Sheikh With Benefits Page 6

  She gave him a wide grin. "The best idea I've heard in years," she told him.

  "I'm going over there to sweep the woman I love off her feet," he told her. "I intend to make a scene no one here will forget for the rest of their lives. I know perfectly well that my brother has no designs on her, and that she would never think of him that way, but she deserves to know that I will do anything for her, and that she is mine, and that I will fight for her even if I have to create a villain out of thin air to do it. My brother may exile me for damaging his authority. Her father will definitely never approve of the marriage. They—" Here he paused for dramatic effect. "May go fuck themselves."

  "An excellent plan." Her eyes danced with the light of a woman half her age. "If I was younger, she might have competition."

  Never, he wanted to tell her, but he was a diplomat still. "If you were younger, I would have you both." He paused for a beat. "Perhaps at the same time."

  She tittered with delight. "Go to her."

  He favored her with a deep bow before striding across the dance floor to fight for the woman who belonged to him, his imaginary robes streaming in a desert wind that wasn't there.

  Chapter Eight

  "But," His Royal Majesty King Darius the Fifteenth whispered in her ear, "perhaps I do not want you to go back to Ottawa."

  Arya felt his hot breath and got shivery. Not because of him, but because his voice was so similar to his brother's. It set off a chain reaction of memory. Javad licking her neck. Javad sucking her breasts. Javad between her thighs.

  Exactly why she needed to go away so badly. "Your Majesty, I would be a great help there. I did excellent work for my father, and I know how the Embassy operates. I have years of experience in the office, and both the diplomatic and expatriate community know me."

  "You would be a woman on her own," he said, spinning her around to music that didn't register in her mind. "It reflects badly on myself."

  She had no choice but to convince Darius to let her go. She couldn't exist under her father's roof any longer and she couldn't marry Sheikh Zakharias. If she had to keep coming to these parties and endure Javad staring her direction like he was now, she would probably expire from embarrassment.

  The only alternative was marrying him.

  If she knew Javad at all, the man had planned his strategy for the situation last night. First, he'd talk to her, offer her marriage. He would assume she'd agree, and up until she'd talked to her sister, he would have been right. Then, he'd speak to her father. If she refused him, he'd speak to her father anyway. If anyone could convince her to marry Javad, it would have been her father. Once. No more.

  While her body and her heart each voted an enthusiastic yes, her mind had a veto. She couldn't tie herself permanently to a man who put restraint above everything else. Who would teach their children to be seen and not heard and would scowl at them for just being themselves. She knew the effect that would have on their personalities all too well, and no way would she let it happen to her kids the way it had happened to her. Her sister was right. Time to strike out on her own.

  "But, Your Majesty." She put on her best flirty smile, probably a pale imitation of her sisters', but she'd work on it, she decided. "You could come visit me. In fact, it would be a great insult to Canada if you didn't. Don't think of it as looking bad, think of it as being progressive."

  "Hmm." He faked thoughtfulness as he gave her a dramatic twirl. "I would like to progress with you."

  At the idea of him one, flirting with her, and two, wanting to progress anywhere with her, a laugh escaped her.

  She felt her father's censure from across the room, like the sights of a rifle centered right on her. It killed any amusement she felt. You're embarrassing the family, it said. Shut your mouth, it said.

  Her first reaction was to stiffen, to collapse in on herself. But then she saw Javad's scowl directed straight at her father. What was that supposed to mean? And was Javad actually frowning? In public? It seemed too insane to think of.

  Well, she felt a bit insane herself. She put steel into her resolve and pressed her body closer to Darius.

  "Did you know that the first foreign visit by any U.S. President is always to Ottawa? When Obama came, he bought maple leaf shaped cookies for his daughters. The bakery still has a big picture of him out front. Imagine what they would do if a real-life king visited?"

  Darius chuckled. "Canada might be pleased, but it is possible my brother might castrate me."

