up at him. Was she so traumatized by the idea of marrying Hassan that she was having a wish-fulfillment hallucination? Creating this god of a man and making it so she’d had the same instant, inexorable effect on him that he’d had on her?

But nothing she could conjure could be as outlandishly incredible as him. No, he was real. He had really followed her here, and he really was offering...offering...

She didn’t know exactly what he was offering. But anything coming from him sounded better than any fantasy she’d ever had. And more impossible.

Her situation might be irrelevant to him, but to her...

Suddenly, everything inside her hit Pause. In seconds, an urge took her over. A plan. It was rash, probably crazy, but it was all she could think of anymore.

This man was even more powerful than the monarchs she’d approached for help. His power was also unbridled by any of their tribal and political shackles, and it was more than enough to resolve Zafrana’s crisis without her sacrificing herself to this barbaric ritual of an arranged marriage. Of course, a man like him wouldn’t help out of the goodness of his heart.

She had a feeling he didn’t have one.

But if he was as interested in her as he seemed to be, they might come to an understanding.

Even if she couldn’t imagine he was that interested, he’d help with something that major. As a businesswoman, she was used to taking risks. The worst that could happen was he’d decline and just walk away. But since the stakes were so high and he was that tempting, she’d risk far more than his mere rejection.

Before she could think again, she said it out loud, making it too late to back down. “There is something I need.”

“Anything.”

His instant, unqualified statement gave her the last shove of courage she needed to make her request.

“I need you to get me out of marrying Hassan.”


Two (#ulink_50fb294e-d0de-5173-9f6f-2e1c3d1b193b)

“Done.”

Numair watched the impact of his one-word answer widening Jenan Aal Ghamdi’s magnificent eyes, spreading a deeper peach blush across the sculpted elegance of her cheekbones.

He was again almost overwhelmed by the need to trace that delectable color that kept surging across her face, the testament to his effect on this irresistible creature. And to luxuriate in every line of her masterpiece features, then drag her to him and taste each one before settling on her lush, dewy lips and devouring them.

It again baffled him, his response to her, the intensity, the immediacy of it. This was unprecedented, inexplicable. Yet it was most opportune. He’d come here for her after all.

He’d come knowing everything about her from the day she’d been born to the moment before he’d seen her. He’d compiled a dossier on her thicker than any he’d ever had on a quarry. From photographs, he’d noted her esthetic symmetry, but he hadn’t had any response to it, as usual.

Then he’d seen her in the flesh, and all thoughts of swallowing the bitter pill of necessity had been decimated by the thunderbolt of his response to her. Compulsions he’d never even imagined had taken him over the moment he’d laid eyes on her across the distance.

No. They’d done so even before he had. He’d felt her first.

Not that he’d realized what it had been he’d felt when a charge of energy had zapped him as soon as he’d entered this ballroom. He’d told himself it must have been a surge of resolve, obliterating any aversion to being here, to launching his mission. Those sensations had strengthened with each step he’d taken until he’d become certain it wasn’t internal, but a response to another person. A woman. Though he’d never felt anything like that toward one, the awareness he’d felt had been definitely...sensual.

Once sure of that, he hadn’t wanted to find the source of the disturbance. It would have been self-sabotaging to make contact with someone who’d triggered such an aberrant reaction in him when he was here in pursuit of a specific woman.

Then that beacon of sensations had moved, and before he could rein himself in, his gaze had been dragged toward it. And he’d found himself looking straight into her eyes. The heart that never faltered and barely sped under extreme conditions, that he almost never felt at all, had dropped a few beats before it had started thundering. It continued to do so.

As their gazes had meshed, so much had collided inside him. Disbelief, wonder, elation and a dozen other things. His target was the same woman who’d had this inexplicable influence on him. He hadn’t even thought what his mission would be like, but had been bound on seeing it through regardless. But this presented what he hadn’t even considered a possibility. That it would be enjoyable, even pleasurable.

Then he’d followed her, no longer out of calculation but compulsion. Everything he’d said and done since had been spontaneous. And real. One thing had been driving him, the one thing he was certain of.

He wanted her.

Then she’d shocked him yet again when she’d given him the means to the very thing he was here to achieve. Stopping her marriage to Hassan Aal Ghaanem.

But since he’d let go of all premeditation, he hadn’t even hesitated. His response had been instantaneous.

The moment it had left his lips, he’d wished it back. This wasn’t how he’d intended this to go. He’d intended to maneuver her, to reel her in slowly, to spoil Hassan’s marriage arrangement by seducing his bride-to-be and claiming her for himself. What he’d just offered wouldn’t serve his purpose.

But he couldn’t take it back. Not when she’d looked up at him with such hope and entreaty as she’d made her request.

Nothing remained on her face now but shock. She must have expected him to say just about anything else but his succinct promise.

He watched the smooth column of her throat working, and he hardened all over as he imagined his lips soothing the convulsive movement, swallowing her moans at their origin.

