The Sheikh’s Offer
By: Ella Brooke & Jessica
Brooke
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright 2015-2016 Ella & Jessica
Brooke
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Warning:
This is a spin-off to the popu-
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ding Assistant.”
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
“He’s adorable,” Kelly Kentworth said
as she smiled at her godson, Gabriel Hassem.
About eighteen months ago, Alana Fi-
ora, her best friend had married into the roy-
al family of Al-Marasae. It hadn’t been the
smoothest of arrangements at first since
Sheikh Dharr had tricked Alana into coming
to his palace and becoming his bride. At first,
she’d simply started out as the wedding plan-
ner. When the actual bride stepped out of the
running, Alana had been upgraded. The
couple worked through the rocky start
though.
Kelly had known Alana for over a dec-
ade, even as middle school kids, and she’d
never seen her best friend happier. Alana
wore such a constant and broad smile on her
face.
It definitely had a lot to do with her
favorite munchkin. Gabriel had the beauti-
fully wide, almost turquoise eyes of his
mother. They were so large on his tiny face
that it made him look like a character from
an animé show. It was beyond precious. His
olive-hued skin came from both of his par-
ents, but the mop of curly hair seemed to be
more from the Hassem side like his grand-
father and his Uncle Asam.
Gabriel was a toddling monster, going
everywhere and sticking everything in his
mouth. She’d caught him not five minutes
ago sucking on oversized Legos. Now she un-
derstood why parents freaked out over
checking labels on toy boxes and making
sure there weren’t any small parts. Gabriel
would probably have stuck marbles and any
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number of other choke-tastic items in his
mouth if Alana gave him access to them.
Precocious was apparently parental
code for “I’m never sleeping again” and
“please, help me watch my child 24/7.”
Good to know.
“He’s my precious flower,” Alana said,
wrapping her burnt-orange kaftan more
tightly around her shoulders. “That said, if
you want to keep him for about a month so I
can get some rest, that would be amazing.”
Kelly chuckled. “As if you don’t have a
ton of loyal and waiting servants who are
more than happy to help their sheikha with
the future heir.”
“Technically,” Alana said, looking at
the stick Gabriel had brought her from the
garden as if it were the Holy Grail, “Faaid is
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the oldest. His children are in line for the ac-
tual ruling duties. I’m sure Grandpa Azhaar
is more interested in making sure my family
keeps Hassem Petroleum, Inc. running. It’s
slightly less pressing.”
“Still, you have tons of ways to sleep.
There must be nannies on top of nannies
here!”
“That’s true, but Dharr and I like to be
as hands-on as we can. Our son is the light of
our lives. I know he has Grandma Yahira to
watch him while I’m working on legal cases
or while his dad is in the boardroom, but we
don’t want a legion of caretakers. Dharr grew
up that way and, while he loves his mom, it’s
just too isolated of a childhood. My family
has always been so tight. I want that for Gab-
riel too.”
Kelly nodded and smiled down at the
blossoms her godson had handed to her too.
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She was pretty sure they’d once been red
rose petals before the leave had been mashed
into a bit of a paste. Her grin grew wider, and
she patted the soft mop of brown curls atop
Gabriel’s head. “That’s so sweet. You’re on
your way to wooing the ladies, little man.”
Alana laughed and stroked her son’s
back. “Don’t give him ideas. His uncle is
already so notorious, and it’s not like Dharr
wasn’t a wild child either. I’d rather have to
worry about him leaving a string of broken
hearts across the Middle East than him de-
veloping a penchant for Formula One
racing.”
“And street racing.”
Her best friend frowned and nodded
after a pause. Sheikh Dharr had been forced
to start his marriage hunt early because of
his father’s ultimatums. That had all started
because Dharr’s his wild pastimes dragged
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the Hassem family name through the mud.
Outside of Faaid, the oldest brother, all the
Hassem siblings had bad boy reputations
that preceded them to say the least.
“Dharr would never want Gabriel to
get into anything wild like that.”
“Well, you have about fourteen years
before he’s even old enough to take driver’s
ed,” Kelly said and then she blinked. “Wait.
Is there a minimum age here in Al-Marasae
to learn?”
“No, not really, but sixteen was good
enough for me. Besides, we’re driven every-
where anyway.”
“How fancy!”
Chuckling, Alana ducked her head.
“You know what I mean. I still prefer to do as
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much of my own stuff as I can. I’m not turn-
ing into a diva.”
“Turning into? You were always a
little high-strung and high-maintenance.”
“I’ll plead the Fifth.”
“Sure you will, lawyer-gal,” Kelly said
with a wink. “But speaking of bad boy
sheikhs, how is Asam doing?’
“Oh, so you’re just taking a poll, are
you? Did you start working for Arabian Heir
Monthly?”
“No, but if I said it was just scientific
curiosity, you’d let it go at that, right?” She
pushed a lock of her long golden hair out of
her face. Alana kept hers at shoulder length,
but Kelly loved having hers flow halfway
down her back. It could be a pain even back
home in Las Vegas, but it was getting
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unbearable after a week in the one hundred
and twenty degree days in Al-Marasae. She
was sweating everywhere. Her hair was limp,
and beads of sweat dripped down her neck.
Ick.
She’d be glad to be back in Vegas
soon, not that it was that much cooler, but in
the fall, it was at least bearable. Of course,
when she went home, she would be alone in
her empty apartment that she used to share
with Alana before her friend upgraded from
legal eagle to sheikha of an exotic land.
It was tough. She didn’t begrudge
Alana her happiness, but Kelly wished she
could have some of her own as well. She
struck out all the time on MatchMe.Com.
The few guys she’d had more than a first date
with seemed to be crazy or uninteresting.
The one who collected stamps had been a
real standout in the loser Olympics. Besides,
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none of them compared to the one who got
away.
“You’re extremely transparent,” Alana
said, smiling that Mona Lisa smile of hers as
she held her son on her lap. “If you want to
know how Asam’s doing, you should call
him. I can get you his number, and he’s al-
ways flying in and out of the States. Heck,
that’s his biggest problem. His father,
Azhaar, is always frustrated with him about
it. It’s London one weekend and then New
York or Chicago the next.”
“Do I want to know why?” Kelly
asked, terrified of the answer. She and Asam
hadn’t spent a lot of time together. She’d
only visited Al-Marasae a few times, includ-
ing her best friend’s wedding to Dharr. But
they’d also had a few massive arguments
during that trip and once during Ramadan.
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The first time they ever met, she hon-
estly felt like they hit it off. They’d had such
an easy and fun repartee at the Marquee’s
poolside, but then he’d ducked out on her for
a fire-eating stripper. It was Vegas, of course.
That was one of the bachelor party options
because what wasn’t.
When she saw him later, she hated
herself for missing him. The connection
they’d had for a few hours had fizzled so fast.
As mad as she’d been the other two times
they’d met, she still had feelings for him.
Lust would have been the easy answer since
he was handsome, but that wasn’t all of it.
Something about Asam’s charisma intoxic-
ated her.
She hated she was so prone to falling
for it, but no matter how many blind dates or
online dating sites she went on, she couldn’t
help but want his hazel eyes staring back at
her instead of the man she actually got. She
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wanted the charming sheikh who smelled of
thyme and just a hint of paprika. She craved
those strong hands clutching her own. Their
first encounter still haunted her mind even
almost two years. Maybe a relationship with
him would simply be an excuse to live in Al-
Marasae near her best friend. Or maybe the
poor selection of guys on MatchMe just wer-
en’t doing it for her. Still, no matter how
hard she tried, she couldn’t get Asam out of
her thoughts.
He was like a drug coursing through
her veins that she’d never get her fill of.
Of course, if he were jetting off to a
new city every weekend to enjoy the clubs
and the multitudes of women—his family
weren’t so orthodox that he couldn’t party
like a frat boy—then Asam was likely over
her.
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Alana waved her hand. “Earth to
Kelly?”
Kelly blinked and shook Asam from
her thoughts. Ugh, shoot her now. She
couldn’t even pay attention to a conversation
with her best friend. “So Asam’s living it up,
huh?”
Sighing, Alana patted Kelly’s hand
again. “It’s not like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Really?”
“Okay, it is, but Dharr tells me he’s al-
ways been that way. The least responsible
and the biggest party animal. I guess that
goes with being the youngest. Besides, tell
me about the guys in your life. You have to
have someone.”
Kelly laughed and leaned over to kiss
her godson’s chubby cheek. “I have someone.
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His name is Jasper. He’s white with a fluffy
coat and long whiskers. Oh, and he's defin-
itely been fixed because tomcats are a pain in
the...ah...rear to deal with.”
“Thanks for watching your language,”
Alana said, chuckling. “I swear both Dharr
and Faaid are tempted to curse in Arabic
when on the line for business dealings. My
child will be a proficient curser if I’m not
careful. At least I can try to keep it down to
one language.” She sighed. “I’m so sorry,
though. Not that Jasper isn’t a great cat. But,
he’s not as great a cat as Pumpkin is dog.”
“Uh huh, keep digging deeper.”
“I miss him! But I couldn’t bring
Pumpkin all the way here, and it’s too hot
with that thick of a coat. It’s good that dad’s
therapist recommended he get a dog to help
him. If he feels anxious about wanting to
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gamble, he just has to bond with Pumpkin
instead.”
Kelly kept a smile planted on her face.
Alana’s dad had been struggling with a
gambling addiction for a while. He’d gotten
better with therapy that Dharr had gener-
ously paid for. He was still even working at
his law firm, but he was managing and a big
part of that was Pumpkin’s daily comfort.
Not that dogs were so special. Cats
were clearly the superior species. After all,
which animal ruled the internet with mil-
lions of viral videos? Hint, it wasn’t any of
those slobbering machines.
“But I do worry about you. I’m all the
way over here, and I don’t want you to be
lonely.”
“Working at Paradiso and cooking for
a mega-buffet set up on Sundays keeps me
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busy, and Jasper has my back. He’s a good
scratcher, so he’s good protection too. I have
a full life, really.”
“So that’s why you’re asking after
Asam after all this time?”
“What? I was just taking a survey. You
were telling me how you’re getting along
with Yahira and giving me the lowdown on
all of Gabriel’s uncles and cousins. See? I’m
just making conversation.”
“Sure, Kel. If you change your mind, I
can get you the number in a heartbeat. After
all, maybe he’s flitting around so much be-
cause he already found what he wanted but
doesn’t think he can have her.”
Kelly lifted her chin higher. “He can’t.
He chose a fire-eater who was a very creative
dancer to boot. I just…I was only curious.
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Just dish on the rest of the Hassem clan
while you can.”
***
Going home was hard.
The palace was always bustling with
energy. After all, it wasn’t just Dharr and
Alana who lived there. Faaid and his family
were in one of the many wings as well as
Dharr’s parents. There were tons of servants
and even the old sheikh’s retired harem. It
was its own thriving metropolis behind the
compound’s gates.
But there was more than that. Her
best friend lived there, and now she couldn’t
hear that laugh any time she wanted or give
Alana a big hug at the end of a hard workday.
Life wasn’t the same. Kelly longed to see the
bright, smiling face of her godson or even
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cute glimpses of Dharr and Alana holding
hands or cuddling.
It wasn’t about the number of people
living in the palace, but the warmth and fam-
ily vibe there. As she walked into her apart-
ment, Kelly sighed. Her place had been a
mess when she left. She’d been running late
with packing and had shirts and pants flung
all over her bedroom. The pet sitter she’d
tried to space out last cleaned the litterbox
yesterday and, after being gone for over a
week, she grimaced at the intense odor of cat
urine again.
Of course, the only things in her refri-
gerator were a few leftovers in Tupperware
containers. They were probably green and
fuzzy by now, likely even supporting new
forms of life this planet had never seen
before.
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A familiar warmth rubbed against her
shins, and she reached down to pick up her
favorite white bundle of fur.
“Ooof,” Kelly said, bringing the cat to
her chest. “You are getting super heavy,
Jasper. I might have to take you off wet
food.”
“Mrowr?”
She sighed and kissed his nose. “It’s
just you and me tonight, buddy. I mean,
what else is new? Do we crash with Chinese
and a movie or do we do pizza and a book?”
“Mrowr.”
“That’s not a helpful answer,” she
playfully chastised him, as she pulled out her
phone. “Hey, Mandarin Inn, it’s Kelly Kent-
worth. I am going to need the usual...”
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***
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Chapter Two
“That’s how the groundbreaking is go-
ing. It will take at least a year for a hotel and
shopping complex of this scale to be fully
built in Zayed, but the contractors are keep-
ing to the schedule. If we can make this
work, we’ll turn Zayed into the next desirable
tourist city out here. Hell, Dharr, it could be
the start of making Zayed as a city that could
compete with Dubai. Come for the Gucci,
stay for the car racing, indoor roller coasters,
and ice-skating. That sort of thing.”
Asam’s older brother grinned. “That’s
something to consider, brother, but let’s see
if we can get anything going forward, any
momentum at all. I’ve risked a lot on various
wells for HPI, but oddly, I’ve never been
more nervous. New hotels or restaurants of-
ten close no matter what you do. You could
start with a bang then lose all the buzz. It’s
just a completely different venture for us.”
“We could give the best attractions in
Vegas, Dubai, or New York a run for their
money,” Asam said, running his fingers over
the end of his beard.
Unlike his father who was more tradi-
tional, Asam kept his beard trimmed short.
It had a tip that hung down from his chin,
but it was nothing like the chest-length beard
his father wore.
Story of his life.
He was always caught between two
extremes—the traditions of the Hassem fam-
ily name and of his father’s expectations and
his own personal style and comfort. At the
same time, his father’s wish for him was to
be responsible and an adequate representat-
ive of the family. It was long past time for
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Asam to be the good son. He’d never be a
leader like Faaid had been groomed to be,
nor would he ever be the business mogul of
the family’s oil empire like Dharr. He was the
party animal who loved life. So far, he’d been
unable to balance his bachelor lifestyle with
all of Sheikh Azhaar’s expectations.
Hell, even his brothers struggled with
all the edicts and rules their father dished
out. At least they seemed to be finding their
way and having great families. All Asam had
going for him was the hope for a successful
shopping center and hotel unveiling in a few
months, if all stayed according to plan.
Otherwise, he was destined to remain the
“hopeless Casanova” as Dharr often teased,
or worse. His mother and father were less
kind and often called him a lazy cad.
“Are you okay, brother?” Dharr asked.
“You seem distracted. Do you need to extra
assistants or should I send Alana with you
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for a few weeks? I’d like to make sure all I’s
are dotted, T’s are crossed, and we don’t get
taken advantage of. One thing I’ve found in
life is that contractors will always try to
wriggle out of obligations if you don’t hold
them to it.”
“And they always promise that
everything will be done in two weeks,” Asam
said, chuckling a little. “No, I’m not nervous
like you. This is a great idea. While I’ve never
ran a mall and hotel combined, we’re hiring
the right people. The Hassem family has al-
ways managed its needs before. I think we
can do it again. Besides, I’m an expert in
which bits of luxury appeal the most. We
should go with that here.”
“So those months spent poolside at
the Hard Rock in Vegas or hanging out at the
Plaza in New York during the holiday season
were practice for your shot to be the next
Hilton family?”
27/245
“Don’t aim so low,” Asam said, chuck-
ling again. “I aim to have the next Bellagio. I
mean real luxury. I’m not settling for any-
thing less than a five-star Michelin rating.”
“I just want it done and have nothing
catch on fire, be poorly rated, or for anyone
to end up with food poisoning.”
“That’s optimism.” Asam slumped
down onto the sofa in his brother’s office. “I
know this is my first serious business
venture.”
“In almost thirty years,” his brother
said.
“Yes, but I have a plan. All joking
aside, I’ve done my research. We’re in a
growing market just with our own citizens.
We’ve tripled the average salary in this coun-
try with the growth of easy oil access, and as
HPI has surged, we have attracted other
28/245
business ventures as well. We’re close
enough to the Dead Sea for that to be a day
trip from Zayed and the hotel. It really has so
many draws. Yes, I know what type of tile or
caviar or even terry cloth I’d prefer. Think of
the last eight years since I graduated college
as testing what works and what doesn’t at
other hotels.”
“Practically all of them with more
than your fair share of buxom companions,”
Dharr said, his voice taking on a harder edge.
Asam rolled his eyes.
Usually Dharr was the only one who
defended him. The family’s tendency to pile
on him was one of the big reasons he avoided
staying at main palace in Marasimaq when
he could. He was only here now because go-
ing over the plans was best done in person
and not over Skype. Still, he could usually
depend on Dharr to understand his
29/245
restlessness and desire to try everything life
had to offer. He couldn’t believe that even
Dharr was disdainful of his life choices of
late. Maybe being a dad had changed him.
People assumed they had become as
wise as Buddha and Confucius combined
once they had a kiddo. As much as Asam ad-
ored his nephew, he didn’t think Gabriel
came along with the secrets of life.
“You too, brother?”
Dharr arched an eyebrow. “What?”
“Don’t play coy. You lack the ability to
do it. It doesn’t fool anyone.”
“Then you need to spell things out
more.”
“That tone. I know what it means. It
means you’ve joined Faaid, Mother, and
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Father on the ‘ne’er-do-well brother must
settle down’ train.”
“I have never said the phrase ‘ne’er-
do-well’ in my life, just so you know.”
“A
technicality,”
Asam
replied,
stretching his legs out on the sofa. “You think
I shouldn’t keep exploring options and hav-
ing fun.”
“Running a business full-time once
the Oasis opens will stop a lot of that extra
travel. You can only do so much over email
and video chat. Anyway, I admit it’s been on
my mind, but not in a ‘you’re bringing shame
to us’ way. I’m hardly one to talk.”
“But you’ve done better since the acci-
dent and what happened. You weren’t the
only one who consented to race.”
31/245
Dharr nodded, but he didn’t speak for
a while. Asam could understand. His brother
had been an even bigger goofball and even
less responsible, or at least he was until the
racing accident. Asam had no idea what that
depth of guilt must feel like, but he knew it
had sobered his brother and made him grow
up in a way few things ever had.
Finally,
Dharr
seemed
collected
enough to continue their conversation. “Kelly
visited us last week. She seemed so down.”
“Yes, Kelly’s winning personality
probably has a lot to do with that. That kitten
has claws, and she’s never been shy about
scratching my eyes out when I talk to her. If
she’s as nice to other guys, I can understand
how she might be on the path to becoming a
crazy cat lady.”
32/245
“She’s very nice. Alana and I both
agreed that you and she should be Gabriel’s
godparents.”
