Sheikh's Fake Fiancee (2 page)

“Among other things, yes,” he said.

“But your accent…” she started, stopping and feeling her cheeks flare when she realized how dumb it sounded to quibble over how he spoke. What? Was she supposed to say, that he didn’t sound like what she’d heard on news clips or in the movies? She’d never been there so it was presumptuous of her to make such guesses.

His dark eyes twinkled with mirth. “I went to boarding school in England and then Oxford. I’m afraid my accent’s a bit muddled. But do you like it?”

“Oh God yes,” she said. Then Jennifer shoved her face in her hands.

Jesus, just kill me now. I know I’m rusty in the dating game, but this is so pathetic. He’s going to run any moment now.

He laughed again, his voice as rich as velvet. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had many women…”

“Oh have you?” she said, quirking her head back at him. “Now that’s quite a brag.”

“No. I just mean you’d not be the first to like this accent, although I admit I’m no novice to many things,” he said, laying his hand over top of hers on the bar.

His hand was warm, heavy, and lightly calloused, which confused her. She assumed someone that well dressed and with such a sterling education would never have had to do anything rough and tumble, wouldn’t have worked with his hands. She’d have to ask him about that later.

Am I planning on a later?

“I think I’m getting that impression too,” she said.

“I’d love a dance. You look too enchanting to ignore. I think that scarlet is a ravishing color on you.”

She stood and pushed her long blond locks over her shoulder. Jennifer wished she hadn’t forgotten her hair tie. It was stifling in the club, with its tight confines and hot, sweaty press of bodies. If she could only get her own heavy mane off of her neck…

“Now you’re just piling it on thick,” she joked, trying to get the upper hand in the tête-à-tête they were engaging in.

It was easy to speak to men during meetings or around the boardroom, but ever since her last breakup, she always felt like she stumbled through her dates, as if she were tongue tied all the time. It was hard knowing that Bahan was probably feeding her the same lines that he’d given so many girls. Jennifer hadn’t missed his slip about being a ladies’ man. In fact, it should be setting off alarm bells for her. One thing Jennifer had learned the hard way was that she didn’t want to be just another notch on someone’s bedpost. Yet she couldn’t turn away from his captivating voice, his broad shoulders, or even the spicy scent of him, so like turmeric and other exotic herbs.

She wanted to see where things could go with him.

Taking his hand, she let him lead her out to the dance floor. It amazed her what it was like being with him. Bahan commanded the room, and even the crowded dance floor at The Wild
Orchid parted for him like the Red Sea before Moses. It was almost as if the whole world was stopping for them. Looking up into his eyes, watching as they alternated from black to brown under the pulsing lights overhead, Jennifer extended her arms and wrapped them around his neck.

“Show me what you’ve got, Bahan.”

So he did.

He started slowly, moving his body in a sensuous rhythm against her own. Already she was aware of the bulge of his erection under his pants, and that was a bit of a surprise. She didn’t think she’d have quite the effect on him, at least not so quickly. Then again, as she began to move around him, placing her hips up against his hardness, Jennifer was reminded of how short her dress actually was. It rode up high on her legs, and that seemed to entice Bahan even further. He reached down and clutched at her thigh, kneading her left leg with a skill that left her belly flaring with heat and made her legs feel like Jell-O.

His hands didn’t stop there, they moved over her torso, over her ribs and abdomen, as if he were torn between touching her and enjoying the smoothness of the fabric draping her. She leaned against him and felt herself be more daring. Maybe it was her own fears about her sister’s health or her career, maybe it was the heat of the club, or maybe it was even the alcohol in her veins, but she felt driven to take this time---this
dance
---and use it as an escape. Normally, she’d never be so forward with a man, let alone one she barely knew. But this felt right, like they were being drawn together through passion and need, and as she ground against him, she wanted to let him know exactly how much she wanted him and was compelled to be with him.

Turning around, she wrapped her arms again around his neck. To her surprise and enjoyment, Bahan let his own hands stray through her hair. She was glad now that it was down. It felt like heaven to have his fingers moving smoothly through her wild, blond mane.