  "I don't know what you mean," she said, as smoothly as he turned her in the dance.

  "Arya, your father is inscrutable. It is impossible to know what he thinks or feels. Do not start following his example, or you and my brother will dance around each other for the rest of your lives, and never dance together," he told her. "Unless, of course, you did a tango last night."

  Her cheeks turned into an inferno. She clamped her teeth shut. One word, any word, from her, would betray everything she felt and thought.

  "Speaking of the man who may assault me for dancing with you," Darius said, his voice full of good-natured humor. "He approaches now."

  Panic exploded in her chest. She realized the song was ending. He would wait subtly at his brother's elbow until the music stopped, then she would be in his arms. It was much easier to resist him when he wasn't holding her, smelling clean and male, and reminding her of last night. One look into her eyes on the dance floor and he'd know she loved him. It might be impossible to resist him then.

  The steps of the dance brought her around, so she could see Javad. She stopped in place, flash-frozen by what she saw. Darius did an unkingly double-take.

  Javad moved toward them with anger in his stride, with an adamantine look on his normally cultured features. He moved with purpose, focus, and determination across a dance floor where everyone else glided with grace. He looked like a man going to battle. Others must have thought so, too, by the way they parted to let him pass. Arya swore he rammed the shoulder of a man who didn't get out of the way quickly enough.

  All she could do was blink at him. With every other blink of her eyes, she thought she saw him in traditional salwar pants and jameh tunic, a wickedly curved dagger stuck into a wide kamarband sash. In the illusion, his hair streamed back in the desert wind. There were possibly some horses involved.

  "That is Javad, correct?" his brother asked.

  It was. Her panic turned to anticipation. Pure glee rose inside her, bubbling up until her heart fizzed with a little girl's joy. It was Javad, coming to claim her. She fought the growing smile on her face. He wanted her and he didn't care who knew. No. He loved her and he wanted people to know.

  When he was only a step away, she became aware she should probably release herself from Darius' arms, but it was too late.

  "Javad," Darius said, his light tone practically singing his brother's name. "You look thunderous. What has gotten into you tonight?"

  Javad reached out and placed one big hand on Darius—the king's—chest. And shoved.

  She watched in delighted horror as Darius stumbled back a step. When the king recovered and raised his eyes to his brother, they flashed with rage.

  Javad had just insulted his king in front of a crowd of diplomats, for her. She tried to remember the last time she'd been this happy. It had been a long, long time. Through heroic effort, she kept herself from grinning like an idiot.

  "This," growled—growled!—Javad, "is my woman. You will stay away from her."

  Darius lifted his chin, suddenly looking extremely royal, and extremely pissed off. "Are you out of your mind?"

  Butterflies performed an aerial display in her tummy. This fierce, passionate man was hers. Nothing this incredible had ever happened to her before. Her throat tightened with wild joy. A tear of relief slipped down her cheek, leaving a warm, moist trail.

  Javad, still facing his brother, had a clenched fist jammed into his thigh. She reached for it. His fingers opened to her touch, instantly tangling with hers. He held her han
d tight, and she thought he would never let go—but that lasted only a moment. In one second, he turned to her, his eyes flashing heat. He only set her hand free to sweep her off her feet.

  She was too stunned to react as he leaned over to put his arms behind her back and under her legs and picked her up like a desert rogue kidnapping his chosen woman. It wasn't just instinct that made her throw her arms around his neck. Every desire in her heart wanted to draw as close to him as she could without getting arrested for indecency.

  She wasn't feeling particularly decent as Javad carried her through the equally stunned crowd out to the moonlit balcony. She felt like she was flying through the air. Even after he set her down, she wondered if her feet would ever touch the ground again.

  Another amorous couple was enjoying the privacy under the stars. All Javad had to do was level an acidic stare their direction, and the man took his lady by the hand to lead her back to the ballroom.

  She leaned against the carved marble balustrade for support. Her legs were way too weak at the knees to put up with her weight.