“That’s probably as close to a couple
as we’ll ever get. I tried to smooth things
over with her, but she was nasty at both your
wedding and last Ramadan. I’ve gotten to the
point where even trying to speak with her
ends up feeling like being dipped in acid. I
can’t do it. Besides, when have you ever
played matchmaker, brother?”
Dharr shrugged. “I don’t, but Alana
strongly hinted that if I didn’t want to sleep
on the couch, I might want to tell you to get
your act together.”
“Like you’d ever let her do that. You’re
a sheikh. If she got mad, she’d have to go to a
couch or a hotel on her own.”
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“You obviously don’t know Alana.
She’s as stubborn as any woman I’ve ever
met. I’m sure it’s the lawyer in her. It didn’t
hurt to bring it up.” Dharr crossed his arms
over his chest. “I have to say I agree on this.
There seemed to be something between you
two at the bachelor party, and you might
have made her upset.”
“I went off with a fire-eating stripper,
and I’ve never heard the end of it since. I’ve
tried apologizing to her or even having a civil
conversation. Alana’s misreading the signs,
even if Kelly is her best friend. Trust me. Ms.
Kentworth would like nothing more than my
head on a pike.”
“I doubt Kelly’s that angry,” Dharr
said, shaking his head.
“Well then.” Asam sat up on the sofa,
leaning forward toward his brother. “If she
doesn’t want my head on a pike, I’m still
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pretty sure she’d castrate me. I appreciate
Alana is looking out for her best friend and
that you’re trying to help me too, Dharr, but
some things just don’t work out. Besides, I
have a private yacht cruise next week with
half of the Victoria’s Secret new angels for
this year. It’s going to be legendary.”
His brother puckered his lips, looking
like he’d sucked on a lemon. “I know what
it’s like to have fun, but I also know it even-
tually gets stale. You can think I’m lame or
whipped after you go back to your room, but
I’ve never been happier in my life. Gabriel
and Alana are the reasons why. There’s
something about the constant love and sup-
port of your own family that makes the rest
of life worthwhile. There aren’t enough un-
derwear models in the world to replicate
that.”
35/245
“Have you met every underwear mod-
el in the world? Oh, that might be a good life
goal,” Asam retorted.
“I don’t buy that the leering ladies’
man is all you are anymore. It might be a col-
lege thing, but it’s not for you now. For
Alana’s sake, I wish you and Kelly could re-
kindle things. I know that’s not something I
can hope for. However, no matter what
shame Mother and Father keep trying to
make you feel, I just wish you’d find the right
girl. Deep down I think you’re lonelier than
you let on, brother.”
“I’m having fun. Seeing six out of the
seven continents whenever I feel like it, and
I’m building up my first big real estate pro-
ject. I couldn’t be happier,” he added, smirk-
ing back at his brother, even if it was a forced
expression. Asam didn’t feel nearly as non-
chalant about any of it as he wished he did.
36/245
Damn Dharr for knowing his every
tell and grinning knowingly back at him. “As
you wish, Asam. You can lie to me as long as
you want, but you know how you feel inside.
You must feel empty somewhere in your soul
because two years ago, before Alana, I felt
the same way. Even if Kelly isn’t the one,
you’re long past the time of playing with un-
derwear models, and I think you know that.”
Dharr stood from his desk. “I need to go
check on Alana, actually. She’s drawing up
contracts for a new oil company merger with
new wells being acquired. You can stay as
long as you like, and if you ever get tired of
the wild bachelor lifestyle, then Alana can set
you up.”
“Victoria’s Secret, Dharr. I never will
tire of it.” He leaned back on the sofa and
closed his eyes. He’d flown in from Los
Angeles after a courtside seat at a Lakers
game yesterday, so Asam was still catching
up from jet lag. A quick catnap on his
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brother’s luxurious leather couch couldn’t
hurt. “But thank you for offering,” he said,
trying to be nice. He lifted his left arm over
his eyes. “I’ll catch a quick nap before I walk
back to my room. I might have been more
exhausted from flying than I thought.”
“You almost face-planted into your
dates and honey at breakfast this morning.
You’re exactly as tired as I assumed you
were,” his brother said.
Asam just shrugged. He was glad
when his brother left.
Oddly, Dharr’s quiet concern was
harder to deal with than the very vocal com-
plaints of his mother, father, and Faaid.
Probably because when the “why aren’t you
married yet?” nitpicking came from the rest
of his family, it sounded condescending and
self-involved. Always more about how
Asam’s lifestyle reflected on the Hassem
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name than about actually caring for him. It
was easy to ignore those endless lectures. It
was different when he realized his brother
and his sister-in-law were hurting for him.
He just didn’t know how to be any dif-
ferent. He wasn’t sure how to make the effort
to succeed. After all, for a few brief hours,
he’d really connected once with Kelly and felt
something he’d never had with a woman
before.
But that had all been a mistake, and
she’d hated him ever since.
What was wrong with having fun if
Faaid and Dharr managed the family busi-
ness and had all that vaunted responsibility
covered?
Heavy footsteps sounded on the tiled
floor along with a third distinct thump with
every shuffle. Groaning, Asam opened his
39/245
eyes. Just as he’d feared, his father hunched
over his cane. His dark eyes narrowed at
Asam, and he shook his head as if Asam
would ever be so dense as to miss the clear
signs of his father’s disapproval.
The only thing Azhaar Hassem ever
seemed to feel for him in his twenty-nine
years was disappointment. Well, that mixed
with disdain and probably a desire to disown
Asam altogether.
“Father, I was hoping I could avoid
you this visit.”
His father wheezed and regarded him
further. “You hope to avoid me every visit. I
can understand why. That’s something to
aim for when you know you’re a chronic
disappointment.”
Asam surged to his feet. That was
clearly his cue to leave. No good ever came
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from being near Father Dearest. “It’s good to
know you’re consistent, Father.”
“Your brothers have grown into the
men and leaders I’d hoped they’d be. With
Dharr, it took a bit of convincing on my
part.”
“You blackmailed and forced him get
a bride. Then when he tried to marry Alana,
you threw a fit because she wasn’t Muslim
enough even if her mother is Lebanese.”
“Her father is still a fumbling infidel,
but your brother has straightened out his
ways. He no longer races or gets his name in
every tabloid and salacious site on the
planet.”
“Good for him. And Faaid was always
Mr. Responsible.”
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“That’s true, but what am I going to
do with you?”
“I’ve always been a fan of ‘live and let
live’ myself,” Asam quipped as he tried to
slip past his elderly father.
The old bastard snaked out his hand
and grabbed his forearm tightly. Asam
hissed as his father’s yellowed nails dug into
his skin. “You shouldn’t be so flippant. You
know I can disinherit you, don’t you, boy?”
“I don’t believe you would.”
“I’m tired of you whoring around with
Western women. I am proposing to you
something similar to what I told Dharr a
couple years ago. You will bring me an ap-
propriate bride, one that I can approve of,
and you will do it within six months. Dharr
says you’re focusing hard to make the Oasis
one of the finest hotels on Earth, but I won’t
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trust you or your instincts until you have a
woman stabilizing you as well.”
“That’s insane.”
“You’re an heir to billions and one of
the oldest kingdoms in the Middle East. The
wealth and luxury…the respect of Al-Mara-
sae is yours for the taking as well if only you
would grow up like your brothers. You have
six months, Asam. I hope for all of our sakes
that you can be the man Dharr says you are.
I’ll be shocked if it turns out that way, but
I’ve always liked watching wagers. Bring me
a real bride, and you stay a full sheikh. Fail
to do so, and I hope you’ve saved your money
well because someone else from within the
Hassem family will run Oasis forever.”
Asam glared back at his father and
balled his hands into fists at his side. He
wouldn’t strike someone as feeble as his fath-
er had grown; after all, he was a believer in
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fair play. However, he couldn’t completely
squelch his anger. “You’re always about
ultimatums.”
“I am, but this is very real. Either
show me your dedication, or I will disown
you. If you don’t want to live on some Amer-
ican friend’s sofa and eat peanut butter after
March, I suggest you work hard on finding a
woman suitable to join our family.”
“I loathe you, old man.”
“You wouldn’t be the first person,” his
father said, wheezing again. “Now, get to it.
The clock is ticking.”
***
Asam shucked off his jacket when he
got back to his room in the palace. Since he’d
left for college at Princeton, he hadn’t been
there more than two or three days in a row.
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The palace was nice, but he could get a king-
sized bed and a heavenly mattress at any
five-star hotel. What he couldn’t get here was
a reprieve from his parents’ scrutiny and
raucous advice.
Of course, the gorgeous silks and soft,
brightly colored pillows as well as the an-
tique rugs his great, great, great...and then
some...grandparents had collected over the
centuries were something you could only get
here in Marasimaq. It was beautiful but hol-
low. It all made Asam long to be either free
of his family or make them proud, at least
once.
He thought that by spearheading the
Oasis initiative and expanding the family
business in a direction it had never been in
he’d get some respect. Maybe his father
needed to see the first year of receipts before
he’d give him even a begrudging nod, which
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with Azhaar Hassem was as close as any of
them would probably ever get to a blessing.
But if he didn’t have the right wife and
a rugrat forthcoming, then that wouldn’t be
enough.
Suddenly more tired than anything jet
lag could explain, Asam stripped off his
clothes then stepped into his shower. It was a
huge marble monstrosity decked out with
several jets. He loved the feeling of hot water
streaming down his body. He spent as little
time in Al-Marasae as he could but even he
admitted that would change when someone
needed to be the head of the soon-to-open
Oasis. Still, it had put him out of practice. As
a child and teen, he’d gotten used to the dry
sand that seemed to get in every crevice due
to windstorms.
Maybe he had an alternative purpose
as well.
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Reaching down, he started to caress
his testicles, slipping his thumb and fore-
finger around them. With his other hand, he
reached down to stroke his heavy member.
After speaking with his brother, he had only
one woman on his mind. He focused on the
beautiful sight that was Kelly Kentworth. She
was a bit curvier than he normally liked, but
something about her ample hips and deli-
cious cleavage enticed him. She was refresh-
ing after his years spent chasing after models
made like coat racks and bed slats. Her green
eyes shone like emeralds when she smiled,
and her long blonde hair that she kept
halfway down her back always sparkled like
gold in the sunlight.
She was beautiful, but she wasn’t his.
Except as he continued to massage his
balls, to work his hand over his hard length
until his knees felt weak beneath him, at
least here it felt like she could be. He
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imagined the ecstasy it would be to slip into
her warm core and feel her spasm around
him. His tongue would trace nimbly over her
nipples. Her skin would be soft and supple
under his ministrations. All he wanted was
another chance with her, to make her scream
his name as she orgasmed for him.
Finally, he came with a groan and
spurted his seed onto the tile floor of his
shower. Asam’s knees went weak, and he
steadied himself against the far wall of the
shower with his palms planted flat against
the smooth surface.
A devilish idea came to his mind.
If his father was so set on him getting
a wife then, damn it, he knew exactly whom
he’d ask. Maybe he could make her come
around this time around. What else did he
have to lose outside of his entire inheritance?
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Kelly would be worth it, if only he
could convince her.
***
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Chapter Three
“You only need a few slivers of
Parmesan, but you should really layer on the
ricotta in the middle. That’s what brings the
manicotti’s flavors out, and you definitely
need to go light on the garlic. People make
that mistake far too often, and suddenly, it’s
all heartburn and bad breath. No one coming
to our famous buffet wants that,” Kelly said,
smiling at her new sous-chef. The other wo-
man was an expert in her own right and had
been working at the Bellagio before she came
to the citywide famous kitchen of the
Paradiso hotel and casino. However, Kelly
wanted her to know her quirks and the re-
cipe’s ins and outs.
Tina pushed a lock of auburn hair out
of her eyes and smiled back at Kelly. “That
sounds completely doable. I think I can make
this work.”
“I bet you can. It’s really not too hard
here. We focus on clean flavors. The ingredi-
ents are fresh and locally sourced, and they
speak for themselves. There’s no need to
over spice when we have the best tomatoes
in Nevada working for us.”
Tina grinned. “I’m just excited to be
working for the Kelly Kentworth!”
Kelly laughed. “You already have the
job. Once Monique signs your contract,
there’s not much I can do about it until the
owner gets a bee in her bonnet.” Kelly de-
cided not to mention the heiress’s tendency
for crazy ideas about what she wanted and
how she changed her mind about how to run
the casino about once a week. That was
something all long-term employees learned
to cope with. Not surprisingly, that was also
51/245
the reason why at only five years and change
with the Paradiso, Kelly was considered a
long-timer. “Anyway, you help make the
manicotti, and I’ll start on the lobster ravioli.
Trust me. On the strip, if you put anything
lobster on a buffet, it goes fast.”
“I can imagine,” Tina said. “But I
wasn’t sucking up. I’ve read about the
awards the Paradiso won last year in the
Vegas Cuisine-Off. The Paradiso’s so new, re-
latively speaking, but you all kicked some
Venetian ass in Italian food. That sounds like
it shouldn’t even be possible!”
“Thanks, I think,” Kelly said, winking
and turning to her own dishes. That lobster
wouldn’t shred itself. That was done by hand
and took more time than she’d like, but it
was one of their most popular dishes. It
brought people into the casino, people who
ended up staying to gamble. “That’s sweet.”
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It was nice to be lauded. Although,
Kelly knew she was talented, and she com-
manded the kitchen staff of the Paradiso
with aplomb and at times an iron fist.
However, it often burned. She desperately
wanted to run her own place.
In her dreams, she was back in New
York where she’d perfected her craft at culin-
ary school. She would be in a small place be-
cause the rent in NYC was insane, but she’d
have her name above the door and wouldn’t
be at the whims of what Monique Dawson
wanted. She’d be able to feel like she’d made
it. Her gig at the Paradiso was huge and paid
well, but it wasn’t what she’d dreamed of.
Besides, she was sick of Vegas’s con-
stant heat as well as the cacti and desolate,
brown view. She wanted to someplace with
seasons. Odd as it was, she missed
snow—even if NYC could get its share of
snowpocalypses—and she missed the way
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Fifth Avenue and Central Park were lit up
and decorated for Christmas. Vegas tried,
but it felt fake here out in the desert.
Kelly hadn’t always felt this way, but
since Alana was half a world away, she
yearned more and more to go home. Of
course, this was still, with all its ups and
downs, a once in a lifetime gig. She wasn’t
even twenty-eight yet and she had a job most
chefs would kill for. She couldn’t leave, and it
just made her feel more trapped. Her life of
late seemed to be lonely, isolated, and spent
petting her ornery cat Jasper late at night.
Without Alana, it just wasn’t the same and
dealing with Monique was wearing on her.
She smiled anyway and nodded her
encouragement back at her new sous-chef.
She had seven more hours to go, so it was
best not to get upset now. That was what her
after-work pint of Ben & Jerry’s was for.
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It would have stayed like that—the
quiet and almost zombie-like monotony—if
not for someone coughing behind her.
Kelly turned around, but she wasn’t
shocked to see the reed thin brunette tower-
ing over her. Monique Dawson was the heir-
ess to an old steel family that had seen the
coming tech boom and invested hard in the
1960s in medical equipment. She was worth
a couple billion alone, and that was the tip of
the iceberg with that family. Her boss had a
pinched, upturned nose and sharp, evaluat-
ing brown eyes with her chestnut hair in an
angled bob. Monique was also someone you
could expect ninety-nine times out of a hun-
dred to be sneering at you.
A winning personality wasn’t her
style.
“Kelly, how are you doing?”
55/245
“Fine. We have everything cooking for
the lunch buffet, and I’m thinking of doing a
swordfish special for the a la carte dinner
tonight.”
“That’s great. I’m glad you’re such a
food expert,” Monique said with a cloying
tone. It didn’t escape Kelly’s how the other
woman shook her head while running her
gaze over Kelly’s hips and curves.
“I live to serve the Paradiso.” Kelly
frowned at her. “Ms. Dawson, is there
something you wanted? You usually don’t
come to the kitchen.” Correction, she never
came here. It was clear something was on
her Prada-coifed mind.
Monique gave her a tight smile. Kelly
had seen great white sharks with safer grins.
“I decided we needed to revamp the buffet.
It’s great you have this Italian thing going
56/245
on, but do you know how many carbs and
saturated fats are in this?”
Kelly’s frown intensified. Of course
she knew. The cheese and cream sauces were
why it tasted so good. “People have liked it so
far.”
“Yes, but I want to go in a completely
different direction. I was hoping you could
work up a new fusion menu. Something
vegan.”
Kelly widened her eyes. She had to
have heard Monique wrong. It wasn’t as if
she didn’t know how to do health food
dishes, but that wasn’t her specialty. There
were a few low-carb and low-fat options to
order direct from the menu here at Paradiso
already. Her salads were well regarded, espe-
cially her grilled wasabi chicken. However,
going from Italian to vegan was a complete
180. The foods couldn’t be further apart, and
57/245
it wasn’t what their loyal customers and the
tourists they lured in expected.
“I can, but I’m confused.”
Monique glared down at her ample
hips one more time.
Kelly wanted to groan. Seriously, not
everyone could spend three hours on a tread-
mill and eat like Monique did. “I assumed so.
Look, I’ve decided we need a new healthy
angle. I felt since you’ve done so much to
build the kitchen’s reputation…”
No, Kelly had done everything. Before
her, the Paradiso wasn’t even in the top
twenty hotel destinations in Vegas. Now it
was well regarded enough for the food only
to be listed in the top ten best of ratings
consistently.
“Yes, I do try.”
58/245
“Exactly, so start showing me a vegan
fusion. Bring me your first sample dish to-
night, and we’ll see what we can do to really
rehab this place.”
Kelly swallowed hard. She wanted to
demand that Monique repeat herself. Not
that she hadn’t already heard the other wo-
man loudly and clearly, but rehab her ass.
Kelly had put this place on the map. Mo-
nique had to be kidding.
However, since she still needed a job
to avoid living in a box under an overpass,
she kept a strained smile planted on her face.
She could scream into a pillow later tonight
back at her apartment.
“I can work on that. I just…let me go
get the ingredients.”
***
59/245
Kelly was absolutely shocked as she
made her way through the labyrinthine halls
of the casino floor and passed the bar. It was
only eleven, but the floor never closed. A
casino that wasn’t open was a casino not
maximizing their profits. Besides, no natural
light was ever allowed in. There were no win-
dows where the games and slot machines
were. That was a trick to keep people
gambling that was as old as the city itself. It
also meant booze flowed freely at all hours.
After all, the only thing better—and more
prone to making mistakes—than an ex-
hausted gambler was a drunk, exhausted
gambler.
Just like Asam Hassem who she’d
been happy not to see for nearly nine
months, ever since the Ramadan festival
when she’d visited at the palace.