Then in that velvety voice that strummed every male fiber in his body, her husky question validated his assessment of her incredulity. “Just...done?”

That was his cue to add some qualification, to drive his own bargain. But he couldn’t bear to think of interrupting the unrehearsed progression of events.

Deciding to let this play out and adjust his direction later, he nodded. “I did say I’d do anything for you. I intend to.”

And the strangest thing was, he did. Apart from what he had to gain by intervening, what drove him now was the need to wipe this trapped expression from her face. He’d come here thinking she’d agreed to marry Hassan to have access to his bottomless oil-money resources. While her history painted a picture of an independent, successful woman, he’d known of many such women who preferred being subsidized once the opportunity presented itself. That she’d refused to marry Najeeb, then consented to marry his father had made him think she’d preferred the older man who’d make far less demands, and who’d be far easier to manipulate.

But one look at her had told him that she found Hassan and the idea of marrying him abhorrent on all levels. How she was being forced to enter that marriage, he had no idea yet, but he didn’t doubt that she was, and that she was seething with futile rage at having no choice. A choice he would now give her.

Not that she believed he could, not as easily as he’d implied. He saw the flare of hope in her eyes dim with the gloom of reality. “Intentions are one thing, executions are another.”

“Not to me. Anything I intend, I execute.”

At the certainty in his words, her gaze flickered again. “But surely not anything.”

He shrugged. “I can do anything I put my mind to. I always have. And I always will.”

Her edible lips hung open for moments before a breathy chuckle escaped them. Her every expression and sound inflamed him. Her every inch, even in that unflattering dress, seemed to be exerting an inexorable gravity on his every cell and sense.

She shook her head in dazed humor, and the silky waves of her hair undulated around her shoulders. “You know what? I believe you can. The universe must bend over backward to accommodate you.” Her eyes turned serious, and he wished to fast-forward in time to when she’d look up at him with eyes blazing with passion as he rode her to ecstasy. “But don’t you want to know what this is all about before you make such a commitment?”

He shrugged again. “All I need to know is that you enlisted my help in escaping a fate I believe is worse than death to you. Whatever needs to be done, I’ll do it.”

“But you still need to know details, so you can decide what needs to be done.”

And he gave in to the urge. He reached out and cupped her face, groaned as her firm softness filled his palm, as her flesh singed him with that perfect storm of chemistry that had erupted between them.

He barely stopped himself from swooping to claim the lips that spilled such an intoxicating gasp at his touch. He groaned. “You can tell me everything you want...in my suite.”

His hand melted down her neck and shoulder before it closed over a resilient arm as he turned toward the French doors to lead her outside.

At her rooted unresponsiveness, he frowned. “You do know who I am?”

She had to. She wouldn’t have asked what she had from someone else. For who else could she think could thwart a king?

But he was suddenly uncertain she knew. After all, nothing so far had followed any logical projections.

She silently nodded, her eyes still filled with that shell-shocked expression.

He pressed. “You’re not sure you can trust me?”

She shook her head, then squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, they blasted him in an even hotter wave of unconscious sensuality. He barely suppressed a shudder.

But her color had become hectic and her breathing erratic. She swayed unsteadily in his grip.

Suddenly anxious, he asked, “Are you all right?”

She nodded again, then groaned. “Hell, I keep nodding and shaking my head as if I’ve forgotten how to speak.”

His eyes assessed her as he took his hand reluctantly away. “Maybe you don’t want to speak to me anymore.”

Her cough was incredulous. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You tell me. It’s clear I’m...agitating you.”

“Oh, you are. But it has nothing to do with not trusting you. I do trust you.”

He surveyed her expression, not sure if he was reading it right. Because even knowing who he was, such conviction should be premature. And she didn’t strike him as someone given to making such serious claims lightly.

He gritted his teeth. “You don’t need to say what you don’t feel to placate me or to be polite. You have no reason to trust me. Yet. But I will give you any guarantees you demand so you’ll feel safe with me.”

A chuckle burst from her lips. “Oh, you have much to learn about me. When I’m not in my professional mode as a multinational business consultant, I lead with my real opinions first and don’t bother asking questions later.”

This did feel like the truth. This attitude suited her, and everything he felt from her.

His lips relaxed in response to her infectious smile. “I would have nothing less than the whole truth from you.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right person for that.”

“I’ll count on it. I have no tolerance for empty etiquette and pulling punches, either.”

“Yeah, I noticed. You tell it as it is, in the most shockingly direct way possible. Welcome to the club.” She grinned up at him, and he again wondered how he didn’t have her pressed into that column at her back and was all over her. She made his condition even worse when she sighed, the sound caressing his every nerve. “But I do trust you. I just know you’d never harm me in any way. And don’t ask me how I know that. It has nothing to do with anything I know about you. I just do.”

“Then why were you so alarmed about coming to my suite if it didn’t occur to you I’d take advantage of you?”

Again that unfettered chuckle. “As if. I bet you bound over women who pursue you begging to be taken advantage of.”