  "You," he said to her, in a new, irritated voice she'd never heard from him before. "Will never be allowed to choose your own clothing again. What is this?"

  He fingered the wispy sleeve of her gown.

  "It's gray," she pointed out.

  "I can practically see your undergarments," he said. "Which is not a problem for me. But other men can almost see them, which is never going to happen, do you understand me?"

  Inwardly, she hugged herself in relief and pure delight. Of course she would pick out any dresses she damn well pleased, especially if it resulted in this reaction. He noticed. He cared. She wanted to giggle at the thought that they could fight about it for the rest of their lives. Because whatever else happened, no other man in Ulai could marry her now, after Javad had compromised her honor so very, very publicly.

  He'd taken away all her choice in the matter. But she'd chosen him a long time ago, just like she'd chosen him last night. She'd just bask in the glory of a man she thought would never show any emotion in public claiming her for his own in front of everyone who mattered.

  "Yes, Your Highness," she said, to goad him.

  He barely moved his jaw as he spoke. "I told you to call me by my name."

  "Really," she continued, fighting to keep her tone level. "You don't need to make such a drama out of this. We had a good time last night, that's all. We can still be friends. I know you have a high sense of honor, but you don't have to marry me just because I was a virgin. I knew what I was doing as well as you did. These are modern times—"

  He cut her off with a scorching kiss that possessed her from the inside out. He left her breathless and grabbing him for all the support she could get. His arm at her waist was the only thing keeping her from losing all cohesion and devolving into a puddle of lust.

  A long time later, he broke the kiss and spoke, his tone gravelly. "This has nothing to do with that. I love you and you gave yourself to me and I know that means something to you, as it does to me."

  It meant everything, she wanted to say. "What?" she said instead.

  He grasped her by her upper arms, steel in his grip. "You gave yourself to me."

  Just then, a rattle, coming from the doors to the ballroom, interrupted.

  Rapping at the locked doors with a vicious look on his face was her father. Oh crap, she thought, fear of his disapproval racing through her. Then she made herself pause. What did she have to fear from him? She didn't care what he thought of her. He'd certainly never cared about her, not really. He'd spent the last twenty years encouraging her to be silent, invisible. The perfect slave to his career. Perhaps he couldn't stand that he'd once stepped out of his diplomat role to marry her mother, and then she'd died. But that hadn't given him the right to resent his daughter, to erase her from her own life.

  And he could go hang.

  Apparently the palace guards thought so, too. A pair of burly men on either side of him slid their gazes to Javad for silent orders as they approached the former ambassador. Javad lifted his chin slightly. She watched as a guard touched her father on the arm. He tried to shrug the big man off.

  It didn't work. The guards got insistent. As they practically dragged him away, he glanced over his shoulder at her, begging with his gaze.

  "I should—" Go to him, she meant to say. An automatic reaction.

  "You will stay with me," he informed her. "You gave yourself to me."

  "You said that before. But last time, you said something before it. There were two or three words, then 'and'," she prodded, not bothering to fight the feeling of hope inside.

  "Ah, I think that was..." A rakish half-smile quirked his beautiful mouth. The mouth she wanted to kiss so badly it was painful. "I love you."

  "Oh, thank God," she said, her relief spilling out of her. "It would kill me to go through all that again with another man."

  "Never." His voice was all grit. "You will be with me, and only me."

  She grabbed the lapels of his tux and pulled him down to her. His lips against hers, his tongue invading her hidden places, it made her blood scorch through her veins like wildfire. The kiss could have gone on forever and she never would have tired of it. But the sensation of his hot hands on the night-chilled skin of her back made her forget to breathe. Eventually, she had to let him go, or suffocate. When they pulled away, they were both gasping.

  One lock of Javad's normally perfect hair hung down over his eye. It was so sexy she nearly combusted on the spot. When she caught her breath, she repeated, "Oh, thank God."