60/245
Kelly had hoped she wouldn’t be see-
ing him for several more months or even
decades. Decades was good.
“Are you kidding me?”
Asam winked back at her.
She tried to ignore how attractive he
was. The sheikh was over six feet tall with
dark, bronzed skin and hazel eyes that had
more flecks of gold in them than one would
think possible. His beard was longer than
she’d have preferred, but it felt wonderful
and enticing when they’d made out at his
brother Dharr’s bachelor party. His build
was that of a runner, lean but muscular. He
had dark, silky hair too. Something she also
knew thanks to the bachelor party was how
much fun it was to stroke her through those
curls.
Not that she’d let him know.
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Asam was also a rat bastard who ran
off with the first shiny thing he saw.
Someone who had gone from being so
friendly with her and truly seemed to care
about their conversation to just running off
with a stripper when Kelly had gone to get a
drink. He’d tried apologizing since, but she
didn’t understand his motives. Just because
her best friend and his brother were married
didn’t mean anything. They were both god-
parents to Gabriel, but that didn’t require
them to be lovers. It didn’t even mean they
had to be friends. All they had to do was not
actively fight on the rare occasions both of
them were in front of Gabriel together. Since
that happened once in a blue moon, it
shouldn’t be too hard.
Except Asam, sex god incarnate, was
sitting before her nursing a Scotch. He
smelled like a brewery already. He must have
had a long night and, by extension, an even
longer morning.
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“Seriously, what in God’s name are
you doing here?”
“A guy can’t get a drink?”
“A guy can’t stalk me.”
“I’m not, that would imply a concerted
effort, and I’m not famous for those,” he
said.
“Then there are hundreds of cocktail
lounges in Vegas, and you don’t need to be
on my turf,” she said, crossing her arms over
her chest. She was only 5-foot-4 and unlikely
to be intimidate him, but a girl could dream.
She was already having an very shitty day,
and it wasn’t even noon yet.
“I was just around, mon amie,” he
said.
63/245
“I thought you were setting up that
hotel and shopping complex back in Al-
Marasae?”
He flashed a grin at her. “So you do
care. You must have asked after me with
Alana.”
“Sometimes things come up in con-
versation. I know Faaid’s wife is expecting
their third, and that your mom has foot sur-
gery coming up. Don’t feel flattered.”
He stood, towering over her. He easily
had eight to nine inches on her. His smile
widened, and he reached out to stroke her
hair back from her face. “You should be
flattered. I came here to see you. I’ve missed
you, Kelly.”
“Between dating that actress from The
Avengers and your parade of models who
make Giselle look like a heifer?”
64/245
“None of them appeal to me like you
do, mon amie.”
“Well, as charming as you are even
with dragon breath and circles under your
eyes, I have a huge meal to plan for a de-
manding boss. So, I’m going have to take a
rain check. In fact, maybe it’ll be for the rest
of this century.”
Asam surprised her by kissing her. He
didn’t ask. His tongue tangled with hers, and
she felt arousal flare through her warm and
piercing. When he pulled back, his expres-
sion was pure smug self-satisfaction. “I think
you’re more interested than you let on.”
“Maybe you’ll learn to breathe under-
water or invent nuclear fusion too. Those
possibilities are about as likely.”
65/245
His eyes flashed with a hint of the ir-
ritation. “You’d do well not to defy me,
Kelly.”
“Aww,” she said, heading toward the
exit. “And here I thought that was what you
liked best about me.”
“You want me. Stop pretending you
don’t.”
“I want a lot of things, and you’re not
even on top of the list, Asam,” she replied be-
fore scurrying out of his way.
***
“So I balanced out the couscous with
an eggplant and asparagus roasted medley. I
feel the saffron and a hint of paprika add
more to the dish to eliminate blandness or
the potential for it. I have a similar concept
I’m playing with for a tofu dish so we can
66/245
have additional protein in it as well,” she
said, trying to stay upbeat and honest when
she put the dish before Monique.
The mogul chewed thoughtfully and
swallowed two to three bites, which might’ve
been a record for Ms. Dawson. Kelly suspec-
ted she’d be on the treadmill an extra half-
hour just to compensate. “It’s still a bit dry.”
“I can work on that. Perhaps I could
roast the eggplant and asparagus mixture in-
stead of grilling it.”
“Or maybe you’re not good at cooking
anything that doesn’t require loads of butter
and cream,” her boss said, pointedly. “Look I
accept that someone who looks like Melissa
McCarthy isn’t going to understand the need
for a healthy, vegan lifestyle…”
Kelly took a few deep breaths and re-
minded herself for the thousandth time that
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day that she needed this job, even if her boss
was an insulting ass. Besides, she was only a
size ten. Sure, that wasn’t tiny, but there was
no need for her boss to insult her.
Okay, maybe after the latest trip to Al-
Marasae and all the delicacies of the palace,
she was more like a twelve, but still... Not
that the double-zero mogul would know the
difference.
“I can retry my approach. It’s more
challenging with vegan, but I know I can do
this. I have a few colleagues back in New
York that I’m planning to visit in order to get
their input on their own approach to this. If I
had a week or two to revamp and not six
hours’ notice, I could create the healthy fu-
sion menu you’re looking for.”
“You have two weeks. Bring me twelve
dishes and three desserts to be used as the
new signature of Paradiso. I have to love
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them all, or I’ll find a real chef. Someone
who doesn’t use cheese as their default
ingredient.”
Kelly clenched her jaw but nodded
like a damn bobblehead. If she didn’t want to
be unemployed and in jail, it was the only
thing she could do to keep herself from deck-
ing her boss, even if Monique deserved it.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said,
barely waiting for Monique to leave before
she told Tina and Elan that she’d be starting
her two-week trip to New York today.
Anything to get away from this humiliation.
If her cheeks were a little wet as she
rushed from the kitchen, those weren’t tears.
She was too old for that, wasn’t she?
***
69/245
Chapter Four
It might be a self-evident statement,
but there were definite advantages to being
rich. Even though he was too intoxicated to
drive, he didn’t have to worry about it. The
limo he’d rented at the airport was waiting
for him at the side parking lot of the
Paradiso. Despite logic, he’d stayed at the
casino.
His time hadn’t been spent only nurs-
ing cocktails at the bar. He’d also gone to the
high roller table for poker and lost several
hands. If he had his inheritance for another
six months, he planned on enjoying it.
However, after seven hours of drink-
ing and playing cards, he was shuffling off to
his limo. The last person he expected to see
was a tearful Kelly Kentworth. The sight of
tears rolling down her cheeks stabbed into
his heart. The last thing he wanted was for
her to be upset. He’d been kicking himself
since he’d first seen her pain at Alana and
Dharr’s wedding. It burned that he’d hurt
her so long ago and hadn’t been able to make
amends, but seeing her so distraught now bit
him even harder, like fangs digging into his
flesh.
Even though he had to be the last per-
son she wanted to see, he couldn’t help but
check on her to see if against all impossible
odds that was something he could do to
make her feel better.
“Mon amie, what’s wrong?”
She snorted and pushed aside a
tangled strand of hair from her face. “Why
do you care?”
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“I care,” he said, stroking her cheek
and grateful she let him. He’d enjoyed steal-
ing the kiss from her earlier. After all, he was
a sheikh and a Hassem on top of that, damn
it. He had a right to whatever he wished, but
with Kelly, it really was true. A big part of the
thrill with her was the chase and her fiery
spirit. “You look upset. Is this about me?”
“Don’t assume, Asam. After all, it
makes an ass out of you and me.”
“Then it’s not from this morning?”
Kelly took a shuddering breath. “No,
it’s not about you. My boss is someone the
bitch from The Devil Wears Prada would
look up to, and she’s decided to vegan-ize
our menu. I only have a couple of weeks to
research the right recipes, or she’s replacing
me. In only five years, I built us up as the
best Italian in Nevada. Let’s not even men-
tion the way she talks to me. Sometimes it’s
72/245
so hard being stared at and treated like dirt
just because I’m a little heavier than some.”
He snorted and kept stroking her
cheek. Her soft skin was so supple under his
fingers. “You’re gorgeous, Kelly, and you
know it.”
She stepped back from him, and he
wanted to reach for her again. “Maybe not
gorgeous enough. I don’t even know why I
told you.”
“Because you trust me.”
“No, that’s not it. Maybe it’s because
you’re the only one I have any ties to in town
besides Jasper.”
He clenched his hands into fists at the
thought of this Jasper. After all this time,
had he been replaced? Had she finally found
73/245
someone? “Who’s Jasper?” he asked, trying
and failing hard to sound calm.
She smirked at him, the first expres-
sion she’d shown that wasn’t flat-out dis-
tress. “Oh he’s my rock—very reliable, sweet,
greets me when I get home after a hard day.”
“You live together?” he asked. Frus-
tration was roiling in his gut.
“Oh
yes.
He’s
so
strong
and
dependable.”
“So he’d be mad if I took you to a late
dinner?”
“Well, he’d be mad if I don’t bring him
any takeout tuna. Jasper’s my cat. I’m a liv-
ing cliché, I’m afraid.”
Asam breathed a sigh of relief and
hoped she didn’t notice. Kelly pursed her lips
74/245
in response. He had to admit there was
hardly anything that turned him on more.
“So you were just playing with me. I will see
you then, mon amie. You’re quite the sly
minx, aren’t you?”
“I’m a lot of things,” she said, hiccup-
ping a little. He was glad she wasn’t actively
crying anymore.
“I have a waiting limo, my dear.
Would you like to go to dinner? You pick.
Anywhere and I’ll whisk you away.”
“My own Prince Charming on call.”
“You said it,” he purred.
“Then you have some lofty expecta-
tions, my sheikh,” she said before bursting
out laughing. “I’ll take you someplace with
food I bet you haven’t had before, then we’ll
just relax.”
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“Oh, I like that.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not what you
think,” she said, shaking her head. “I need to
vent about that monster I work for, but we’re
not getting frisky. I haven’t abandoned all
my standards.”
“I think I can help you with that part.”
***
Asam frowned down at his food. He
enjoyed the plentiful mint juleps at Miss
Carol’s Soul Food Shack. He’d eaten South-
ern American cuisine before, most notably
down in New Orleans, but he’d assumed
from that experience the food was spicy and
often highlighted with sausage that he’d had
to verify was substituted for the turkey ver-
sion. He hadn’t expected to see a heaping
plate of fried chicken with waffles. Now that
was a new one.
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“Are you serious?”
She grinned and sipped down her
second mint julep of the night before asking
the waitress for a shot of bourbon. “It’s a
classic dish. You haven’t lived until you’ve
mixed sweet maple-syrup soaked waffles
with the richness of fried chicken. What?
You’ve traveled all over and never had a little
downhome cooking?”
“I’ve had gumbo.”
“That’s actually pretty specialized. Aw,
I’m so hurt, Asam. I thought you were well-
traveled.”
“I am, but I don’t get why you’re sup-
posed to mix breakfast food and fried fowl.”
She grinned again and dug into her
own plate. “Carol and I were a year or so
apart at the culinary institute we attended in
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New York. We’re not exactly friends, but it’s
always nice when a familiar face does well
out in here in Vegas. This town can be tough
and isolating. When anyone I know is
around and offers a friendly smile, I call that
a win. Besides, I’m just getting started. You
haven’t lived until you’ve had her pecan pie
for dessert with homemade whipped cream.
I might be good, but what Carol can do with
some shortening is a revelation.”
“So you say,” he added, jabbing at his
waffle. Maybe if he ate each of them one at a
time, then the combination wouldn’t seem so
odd.
“I do. This is one of the best restaur-
ants I’ve ever eaten at in my life, and I’ve
been to a lot of places, always testing out
what other chefs do. Seriously, my sheikh,
you need to get a bite of waffle and white
meat chicken on the same forkful. You’ve
never had anything like it.”
78/245
He arched an eyebrow back at her. “I
can bet that, but I’m still not so sure.”
“I’m definitely sure,” she said, prepar-
ing a fork for him that comprised of that ex-
act, eclectic mixture. “Come on, you’ll do it
for me. Humor a girl who’s had an utterly
shitty and terrible day, won’t you?”
“I am not sure I can be…” She shoved
the fork into his mouth in mid-sentence. An-
noyed, he chewed and, oddly enough, had to
admit the sweet waffle and the flavorful,
moist taste of chicken did work well togeth-
er. At least he should admit when he was
wrong. “But are you really that alone here?”
“Sometime I work fourteen-hour
days. It was one thing with Alana here. We
were the dynamic duo in middle and high
school. I was happy to reconnect with her
after culinary school. But it’s one thing when
you have a lifelong friend to hang out with
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you, and it’s something else entirely to make
friends as an adult. Even if I did have the
time, it’s not like I’m going to make buddies
at yoga or a pottery painting class.”
“Pottery class?”
“No, you just paint the already made
pieces. They fire the kiln for you so the colors
stick. It’s a little different,” she said, winking
back at him.
She was already halfway through her
bourbon, but he was far from one to judge
considering his intake today. It loosened her
up though, and this was the first real conver-
sation they’d had since they first met. He’d
never liked the posturing they did back and
forth, especially all her cutting and bitter
condescension. It was nice to be like this. If
he had to get down on a prayer mat and
thank hops and fermented grains for making
this possible, then he certainly would.
80/245
It was a nice change of pace.
“I never get some of those preppy
American hobbies. I figure if you have a
craps table available or a bit of liquor, then
you’re already having fun. Even going out to
a club, get that blood pumping with some
dancing.”
She snorted. “So that’s what they’re
calling it these days.”
“Well, I never said spare the down
and dirty on the floor. I’m far from strait-
laced, mon amie, but the idea of just sitting
around painting pottery is so dull that I can’t
even imagine how awful it is. If you’re going
to make time for yourself and have friends,
you might as well do something worthwhile.”
Kelly rolled her eyes. “I know your
style, Asam, so do most of the tabloids in the
Western world and the Middle East. Your
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idea of ‘worthwhile’ means you’re going to
sleep through half the models at a fashion
show.”
“Maybe I’m not as into that as I used
to be,” he added, gratified for just an instant
when she stilled and regarded him with
wide, hopeful eyes. They glittered like emer-
alds and haunted his dreams. Her eyes
stirred something desperate within him.
“Yes, you have a new and entrepren-
eurial side. I’m positive that doesn’t mean
you’re a choirboy. Hell, you couldn’t be fur-
ther from that, Asam.”
“Maybe that’s true. But if I have a new
passion and you have a boss driving you
nuts… It just seems you’re deeply unhappy,
and it’s more than the vegan decree or the
loss of Alana in your day-to-day life. Do you
care to share?” he asked, shoving another
combo of chicken and waffle in his mouth.
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Now that she had him hooked on it, the com-
bination was quite appealing. Maybe he
could give Omar, the palace chef, this recipe.
“See, I knew you’d like it,” she said,
puffing up her chest.
Kelly always had such gorgeous as-
sets, an ample cleavage he could bury his
face in for days if he got the chance. If only
he hadn’t given in to his wandering eyes the
day they’d first met... He had to focus. He
might yet be able to bring home a bride up to
his father’s stipulations. All Asam needed
was to be there as a shoulder for her to cry
on. Marriage edict or not, he’d have done
that for her gladly. He’d rarely seen someone
so broken up as Kelly in the parking lot just
an hour ago.
Asam waited for her to order yet an-
other bourbon before trying to prod at her
more. “Seriously, what do you really want? I
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can’t imagine why you’d want to stay here
where you’re so lonely and cook a style of
food I’m sure you could adapt to but have no
passion for.”
“I’d rather be picking out floor
swatches for the tile patterns to lure in Gucci
and Prada for your mini-mall.”
“First,
it’s
a
luxury
shopping
experience.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Second, it’s a lot more interesting
than going over troop arrangements or oil
well mechanics. I think it’ll be fun, but that
doesn’t answer my question. What do you
really want in life?”
She
sighed
and
her
shoulders
hunched over. For all her bluster and her
fiery tornado of a personality, Kelly was
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fairly small height-wise. She was a delicate
woman who had been trampled on far too
much lately, and Asam was only one of the
guilty people in that lineup.
“I’ve always wanted my own place. I
love working with my staff, and I’m proud of
the reputation I built with the Paradiso be-
fore Miss Dictator went all rabbit food, but
there’s nothing in the world like having your
own name on the marquee and being your
own boss. I wouldn’t have to jump through
hoops anymore or ever worry about things
like a complete menu change with no notice.
I could just be me.”
“That sounds like a good ambition.”
“Sure, of course!” she enthused,
maybe a little too loudly, but both of them
were pretty damn drunk by then. “But you
need capital. My plans for going to New York
are less about finding out good takes on
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vegan cuisine and more about putting feelers
out there if any of my old culinary school
friends need a sous-chef.”
“A what?” he asked, frowning back at
her, twitching his mustache just a little as he
did.
“A second in command. I’d take the
demotion to be away from Monique’s temper
and ever-changing line of bullshit.”
He reached out and took her hands.
“You should never settle for second best.
Why not open a place of your own?”
“I’ve done well enough, but not
enough to end up with the kind of capital I’d
need for the Big Apple. Even if I sold the
apartment Alana and I used to share… No
way. I’d never make it. The best I can do is
see if anything’s available and learn to love
tofu.”
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“I can’t help but feel that there has to
be something else.”
“Nope, nada. I’m lonely and screwed
but not in the good way. Ooh! Unless,” she
said, hiccupping again before breaking into a
riot of giggles. “I could at least be screwed in
the best possible way.”
“Come again?” he asked, feeling his
member harden and the strain it put on his
trousers. Certainly after almost two years of
hating him, Kelly wasn’t being serious.
“Take me back to whichever fabulous
penthouse suite you’re staying in tonight,
Asam. I’m sick of being lonely, and I’ve never
had a guy come all the way across a damn
ocean for me. Even if this is the bourbon
talking.”
“And the liquor in the mint julep,
that’s probably helping too.”
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She nodded; her gorgeous green eyes
went almost impossibly wide. “I know it is.
I’m not asking for a choir of angels or
forever, Asam. I just want to feel less crappy
for one night. You’re not sober or a saint
either.”
But I want you for more than just a
night, and I don’t want to be someone you
regret when you sober up.
He didn’t say that out loud. He’d
learned from his father that sheikhs didn’t
speak their true feelings. After all, their will
was law as it had been for thousands of years
among their tribes. There was no need to ex-
press yourself when your subjects had to
comply with your every command. Asam
didn’t take it to that extreme, but he’d always
hidden any doubts he might have behind sar-
casm and his own bombastic presence.
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If this was the only chance he had
with Kelly, he’d take it. If she came back to
his place, he might be able to convince her
further and explain his brilliant marriage
plans. Screw it. If she were too resistant, he
could always do as his older brother did and
conscript her. It wasn’t his preference, but
his father was forcing his hand, and he
wanted no one but the fiery blonde next to
him.