“You’re not women. You’re you.”

“Even if you consider me different...”

“Not different. Unique.”

Her color heightened again with pleasure at what should have been an exaggeration but was anything but. “Even if you do consider me that, I can’t imagine other men’s weaknesses ever applying to you. You wouldn’t prey on anyone weaker.”

Her opinion of him had something searingly pleasurable swelling inside him. Yet...“I felt your anxiety, your distress. I still feel them.”

Something soft and even more hard-hitting than all her previous expressions came into her eyes as she cocked her head at him, her lips quirking. “Hello? You do realize you’re the most overwhelming man alive, right? As if that wasn’t enough, we broke every rule of personal interaction. Heck, we’ve already progressed to discussing wedding-busting plans. Excuse me if I’m rattled to my core.”

“You don’t need to be. I care nothing about rules. Between us those don’t exist. And you know it.”

“You think I know anything right now? I’m not even sure this is really happening or that you really exist. I only know that nothing has ever come close to hitting me this hard.”

“Another thing we share, then. Even before I saw you, you hit me harder than anything ever had.”

She scrunched her nose at him in adorable teasing. “Don’t you say what you don’t mean to try to tickle my ego.”

His lips twisted, admitting his condition to himself even as he did to her. “I do mean it. Your ego has every right to be rolling on the ground laughing.” Her chuckle tinkled like crystal with such genuine pleasure, he had to fist his hands to keep them from grabbing her. But he also needed to resolve this issue. “So were you just surprised I asked you back to my suite?”

That delightful lopsided grin flashed wider again. “Surprised is the understatement of the century. But seriously, I just needed a moment for a reality check. And to breathe. You, sir, are more breath depleting than the most insane roller-coaster ride.”

Just then another unprecedented thing happened. His own lips spread with a combination of emotions he didn’t recognize. If forced to name them, he’d guess they most approximated delight, indulgence, even tenderness.

His smile had an equal and opposite reaction on her. While everything about her made him hard as steel, she melted against the support of the column at her back.

Her gaze poured hot, glazed reproach over him, making him start to ache, throb. “You should be banned by law from doing that. Everything about you is already overkill. A smile, and that kind, too, can cause widespread damage.”

His smile only widened as triumph revved inside his chest. “No danger of that, as I have no smiles of any kind for anyone. This is exclusively for you.”

“So I’m a target group of one, huh?”

Something tightened in his chest as he heard the word target on her lips. What she’d been to him before he’d seen her. Now it suddenly felt wrong.

Oblivious to his thoughts, she gazed up at him with what he now believed was trust and...was that admiration, too? “I came here tonight thinking I’d run out of luck for life, but because I met you and you’ve offered what you have, no matter what the outcome will be, I’d already revised my opinion. But to be the sole recipient of your smile? Talk about my luck making a total turnaround.”

Giving in to his compulsion, he tugged her to his side. “I’m willing to talk about anything. Just not here. Come with me?”

She nodded, shyness tingeing her gaze, affecting him more because he knew only he elicited such a reaction from her, and it was genuine, like everything else about her. “Just promise me a chance every now and then to catch my breath.”

“Although it’s the last thing I want, I’ll give you all the time you need to feel at total ease with me.”

Her eyes twinkled impishly at him. “I don’t think it’s humanly possible to feel relaxed around you.”

After that first smile, another came easier to him. “Tension works, too. As long as it’s the delicious kind.”

She sighed dramatically. “I don’t know about that. What you provoke is too scalding to be called anything so benign.”

Her ready confessions of his effect on her surged through him again with such unstoppable desire. Unable to wait any longer, he swept her outside.

As he had her rushing to keep up with his eager steps, she melted into him, as if she needed his support. Then as he steered her toward the elevators, he felt her tensing against him.

This tightness in his chest returned. “Worried again?”

Her smile brightened once more, becoming whimsical as she shook her head. “You’d never be a threat to me, Sheikh Numair. If I have anything to worry about, it’s what an overpowering temptation you are.”

Something twisted in his gut when she called him sheikh. It sounded...so right.

His arm tightened around her, as if in thanks. “It’s only fair, since you’re that, and more, to me.”

Sharing a smile of expectation with her, feeling as if everything he’d ever wanted was within his grasp, he took her into the elevator.

* * *

As Numair held the door open for her, Jen walked past him on legs that at once had the consistency of steel and jelly.

She was really here. In his suite.

Trying to focus on anything besides the feel of him at her back, his scent and heat flooding her senses, she tried to look around.

Though she’d stayed at The Plaza before, it had never been in such a room. The one-of-a-kind Royal Plaza Suite was on a level of magnificence that equaled Zafrana’s royal palace. Though with the hard times her homeland had fallen on, the state of the two places couldn’t be compared. This suite that sprawled over almost five thousand square feet in the most private area of the legendary hotel, overlooking the most prized views in Manhattan—Fifth Avenue and the Pulitzer Fountain—was impeccably maintained. With its rich decorations, sumptuous textiles and exquisite furnishings, all inspired by the ambiance of the royal court of Louis XV, it was the ultimate in luxury. While Zafrana’s royal palace, where she’d grown up, was on its way to becoming dilapidated.