  He tightened his arm around her waist. They couldn't be any closer without removing clothing. Everyone in the ballroom was probably trying to see through the gauzy curtains. But Javad had his back to them, hiding her from their view.

  "Those are not the three words I want to hear from you."

  No, she knew it. He wanted to hear her say she loved him.

  "I should drag this out. I should play games with you and drive you wild by holding back. I know I should make you work for my love. But I can't. Of course I love you. Why wouldn't any woman love you?" She took his hand. Warm and dry, it dwarfed her own. She lifted an honest gaze to the face she wanted to look at for the rest of her life.

  "I'm so tired of hiding and lying and pretending to pay attention to some diplomatic treaty or trade agreement when I really want to talk about smart you are, your kindness to me, and how you have the hottest ass in Ulai." As the words, and her true feelings, escaped the prison where she'd locked them, they took with them a great weight she'd barely realized she'd been carrying around. Very seriously, she added. "I'm afraid the truth is that I'd like to take a big bite out of it."

  He seemed to consider that for a moment before saying, "I would be open to such a thing, but perhaps a bit later, man jigaram." Literally, the words meant 'my liver,' which sounded strange to Western ears, but it was a term of endearment no Farsi speaker threw around casually. Everything in her thrilled. "You were the most important woman in the world to me from the moment you saw my pain and sought to relieve it. I will never again let anyone treat you the way your family has. We will be together from now on. We will speak and do as we please and pick up leaves from the ground if we wish to."

  "Uhm, what?" she said. "You lost me on that last one."

  "If I know my brother, he will exile me." She must have startled, since he raised a hand in reassurance. "Not officially. Not permanently. I will have to leave Ulai for a time."

  Ferocity rose in her. "I don't care. You know I don't care, so why are you telling me this? I'm going with you."

  "You going with me was not quite what I had in mind."

  His words made her go still with fear. For a second, he wore his old face, the mask she couldn't read.

  "I believe," he continued, "he will also appoint a new ambassador to Canada. I thought I would go with her instead."

  Why would the new ambassador be a woman? she asked herself. Why would Javad go
with her when he clearly wanted to be with... A thought struck her, like a physical blow.

  "Me?" she barely squeaked out.

  "It solves the problem neatly," Javad pointed out. "It offers your father recompense for the insult to his family he received tonight, and gets me out of the way. "If he does not think of it himself, I will suggest it to him. It is the only way, really."

  "I'm way too young. Also, a woman."

  "Quite a woman," Javad said, in a wolfish new way that made her blush to her ankles. "And no one is more qualified. Besides, it is a perfect opportunity to show the world how very modern Ulai is. Yet the old guard will assume that I am the ambassador in all but name. They will be wrong, of course. Yes, it is a very tidy solution."

  The responsibility seemed overwhelming. She was just shy Arya, after all.

  She was about to explain why she couldn't accept the position. Couldn't be in the spotlight all the time. Then she looked at Javad and saw herself the way he saw her. She'd watched and learned from her father for two decades. She'd won herself the man she loved through a twisty kind of truth mixed with deceit.

  She could, she realized, do the job. And do it well.

  "I can't do it—"

  When he attempted to interrupt, she raised her hand to silence him. Like a miracle, it worked. "I can't do it without your help."

  He nodded. And she knew that he would support her as she needed, not interfering when she did things her way, but assisting when she asked for his help.

  "Daliya is coming with us," she told him.

  "I thought you did not care for each other," he said.

  She shrugged. "Things can change between two people. Sometimes in a single night."

  "Yes," he agreed. "They can. I look forward to hearing the story another time. But tonight is for us, and you will finally dance with me."

  Even though she knew he loved her, a pang of the old fear moved through her, apprehension that he'd see her crush written all over her face. But she forgot that fear as Javad put his hand to her waist and drew her against him. Together, they moved to the soft music that filtered over the balcony from the ballroom.