The first step was spending more time
with her.
He stood and reached out his hand,
grabbing her smaller one. “Come with me,
mon amie, and you’ll see everything I can of-
fer you.”
***
“You know,” she said, pulling out one
of chairs in the kitchen.
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The suite had a massive dining room
with Chippendale furniture in it, items that
looked like they were inspired colonial mon-
strosities—massive and covered in silk fabric
on the seats. The kitchen was more humble
with a small table and chairs.
Kelly sat on one of those. No, sitting
was too polite a word. She spun it around so
she could straddle it suggestively. Asam
loathed that she was wearing those puffy
chef’s pants festooned with cartoon red pep-
pers. Had she been wearing a skirt, then it
would’ve been a party.
As if she were reading his mind or,
perhaps, his body language, she arched her
back and let her hair fall farther down her
back. “I did do one thing to try and get in
better shape.”
“You’re perfect as you are,” he said,
licking his lips and shifting from foot to foot.
90/245
Hopefully, she didn’t notice the massive
erection he sported under his slacks, but ac-
tually, he hoped she did. He’d never made it
a secret of how much he wanted her, and
now as she toyed with him in the ultimate cat
and mouse game, he wanted her even more.
“You don’t need to change a thing.”
“My boss implies I’m fat all the time.”
“Your boss is a twat,” he said, circling
the chair and reaching out to cup the sump-
tuous mounds of her rear. “You’re a vision.
Trust me.”
“You date models!”
“But I’ve always appreciated those
with a little extra curves for my comfort,” he
whispered in her ear before he leaned closer
to nibble at her neck. She shivered as he did
it, her body shuddering under those gentle
ministrations, and he decided to up the ante
91/245
by running his beard scruff against the
smooth skin of her throat.
She shuddered again and started to
grind her hips into the seat of the chair. His
erection was so hard that it was difficult to
think straight. Maybe that’s exactly what this
minx of his had planned all along.
If it was, she was more than welcome
to her plots. He was one hundred percent
supportive of them, after all.
“It’s funny.”
“How so?” he purred, continuing to
caress her cheeks as she writhed for him.
“Well, Alana said she’d taken up belly
dancing and was even—and don’t tell Dharr
since
it’s
a
surprise
for
their
an-
niversary—learning the Dance of the Seven
Veils.”
92/245
His length twitched under the Italian
silk of his pants, and he instantly felt jealous
of his older brother. What a thoughtful wife
Dharr had, how kind of her to think of
something that would make her husband so
joyous for their anniversary. Maybe both
friends were surprisingly daring under the
surface and that was why Kelly and Alana hit
it off in the first place.
A man could dream.
“And?”
“And I was taking an exercise class in
chair dancing. If you put on some music, I’d
love to show you my pathetic, out-of-date
moves.”
He walked around to her front. If
Kelly was offering to seduce him, who was he
to complain? Pulling out his phone, he
skimmed through his Pandora stations quick
93/245
enough to select some vintage Britney
Spears. It was far from his chosen style, but
few singers fit the chair dancing aesthetic as
well as the former Mousketeer.
The booming bass filled the suite,
dulled only by the phone’s small speakers.
Then the singer started her usual deep-
voiced moan. As this momentum started to
build, Kelly stood up. He groaned at that. His
own lust rushed through his veins even as he
feared this might all be a come-on. His heart
pounded in his chest, sending blood to
harden his member as she began to circle the
chair with a slow, sultry strut.
With every step she took, Kelly sash-
ayed her hips in invitation. His eyes focused
on her rear, on the interplay of taut muscles
and luscious curves working as she moved
deliberately. Then she put one foot up
quickly and in time with the music on the
chair seat. There was a shout from Britney
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on the soundtrack, and Kelly arched her
back, this time pushing up her breasts into
the air, the pert mounds stretching against
the fabric of her cotton T-shirt. He was glad
she’d worn white today. It gave him a
glimpse of her black bra underneath.
She put her leg down again and
stepped maybe a foot away from the chair.
As the music continued to boom out, she
bent low and slipped off her pants with a
practiced flourish, revealing her pale, creamy
legs underneath and matching ebony panties
riding low on her hips.
Kelly sauntered around the chair, let-
ting him glimpse her rear through the slats
of the chair. She shocked him by grabbing
the chair’s high back and thrusting her hips
against it, letting out a moan as she did. If it
were possible to be jealous of an inanimate
object, then Asam was. She thrust again and
pushed the soft mounds of her breasts
95/245
against the chair’s back as well. Kelly
straddled the seat, arching her back and ex-
posing the sweet expanse of her pale throat
to the light.
Asam took that as his cue and stepped
forward, leaning down to kiss her throat. She
shivered beneath him and mewled. He was
so hard that it was almost criminal. He con-
tinued his ministrations, teasing her with the
scruff of his beard, grazing it against the soft
flesh there. Then he trailed his mouth to her
lips and kissed her firmly, his lips and
tongue tangling with her own, teasing and
tantalizing her. His hands caressed lower,
cupping the soft curves of her breasts.
She moaned again, and he gently
pulled on her shoulders.
“Come, I have so much I want to do
with you.”
96/245
She snorted. “I’m drunk, but I’m
not…not all the way. I’ll regret this tomorrow
when the bourbon and mint juleps wear off.”
“No, I was thinking of nothing more
than pleasing you and giving you everything
you deserve, mon amie.”
Her gorgeous emerald eyes lit up like
the neon strip of Vegas itself, and she
sauntered to the bed before him. Asam rel-
ished the view of her pert ass as she wiggled
it before sliding into bed.
“I’ll need your panties off.”
Kelly smirked back at him, and he
loved that look daring him to go forward. She
might not be up for everything tonight, and
neither was he. However, she was game to
play, and it had probably been too long for
both of them. If Dharr’s words were true,
Kelly was lonely of late and so was he. Asam
97/245
might have had other women to explore, but
they left him cold and wanting. The passion
warmed him now, that blaze of lust, hadn’t
burned brightly since the last time he had
Kelly at his mercy.
Kelly lifted her hips and slipped off
her panties, tossing them to the floor. He
licked his lips in anticipation at the sight of
the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. They
were as light as her hair, and it was an even
bigger turn-on for him to realize she was a
natural blonde. He’d always loved the look of
Western women, that pale complexion, so
like a china doll. Not that his spitfire was fra-
gile or doll-like, but she was enticing.
Leaning
down,
he
inhaled
her
scent—smooth and alluring, like cinnamon
and her own aroma. With his fingers, he
pushed her most sensitive lips apart and
stuck out his tongue, slowly tasting her
pleasure nub. She shuddered and cried out
98/245
his name followed by a quick curse. It en-
couraged him to continue. He slid his finger
inside her, while his tongue flicked quickly
over her clit. She screamed and arched her
back as he continued his pleasuring her. Her
sweet dew seeped from her core, and it was
all encouragement—her shuddering body,
her wetness, and her desperate cries. All of it
was a sign of how much he could affect her,
of the heights he could send her to.
She climaxed with a scream and her
hips bucked. “Asam, oh my God!” She
reached her hand out to him.
He grinned as he pulled away, then
went to the suite’s bathroom to wipe off his
mouth and beard. As he strode back in, his
smile
widened.
Leaning
against
the
doorframe, Asam regarded his goddess, tak-
ing in the way she panted and how it left her
breasts bobbing up and down before him.
99/245
She was everything he’d ever wanted,
and he was so damn sorry he’d wandered off
with that dancer and set them back for two
years. He was even sorrier that once she
couldn’t blame everything on alcohol, Kelly
would run again. That was the last thing he
wanted. Hell, it was why even above his fath-
er’s edicts he’d come to America again.
He needed her, and he would have
her.
“What?” she said when she finally
seemed capable of rational thought. “What’s
going on?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I
feel
like
you’re
scheming
something.”
He chuckled and slipped into bed with
her. “Only how I’m going to ravish you next.”
100/245
***
101/245
Chapter Five
Kelly blinked awake with what felt like
a wild animal trying to claw its way out of
her head. Her mouth was dry and tasted like
the floor of a taxicab. The light streaming
through the window just made her headache
worse. Rolling over onto her side, she
grabbed a pillow and thought of suffocating
herself with it. At least it would work faster
than Excedrin.
“Ugh, I drank way too much last
night,” she groaned, confused when her voice
echoed throughout the room.
That was odd.
She had a comfortable apartment, a
place she loved, actually, but it wasn’t large
enough to breed echoes. Confused, she sat
up quickly in bed and groaned when the
whiplash involved worsened her already ra-
ging migraine. The room before her was
large, luxurious, and decorated with the
finest marble and other embellishments.
Wait. Was she in the Bellagio?
Snaking her head around, she noticed
the kitchen table before her and the arrange-
ment of fruits, deli meats, and even omelets
and pastries. It was a smorgasbord fit for a
king…or a sheikh.
Oh God, I thought that was a dream
last night. Did I really get drunk with
Asam?
She looked down at herself and real-
ized she was completely naked under the
sheets. Parts of last night came back, al-
though not everything, just flashes—the
drinking at Miss Carol’s, the chair dance, and
even the amazing feel of his tongue on her
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most hidden regions. There were other
things on her mind too, and she felt like
they’d eventually gotten dressed and gone
back out after some fun, but that part was
fuzzier.
Sighing, she climbed out of bed and
started looking for her clothes. The first
thing she saw was a slinky gold sequined
dress on the floor. There was no way her
night had gotten extra wild, but then she dis-
missed that most outlandish of thoughts
when she looked at the tag and realized it
was in her size.
The hell? When did I get dressed up
and why?
Then she looked down at her left hand
and froze in disbelief. There was a massive
gold wedding ring with an even bigger, more
impressive diamond engagement ring. Eat
your heart out, J. Lo.
104/245
“What the hell did I do?”
“We both had quite the time,” Asam
said, stepping back into the room. “I’m sorry.
I left breakfast for you, but I just got back
from running an errand.”
“What kind? What the fuck is going
on?” she demanded, rounding on him and
trying to ignore the momentary flash of hurt
in his hazel eyes. “Did you do something to
me?”
Asam held up his own left hand on
which a man’s wedding ring gleamed. “We
did this to each other. Miss Carol’s mixed
drinks and the best shots that the Blue Suede
Casino had to offer early this morning helped
with that.”
“With what?”
105/245
He shrugged and handed her a stack
of papers. “We got married last night. So
congratulations to you, Sheikha Hassem.”
She slapped him across the cheek, and
he recoiled with the motion. It was a terrible
idea on her part. Before she could move
again, he grabbed both her wrists tightly in
his hands.
Asam glared down at her, his nostrils
flaring wide. “If I were you, I would not
strike me again, mon amie. Some actions are
foolish even for newly minted royalty.”
Her heart raced, thudding hard before
his strong gaze. Most of her trusted Asam.
He could be a conceited ass and a woman-
izer, but he lacked the bitter and dangerous
edge of his elderly father. There was no reas-
on to think he would strike her, despite the
ancient customs of Al-Marasae.
106/245
The Hassem brothers had worked to
modernize so much, and yet he was restrain-
ing her. She wasn’t sure if he could keep a
clamp tightly enough on his emotions not to
go further. It was intoxicating in a weird way,
even in her panic. It was like having a tiger
by the tail, some beautiful, powerful being
who was all hers…if she wanted him.
That time had already passed. Now
he’d gotten her drunk and married her.
She was furious over this. No matter
how much the tingle between her legs and
the heat flaring through her stomach told her
otherwise. “Did you do this on purpose?”
“No more than you did. I guess I don’t
handle my sixth shot of tequila while
gambling as well as I thought. I am asking
for the security feeds soon because it’s all
fuzzy. Of course, it can be annulled.”
107/245
“Well then, let’s get over to whatever
court we need to and do that. We can Britney
Spears this and be unmarried in less than
twelve hours.”
Asam dropped her wrists, and she
tried not to mourn the loss of contact.
Come on, Kelly, focus. Don’t let him
give you the puppy dog eyes!
Even if seeing Asam offended did
wound her, it wasn’t a reason to stay mar-
ried. Sure, he’d been able to lead her to an
orgasm that had blown her mind, but that
didn’t make up for his untrustworthy nature
or the way he’d torn into her before. Besides,
she had to save her job at Paradiso. The last
thing she had time for was trying to make the
best of a crazy Vegas wedding.
“We don’t have to fix this.”
108/245
“I think we do. This isn’t at all what
either of us wants. After all, isn’t there a su-
permodel or a fire-eater or some dancer you
should be dating?”
His nostrils flared again and he shook
his head. “I am sorry for what happened at
Dharr’s engagement party, but maybe this is
another chance. We had fun last night, at
least what I can remember. You can’t deny
that.”
She shuddered and took in a deep
breath. It was getting even harder to speak,
to think. A huge part of her had obsessed and
longed for Asam for almost two years. Every
time she’d visited Alana in Al-Marasae, it
had bitten into her, not just petty jealousy of
her best friend’s happiness and stability but
having to be near Asam and his whole fam-
ily. Every time she’d catch him in the palace
halls, every fight they’d had at the few holi-
days she’d been there, every single time had
109/245
twisted her heart more and fanned the
flames of her desire.
“There is something,” she admitted,
her voice barely a whisper. “I can’t deny that.
I do feel it, but I have to be in New York and
you’ve hurt me before and—” She let out a
sharp breath when he stroked her cheek.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I didn’t mean for this to
happen,” he said, gesturing to the rings as if
she’d been confused on that point.
“But now that is has, we have to be re-
sponsible, get this over with, and move on
with our lives!”
“Why?”
She frowned and backed away from
him. “Are you serious? I have a plane to
catch tonight to NYC to talk with my culinary
110/245
friends. If that wasn’t enough, I have less
than two weeks to please my boss. I have to
make sure I have something left to my name,
and if learning about vegan food is what I
have to do, then that’s it. I don’t have time to
be married, and I’m sure you have a lot of
prep with the Oasis project. I’ve heard
enough from Alana to know it must be
massive.”
“You don’t want to cook vegan food,
and I just went over specs with Dharr two
days ago. We’re running well on schedule.
What you want is to cook for yourself. You
said as much before, and even if I hadn’t
tasted the dishes you’ve made for the family
before...well, Alana rambles on about how
amazing you are. You’d hate being a vegan
chef and you know it.”
“But
my
paycheck
comes
from
Paradiso, so whatever Monique Dawson
wants, she’ll get. After all, I don’t have any
111/245
guarantees. If I leave her, I could be done.
She can more than work to blacklist me in
the middle of a hissy fit. It’s not as if I
haven’t seen her do it to other staff, even the
damn lounge acts and dancers. I need this
job.”
“Then start a restaurant of your own,
mon amie,” he said, grinning back at her.
Some of the frustration seemed to drain from
the depth of his hazel eyes.
“Yes, of course, I’ll just start a New
York eatery with no capital. Why didn’t I
think of that?” she huffed.
“I have money.”
She frowned back at him. “If you
think you can buy me like some who…”
“No,” he said calmly, holding up his
hands before her. “Just an experiment. You
112/245
try being married to me for a week. I’ll take
you to a great vacation, and let you know
how great being a sheikha can be. If you still
hate it, fine. You walk, and I’ll give you ten
million for your trouble.”
Her eyes were wide. That made no
sense. Had he started speaking in another
language? Had she blacked out? Hell, was
this all a dream spurred on from too much
drinking over her crappy boss? Maybe she
wasn’t even here. Why would he want to im-
press her so much? He’d already run out on
her before.
How could anyone think she was ten
million dollars for a week?
She’d never felt like that before. While
she’d dated before and had a few close boy-
friends over the years, she’d been so career
focused that it was what she’d clung to more.
Besides, even with the flirting and fun, she
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was never the woman a man kept around.
She was curvy and far plainer than Alana,
who everyone had always adored with her
turquoise eyes and flowing brown hair. How
could he feel this way?
But hadn’t she told Alana to enjoy the
fun and give Dharr a chance before? Look at
how happy that made her friend. Maybe she
could take her own advice. At least for a
week, if she could bury the resentment in her
heart, then she could have fun and with a
gorgeous guy to boot.
“So if I take off with you for a week,
you’ll give me ten million to start my own
restaurant? No strings attached?”
“It’s not quite like that.”
“Oh.”
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“No,” he continued, starting to pace.
“If you don’t want to stay, then take the
money. At least it’ll make you happy, and
we’ll annul everything. I’ll call our best law-
yer on it. But you have to be honest. If you
want to stay, don’t just run. Don’t be as
dumb as I was.”
“I…”
“Give it a week, search your heart, and
we’ll go from there. Can you agree to that?
Wouldn’t a week with me in an exotic locale
being a sheikha be better than a New York
trip? Even if you leave and want it all over
with, you will still have a week to do your re-
search. So, what do you say, mon amie,
won’t it be worth it?”
But you might hurt me more. It’s not
like we’ve had such great encounters before.
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She didn’t say that aloud. She didn’t
know how. It felt that if she voiced those
words, she’d collapse on the floor before him
and maybe shatter like china. The best thing
she could do was never admit to weaknesses,
and one of her biggest was one Sheikh Asam
Hassem.
“You have a deal...so what’s next?”
***
“Wait?” she said, as he poured her a
glass of Perrier and handed her another as-
pirin. She wasn’t going to drink again for a
long time. She just felt too shaky and off-kil-
ter to eat or drink anything that wasn’t a nice
glass of water. She needed her wits about
her. Asam knocked her off balance enough to
begin with. “So I’m confused. Where are we
going again?”
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“Abu Dhabi. It’s the capital of the Un-
ited Arab Emirates and one of the great jew-
els of the Middle East. I know you’re already
familiar with the palace and Marasimaq, but
I thought something completely new would
be better,” he added, stroking his beard and
picking up a bottle for himself.
“So you think if you wine and dine
me, my husband,” she said, stretching out
the word playfully. “You think then I’ll stay.”
He shook his head and set the bottle
down. “No, I think you’re one hell of a wo-
man who deserves to be treated like the roy-
alty you are. I messed up big-time, and I
have one shot to make it up to you. I am
more than eager to do so.”
That was a sweet thought if maybe a
little too late. Kelly wasn’t even sure what
could truly make the hurt better. To be fair,
she’d added salt to her own wounds and his
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over the years, sniping back and forth with
him, but this was just so much.
“I’m hardly Cinderella,” she said, de-
ciding to keep her tone playful.
All she had to do was treat this like
any other date. Since humor was her chief
defense mechanism, the joke just rolled off
her tongue.