Her gaze strayed back to Numair, and she found herself wondering what his home looked like.

Not that she’d ever find out. Whatever was happening here, whatever he was offering, whatever he wanted in return, she had no illusions it would be anything but transient.

Which she was okay with. Anything she’d have with him, anything he could do for her, would be far more than anything she’d dared dream of an hour ago.

Ya Ullah, had it been only an hour? She felt she’d known him, had been in this state of agitated excitement in his company, forever. It felt like days ago when she’d made her reckless request.

She’d more than half expected he’d shrug and move on. His immediate and unequivocal response had been the last thing she’d expected. And it had shocked the hell out of her.

But what else was new? Everything from the moment she’d laid eyes on him had been one shock after another. And here she was. In his suite. What she’d never done with any man. Not even the man she’d once married. She’d always met any man on her turf. She’d dictated the pace, the rules.

She hadn’t even thought of trying to impose those on Numair. Even when he’d made it clear he’d accommodate her every wish. It wasn’t because she needed his help or because he’d promised it. He was just...overriding. And for the first time in her life, she loved being swept away, not being in control of herself or the situation. Numair made what should have been a disconcerting experience, to someone as obsessive about autonomy as herself, exhilarating.

His hand once again burned her waist through her dress as he guided her through a succession of vestibules to a massive space hosting a sumptuous ten-seat dining table and a luxurious sitting area.

Stepping away from his electrifying touch, she sought the refuge of the grand piano at the far corner. Once behind it and taking in the whole scene with him at its center, she felt herself stumble out of the surreal state she’d plunged into.

Numair might have admitted her equal effect on him, but would he consider it equally her right to follow her instincts as it was his? She did trust him not to make any move she didn’t invite, but she suddenly didn’t trust he’d view this whole thing as she did. Could he be so progressive he wouldn’t hold it against her and change his treatment of her?

Well, if he wasn’t, it would be his loss, and she’d be well rid of him. As she had been of her ex.

Striving for an even tone, she asked, “Are you in New York to attend the reception?”

Those amazing emerald-like eyes of his glittered. “I wasn’t invited, no.”

“So you heard royals from your region were having an engagement celebration at your hotel and you simply decided to investigate?”

“Something like that.”

She’d have to be satisfied with that, because he didn’t seem about to elaborate. Not that it mattered why he happened to be there. What mattered was whether he could truly help her.

Before she could reintroduce the subject, he came around the piano. “I detect a severe drop in temperature since we entered the suite. Having second thoughts after all?”

His voice had deepened, calmed, as if soothing a skittish mare. He reached for her hand that lay fisted on the black, polished surface of the piano. His hand was big enough to lose hers in, tough enough it could pulverize brick. Yet the gentleness with which he coaxed her hand open, the consideration in his eyes as he surveyed her no doubt tense face, suddenly made her ashamed of her surge of doubt.

Squeezing her eyes in contrition, she groaned, “I guess I got a bit paranoid.”

He frowned. “Were you worried that your trust in me was unsubstantiated, and I’d do something against your will once I got you here?”

She shook her head vigorously, needing him to know this was something she’d never suspect. “Not that. I just worried you’d change your...attitude.”

“Like men usually do, once they think they’ve gotten their objectives and no longer need to hide their nasty natures and double-standard convictions?”

From the way his gorgeous lips thinned, she knew if such men crossed his path, they’d regret it for life. He did have that protector/punisher vibe going.

She wished he’d let this go but knew he wouldn’t. This man needed to know everything, to have a tight handle on every situation. He’d probe until she spilled everything that had crossed her mind in those moments of unease.

She sighed. “Men are like that to one degree or another in my experience, but mainly men from my region, yes.”

One dauntingly arched eyebrow rose. “Are all men chauvinists there?”

“Double standards are the general stance, perpetrated by women even more than men. Anyone, especially a woman, who dares flaunt cultural rules and restrictions becomes stigmatized, no matter how modern everyone looks on the surface.”

“Why did you fear I’d be like them? I was born in your region, but I was not raised there.”

“Indoctrination happens at a very early age. It takes very progressive families and especially mothers not to imprint their children with the worst of the culture. In general, men there are raised to have very cruel opinions of women whom they perceive as ‘loose.’”

“And you thought my early programming would resurface, and I’d judge you for coming up here with me?”

“It was a passing thought, okay? An ingrained reaction that really has nothing to do with you.”

“But it wasn’t ingrained in you because of the general state of affairs in your homeland. It was out of personal experience, wasn’t it?”

She’d been right. He wouldn’t rest until he had the whole truth. She sighed again. “How much do you know about me? You clearly investigated me before crashing the reception.”