“You have such gorgeous hair, Goldilocks. There’s nothing I’d love more,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning toward her ear, “than to take you home tonight. I want to see all those golden curls splayed out on my hotel pillow.”

Earlier, she’d been too nervous to run with his banter and his entendre, but now the Jim Beam seemed to be doing its job.

“I’m a bit harder to seduce than that. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that good things come to those who wait?”

“Something’s hard,” he said, pulling her against his erection.

She twisted back away from him and then sidled around his body, letting her hands dip low over his hips and squeeze the luscious lobes of his muscular glutes. “But it’s about the chase, isn’t it, Bahan?”

“Maybe, but maybe there’s more I want from you.”

“Keep dancing with me, and we’ll see where it leads,” she said, draping her arms over his back and around his shoulders. “After all, it’s only eleven and we have till last call. Let’s see where things go from there. I’m fine with going that far if you are.”

“You know that I am, Goldilocks,” he said, his voice so low and rumbly that it vibrated through his whole body. The quietness of it almost made her think of a threat more than a promise. Maybe she wanted it that way.

“Then let’s dance.”

Chapter Two

“I still think this city is too bloody cold,” Bahan said, pulling his coat and scarf more tightly around his body. His brother, Fareed, studied him carefully but didn’t offer an opinion on the chill in the New York air. “Don’t you think so?”

“When you’re used to one-hundred-and-twenty-five-degree days, then everything is cold, brother,” Fareed said, chuckling as they continued their stroll around Central Park. “I actually like the change of pace from the usual heat of Yemen. This has its advantages, assuredly so.”

“Yes, but I’m not ever going to be a fan of snow. I keep expecting to see reindeer or polar bears plodding along here as well.”

“The zoo here does have penguins. Would that help?” Fareed asked, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with his merriment.

“That’s not funny,” Bahan scowled. “I just want to get this new shopping complex up. Fifth Avenue has grown stale. If we can cut into Macy’s or Saks’s business, then I’m all for that. I just want to be back at the palace, enjoying life per usual.”

“I know you have a myriad of ways to enjoy life,” his brother said drolly.

Bahan stopped and glared down at his brother. While Fareed was still taller than average, he wasn’t quite as tall as Bahan was. It was a fact that Bahan used often to lord over his brother, especially when the younger man dug in about things that were none of his business.

“Seriously, brother, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re really just sore about this scouting trip because you’re away from your bevy of beauties.”

“You make it sound like I have a harem.”

“Well, the amount of heiresses you have in your Rolodex should almost count,” his brother countered.

“Maybe the city that never sleeps doesn’t appeal to me like it does to you. I have little use for museum after museum and the art galleries.”

“Some of us didn’t sleep through the cultural classes at Oxford.”

“If it doesn’t help build our empire, then it’s not relevant,” Bahan said, waving his left hand dismissively as they both started to walk again. “I suppose I miss the delights that Yemen or even Europe can offer me.”

“Then maybe you could at least remove that stick from your ass, brother, and try something more while you’re here. There’s a club called The Wild Orchid, and I’ve been there a few times while I’ve been prepping our emporium. I highly recommend it.”

“Because the girls are actually worthy in comparison to minor European royalty?” he asked, yawning a bit. So far, he’d rarely found an American worth talking to. Their bluntness was not often something he found endearing, to say the least. “Or do you just have a certain taste for women on the bus from Queens?”

“I’m serious. It’s a great club. Just give it a shot. I swear the women there can change your life.”

***

There was a sofa on the second floor of the club. They’d been able to find it after an hour or more on the dance floor had left them both exhausted and sweaty. Bahan didn’t mind. He grinned down at his little Goldilocks before him and started stroking her shoulder, feeling the soft, creamy skin beneath his palm.

“Well, Jennifer, you’re definitely one of the better dance partners I’ve had over the years.”