He reached out and brushed her hair
back from her face. “I’d call you Rapunzel
before I called you anything else,” he con-
ceded. “Besides, I don’t want you to be a Dis-
ney princess.”
“Oh, so you had something else in
mind?” she asked, quirking her lips at him.
There was something so devilish in
Asam’s smile that she couldn’t help but stare
more closely. He emphasized his point by
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licking his lips, and it made her think of what
his mouth had done to her last night, feeling
of that skillful tongue as he drove his fingers
deep inside her and the sweet tickling of his
neatly trimmed beard. He was a breathtaking
man, built like a lean runner or soccer play-
er. But that hint of gold in his eyes, the mis-
chievous promise of pleasure and so much
more made her want to do whatever he was
offering, or at least try.
At worst, she’d have ten million dol-
lars and a whopping story for the rest of her
life.
If her heart broke during the
shenanigans, then at least she’d have enough
money to cobble it back together.
“Well,” he said, standing up and slip-
ping off his blazer. “I was thinking of starting
with a bit of fun. Have you ever had the
pleasure of joining the Mile High Club?”
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She blushed and bit her lower lip,
channeling her inner coquette. “Everyone’s
heard of it, but I never had an offer. Besides,
trying to jam myself into some gross and tiny
bathroom on an American Airlines jet would
be the absolute worst thing in the world.”
“Then you’re fortunate we have a jet.
The pilots have a soundproof cabin.”
“I assume a necessity for any sheikh
on the go.”
“Or any other billionaire playboy I as-
sure you,” Asam said, beginning to unbutton
his shirt.
She grinned and stood, deciding if she
had promised to try her hardest for a week
and be as open as possible, then she needed
to follow through. Reaching down, she
slipped off her shirt and fumbled with the
buttons of her jeans. “I’ll only go so far. I
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don’t…”Kelly said, trailing off, blushing.
“Let’s see how the week goes. But what did
you have in mind?”
“I want to feel you again, but I’ll do
whatever you want, mon amie.”
She grinned and slipped completely
out of her clothes, standing there before him
in all her glory. With some men, she was
aware of how limited her appeal could be.
She felt her thighs were too big and her hips
too wide. She had some extra around her
middle, and while she was a curvy
ten—maybe a twelve on bad days—Kelly
rarely felt beautiful.
The way a now shirtless Asam re-
garded her made her feel highly desirable.
Hell, the intensity of his gaze made her feel
as if she were a preydangling before him and
that he was still her raging tiger, ready to
pounce forth and claim her.
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Heat warmed her stomach and wet-
ness began to pool between her legs. How
could Asam have this kind of effect on her?
How could he be so utterly delicious and the
one man she wanted to ravish on sight, no
questions asked? It wasn’t even a sheikh
thing. She felt no need to be near Dharr or
Faaid, married or not. But with Asam, it was
as if she were a satellite and gravity pulled
her closer to him.
“I’m yours, my sheikh, and you can do
anything you want with me,” she said, run-
ning one finger over her chest, bringing her
index finger down to stroke her nipple and
tease it into a firm, hard bud. She licked her
lips and bit her lower one again, staring at
Asam through her heavy-lidded eyes. “What
will you do to me?”
“Everything,” he breathed, stalking
forward like a wild jungle cat ready to tackle
his prey.
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Every motion was a fluid masterpiece,
purely silky and graceful. His body was quite
a sight to behold as well—lean muscle gave
way to ripped abs so compact and tight the
average Hollywood hunk would be desperate
for them. A small trail of hair dipped from
his belly button under the button of his
slacks, promising her so many things to
come. He was perfection incarnate and, at
least for this week, he was hers to do with as
she wished.
Asam was there then, cupping her
breast with his left hand and reaching down
to stroke her stomach. His fingers trailed
over the expanse of her abdomen, reaching
down playfully into her belly button as they
passed over her. Soon they were working
their way through her pubic hair even as his
mouth found her perky right nipple. His
tongue flicked out over the hardened peak,
and it felt like sparks flying across her body,
radiating up from her sensitized nipple.
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Kelly moaned and spread her legs, en-
couraging his access even further. His fingers
found their way to her hidden lips. Asam
stopped there, letting his forefinger and
thumb stroke over the sensitive flesh there.
She licked her lips and arched her neck back,
the mewling noises already rising from her
throat. She needed him, had always needed
him, and she could allow herself to enjoy
this.
To
enjoy
her
husband—however
they’d come to be like that—for the week she
had.
“Please, Asam, I need more!”
He wrapped his eager lips around her
pink nipple and suckled there. Kelly felt
everything then—her heart hammering in
her chest, the way the hair of his beard
prickled her skin, and even the plane’s
bumps and dips.
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Unlike sex on the ground, there was
an off-kilter craziness to this. The pilots wer-
en’t bad or erratic. However, the jet reacted
to the turbulent air around them. It took bal-
ance and work to keep herself on her feet.
Not that Asam wouldn’t catch her. Of
course, he would. Emotionally, it was so hard
to trust him, even for this week. But when it
came to his physical strength and his chiv-
alry, she had every bit of faith in the world
that he’d never let her fall.
His fingers reached continued their
search, no longer content just to stroke her.
He thrust two larger fingers deeply inside of
her, and his thumb firmly pressed against
her most sensitive spot. Asam rubbed her in
circles there. She fought her instinct to
clamp her thighs around him, and almost
failed as he flicked his tongue over her
nipple.
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Sparks exploded behind her closed
eyelids, and she had to slam her mouth shut
to avoid screaming his name. Maybe the
cockpit was soundproofed, but Kelly didn’t
want to test that theory. She’d be mortified if
the captain or co-pilot knew what they were
doing. She was a good girl, after all. Hell,
she’d never been this daring. That was for
damn sure.
Maybe that was the old Kelly. This
Kelly—who was Sheikha Hassem for a
week—she could do anything she wanted.
Asam picked up his pace, and her legs
almost gave out from under her as her knees
turned to jelly under his ministrations. His
fingers filled her core with a heat she
couldn’t have anticipated all while his tongue
traced patterns over her tender skin. The
heat that flared in her stomach earlier was
now going nova all around her, and Kelly
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saw a universe of colors and patterns explod-
ing and reshaping behind her eyelids.
It was all quite the trip, but nothing
compared to when she came.
The shock of energy ripped through
her, her knees finally collapsed. She felt her-
self being pulled back up and cradled in
strong arms. In Asam’s arms. He leaned
down and kissed her cheeks and her lips. His
tongue tasted of peanuts from the flight but
also of him and the pleasure he offered her.
The musk of his cologne and the scent of saf-
fron caressed her nose.
Satiated and feeling light as a feather,
she looked back at him and grinned. “That’s
definitely the best flight I’ve ever had.”
“I’m glad. We can do whatever you
wish. There’s a shower—for one, I’m
afraid—and a bed in back. If you need to
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clean and rest before we arrive in the UAE,
I’d more than understand.”
“I think I should,” she said, frowning
at how desperately she needed some water.
“After all of this, you’ll show me Abu Dhabi?
Show me what a ‘jewel of the Middle East’ is
supposed to look like?”
“Mon amie, that’s the biggest promise
I’ve ever made, and nothing could keep me
from delivering on it.”
***
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Chapter Six
“I don’t understand. Are you sure you
even want this?” he asked, frowning back at
the purchase Kelly had shoved into his
hands.
She wasn’t perturbed or stopped at all
by his reticence. She knew it was a quirky re-
quest. After going to the hotel and a first
evening spent luxuriating in one another
other’s arms, she’d shaken off the jet lag and
her hangover and was now ready to see the
sights.
They’d started with the Women’s
Market. It wasn’t what she’d expected. In her
head, she had this image of a long stretch of
makeshift stalls with women setting their
blankets or tarps up directly in the swirling
sands of the desert.
It was nothing like that.
The market was a permanent installa-
tion with tiled walkways, trees, and other fo-
liage planted all around. Each stand had a
permanent awning. They also had gleaming
white poles reaching to an overhanging roof,
decorated with cut wood and gold shapes
above. Open enough to feel the breeze, but
still protected by a roof and tile. The place
was a flash of modernity and grace inter-
woven with the chills and thrills of open-air
shopping.
She loved it.
There were various handcrafts—hand-
made silk slippers, beautiful rugs of varying
geometric patterns that one could watch be-
ing woven, and of course, gorgeous shawls
and other coverings. What she’d fallen in
love with as she sat beside one of the
weavers, watching the woman’s deft hands
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move faster than Kelly would have thought
humanly possible was...well…both eccentric
and probably underwhelming.
She wasn’t earning cool chick of mys-
tery street cred, and she knew it.
“Really?” Asam asked as he stared
down at the object, passing it back and forth
between his hands. “I’ve come to show you
the wonders of the Middle East, everything
that you could want at your grasp. There are
some of the finest silks in the world here,
some of the most beautiful shawls, and even
outfits for beneath one’s robes. I show you all
of this, and you want a camel?”
Grinning, she surged to her feet. “He’s
not just any camel! His name is Carl, and
he’s great.”
“Now you’re just putting me on, my
sheikha,” he quipped.
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Kelly chuckled and gestured to the
small model, one carved expertly from wood
and adorned with its own miniature, hand-
woven blanket in a rainbow of riotous
stripes. The tiny load he carried on his back,
with its white tassels and soft feathers, was
too adorable to believe. It would be a perfect
addition to her apartment back home, as-
suming poor Jasper didn’t shred it first. Cats
tended to get into everything, like wrecking
balls with claws and feet.
“I love it. I’ve never gotten anything
gaudy and touristy back in Al-Marasae. I’d
be too embarrassed to get something so
crazy in front of Alana.”
“But for me, then more camels.”
“He’s so cute, and I have the perfect
spot for him on my mantel.”
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“Why does an apartment in the desert
even need a fireplace?”
“It’s for the effect. It’s romantic, isn’t
it?” she asked, then gave a small squeal as he
handed the coins over to the small woman
before them. “See?” She threw her arms
around his neck. “Was it really so hard?
Besides, isn’t Carl the best?”
“He’s an acquired taste. I was hoping
to tempt you with jewelry and finery befit-
ting my queen.”
“You’re not the heir who rules,” she
replied, slipping her arm around his elbow.
“Besides, I’m quirkier than you’d think.”
“I saw your pepper pants for work. A
whole circus of clowns could wear them.”
“They’re chef pants,” she griped,
bringing a hand to her chest in mock horror.
133/245
“We are allowed to be decorative and have
some flair.”
“Sure,” he said drolly, even as he car-
ried little Carl under his arm. She narrowed
her eyes at him, hoping Asam knew that
humming organ grinder music would be a
massive mistake and might cost him an eye.
“Very P.T. Barnum, I loved it.”
“Well,” Kelly said, eyeing the colorful
array of spices set out before them. “I have
the distinct advantage of making anything
sexy.”
He kissed her lips, and she loved the
way his tongue expertly stroked her own. “I
wholeheartedly agree with that assessment,
my sheikha.”
***
“I’ve never seen anything like this.”
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“You’ve been to mosque before,” he
pointed out.
“Yes, the grand one in Marasimaq is a
sight to behold. I’m not saying it isn’t.”
Asam grinned back at her. “Yes, the
wonders of my home city must always trump
those of the other cities around me. Of
course, mon amie, I know exactly how you
feel. The first time I ever saw it, I think my
jaw hit the floor. There’s a very good reason
Sheikh Zayed’s Grand Mosque is called ‘The
Pearl of Abu Dhabi.’ There are few wonders
of the world more exquisite.”
“That’s not even the half of it,” she
said, spinning around in the great expanse of
the main plaza before the mosque’s entrance.
The sapphire sky above her was vi-
brant, contrasting gorgeously with the huge
ivory turrets, ones that reached high into the
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air and ended in brilliant gleaming gold
poles. The mosque itself was a huge series of
alabaster cupolas, standing high and vibrant
against the plaza below.
It was almost as overwhelming as pic-
tures of the Taj Mahal, and Kelly felt dwarfed
standing before it. Perhaps the most eye-
catching part of the holy place’s plaza and
garden was the white marble beneath her
feet, which was adorned with sweeping green
vines and vibrant yellow and crimson
blossoms.
She pulled the long, black veil over
her face, deciding it was best to be deferen-
tial to the customs within the mosque.
Beside her, Asam wore traditional flowing
white robes for entering the holy place. He
wrapped an arm around her, pulling Kelly
close to his side as they passed under the
large keyhole-shaped arches. The towering
structures rose above them to maybe fifteen
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or twenty feet. Their tops were covered in
layered gold leaf.
She grinned as she stepped deeper in-
to the heart of the mosque. The carpet be-
neath her was richly woven with a multi-
pointed star in red and gold at her feet. It
had so many interconnected points that it
looked more like an octagon or some other
polygon. Everything was intricate and ex-
quisite, from the lovely golden script on the
white walls to the huge chandelier overhead
made of twisted bronze like snakes curling
together with red and green blown glass balls
hanging beneath that.
Unlike the church she’d abandoned in
her youth, this house of worship was one of
the most creatively designed and breathtak-
ing places she’d ever seen. It was truly lovely,
and she grinned up at Asam as they both
took it all in.
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“This is like something out of a fairy
tale, even. Yours back home is lovely, but
this is like a dream or a legend come to life.”
“Yes, it is. Perhaps Al-Marasae
shouldn’t fall behind. Should I suggest to
father that we need a Sheikh Azhaar Hassem
mosque in Marasimaq? Perhaps we need to
keep up with the Joneses?” he asked, arching
his eyebrow with devilish aplomb and caus-
ing her to laugh riotously.
A few of the older worshippers in the
mosque looked at both of them, and she
sobered up. The last thing she wanted to do
was appear to be a typical American in the
middle of all of this.
The large bell rang out throughout the
main hall, and the Imam stepped forward to
call to prayer. To show her respect, she got
quietly to her knees and bowed her head low.
In turn, she watched as Asam prostrated
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himself, honoring the customs of his people.
Today, in this one moment, she felt joined
with him. It was more about feeling the
weight of his culture and his heritage and his
trust that he wanted to share this special
place with her. It wasn’t attending a cere-
mony for Gabriel or something more formal.
No. This was Asam letting her more deeply
into his life.
For that, Kelly was deeply grateful.
She kept her head bent and marveled at the
fact that for six more days, he was hers.
***
Kelly leaned back on the blue silk pil-
lows beneath her. The soothing sound of the
waves, almost black in the evening echoed
around both of them. The beach around Yas
Island was alluring, and it looked like the
bluest water during the day, like something
you’d see in the Caribbean.
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The to-die-for infinity pool wasn’t
near this corner of the beach. They were
away from the rest of the beachgoers and
somewhere not far from their own private
villa at the island’s hotel.
Behind her, she could a glimpse of the
flashing bright pink neon from the hotel’s
signs. It made the whole island light up, like
some glowing flamingo, but it was exhilarat-
ing to be in a place lit up like a festive, Flor-
idian Christmas tree. She grinned back at her
husband for the rest of the week. They were
on day four, and it had been amazing so far.
She remembered the trust and desire she’d
first felt for him at that bachelor party long
ago. But also she felt bonded from the way
they’d explored one another’s bodies, from
his very power to bring her screaming with
pleasure.
This man had kept his word, and had
been kind and considerate to her. It was
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probably an ephemeral fantasy and a hope-
less ploy, but she felt like every inch the prin-
cess he’d promised her she’d be.
It continued as he placed the flat-
breads, hummus, and dates before her as
well as a heaping dish filled with meat so
well-seasoned and delectable that she found
herself drooling in eager anticipation.
“What is that?” she asked.
“It’s called Al Machboos, and it’s a
delicacy here in the UAE.”
“God, it smells amazing!” She took a
mix of the rice, roasted eggplant, and the
lamb on her plate, then put a forkful in her
mouth. The flavors hit her tongue instantly.
Sage and turmeric mixed with a hint of more
spices and the rich broth of the tender lamb.
She moaned almost obscenely and swal-
lowed the mix. “So it’s only in the Emirates?
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Is that the only reason I haven’t had this be-
fore? If Alana was holding something this
good out on me, I might have to kill her.”
“It’s most certainly only a delicacy
here. We rarely cook it in Al-Marasae. And
you’d be a new, single mother with Gabriel to
care for.”
She laughed and shoved a date in her
mouth. “Yes, but you’d be a ready and willing
godfather for the little guy, so how bad could
that be?”
“That’s blissfully domestic. I have to
say I approve,” he replied, starting in on his
own hunk of lamb. “Maybe we’d have to
work on a brood of our own if you want to
stay Sheikha Hassem after Friday that is.”
Sighing, she frowned at him. “I have
two more days to think it over. I know what
feels good now. Mostly, I feel for the first
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time in a while that things are finally work-
ing out for me. I’ve struggled so long dealing
with Monique being a harsh witch and trying
to live up to her demands. The thought of
having a chance to own a restaurant… It’s
more amazing than I could ever say. Terrify-
ing too.”
“Hmm,” he said then sipped his wa-
ter. “How do you figure?”
“When your name is the one plastered
on the side of the building, then everyone
knows. It’s one thing to be written up in
culinary
magazines
and
reviewed
for
magazines when I don’t own the place.
People don’t know who the chef is at a place
that says Paradiso on the marquee. But you
have people come to Kelly’s Place or have my
name prominently on everything, then it’s all
on me. If I fuck up, no one will ever cook
with me or hire me again.”
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“I don’t think that’s true,” he said,
reaching out and stroking his beard. “Even if
you set up shop in New York and failed, it
could be because the competition of the city
is huge. There always has to be a second
chance.”
Suddenly tired, she pushed her plate
away and ran her fingers over her rings. “Do
you mean that for everyone? Is that what this
all is? A second chance?”
“It’s fate. I give you that,” he said,
grinning back at her. “I think whatever you
do, you’ll be amazing at it. You have been so
far.”
“Does that apply to you and Oasis?
Alana has been keeping me posted on it. The
sheer scope of the resort and shopping cen-
ter, all those boutiques and designers coming
in? It’s amazing. You really are trying to put
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a place like here at Yas or all of Dubai to
shame.”
Asam shrugged. “I wish Father felt
that way. It’s bizarre, and I don’t understand
it. He has Faaid to run the nation after he
dies and Dharr to make sure Hassem Petro-
leum remains on top. I’m doing this project
to prove I’m serious, and he’s mostly been
fighting me on it. He wants to show that Al-
Marasae has strength in military and in-
dustry. I think he finds the excesses of Saudi
Arabia or here in the UAE too much. He’s so
traditional,” he said, throwing his hands up
in disgust. “I do know what it’s like to be
afraid to fail. I have failed my whole life as
far as the great Sheikh Azhaar is concerned.
If Oasis doesn’t survive, he’ll probably con-
script me to do hard work with our military.”