He guided her to the nearest couch, pulled her down on it with him. “Investigations provide only broad lines that can be interpreted in different ways that can all turn out to be wrong. You tell me what’s accurate.”

Shuddering as his power and warmth encompassed her, she leaned against the dark brown velvet couch. She hoped she didn’t look as swooning as she felt as she gazed up at him.

“I am the very definition of loose in my region. From leaving my family at eighteen to live in another country, to supporting myself ever since, to making success and autonomy my life goal, to being a divorcée who hasn’t returned home in penance, seeking the shelter of her family and the forgiveness of society, I’m the cautionary tale mothers tell their little daughters. Anything bad that ever befell me is advertised as punishment for my sins.”

His expression hardened with her every word, until his face seemed to be hewn from granite. “Everything you just mentioned, everything you achieved and are, makes you only enterprising and powerful, a role model all women in and out of your region should aspire to emulate.”

She let loose an incredulous laugh. At his imperiously questioning look she explained, “It’s just funny to hear you say what my baby sisters always do. But they are incapable of being impartial when it comes to me.”

“I’m totally partial when it comes to you. I also happen to be absolutely right.”

She again barely stopped herself from doing something impulsive. That was, more so than coming up to this suite. Something like throwing herself against his massive chest and smothering him in kisses. Which she might end up doing soon. Exposure to him was chipping away at any control she had left.

Watching her with that intensity that compromised her will, he said, “Your sisters are astute young ladies for making you their role model. You’re the perfect one.”

She waved his words away. “Let’s not exaggerate, okay? I’d just die if they followed in some of my footsteps.”

“Why? You’re not proud of your achievements?”

“Those I’m proud of. I’m not proud of my mistakes.”

“What are those? A failed, short-lived marriage? You think that disqualifies you as an inspiration?”

“Catastrophic choices certainly do. In my bid for freedom and independence, I made more than one. Like marrying the first man who seemed to be the opposite of the chauvinistic men I was used to, and finding out very soon he had equally objectionable traits, only on the other side of the spectrum. But whether I deserved it or not, I was their role model, and I strove to fill my position. The one thing I mourned most about being forced to marry Hassan was that I could no longer be that to them.”

“You’ll always be what your sisters look up to.” He loomed over her as he sat up, his gaze seething with something she could only think was affront on her behalf. “Now tell me exactly how Hassan is forcing you into marriage. Leave out nothing.”

Taking a huge breath, she started explaining everything.

He listened, his focus on her so total, it made it hard to speak. But she did, and she left nothing out as he’d demanded.

His expression grew almost scary as he listened, but he remained silent even after she finished, until she started to vibrate with tension. What if, now that he knew the extent of Zafrana’s debts, he realized he couldn’t do anything for her and apologized for giving her false hope?

Then he finally spoke, his voice a blade. “I knew about the debts, but I didn’t know they were that crippling, or that the internal situation in Zafrana was that volatile.”

“Father wouldn’t have thought of asking me to do this for anything less.”

He raised his hand, his jaw muscles bunching. “Nothing is worth imposing on you in any way, let alone sacrificing you. He should have sacrificed himself.”

“He would have if it would have solved the problem.”

“He should have considered any measures but bartering you to that old goat.”

She burst out laughing. At his grim frown, she spluttered, “That’s exactly what I called him earlier this evening to Zeena.” At the growing thundercloud that gripped his face, she sobered. “What would you have done?”

“You don’t want to know.”

She gasped, for those five words painted a clear picture. This man was as deadly as she’d thought earlier, and not figuratively. He was no stranger to eliminating enemies. Even with his own hands.

Before she could process what kind of disaster she might have instigated by seeking his intervention, he demanded, “I need the specifics of those debts.”

She latched on to the relatively innocuous subject. “Of course. You need to know everything before deciding whether you can help, or even if you’d want to.”

He shot her one of those authoritatively reprimanding glances. “Those specifics have no bearing on my decision. That was final since the moment I gave you my word. They are only for devising the most effective attack.”

She shot up straight. “Attack?”

His eyes became icy emeralds. “There will be extreme measures employed in releasing Zafrana from Saraya’s shackles.”

Her heart hammered in dismay. “Define extreme.”

“Eliminating the problem at the source.”

“And how would you do that?”

“That’s my business.”

“Actually, it’s mine, too. Mine, mainly. I’m the one who asked for this, and if you’re going to do anything to...to hurt Hassan, I’d have to withdraw my request.”

“You care what happens to him?”

“No, but I don’t want him to meet with an unnatural end, either. For Saraya. For Najeeb. For peace’s sake.”

She thought his eyes flared at Najeeb’s mention, but he only said, “Peace is always achieved after a war. A war always comes with heavy losses.”

“I don’t want freedom that comes at such a price.”

“You think I’d kill him, don’t you?”

“You sure made it sound like that.”

“His demise can be easily arranged.” As she started to splutter in alarm, his lips twisted in a lethal smile. “But it just happens I’m not considering liquidating him. Just his chokehold over Zafrana, and with it, most of his assets.”