The woman before him was ravishing. She was short and curvy, her hips and breasts filling out the fabric of her dress marvelously. Her golden hair was like an unruly mane that spilled over her shoulders and down her back while eyes as blue and clear as the Mediterranean blinked back at him through long, thick lashes. Everything about her was sensual, felt like a real woman. Fareed had often teased him for his preference for curves, but Bahan had never understood that rail-thin trend that was especially prevalent in the States. He always wanted to have something to hold on to in the night, something to make his grasp worthwhile. With Jennifer, he’d definitely found the soft curves he wanted to caress for the night and, perhaps, beyond.

She crinkled her nose, an almost rabbit-like motion, and laughed. “That might be a more flattering bit of praise if I knew how many women you’d danced with. Is it as many as the women you’ve slept with?”

“Duly noted,” he said, grinning despite himself at the ice in her tone. “I’ve had a busy and, shall we say, entertaining life. I make no secret of that. But I’ve rarely met a woman who could move like you on the dance floor,” he said, letting his hand dip lower, tracing patterns only he knew across her arm and then over her abdomen. The dress wasn’t made of silk or satin, but it still felt smooth and cool against his hand. Something else he loved about her tonight. “Were you ever a dancer?”

“Not really. I did some ballet as a kid but broke ranks with my mom by the time I was eleven. I did love to club a lot in college. That always helped keep me sane. I’d be working on a huge project or stressed about midterms, but I could always come out on the floor at the local clubs, dance for hours, and let all of my fears just flit away. I think that was what made the difference. I could actually be free. I never let loose enough. My sister likes to joke that I’m just…”

“Tense. I think our siblings would like each other,” he said, smiling back at her. “Or they might be the same person. But maybe that comes with being the older sibling. I just assume you are.”

“I am. Are you psychic now too?” she asked, her blue eyes darkening.

“No, but I know that for so many families, the younger siblings have the luxury to explore themselves or be the flighty or artsy ones. With us, we’re about responsibility. Someone has to protect the others, has to make sure the family business endures.”

“And what is your family business?” she asked, arching an eyebrow up at him.

“Malls, for lack of a better word,” he said. “At least that’s usually what you Americans reduce them to. They’re actually emporiums or spaces where the best designers can share their wares.”

“Well that would make teenage me excited. There was nothing I loved more than wasting time at the food court.”

He snorted, as if her comment had mortally wounded him. “Oh, we’re not some lowest-common-denominator attraction with a movie theater and a pretzel vendor.”

“Shame,” she said, winking at him and running one, well-manicured finger down his chest. He felt the stiffness already growing in his groin as the excess blood flowed there. “You don’t know the magic of capitalism until you’ve had a double cinnamon treat from Auntie Anne’s.”

“I suppose I don’t,” he replied, about to ask her if she’d like to come back to his hotel room. Instead, he was interrupted by a girl with a blond bob and sparkly barrettes in her hair, as well as a brunette in a little black dress coming up to both of them.

Wait, not exactly just a stroll. Is the blonde too drunk? She’s leaning so heavily on the brunette.

It was like a switch was flipped in Jennifer’s brain. She was up and standing ramrod straight, as if she were a general about to send troops into the fray. Rushing over to the blonde, she reached out and felt her forehead.

“God, Sydney, what did you drink? You promised me you wouldn’t! Mom’s going to be so mad and I’m pretty pissed too.”

Sydney, who he assumed was her younger sister, wobbled on her feet and shook her head. “I didn’t. I swear I’ve been drinking club soda all night, but I just feel so tired. I don’t know what it is and my back hurts a lot. I just…I hate to be that girl, but can we go home, sis?”

The younger girl started to shiver and Bahan wished he hadn’t put his suit jacket and coat both in the check. She was shuddering so much it scared him. Thankful he’d worn an undershirt, he unbuttoned his Oxford shirt and handed it to Jennifer.

“Please, if you need to help keep her warm till you get to the coat check, take this.”

Jennifer shook her head. “I couldn’t!”

“I have a hundred more just like it,” he said, fishing into his pocket and pulling out a business card. “Call this and mention The Wild Orchid. I’ll let my secretary know to patch you directly through. I’d love to see you again. I had a great night, until now,” he said, eyeing her sister whose teeth were now chattering loudly. Something icy seized around his heart. None of that was normal, and something deep down in his bones told him that this wasn’t just the flu. “Please.”