Kelly gasped, her eyes widening. “You
can’t possibly be serious!”
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“Well, not front line, but Dharr had to
talk Father into this to begin with. It’s a com-
promise project so that the Hassem family
screw-up could do something that Father
would deem at least acceptable.”
“I think your dad is an ass,” she said,
her voice building. “First, he puts all that
pressure on Dharr, then he almost chases
Alana off and leaves her a wreck. Now, he’s
married off the others and made them ‘re-
spectable enough,’ and he’s breathing down
your neck. It’s horrible. He’s supposed to be
a father, not an overlord.”
“You don’t know much about Al-
Marasae. I’m glad Faaid and Dharr are more
like me. I’d hate to think of any of my neph-
ews and nieces suffering like that, feeling
that pressure. But it’s what Azhaar wants,
and what Father wants, he gets.”
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“Maybe you don’t need him at all,” she
said, stroking his cheek and feeling the
scratchiness of his stubble against her palm.
“If I did come back, and I’m not sure yet that
I will...”
“But?” he asked, his eyes lighting up
like stars. “That’s a maybe at least. You’re
running the traps, and I like that.”
“Perhaps,” she said, grinning back at
him. “Alana can practice law. Do you have a
restaurant at Oasis? Do you need a talented,
award-winning chef to fill that kitchen?”
He nodded and reached back to stroke
the curve of her neck. Kelly shivered at the
intimacy of the embrace. “I could use the
finest chef I’ve ever eaten with.”
“You’ve only had a few of my dishes.”
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“But I know I like what I’ve tasted.
Hell, we can even get you the recipe for the
Al Machboos. It can be the new signature
dish of Al-Marasae, if you like.”
“A national edict for little old me?”
she said, blushing. “I think I’d like that.”
“Well,
your
people—should
you
choose to accept them—would do anything to
please their sheikha.”
She grinned more widely and pushed
the rest of the food plates far to the side,
leaving the expanse of their woven mat and
fluffy pillows free from clutter. She had far
better ideas for what they could do, and for
right now, lamb and dates had nothing to do
with it.
Stretching herself out in front of him,
Kelly slipped off her kaftan, letting the lilac
silk fabric fall to the sand beside her. There
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was already ample access to the rest of her.
Tonight, she felt ready to have him take her
completely, and Kelly had been planned
ahead, crafting her seductive moves.
She licked the tip of her fingers and
rubbed her right nipple, drawing it into a
hard peak. With her other hand, she played
with her curls, feeling the soft hair beneath
her grip. “Do you see anything you like, my
sheikh?”
Asam licked his lips and unzipped his
jeans. He’d been wearing something casual
and typically American on the beach. Her
only complaint was he hadn’t taken off his T-
shirt yet. That would never do. If she had any
legal power as sheikha, Kelly was definitely
going to make a rule that men with eight-
packs as amazing as Asam’s were never al-
lowed to wear shirts.
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Hell, she was considering banning
clothes for him altogether, but that might get
complicated. It might be hard for him to be
the CEO and manager of Oasis with
everything hanging out in the breeze.
She bet some of the female and male
clientele both would appreciate the new law
of Al-Marasae. She sure would!
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
He stilled and frowned back at her.
His tone was even when he replied but quiet,
“What?”
Kelly groaned, realizing she’d acci-
dentally sent the biggest of all mixed signals.
“No, I’m totally ready.” She giggled and
tossed her long, blonde hair over her
shoulder. Looking lower, she could see
Asam’s length already springing free and
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eager from his jeans. “I think I’m not the
only one up for it.”
He laughed, the tension easing from
his shoulders. “I’m more than ready for
that.”
“I think you should get some skin in
the game, Asam,” she said, her smile widen-
ing ever further when she saw those wash-
board abs of his.
He knelt down before her, and she
leaned forward, climbing to her knees so she
could trace her tongue over the ripples and
muscles of his abdomen. Drops of sweat slid
down his body in the heat on the beach. Her
tongue traced over each bump and valley on
his stomach, and she relished the salty tang
of him on her taste buds.
Dear God, what perfection he is.
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He shuddered under her efforts and
shouted out her name. “Kelly! Mon amie,
you’re amazing!”
“You say that so much,” she said,
pulling back and letting her hand roam down
to stroke his length. She smirked as his
member twitched in response to her delicate
touch. “Mon amie. Did you learn French?”
“I went to college at Princeton, but I
did a year abroad at in Paris. My mother was
from Algiers originally, so she spoke French
fluently. It used to be a French colony.”
“It’s so lovely when it slides off your
tongue,” she said, staring up at him like a
supplicant
worshipping
their
god.
“Everything about you is amazing.”
“Not when I run off on you.”
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“It’s forgiven. You didn’t have any ob-
ligations to me after one night at a party, and
I’m the one who has given the cold shoulder
ever since. I’m so glad we ended up drinking
way too many mint juleps.”
He chuckled as she leaned back on the
pillows. “You shouldn’t forget the shots, mon
amie. I’m pretty sure those helped too.”
“It’s like a miracle.”
“Or just fermentation,” he said,
chuckling again. His voice was smooth and
inviting.
“Maybe, but I’m so glad it all
happened,” Kelly replied. “Now, please,
Asam. I need you now—all of you.”
There was nothing left to say. After all
this reconnecting, all they truly needed was
to be joined in the most intimate way
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possible. He slid his thick member into her
slick core. She moaned at the feeling of his
girth stretching her so intimately.
“That feels so good,” she said, closing
her eyes and surrendering to the sensations.
The sound of the waves crashed
through the cool night air. The breeze tickled
her skin and pebbled her nipples even fur-
ther. He positioned himself on top of her,
and she could smell the musk of him mixed
with saffron tickling her nostrils.
Asam began to move his hips in earn-
est, thrusting inside her. She wrapped her
legs around his waist and drove her hips up-
wards, trying to feel him as deeply inside her
as possible.
Heat built between them, like having
poured gasoline on a roaring bonfire. The
harder he thrust, the more he began to strike
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against her G-spot. Her vision swam, and she
was panting hard, feeling her muscles relax
and tighten. Sparks were arcing again behind
her eyes, and she felt as if her whole body
was consumed by passion growing between
them.
Asam came first, throwing back his
head and shooting his seed deep inside her
womb. He shouted her name as well as a
terse litany of Arabic as pleasure coursed
through him. It didn’t take long for her to
follow, falling over the edge into utter ecstasy
as they writhed together in flames of desire.
He pulled out of her eventually and
cradled her to his chest, tossing the blanket
over both of them. They would be able to
walk back to their villa soon enough, but for
now, Kelly felt as if she’d run a marathon.
There was no way she could do more than
rest and focus on taking in gulps of air.
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“That was…”
“…yeah,” she finished. She was glad it
wasn’t just her feeling this way. Reaching
down, she grabbed his hand with her own,
smiling at how their rings covered one an-
other. It was like they belonged.
No, it’s more than that. It’s not me be-
longing to him, but both of us being together
in such a perfect union.
“I love you,” she said, surprising her-
self with her candor. “I fought it and circled
around it, but you have shown me so much.
Hell, you believe in me.”
“Does this mean you’ll come back to
Al-Marasae, my sheikha?”
“Of course,” she said, snuggling
against him. “I’m yours for as long as you
want me.”
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***
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Chapter Seven
Asam grinned widely as he booted up
his laptop to place a call to his brother. It was
time to check on the contracts and make sure
Prada, Gucci, and Dior had all finalized the
contracts for storefront space. He was also
going over the proposals for the senior staff
and making sure his acting manager was
already organizing the hiring process. It was
a busy day ahead, and he would be spending
it frolicking with Kelly on the beach. But
while she recovered from their love making
last night, he needed to work on getting
some headway in.
It would be too much to get to
Monday morning if he let it all go for over a
week.
However, it wasn’t his brother who
answered when the call went through. How
his father had been around to intercept
Dharr’s call, Asam didn’t know, but he defin-
itely didn’t want to. Wily old Azhaar had his
ways. When didn’t his father have spies and
machinations in play everywhere?
“My
son,”
his
father
wheezed,
hunched toward the screen. “How exactly is
taking off with some American whore going
to help you? Do you think I want to have
someone not of Middle Eastern descent near
the throne? Alana is bad enough being raised
an infidel, but do you really expect me to in-
dulge you in a fantasy of her cow friend?”
“Kelly,” he groused out, balling his
hands into fists at his sides. “The ‘cow’ has a
name, and it’s Kelly Kentworth. I want her to
be my bride.”
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“I told you when I set up the challenge
that you had a limited time to bring me a
worthy bride, my son. You’ve played around
in a luxury resort with an American slut.
That’s worse than your brothers. It’s com-
pletely unforgiveable.”
“I love her.”
His father threw his head back and
laughed; it was a rasping sound that made
Asam’s stomach churn. “She’s just a fat infi-
del fool, not at all suitable for a sheikha. I
gave you orders, and you bring me back a
middle finger as far as your chosen bride.
Pick better, or Oasis will belong to someone
else. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, the en-
tire Hassem line will only contain two broth-
ers. Now fix it!” he demanded before clicking
off.
Asam frowned back at the screen. The
only thing that kept him from tossing his
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laptop across the room was the fact he
needed it. Money wasn’t an issue, and
neither was replacing it, but moving files
over from a broken machine wouldn’t be
worth the momentary catharsis. Annoyed, he
just growled back at the Skype welcome
page.
“Gee, Father, so wonderful to talk
with you too. In English no less.”
“Yeah, it was nice...for both of us,” a
cold, collected voice said behind him.
He turned around and gaped back at
Kelly. Cold fury simmered in her emerald
eyes. Asam knew then why his father had
spoken to him in English, why he’d been so
deliberate.
The
rat
bastard
had
set
everything up so perfectly to help drive Kelly
away for good.
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Jumping to his feet, he held out his
hands in a placating gesture. “Kelly, I can
explain.”
“Don’t bother,” she shouted, pulling
off the rings and throwing them to the floor.
“Were you even drunk that night? Did you
just scheme to marry me? Did Daddy
Dearest give you an ultimatum like he did
your brothers?”
“Yes, but it’s not what you think.”
“It’s exactly what I think! I heard him.
He was nice and clear, and in English on top
of all of that. You needed a wife, so you
snagged me with a little help from alcohol.”
“You didn’t seem to need help con-
suming it,” he said, his tone hard.
Flames danced in the green depths of
her pupils, and she shook her head again.
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“That’s unbelievable. You really want to say
that? I’d had one of the most humiliating
days ever at work. I wasn’t expecting inter-
national marriage plots just so Sheikh Asam
Hassem could get exactly what he wanted.
News flash. I’m not the passport to keeping
your charmed life. I thought you loved me.
That this was about making up for
everything that went so horribly at that
damn bachelor party, but it never was!”
He strode across the room and pulled
her to his chest. She struggled against him,
but he needed her, craved her like a drug by
now, like a heroin addict scraping for any
needle he could find while chasing the
dragon.
“Let me go!” she shouted, trying to
pull back.
Even for all her soft curves, she was
still a tiny woman, so short against his torso.
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It was easy to pin her there and try to make
her see that they fit together—that they be-
longed. Leaning down, he stuck his nose in
her hair, sniffing the sweet fragrance of
strawberries and lilac from her shampoo. It
was like heaven. Then the sharp pain in his
groin sent him to his knees.
Kelly crossed her arms over her chest.
Normally, such insolence carried harsh pen-
alties in Al-Marasae. He’d seen a few of the
horrors meted out on his father’s disobedient
concubines, those poor women.
But he wasn’t like that.
He loved Kelly, and if what she
wanted most was to leave him behind—even
if that burned like lava in his veins—then he
had to accept it. He’d seen the way women
who didn’t want to be in the harem had
loathed his father, even sometimes how his
mother glared at him over stony silences at
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the dining table. He wanted Kelly to be with
him of her own free will, or he didn’t want
her at all. He could never bear to keep her
with him if this was how she felt about him.
“You stay away from me,” she spat.
“I didn’t mean it. I came to Las Vegas
to date you. I didn’t expect what happened at
the Blue Suede Chapel any more than you
did.”
“But you had a clock ticking down on
you that I didn’t know about. Your father’s
edicts are a huge thing to hide, Asam, and
you could have would have benefitted from
that stunt.”
“Yes, because he was so happy to
speak about you,” he said, his tone low and
wounded.
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“But you lied, didn’t tell me the real
reason for you being in town. I can’t do this
anymore. I…”
“What?”
“Can you just take me to Al-Marasae?
If I’m already in the Middle East, then I want
to see my godson and Alana, but I can’t stand
the sight of you,” she turned quickly on her
heels and called back over her shoulder. “It’s
a good thing the palace is the size of a city
block. I can avoid you for a few days and you
better pray you don’t sneak up on me or try
begging me to be with you again, Asam. You
won’t like it.”
“As you wish,” he said, slamming his
computer to the tile below him anyway, grat-
ified when it smashed into a dozen hunks of
plastic and glass. At least something
matched his mood now.
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***
“I’m beyond confused,” Alana con-
fessed, blinking her large, turquoise eyes
back at Kelly. “You and Asam did what?”
“We got drunk and hitched in Vegas,
then he offered me ten million dollars to try
out the marriage either way with a vacation
to Abu Dhabi. I just found out it was all some
crazy plot. He had to do what Dharr did, and
I was a crazy last-ditch effort to settle down
or be disinherited. I mean, can you imagine?
Who helps get a girl tipsy just to wed her?”
she asked, slouching back on the couch.
Little Gabriel whined a little from his
place in Alana’s arms and snuggled in more
deeply into his mother’s side. Her best friend
shushed the tot and rolled her eyes back at
Kelly. “Freak out a little quieter, Kel.”
167/245
“Alright, I just…I felt so betrayed. I
rarely get out this far. It’s way easier to have
a free hop from the UAE to here than to just
head back to Vegas. All I wanted was to try
and make a real attempt with him...to put it
the way I thought it should have been from
the beginning. I don’t even know how we got
here.”
“Maybe you need to think about it lo-
gically,” Alana said, placing her son gently
back in his crib.
“I am being rational. Asam is a liar.”
“Yes, but you heard his father. He
picked a bride that would never be accept-
able. He completed the whole thing in the
spirit of the law but not to the letter.”
Despite her dour mood, despite
everything horrible that had happened lately,
Kelly had to laugh. You could take the girl
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out of the American courtroom at least, but
you couldn’t take the lawyer out of the girl.
Leave it to Alana to dissect everything like a
trial.
“He didn’t seem thrilled with an
American at all.”
Alana snorted. “I know Azhaar. I’ve
spent almost two years being polite where I
can be and ignoring him otherwise. Hell, I
don’t even leave poor Gabriel alone with his
grandfather. The man’s a shark and gets
more bitter as ages and becomes sicker. He
knows the boys and their reforms are the fu-
ture of Al-Marasae and, more than that,
they’re what the public wants here. What
they’re doing will help fix everything.”
“And he’s jealous?”
“Extremely so. His liver is failing, and
he knows it. I doubt he’ll be around three
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years from now, and I’m sorry in the abstract
because I know, despite logic, Dharr—all of
them really—still love that ass. Still, he’s
angry and bitter. If Asam really wanted to
please his father, he’d have consented to an
arranged marriage or brought home an Al-
Marasaen girl.”
“But there’s an edict.”
“So? Everything with Dharr and me
started even worse with him abducting me.
It’s not always what you think it’s going to
be, but you’re not mad he returned because
of an ultimatum.”
She arched a skeptical eyebrow back
at her friend. “I’m not? Because I feel ex-
tremely pissed about it. Believe me.”
“No, you’re scared because you’re not
sure Asam is actually sorry. You’re scared
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he’ll break your heart again, whether it’s ten
days down the line or ten years.”
“I trusted him again, thought we’d
really connected, and he stomped on
everything. I can’t risk my heart again. I just
need to rest a few days, go home, and then
strike out to find my fortune from New
York,” she said, brushing her tears from her
cheeks. “At least this terrible week was worth
something.”
Alana hugged her tight. “I think it was
worth far more than you think.”
***
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Chapter Eight
Asam should have been on the other
side of the country. Oasis needed him back at
his best making sure everything came to
fruition for his project. But he didn’t care.
He’d stayed in his wing of the compound,
stewing over all of it and waiting for one final
thing. He’d sent for a special package from
the Blue Suede Chapel. It had taken almost a
week to come from the United States, but he
had it in hand and a plan to pull his life back
together.
He’d lied to himself.
He could try to wish Kelly well, but
the thought of her away in New York, start-
ing her life and eventually finding comfort
with another man, burned him. He might
never force her, might not drag her into the
harem, which would technically be his right
as a sheikh, but he’d be damned if he’d give
up without a fight.
He grinned to himself and rushed out
the doors. First, he had needed to speak with
his father, then he was going to sweep a cer-
tain woman off her feet. It didn’t take long to
find his father. He was in the damn harem
room to begin with and, even after over
thirty years of this part of his life, this an-
noyed Asam. There was everything to love
about his mother. She was smarter than the
harem women were and had stood by his
father for decades. Asam knew it dug into
her soul every time his pig of a father slipped
in here.
Some days he hoped he’d just have a
heart attack in the middle of his romps and
do them all a favor.
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“My son, have you come for some
fun?” his father leered, even as one of the
youngest women in the harem tickled at the
chest hair.
“No, Father, I’ve come to say
goodbye.”
“Heading out to your pet hotel project
then? Good. Say the word, and I’ll work with
your mother to arrange the proper bride for
you.”
“It’d be novel if you ever did anything
with mother,” he said then bit off quick or-
ders for the woman to back away to the con-
cubines’ corner of the harem.
“Never stop the pleasure of an old
man,” his father said, getting to his feet and
coming to stand before him. Once he’d been
tall and towered over him. If osteoporosis
hadn’t started working on his back and
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hunched him over, Azhaar would still be tall,
but now he was the frailest of creatures, al-
most not worth hating.
Almost.
“So, my son,” he said, spitting those
words like a curse. “You must truly want to
be disinherited. Like I said, it’s not wise to
insult me and ruin my night.”
“It’s not wise to harass me either. I’m
not a little kid anymore, and I’m done with
you. Faaid and Dharr might feel some linger-
ing filial loyalty to you, but I don’t anymore.
You can take my inheritance and shove it up
your ass.”
His father reached up to slap him. It
was pathetic to see such an old and frail not
even realize that his time had passed him by.
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Asam snatched his father’s hand out
of the air and tightly gripped his wrist, put-
ting just enough pressure to make his ten-
dons stretch. His father let out a low moan,
and his face flushed purple with the discom-
fort. “No, you useless old man. You’re the
failure here, and no one will miss you or your
edicts when you go. Let my brothers keep
running Al-Marasae and our interests. I’m
through with this.”