She held his gaze until she decided he was telling the truth, then collapsed back in relief. “For a moment there I thought I’d just signed Hassan’s death warrant.”

“It is the preferable, cleaner solution.” As her heart pounded again, he added, “But I won’t let him off that easy. Hassan’s actions deserve protracted punishment before I even consider granting him reprieve.”

“You still make it sound as if you’ll end up offing him!” When he only shrugged, she sat up again and threw her hands up in the air. “Ya Ullah...I can’t believe we’re sitting here haggling over the pros and cons of assassinating Hassan.”

“To off him or not to off him, that is the question.”

That, and his bedeviling expression, made her burst out laughing. “You fiend! You had me going there.” Melting back again, she grinned. “So what do you intend to do, for real?”

“Which part of that’s my business don’t you get? You made the demand, now sit back while I take care of it as I see fit.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, huh?”

“You’d never be anything but what you are, a princess whose demands must always be met.”

His over-the-top statements kept leaving her breathless, her lips tingling with the need to taste them at the origin.

But she still had to make sure of one thing. “If my requests are that important to you, promise you won’t go overboard. Just do enough to set me free, and hopefully set Zafrana back on the road to economic independence. I don’t want any fallout to hit my father or Zafrana. Or Saraya.”

He inclined his magnificent head, making her again wish he’d release his raven’s-wing silk from its imprisoning band. “I promise I will be surgical. My excisions will leave the whole region healthier. Just for you.”

Breath left her on a choppy exhalation. “You’re really going to do this.” She shook her head dazedly. “Wow...just give me a second to get my head around all of this.”

“Take all the time you need.” He did this heart-melting gesture again, reaching for a lock of her hair and rubbing it in utmost enjoyment between his fingers. “But you can start celebrating your restored freedom right now.”

Moved to the brink of tears, she squeezed her eyes shut. When she finally opened them, they’d filled her eyes, soaked her voice. “I need to apologize.”

He frowned. “Never apologize, not to me. But what do you think you should apologize for?”

“For what I thought when I first thought of asking you for this.”

“What did you think?”

“That you’d never do anything out of the goodness of your heart. That you don’t have one.”

A mirthless huff escaped him. “You were right. I don’t have one. Not in any humanly accepted sense.”

“From where I’m sitting, you have something better. I thought you’d never do anything for anyone without something of equal or more value in it for you, and I was wrong.”

“Maybe you should withdraw your apology. Since you weren’t wrong. I do want something.”

Her heart forgot to beat. “You do?”

“Yes.” He held her gaze in the snare of his. “An heir.”


Three (#ulink_1d704ef2-1d74-57db-ad58-065682725de0)

“An heir.”

Jen heard her voice as if coming from someone else. Reaching her ears from the end of a vortex of incomprehension.

The hypnosis in Numair’s gaze only intensified, as if he was compelling her to say what he wanted her to say.

Good luck with that. It was a miracle she’d been able to produce sound at all, to parrot him. After the agitated excitement of meeting him, the soaring hope that he’d restore her freedom, the release of all tension when she’d made sure he would, it hadn’t shocked her when he’d said that he had a price. What had flabbergasted her was the price itself. She couldn’t even process it.

He couldn’t have really said... “An heir?”

At her croaking question, without any change in his expression, he inclined his head. “Yes. An heir you’ll give me.”

Ya Ullah, he’d said it again. And this time he left no doubt who would provide him with said heir.

The expansive room started spinning, and the sick sensations that earlier had her in their grip crashed back on her. She pressed her head into the headrest, as if to stop the churning. “You’re not joking.”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

Feeling as if she’d fallen into a trap, nausea almost blinded her. “Why are you doing this?”

In response, he covered the space between them. Before she could think of scooting away, she found herself half draped over his great body, stunned by his sheer strength.

“Doing what?” His whisper fanned her face, and the fragrant, virile scent of his breath and flesh only made the room spin harder. She tried to fidget out of his embrace, but he had her head cradled in the nook of his arm, supported by his muscle-laden shoulder, and her face tilted to look up at him. “Being truthful about what I want? I thought you appreciated total honesty.”

“When did you decide you wanted it?” she whispered. “You can’t have come up with it when I asked you to help me.” She tried to shake her head and only felt the world spin again. He secured her tighter and her queasiness quieted. She moaned, in relief this time. “I thought you would have a price, but I never thought it could be something like that.”

“What did you think it would be? Yourself?”

Now that he’d said it out loud, it felt presumptuous for the idea to have crossed her mind. But given his apparent interest in her, it had been the only thing she could think of.

She’d thought the most he’d want would be a short affair, maybe only while he passed through New York this time. But she wouldn’t have considered that a price. It would have been a reward to be with the first and only man she’d wanted breathlessly on sight. In any other circumstances, she would have given anything to be with him, no matter how fleetingly. To have both him and her freedom would have been the most incredible opportunity of her life.