“You will never be through with me.”
Asam shook his head and pushed his
father just hard enough to send him sprawl-
ing onto the cushioned pillows scattered
across the floor. “Yes, I am. Starting now...”
***
“I thought you promised not to stalk
me through the palace,” Kelly said, her tone
clipped.
176/245
Asam sidled up next to her in the
garden. He set up his new laptop before her
and popped open the media player. “I lied.”
She started to stand, but he grabbed
her hand tightly. “You’re good at lying.
That’s all you do.”
“But this is about the truth,” he said,
playing the DVD the chapel sent him. They
had that option, and he’d been shocked as
hell when he’d called them for details about
the ceremony to realize he’d gotten the de-
luxe package. It included the DVD of happy
memories with it. It had been torture to
watch it this morning but also a sweet relief
because it could show Kelly everything. Say
it all to her in a way he couldn’t. “The Blue
Suede Chapel sent us a souvenir.”
“Goody,” she said, her tone still as
cutting as knives. “Now I can relive the joy of
a fake, one-week marriage nightmare.”
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“Well, you did at least lap Britney
Spears about seven times over.”
“That’s not helping!” she snapped,
even though her upper lip quirked just a
little as a sign of her mirth.
That was something. It was more
kindness than she’d shown him after his
father’s call at the Yas Beach. He could work
with that.
As the screen came up, he scrolled
through the basics and made sure to skip to
the vows. Hers were first and mostly garbled
bunch of “you’re the bests.” His were next,
and despite him weaving back and forth on
his feet and being clearly as intoxicated as
she was, at least Asam’s own words were far
easier to understand.
Thank Allah for small favors, like in-
telligible speech.
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“This isn’t going to change—”
“Shh,” he said, holding up his hand.
“You’ll see.”
On the screen, the old Asam, the deli-
riously happy one just a week ago, began to
speak...
“I’m not going to say I loved you since
the moment I met you. I’m not…I’m not good
at big thoughts. I always make the big mis-
takes though. I’d do anything to not have
walked away that night, and I’m so glad,
ugh...” For a minute, his onscreen double
paused to belch. “Anyway, sorry, I’m glad I
walked back into your life. You’re the only
woman I could ever want, Kelly Kentworth,
and with this ring, I marry you.”
He clicked pause on the video player
and strode over to the nearest rosebush to
pluck a gorgeous red rose for Kelly.
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When he handed it to her, she was
crying then. Tears streaked down her cheeks.
“You do mean it.”
“Maybe there’s hope for you yet, mon
amie,” he said. “I do love you, and I came to
Vegas to win you back however I could. I
don’t care about what my father wants. In
fact, I told him to shove his rules. I’d rather
be poor with you in the States than under his
thumb here as the type of son he wants.”
She blinked up at him, her eyes wide.
“You can’t mean that.”
“I can, and I do,” he added, stroking
her beautiful spun-gold hair back from her
face. “I love you, Kelly, and I’m going to
spend the rest of my life with you.”
“If I’ll have you?”
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He grinned and kissed her, reveling in
the soft strokes of her tongue against his
own. They stayed like that for what felt like
forever, locked in an intimate embrace. Fin-
ally, he pulled back and kissed the tip of her
nose. “Mon amie, you’ll have me. Together,
we’re going to create our own Oasis and
bring your most delicious creations to New
York City. With my public relations and
management skills and your amazing food,
we can’t lose.”
“So,” she said, licking her lips. Dear
Allah, he was hard just seeing that much.
“My sheikh, for the record, are we going to
own the Big Apple because I’m great or you
are?”
He kissed her again before answering.
“Because we’re unstoppable together.”
She smiled sweetly and squeezed his
hand. “I can’t argue with that.”
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“For once,” he joked before they
headed back to his room. They had so much
time to make up for, and he didn’t intend to
waste it.
The End!
182/245
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ANOTHER SHEIKH STORY
YOU MAY ENJOY
Sheikh’s American Desire by
Sophia Lynn
Free preview below!
185/245
The Sheikh’s
American Desire
By: Sophia Lynn
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright 2016 Sophia Lynn
186/245
CHAPTER ONE
The bedroom that she had been as-
signed was luxurious beyond anything she
could have dreamed of. The bed was an
enormous four-poster with silk brocade cov-
ers, and the makeup table in the corner
would have satisfied any 1930s movie star.
Above, the ceiling had been painted with sil-
very stars that glittered in the low light.
Daisy couldn't see any of that, though.
Instead, she could only see the gown that
hung up on the standing mirror nearby. It
was a traditional Samaran gown, with a tight
bodice embroidered with sequins and swirl-
ing silk thread patterns. Even in the dim
light of the room, the olive gown glimmered
with a beauty that could not be hidden.
Daisy was terrified.
Somewhere in the palace, the clock
struck nine. She flinched. She should have
been downstairs half an hour ago, but she
had seen the dress the palace girls had left
for her, and she had frozen.
I can't wear that, that's not me! her
mind insisted. That's like something for...
As if the thought had summoned her,
the door creaked open and Lia appeared.
“Oh no, Daisy, are you all right?”
Lia Gardner was a tall and willowy
redhead with a face that was saved from
severity only by the splatter of freckles on
her nose. She wore Brooklyn street fashion
and haute couture dresses with ease, but to-
night, she wore the signature white and gold
gown of Samaran royalty. By contrast, Daisy
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was shorter, rounder, and still dressed in the
black sweater and long black skirt she had
been wearing all day.
Lia strode into the room, turning on
the lights with a brisk efficiency that Daisy
could only envy. As she watched Lia examine
the dress hanging off of the mirror, she felt
that familiar stab of jealousy that was so
common whenever she was around her older
sister.
Where Lia was a sharp yes, Daisy had
always been a hesitant maybe. Instead of
Lia's fiery red mane, Daisy's hair was a dark
chestnut, and where Lia's eyes were a flash-
ing green, hers were a softer hazel. When Lia
had flown away to exotic Samara, however,
Daisy had missed her sister immensely. It
seemed like a fairytale when, only a few
months later, she received news that her sis-
ter had married Sheikh Khilafa Baykara, the
protector of the country.
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Daisy had missed the wedding, but
Lia had insisted that she appear for the one
month anniversary. In Samaran culture, the
one month celebration was even more im-
portant than the wedding, and Lia had
brooked no disagreements.
That was why Daisy had swallowed
her fear of planes and come all the way to
Samara. Through the long trip, she had held
on to the fact that she was going to see her
beloved sister again. Lia had been wrapped
in a long series of preparations, rituals, and a
dozen tasks, but still she had found the time
to see her wayward little sister.
Leave it to Lia to appear just when I
have to do something I don't want to,
thought Daisy wryly.
“Is there something wrong with the
dress? I know that Samaran gowns can be a
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bit tricky, but this was cut to your
measurements...”
“It's not that, it's just so much. There's
so much going on and so many people...”
A sudden horrid thought struck Daisy.
“And, they're all here for you! Oh, Lia,
I shouldn't be keeping you from everyone...”
Lia waved a careless hand. “If they
think they can start without me, they're wel-
come to try.”
Some might have thought that it was
marrying Samara's most powerful man had
given Lia airs, but Daisy knew that she had
always been like this. Lia knew who was im-
portant to her, and she didn't hesitate to let
that be known to the rest of the world.
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Lia pulled the gown off the hanger,
handling it with care for the beautiful em-
broidery work on it. “Now tell me what's the
problem, sweetheart.”
“It's just too much,” Daisy tried to ar-
ticulate. “There are all those people, and
they're
going
to be looking
at me,
and...and...”
“Wrong,” said Lia briskly. “They're go-
ing to be looking at me. I promise, if anyone
looks at you sideways, I'll come down on
them like the fist of an angry god. Now, can I
help you get into this?”
Daisy's smile was small, but it was
genuine. Somehow, Lia always knew what to
say to make her feel better.
“Okay.”
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“Good. And, the main hall is enorm-
ous, but there are lots of places for you to
tuck yourself away, if you need to hide for a
while.”
In a matter of seconds, Lia had Daisy
stripped down to her plain white under-
things and stepping into the olive gown. In
the brighter light, Daisy could tell it was not
one shade of green, but several. The dress
was cunningly sewn so that the different
shades of fabric combined into a beautiful
textured whole. The part of Daisy that ad-
ored colors and textures loved the effect. The
rest of her was terrified of wearing
something so beautiful and obviously
expensive.
“Breathe in...”
Without thinking about it, Daisy did
as her sister said. When she felt Lia start to
do up the bodice's buttons, she gasped.
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“That's too tight!” she said.
“It's not, trust me,” Lia said patiently.
“It's supposed to fit like that.”
Now that Daisy was looking, he could
see that Lia's gown nipped her in at the waist
and pushed her breasts up.
“All right...”
Lia was just reaching for the buttons
again when the door opened.
“A one-month anniversary doesn't
mean much if a man must celebrate it alone,”
said Sheikh Khilafa Baykara.
“Khilafa! I will be right down, and
next time, for the love of all that's good,
knock! This is my sister's room!”
“Beautiful sister,” came an amused
voice from behind Khilafa. There was
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another man there, one that Daisy couldn't
see, but she still yelped, gathering up the
edges of her dress and turning away. Her
face was on fire.
Khilafa laughed.
“At your convenience then, beautiful
women,” he said, shutting the door behind
him.
“I swear, that man only plays the sav-
age sheikh when he thinks it's funny,” Lia
muttered. “Now come here, and let me take
care of you. We really are a bit late.”
Daisy submitted to her sister's minis-
trations, her face still flaming red. She could
imagine how she looked, half in and half out
of a gown that was far too beautiful for her,
her skin pale and doughy in the bright light.
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Lia was right. The dress was comfort-
able once it was secured. Daisy could feel the
way it made her stand up straighter. She was
a little self-conscious about the way her
breasts were pushed up and her hips were
pushed down, but she figured there would be
enough people there that she wouldn't stand
out too horribly.
Lia ran a quick brush through Daisy's
hair. Like Lia's, it was wavy and naturally
sleek and shiny. All it took was a brush to
make it glow.
“There, now you're beautiful,” Lia said
approvingly. “Do you want to see what you
look like in the mirror?”
“Not at all,” said Daisy. “Let's go be-
fore we're that much later.”
Lia rolled her eyes at her sister's reti-
cence, and arm in arm, they left the room.
196/245
***
When Lia had spoken about the one
month ceremonies, Daisy had been expecting
something formal, long, and impressive. The
main hall, decked out in hothouse flowers
with a real fountain sparkling at one end was
indeed impressive, as were the people who
crowded its length. Some of the attendees
were
dressed
in
traditional
Samaran
splendor, others were dressed in western ball
gowns and tuxedos, but clearly all were there
to impress and stun. Daisy had never felt
more out of place in her life.
There were no long speeches or
rituals, however. Khilafa, dressed in white
robes and handsome as a movie star, had
stepped up to the dais. With a glowing grin,
he gave a brief speech on his duties as the
protector of Samara and how he had found
the one who would protect it just as fiercely
as he would. He presented a brilliant Lia to
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thunderous applause. When the tumult died
down, they raised their joined hands.
“May all be welcome in our house!”
they cried together, and the music had
started.
Daisy knew that her sister wouldn't be
able to take up her old role of social buffer
for her. It didn't stop her from feeling adrift
and lost amongst all the beautiful people,
though. A few of them smiled at her, but her
answering grin, probably nervous and shy,
prevented most from approaching. When she
saw a few who did want to come near, Daisy
couldn't stop herself from ducking through
the crowd.
Maybe I just need to loosen up a little,
she thought hopefully.
She made her was to the long refresh-
ments table and was promptly confused by
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the variety of things offered there. There was
a lull in the crowd, so she didn't feel so very
pushed, but still, she wasn't sure what she
wanted.
“Do you need some help, beautiful
girl?”
They were the first words spoken to
her since the party began. It was just as well
she hadn't been holding a drink because she
would have spilled it all over herself.
“I... I don't know...”
The man standing beside her was
dressed in an impeccably fitted European
tuxedo. The stark black of the suit and the
gleaming white of the shirt only served to
emphasize the bronze of his skin and the
dark luster of his hair. Unlike many of the
men at the event, he was completely clean
shaven, which gave him a roguish, boy-like
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look. His black eyes danced with merriment,
and his smile was very white and very sharp.
“If you came from America, you will
not have many of these drinks available to
you, I do not think. Perhaps you would care
for some help?”
The calm assurance compared with
his muscular frame made her think of
Khilafa, she realized. She wondered with a
bit of panic whether she was talking with a
Samaran noble.
“I would like that a lot,” she said,
wishing her voice wasn't so quiet. “I mean, I
want to try something new, but I don't want
to order something...completely inappropri-
ate, I guess? I mean...”
His soft laugh was utterly without
sting or censure.
200/245
“Of course. When I was at Oxford, I
made an ass of myself because I didn't know
how powerful scotch is. Let me help you.”
Daisy thought that he would simply
order for her, but instead he stepped close.
The crowd at her back meant that she
couldn't pull away. Now, she realized how
truly large he was, how powerful his frame.
He smells like mint and flowers, she
thought hazily.
“Now, that bottle contains raki. It's
from Turkey originally, but Samara has
made it its own. Licorice, strong, and a little
coarse. Maybe not so suitable for a young
lady?”
Daisy bit her lip, but before she could
say yes or no, he continued.
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“There is tej, which is made from
honey. Sweet, lovely, and runs from light to
heavy, but still very strong.”
The tej was beautiful, with a soft
golden color that immediately drew her eye.
Before she could comment, the man went on.
“And, there at the end is something
that might suit you. It's not so popular in
Samara, but it is a traditional drink in Marat.
Lemon juice, orange juice, rosewater, honey
syrup – I think you would enjoy it...”
Daisy stared up at him with dismay.
“Are you saying that I should be
drinking lemonade?”
His grin was white and sharp.
“Well, you looked a little intimidated
by the alcohol...”
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“I'm not a child!”
Before he could make a response, a
charmingly dressed little girl in a pink Sa-
maran gown walked up to the table, and as
Daisy watched with irritation, she asked for
the lemonade. She turned a glare on the man
standing next to her. He only looked
amused, which made her even more irritable.
“Thank you for the advice,” she said,
doing her best imitation of Lia when Lia was
irritated. “I think I've got it from here.”
The worst part was that the rosewater
lemonade did sound good. She loved floral
flavors, and she had always had a love of
overly sweet drinks. Still, there was a point
to be made.
“May I have some of the raki, please?”
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Daisy was a little dismayed when the
smiling server poured her what looked like
an enormous glass of the milky liquid. She
took it, feeling less certain by the moment.
When she saw the man smiling at her out of
the corner of her eye, however, she felt even
more determined.
Bracing herself, she took a careful sip.
She just barely managed to keep herself from
coughing at the rough burn. The licorice fla-
vor was unmistakable, and it scourged her
throat.
“How is it?” asked her companion
with interest.
“Fine, it's good,” she said. She was
proud that she managed to keep her voice re-
latively level.
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“Good. Perhaps when your sister is
helping you with your clothes tonight, you
will remember to put in a good word for me.”
Daisy frowned. For a moment, she
had no idea what he was talking about, but
then she flushed.
“You were standing behind Khilafa
earlier,” she sputtered. “You saw...”
“Less than I would like,” he told her
with a sly note to his voice.
If Daisy hadn't been convinced that
the alcohol being served was of the best qual-
ity, she would have liked to dash it in his
face. Lia was practically the queen of the
country, she could probably smooth over any
trouble that might have caused.
Instead, she took a deep breath, gath-
ering what was left of her dignity.
205/245
“Thank you for your help,” she said.
“I'm afraid I must be off now.”
The man looked like he wanted to
protest, but then a woman materialized out
of the crowd. Like him, she wore Western
garb, a sleek gown in vibrant blue with
golden stitching along the seams. There were
diamonds at her throat and her ears and
venom in her eyes. For just a moment, those
eyes set on Daisy, causing the young woman
to shiver instinctively.
The man looked faintly irritated, and
that look became even darker when she set a
hand on the crook of his elbow.
It was all the chance that Daisy
needed. She had had plenty of experience
fading into the background when she could.
She melted away into the crowd like a shad-
ow, still clutching her drink. When she
206/245
glanced back, she could see the man and wo-
man standing closely together.
Are they married, she wondered in-
dignantly. If she was married, she wouldn't
want her husband giving beverage advice to
confused women.
Something about the whole scene
gave her a pang, however. He had teased her,
mocked her, and perhaps propositioned her,
but she couldn't deny that there was
something powerfully magnetic about him.
As she walked through the crowd, his dark
eyes haunted her.
She realized she was still holding her
glass of raki. The second sip still burned, but
she thought that it was a little less painful.
The third sip was even smoother.
It's not so bad, she said to herself. I'm
here for a party, and after tonight, I'll hang
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out with Lia for a bit, and then it'll be back
to Albany for me...
***
The gardens outside the ballroom
were dark and lush. She could hear some
faint footsteps, some soft words. They told
her that she did not walk alone. She had al-
most finished the glass of raki. Daisy felt ob-
scurely proud of herself. She knew that the
alcohol was powerful, but still, she had man-
aged it.
She could feel it making her soft and
warm inside. Unless she was very careful
where she put her feet, she would have
stumbled. The crush of the ballroom had
seemed too much, so she had found refuge in
the dark gardens. All around her were the
scents of jasmine and gardenias and other
exotic flowers for which she had no names.
208/245
Samara was so beautiful that it made
her hurt. She loved the palace, the way it
seemed to cradle all of the people within. It
was the perfect setting for Khilafa and Lia,
who glowed like gods come to earth. Watch-
ing
them
dance
together
had
been
enthralling.
“You look pensive, little one.”
The voice came from the darkness be-
side her, and for some reason, that didn't
even seem strange to her.
“Maybe a little,” she said with a smile.
“I... It's so beautiful here. It's amazing, all of
the history that Samara holds.”
“Oh? Are you an art buyer like your
sister to speak so of beauty?”
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Daisy laughed. “Oh no, not me. Well, I
guess I know a little because Lia's my sister,
but no, I'm an interior decorator.”
“Ah, so you are in the business of
beauty yourself.”
“Maybe... I tend to think of it as mak-
ing homes?”
“Oh?”
Most people weren't actually that in-
terested in why she did her work as long as
they liked the look of their new homes. Per-
haps the speaker from the darkness wasn't
interested either, but the raki made her
brave.
“Yes. We all need places to live, and so
many people just...choose to accept whatever
they get. I think that every home should re-
flect and enhance the people living there.
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Your home should be a part of you, and you
should be a part of your home. That is what I
do.”