But it was clear she’d read the situation all wrong. No, she couldn’t read it at all.

This was totally incomprehensible.

A gentle finger below her chin tilted her face up to him, his brooding gaze capturing her wandering eyes. “I never bargain for sexual favors, and I certainly would never take advantage of a woman’s need in any other way.”

Now that he put it that way, she again felt silly for thinking what she had. This was a man who must have his pick of the rare beauties and celebrities of the world, and there was no way he’d ever paid for his pleasures. She couldn’t see a woman alive who wouldn’t react to him like she had, wouldn’t want him at any cost.

He went on. “I also never stomached passing liaisons, but I never had any desire for anything more. My life revolved around work and amassing wealth and power. Those were everything I wanted for as long as I can remember. Then recently, everything changed.”

Curiosity, and something poignant and more powerful—empathy—dragged her out of her confused dismay.

Had he suffered some recent life-changing crisis that made him take stock of his life, forced him to reassess his lifestyle?

She realized he was waiting for her to ask before he elaborated. So she forced her constricted throat to release the question. “What happened?”

“I hit forty, and it made me feel I need to rearrange my priorities and adjust my path. It never bothered me before that I have no family, and no one to leave my fortune and legacy to. Now it does.”

She gaped at him. This was again the last thing she’d expected he’d say. She’d expected a reason as unique and earth-shattering as he was. He was the last person on earth she would have believed could have a midlife crisis.

Maybe she’d read him wrong all along. Just like she’d been way off the mark in assessing what he’d want in return for helping her. But she still could think of no reason that he’d want an heir from her, of all women.

She put her bewilderment into words. “So you decided to join the human race after a lifetime of just dominating it. But now you feel the urge to perpetuate your genes. If you make your desire known, women would form lines spanning the globe for a chance to be the one to give you your heir.”

“I am making my desire known. To the only woman I ever considered for the role.”

Her confusion deepened. “Why would you consider me at all, let alone have me on a short list of one?”

“To borrow your earlier words, you’re kidding, right?”

“To borrow yours, I’ve never been more serious.”

He caught her chin between those powerful, roughened fingers. “How can you be? You’re here with me—” he gathered her tighter against his incredible heat and hardness, making her senses whirl harder, her every muscle liquefy even more “—in my arms, within an hour of meeting. You would have been there within minutes had we been in different circumstances. The attraction between us combusted the moment I stepped into that ballroom, and it’s been raging higher ever since.”

She still couldn’t believe she affected him as intensely as he did her. Even if she did, that wasn’t an acceptable explanation. “I can understand this would make you want me in your bed—”

He interrupted her. “And you would have considered that a fair price in return for my services?”

“Your services would have been circumstantial, since I would have come to your bed anyway, if you wanted me there.”

At her admission, his eyes simmered with a triumphant glow. Which was weird, really. Didn’t he already know any woman would throw herself at his feet, if only he would let her?

But it was clear her words didn’t only please him, they stoked his lust. The heat emanating from him rose, igniting her own higher, and the hardness below her became a steel shaft of discomfort digging into her thigh. Her core throbbed with an empty ache she’d only ever felt since he’d touched her.

She wanted to wind herself around him, to tell him to forget everything—her need for his services and his for an heir—and act on the need burning them up.

Instead, she said, “As I was saying, even if you wanted me on sight, that still doesn’t translate to considering me for the role of mother of your heir. From my vast experience with the obscenely rich and powerful, sexual desire is not even among the prerequisites in choosing who to procreate with. I’m sure a man like you has strict criteria for said role, and countless other women who’re better candidates for it than me.”

“I may be obscenely rich and powerful, but I already told you I care nothing about anyone’s rules. I make and follow my own.” Sensual appreciation weighed down his lids, filled his lips as his hand painted her from shoulders to buttocks in luxurious caresses. “But I do have extremely strict criteria in the mother of my heir. That’s why only you will do.”

“Why? Do I somehow fulfill more criteria than others?”

“You fulfill every single one, and others I didn’t even have till I met you.” He cupped her cheek hungrily, his gaze devouring her. “I want my heir to be born of the perfect woman.”

This made her snort. “Boy, are you barking up the wrong woman. I’m so far from perfect I’m in another galaxy.”

His fingers sank into her hair, gave a pleasurable tug at her nape. “You are perfect to me. Just like I, with all of my glaring flaws, am perfect to you.”

Her snort was more indelicate this time. “What glaring flaws? You are perfect, and would be so in anyone’s eyes.”

“Would I? That’s news to me, since both allies and foes consider me a monster.” Before she could object, he pressed on. “From what you know of the business world, you must know what it took to rise to my current status and to maintain it. You know I must be ruthless and remorseless, and that I don’t give a damn what the world thinks of me, and that nothing is beyond me. From our interactions so far, you must realize I’m dangerous, even deadly, and I can destroy anyone I decide deserves it, even kill them, without turning a hair.”

She stared at him. He’d put everything she’d felt about him in her bones into words. Everything that made him even more perfect to her.

She nodded slowly. “Instinctively, and logically, I know you’re all that.”

His lips spread in satisfaction. “All that makes me the opposite of perfect to everyone. Except for my partners, I’m someone to dread, or at most to appease, either in the hope of winning my favor or avoiding my danger. As for the women who pursue me, most risk it for the lure of said obscene power and wealth, and a few for the misguided fantasy of attempting to tame the most dangerous predator there is. But all fear me, and none trust me.” His arms squeezed her tighter into his containment, his eyes growing more possessive. “You’re the only one to ever see me for what I am, scales and claws and fangs and all, and instead of putting you off, everything about me is exactly what appeals to you. As you say in your region, I’m the one to yemla ainek—the one to ‘fill your eye.’”

It was as if he was reading her mind. More, her deepest, most private beliefs and yearnings.

Again she nodded, not even thinking of contesting his verdict. “I left naiveté and idealism behind when I was seven, grew up in the cutthroat worlds of highest-level politics and business. I’ve long since learned that the best men need to have a lot of monster in them to be merciless enough to make the painful decisions, cunning enough to beat evil at its game, strong enough to enforce harsh changes for the better and resilient enough to be the one left standing after a war and doing as much good as possible in this crazy world.”

His eyes darkened with her every word, until those fathomless black pupils engulfed the glowing emerald. She felt as if she was watching a panther in the seconds before he pounced. And she couldn’t wait for him to. Even when she knew she might not survive his ferocity.

Then he did. Growling deep in his gut like his namesake, he brought her fully over him, making her feel she was no more than a twenty-pound baby. It should have been terrifying to realize just how much stronger than her he was. But his roughness was infused with such care, it only sent all her senses soaring.

She tumbled over him, the skirt of her dress riding up as he splayed her thighs wide, had her straddling him. The moment she felt him fully against her, between her legs, she almost fainted with the spike of arousal. Then his lips opened over her neck, and she did swoon. Her head fell back, giving him fuller access, surrendering to his pleasuring.

She needed this, needed him, come what may.

“You feel and taste even better than I imagined. Jenan...”

She jerked as if at the sting of a lash when he said her name. She’d never liked her full name. Now it inflamed her to hear it on his lips, in that voracious growl. But he was sending her out of her mind with everything he did. The way he moved against her, breathed her in, touched and kneaded and suckled her... It was all too much.

And too little. She needed more. Everything. His mouth and hands all over her, his potency inside her.

“Numair...”

At hearing her moaning his name, the same desperation she felt reverberating inside her seemed to emanate from his body in shock waves. Then he swept her around and brought her under him on the couch, then bore down on her.

The world disappeared again, nothing remaining in her awareness but his greed and urgency and lust dominating her.

Spreading her thighs around his hips, he pressed between them, his hardness grinding against her entrance through their clothes. Her back arched deeply to accommodate him, a cry tearing from her very recesses at the feel of him, the sight of him above her.

“Jenan.” His growl sounded pained as he surveyed her for one last second. Then his lips claimed hers, branding them. She opened wide to his invasion, and his tongue thrust deep, singeing her with pleasure, breaching her with need, draining her of reason.

Pressure built—behind her eyes, inside her chest, deep in her loins. Her hands convulsed on his arms, digging into his muscles, everything inside her surging, gushing, needing anything and everything he’d do to her. His fingers and tongue and teeth exploiting her every secret, his manhood filling that distressing void he’d created inside her...

Something buzzed against her thigh, made her lurch beneath him. After moments it stopped. Then it started again until it finally made him stiffen above her. Then he was cursing viciously as he rose off her.

The moment she lost his anchoring, she whimpered. His tempestuous glance told her he was feeling exactly the same. Wild with hunger and frustration.

He whipped out his phone in barely controlled fury. He only bit off a few phrases before ending the call. She vaguely understood it was one of his Black Castle partners. It figured only one of them would warrant Numair interrupting their first kiss.

As she finished the thought, she found herself snickering. First kiss indeed. First ravishing more like.

Numair’s grimace filled with mock reproach and a too-real self-deprecation as he surveyed her still boneless condition. “I’m glad one of us is not in agony, and can still laugh.”

“I’m not laughing... I’m snickering.”

His huff sounded genuinely amused, not to mention surprised. “Thanks for the correction. Care to share the source of your merriment? I can use something to take my mind off the urge to hunt Antonio down for interrupting us. Or to pounce back on you and finish what I started.”

Before she blurted out for him to just do the latter, she remembered they’d been in the middle of a game-changing conversation. And they hadn’t reached a resolution yet. There might not be even one to reach.

Dismay finally made her pull herself up from her flagrant surrender. Numair remained towering over her as she sat up, like some all-powerful genie from a fable. The searing sensuality of his scowl made it almost impossible for her not to pull him back over her. Only the “heir” thing stopped her.




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