“Your home must be a beautiful place,
then.”
Daisy's laugh was self-deprecating. “I
don't know about that. Sometimes, it feels as
if I'm so busy building a home that I never
think of what I want in one. Something I do
for all my clients is that I get to know them. I
want their home to be real to them, you
know? Maybe I just don't know myself well
enough to create a place that suits me.”
“That sounds sad.”
“Maybe it is. All I know is how to
make homes for other people. I guess that is
a little sad. But they are very beautiful
homes.”
211/245
There was a soft chuckle, rich and
smooth as chocolate. It warmed her up from
the toes.
“I'm sure you do.”
“I really do. I always want my clients
to have the best.”
The weariness from her long trip and
the exhaustion from the party were begin-
ning to wear on her. She felt herself waver on
her feet a little. Suddenly, there was a strong
arm around her.
“Hey, I don't-”
“Shh, little one. I'm safe, and so are
you. You simply look a little...worn out.”
“I am,” she said, the alcohol loosening
her tongue more than she would have
guessed. “I could sleep for days.”
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“Well, we'll see about getting you to
bed, then, shall we?”
Daisy muttered a token protest, but
bed sounded lovely. She wanted to get out of
her gorgeous dress, shut the door on all of
the beautiful people, and dream away the
rest.
“This isn't an invitation,” she said. If
she were sober, she would have been horri-
fied at her bluntness. Instead, she only saw it
as appropriate. “I mean it. I don't... I don't go
to bed with...with just anyone.”
Or anyone at all, but the nice voice in
the darkness didn't need to know that.
“I can see that you are not like that at
all,” he assured her. “Your honor is safe with
me, but perhaps we should get you into bed
before you fall over?”
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She muttered something in affirmat-
ive. The alcohol was hitting her hard now.
She drew herself up as straight as she could,
which honestly wasn't very straight at all.
“Take me to my room, please,” she
said, doing a credible impression of Lia.
“As my lady wishes,” was the re-
sponse, and if there was a slight grin in that
voice, she decided magnanimously that she
would forgive it.
214/245
CHAPTER TWO
The bedroom that she had been as-
signed was luxurious beyond anything she
could have dreamed of. The bed was an
enormous four-poster with silk brocade cov-
ers, and the makeup table in the corner
would have satisfied any 1930s movie star.
Above, the ceiling had been painted with sil-
very stars that glittered in the low light.
Daisy couldn't see any of that, though.
Instead, she could only see the gown that
hung up on the standing mirror nearby. It
was a traditional Samaran gown, with a tight
bodice embroidered with sequins and swirl-
ing silk thread patterns. Even in the dim
light of the room, the olive gown glimmered
with a beauty that could not be hidden.
Daisy was terrified.
Somewhere in the palace, the clock
struck nine. She flinched. She should have
been downstairs half an hour ago, but she
had seen the dress the palace girls had left
for her, and she had frozen.
I can't wear that, that's not me! her
mind insisted. That's like something for...
As if the thought had summoned her,
the door creaked open and Lia appeared.
“Oh no, Daisy, are you all right?”
Lia Gardner was a tall and willowy
redhead with a face that was saved from
severity only by the splatter of freckles on
her nose. She wore Brooklyn street fashion
and haute couture dresses with ease, but to-
night, she wore the signature white and gold
gown of Samaran royalty. By contrast, Daisy
216/245
was shorter, rounder, and still dressed in the
black sweater and long black skirt she had
been wearing all day.
Lia strode into the room, turning on
the lights with a brisk efficiency that Daisy
could only envy. As she watched Lia examine
the dress hanging off of the mirror, she felt
that familiar stab of jealousy that was so
common whenever she was around her older
sister.
Where Lia was a sharp yes, Daisy had
always been a hesitant maybe. Instead of
Lia's fiery red mane, Daisy's hair was a dark
chestnut, and where Lia's eyes were a flash-
ing green, hers were a softer hazel. When Lia
had flown away to exotic Samara, however,
Daisy had missed her sister immensely. It
seemed like a fairytale when, only a few
months later, she received news that her sis-
ter had married Sheikh Khilafa Baykara, the
protector of the country.
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Daisy had missed the wedding, but
Lia had insisted that she appear for the one
month anniversary. In Samaran culture, the
one month celebration was even more im-
portant than the wedding, and Lia had
brooked no disagreements.
That was why Daisy had swallowed
her fear of planes and come all the way to
Samara. Through the long trip, she had held
on to the fact that she was going to see her
beloved sister again. Lia had been wrapped
in a long series of preparations, rituals, and a
dozen tasks, but still she had found the time
to see her wayward little sister.
Leave it to Lia to appear just when I
have to do something I don't want to,
thought Daisy wryly.
“Is there something wrong with the
dress? I know that Samaran gowns can be a
218/245
bit tricky, but this was cut to your
measurements...”
“It's not that, it's just so much. There's
so much going on and so many people...”
A sudden horrid thought struck Daisy.
“And, they're all here for you! Oh, Lia,
I shouldn't be keeping you from everyone...”
Lia waved a careless hand. “If they
think they can start without me, they're wel-
come to try.”
Some might have thought that it was
marrying Samara's most powerful man had
given Lia airs, but Daisy knew that she had
always been like this. Lia knew who was im-
portant to her, and she didn't hesitate to let
that be known to the rest of the world.
219/245
Lia pulled the gown off the hanger,
handling it with care for the beautiful em-
broidery work on it. “Now tell me what's the
problem, sweetheart.”
“It's just too much,” Daisy tried to ar-
ticulate. “There are all those people, and
they're
going
to be looking
at me,
and...and...”
“Wrong,” said Lia briskly. “They're go-
ing to be looking at me. I promise, if anyone
looks at you sideways, I'll come down on
them like the fist of an angry god. Now, can I
help you get into this?”
Daisy's smile was small, but it was
genuine. Somehow, Lia always knew what to
say to make her feel better.
“Okay.”
220/245
“Good. And, the main hall is enorm-
ous, but there are lots of places for you to
tuck yourself away, if you need to hide for a
while.”
In a matter of seconds, Lia had Daisy
stripped down to her plain white under-
things and stepping into the olive gown. In
the brighter light, Daisy could tell it was not
one shade of green, but several. The dress
was cunningly sewn so that the different
shades of fabric combined into a beautiful
textured whole. The part of Daisy that ad-
ored colors and textures loved the effect. The
rest of her was terrified of wearing
something so beautiful and obviously
expensive.
“Breathe in...”
Without thinking about it, Daisy did
as her sister said. When she felt Lia start to
do up the bodice's buttons, she gasped.
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“That's too tight!” she said.
“It's not, trust me,” Lia said patiently.
“It's supposed to fit like that.”
Now that Daisy was looking, he could
see that Lia's gown nipped her in at the waist
and pushed her breasts up.
“All right...”
Lia was just reaching for the buttons
again when the door opened.
“A one-month anniversary doesn't
mean much if a man must celebrate it alone,”
said Sheikh Khilafa Baykara.
“Khilafa! I will be right down, and
next time, for the love of all that's good,
knock! This is my sister's room!”
“Beautiful sister,” came an amused
voice from behind Khilafa. There was
222/245
another man there, one that Daisy couldn't
see, but she still yelped, gathering up the
edges of her dress and turning away. Her
face was on fire.
Khilafa laughed.
“At your convenience then, beautiful
women,” he said, shutting the door behind
him.
“I swear, that man only plays the sav-
age sheikh when he thinks it's funny,” Lia
muttered. “Now come here, and let me take
care of you. We really are a bit late.”
Daisy submitted to her sister's minis-
trations, her face still flaming red. She could
imagine how she looked, half in and half out
of a gown that was far too beautiful for her,
her skin pale and doughy in the bright light.
223/245
Lia was right. The dress was comfort-
able once it was secured. Daisy could feel the
way it made her stand up straighter. She was
a little self-conscious about the way her
breasts were pushed up and her hips were
pushed down, but she figured there would be
enough people there that she wouldn't stand
out too horribly.
Lia ran a quick brush through Daisy's
hair. Like Lia's, it was wavy and naturally
sleek and shiny. All it took was a brush to
make it glow.
“There, now you're beautiful,” Lia said
approvingly. “Do you want to see what you
look like in the mirror?”
“Not at all,” said Daisy. “Let's go be-
fore we're that much later.”
Lia rolled her eyes at her sister's reti-
cence, and arm in arm, they left the room.
224/245
***
When Lia had spoken about the one
month ceremonies, Daisy had been expecting
something formal, long, and impressive. The
main hall, decked out in hothouse flowers
with a real fountain sparkling at one end was
indeed impressive, as were the people who
crowded its length. Some of the attendees
were
dressed
in
traditional
Samaran
splendor, others were dressed in western ball
gowns and tuxedos, but clearly all were there
to impress and stun. Daisy had never felt
more out of place in her life.
There were no long speeches or
rituals, however. Khilafa, dressed in white
robes and handsome as a movie star, had
stepped up to the dais. With a glowing grin,
he gave a brief speech on his duties as the
protector of Samara and how he had found
the one who would protect it just as fiercely
as he would. He presented a brilliant Lia to
225/245
thunderous applause. When the tumult died
down, they raised their joined hands.
“May all be welcome in our house!”
they cried together, and the music had
started.
Daisy knew that her sister wouldn't be
able to take up her old role of social buffer
for her. It didn't stop her from feeling adrift
and lost amongst all the beautiful people,
though. A few of them smiled at her, but her
answering grin, probably nervous and shy,
prevented most from approaching. When she
saw a few who did want to come near, Daisy
couldn't stop herself from ducking through
the crowd.
Maybe I just need to loosen up a little,
she thought hopefully.
She made her was to the long refresh-
ments table and was promptly confused by
226/245
the variety of things offered there. There was
a lull in the crowd, so she didn't feel so very
pushed, but still, she wasn't sure what she
wanted.
“Do you need some help, beautiful
girl?”
They were the first words spoken to
her since the party began. It was just as well
she hadn't been holding a drink because she
would have spilled it all over herself.
“I... I don't know...”
The man standing beside her was
dressed in an impeccably fitted European
tuxedo. The stark black of the suit and the
gleaming white of the shirt only served to
emphasize the bronze of his skin and the
dark luster of his hair. Unlike many of the
men at the event, he was completely clean
shaven, which gave him a roguish, boy-like
227/245
look. His black eyes danced with merriment,
and his smile was very white and very sharp.
“If you came from America, you will
not have many of these drinks available to
you, I do not think. Perhaps you would care
for some help?”
The calm assurance compared with
his muscular frame made her think of
Khilafa, she realized. She wondered with a
bit of panic whether she was talking with a
Samaran noble.
“I would like that a lot,” she said,
wishing her voice wasn't so quiet. “I mean, I
want to try something new, but I don't want
to order something...completely inappropri-
ate, I guess? I mean...”
His soft laugh was utterly without
sting or censure.
228/245
“Of course. When I was at Oxford, I
made an ass of myself because I didn't know
how powerful scotch is. Let me help you.”
Daisy thought that he would simply
order for her, but instead he stepped close.
The crowd at her back meant that she
couldn't pull away. Now, she realized how
truly large he was, how powerful his frame.
He smells like mint and flowers, she
thought hazily.
“Now, that bottle contains raki. It's
from Turkey originally, but Samara has
made it its own. Licorice, strong, and a little
coarse. Maybe not so suitable for a young
lady?”
Daisy bit her lip, but before she could
say yes or no, he continued.
229/245
“There is tej, which is made from
honey. Sweet, lovely, and runs from light to
heavy, but still very strong.”
The tej was beautiful, with a soft
golden color that immediately drew her eye.
Before she could comment, the man went on.
“And, there at the end is something
that might suit you. It's not so popular in
Samara, but it is a traditional drink in Marat.
Lemon juice, orange juice, rosewater, honey
syrup – I think you would enjoy it...”
Daisy stared up at him with dismay.
“Are you saying that I should be
drinking lemonade?”
His grin was white and sharp.
“Well, you looked a little intimidated
by the alcohol...”
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“I'm not a child!”
Before he could make a response, a
charmingly dressed little girl in a pink Sa-
maran gown walked up to the table, and as
Daisy watched with irritation, she asked for
the lemonade. She turned a glare on the man
standing next to her. He only looked
amused, which made her even more irritable.
“Thank you for the advice,” she said,
doing her best imitation of Lia when Lia was
irritated. “I think I've got it from here.”
The worst part was that the rosewater
lemonade did sound good. She loved floral
flavors, and she had always had a love of
overly sweet drinks. Still, there was a point
to be made.
“May I have some of the raki, please?”
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Daisy was a little dismayed when the
smiling server poured her what looked like
an enormous glass of the milky liquid. She
took it, feeling less certain by the moment.
When she saw the man smiling at her out of
the corner of her eye, however, she felt even
more determined.
Bracing herself, she took a careful sip.
She just barely managed to keep herself from
coughing at the rough burn. The licorice fla-
vor was unmistakable, and it scourged her
throat.
“How is it?” asked her companion
with interest.
“Fine, it's good,” she said. She was
proud that she managed to keep her voice re-
latively level.
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“Good. Perhaps when your sister is
helping you with your clothes tonight, you
will remember to put in a good word for me.”
Daisy frowned. For a moment, she
had no idea what he was talking about, but
then she flushed.
“You were standing behind Khilafa
earlier,” she sputtered. “You saw...”
“Less than I would like,” he told her
with a sly note to his voice.
If Daisy hadn't been convinced that
the alcohol being served was of the best qual-
ity, she would have liked to dash it in his
face. Lia was practically the queen of the
country, she could probably smooth over any
trouble that might have caused.
Instead, she took a deep breath, gath-
ering what was left of her dignity.
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“Thank you for your help,” she said.
“I'm afraid I must be off now.”
The man looked like he wanted to
protest, but then a woman materialized out
of the crowd. Like him, she wore Western
garb, a sleek gown in vibrant blue with
golden stitching along the seams. There were
diamonds at her throat and her ears and
venom in her eyes. For just a moment, those
eyes set on Daisy, causing the young woman
to shiver instinctively.
The man looked faintly irritated, and
that look became even darker when she set a
hand on the crook of his elbow.
It was all the chance that Daisy
needed. She had had plenty of experience
fading into the background when she could.
She melted away into the crowd like a shad-
ow, still clutching her drink. When she
234/245
glanced back, she could see the man and wo-
man standing closely together.
Are they married, she wondered in-
dignantly. If she was married, she wouldn't
want her husband giving beverage advice to
confused women.
Something about the whole scene
gave her a pang, however. He had teased her,
mocked her, and perhaps propositioned her,
but she couldn't deny that there was
something powerfully magnetic about him.
As she walked through the crowd, his dark
eyes haunted her.
She realized she was still holding her
glass of raki. The second sip still burned, but
she thought that it was a little less painful.
The third sip was even smoother.
It's not so bad, she said to herself. I'm
here for a party, and after tonight, I'll hang
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out with Lia for a bit, and then it'll be back
to Albany for me...
***
The gardens outside the ballroom
were dark and lush. She could hear some
faint footsteps, some soft words. They told
her that she did not walk alone. She had al-
most finished the glass of raki. Daisy felt ob-
scurely proud of herself. She knew that the
alcohol was powerful, but still, she had man-
aged it.
She could feel it making her soft and
warm inside. Unless she was very careful
where she put her feet, she would have
stumbled. The crush of the ballroom had
seemed too much, so she had found refuge in
the dark gardens. All around her were the
scents of jasmine and gardenias and other
exotic flowers for which she had no names.
236/245
Samara was so beautiful that it made
her hurt. She loved the palace, the way it
seemed to cradle all of the people within. It
was the perfect setting for Khilafa and Lia,
who glowed like gods come to earth. Watch-
ing
them
dance
together
had
been
enthralling.
“You look pensive, little one.”
The voice came from the darkness be-
side her, and for some reason, that didn't
even seem strange to her.
“Maybe a little,” she said with a smile.
“I... It's so beautiful here. It's amazing, all of
the history that Samara holds.”
“Oh? Are you an art buyer like your
sister to speak so of beauty?”
237/245
Daisy laughed. “Oh no, not me. Well, I
guess I know a little because Lia's my sister,
but no, I'm an interior decorator.”
“Ah, so you are in the business of
beauty yourself.”
“Maybe... I tend to think of it as mak-
ing homes?”
“Oh?”
Most people weren't actually that in-
terested in why she did her work as long as
they liked the look of their new homes. Per-
haps the speaker from the darkness wasn't
interested either, but the raki made her
brave.
“Yes. We all need places to live, and so
many people just...choose to accept whatever
they get. I think that every home should re-
flect and enhance the people living there.
238/245
Your home should be a part of you, and you
should be a part of your home. That is what I
do.”
“Your home must be a beautiful place,
then.”
Daisy's laugh was self-deprecating. “I
don't know about that. Sometimes, it feels as
if I'm so busy building a home that I never
think of what I want in one. Something I do
for all my clients is that I get to know them. I
want their home to be real to them, you
know? Maybe I just don't know myself well
enough to create a place that suits me.”
“That sounds sad.”
“Maybe it is. All I know is how to
make homes for other people. I guess that is
a little sad. But they are very beautiful
homes.”
239/245
There was a soft chuckle, rich and
smooth as chocolate. It warmed her up from
the toes.
“I'm sure you do.”
“I really do. I always want my clients
to have the best.”
The weariness from her long trip and
the exhaustion from the party were begin-
ning to wear on her. She felt herself waver on
her feet a little. Suddenly, there was a strong
arm around her.
“Hey, I don't-”
“Shh, little one. I'm safe, and so are
you. You simply look a little...worn out.”
“I am,” she said, the alcohol loosening
her tongue more than she would have
guessed. “I could sleep for days.”
240/245
“Well, we'll see about getting you to
bed, then, shall we?”
Daisy muttered a token protest, but
bed sounded lovely. She wanted to get out of
her gorgeous dress, shut the door on all of
the beautiful people, and dream away the
rest.
“This isn't an invitation,” she said. If
she were sober, she would have been horri-
fied at her bluntness. Instead, she only saw it
as appropriate. “I mean it. I don't... I don't go
to bed with...with just anyone.”
Or anyone at all, but the nice voice in
the darkness didn't need to know that.
“I can see that you are not like that at
all,” he assured her. “Your honor is safe with
me, but perhaps we should get you into bed
before you fall over?”
241/245
She muttered something in affirmat-
ive. The alcohol was hitting her hard now.
She drew herself up as straight as she could,
which honestly wasn't very straight at all.
“Take me to my room, please,” she
said, doing a credible impression of Lia.
“As my lady wishes,” was the re-
sponse, and if there was a slight grin in that
voice, she decided magnanimously that she
would forgive it.
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