by Marian Tee
"The interviews were taped," he replied with a touch of impatience that had me gnashing my teeth. "And the more I think about it," the SOB continued contemplatively, "the more I'm convinced you had only been pretending at that time. You thought you'd improve your chances by making yourself appear docile?"
Docile?
Me?
The thought alone made me want to gag, and it was all I could do not to snarl that it was not me he had been watching but Dahlia, who had no doubt pulled her usual poor-little-me act during the interview.
"Nothing to say?"
"I was out of my mind at that time," I said shortly. "But I'm thinking clearly now, and that's why I've decided it won't work."
"Mm." The contemplative sound rubbed me wrong for some reason, and I had to clench my jaw against the urge to say something foolish.
"You look almost as if you're prepared to go to war with me if I do not let you have your way." A slight smile played over his lips as he spoke, and despite my anger, there was no way for me to deny how his smile just made him more dangerously attractive.
"Not at all." I worked hard to keep my voice brisk and professional, knowing instinctively that showing any kind of emotion would only put me at a disadvantage. "It's just that, after thinking things over—-"
"You believe you could simply return the advance to cancel the whole agreement?"
The...advance?
I cleared my throat. "This advance..."
"Two hundred thousand euros—-"
I almost had a heart attack. Two-hundred-fucking-what? Even if he were willing to change the currency to US dollars, I still wouldn't be able to repay a fraction of that, and the thought made me feel like hyperventilating, with a six-digit noose suddenly tightening around my neck.
"Paid in cash, of course," he drawled.
And it just kept getting better and better. Cash in Dahlia's hand was like sand slipping through her fingers, dammit.
"In case you've forgotten." His tone was so mockingly polite, it had my fingers curling against the urge to drive my fist right at his extraordinarily handsome face.
This man has the money to cause you trouble, Smarter Side of My Brain pointedly reminded me, and since trouble was something I couldn't afford, I forced myself to let his assholeness slide and focus on what mattered.
"I'm truly sorry if my decision messes up your plans for fatherhood," I said doggedly, "but I'm afraid I won't be changing my mind."
Instead of answering, he rose to his feet and sauntered towards me, his movement so akin to the deadly grace of a panther that just watching him made me feel like I was about to be eaten.
A smile still lingered on his lips, but I wasn't fooled by it. Not one fucking bit. This sheikh was one cold SOB, but I had a feeling most people wouldn't be able to see past his sexy smiles to realize this.
My heart started pounding as he came closer, and when he was only a few feet away, I was stunned to feel a frisson of something acutely sexual skitter down my spine.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I forced myself to ignore this and lifted my chin in stubborn defiance. "You don't scare me."
But when he took another step closer, I found myself stepping back and eating my words. Shit. He was too damn tall. Since I stood five-foot-seven, I was at eye level with most guys, and so it always felt a little surreal every time I had to look up to meet someone's eyes...
Whoa!
He closed the distance between us the moment our gazes met, and the next thing I knew, one hard arm was already curled around my waist, and he had successfully imprisoned my wrists behind my back.
His gaze glittered with amusement as he pulled me close, so damn close that I knew if I took a huge gulp of breath, I'd cause my breasts to rub against the muscular wall of his chest.
And I didn't want that to happen.
Right?
It almost felt like I was lying to myself, and when I forced myself to start struggling, it almost felt like I was cutting my nose to spite my face. "Let me go, you fuck!"
But the SOB only chuckled, and as annoying as the sound was, there was also a purring sensuality to it that had another frisson of helpless desire tickle down my spine.
"I don't know what's gotten into you to make you change like this," he murmured, "but it does make things more interesting."
Motherfucking cocky piece of sheikh.
I opened my mouth to tell him just that, but...yeah. I ended up doing something in his favor again, and the moment my lips parted, his mouth crushed mine in an instant—-
Nooooooooooo.
I didn't want my first kiss to be with him.
But it was too late, and with one stroke of his tongue...I was lost.
Stroke...stroke...stroke.
I had always thought that this kind of kiss was rather gross. The tongue was just so wet and fleshy, I couldn't understand why anyone would want someone else's tongue inside their mouth.
But now I knew.
You'd want it if the other person knew what he was doing.
And this piece of sheikh?
He was still a motherfucking cocky SOB, but oh man, did he know...did this guy know how to use his tongue. Every stroke was tantalizingly unpredictable - one moment lazy, another moment possessive; one moment playful, another moment tender. But whichever the case, every stroke was an intoxicating pleasure, and when he started sucking on my tongue—-
Oh, fuck, but this was even better, just so much better—-
Suck, suck, suck.
I never knew having a man suck on my tongue could feel this good.
Suck, suck, suck.
I hated how good it felt. Wished I could make myself resist. But instead, all I could do was think, Don't end, please don't end, please—-
But it did.
One second, he was making love to my mouth, another second I was all alone, with only air to kiss me back. I watched in dazed silence as he stepped away, cool as fucking ice, and cocky as only mother-effing SOB sheikhs could be...
A smirk curved over his lips. "What was that you were saying about changing your mind?"
My cheeks burned, and I forgot all about being calm and sensible and all of the other things that Smarter Side of My Brain told me to be.
"Fuck you."
"With pleasure, habibti."
YEARGH.
"Fuck—-" I almost said 'you' again but managed to catch myself in time. "Fuck this shit."
I stalked out of his office, and with every step I could feel him watching me, and oh man, idiot that I was, all I could think of at that time was...
What would I do if he stopped me from leaving?
Dear Ms. Teller,
We kindly request that you present yourself at the address listed below on the stated time and date.
Please note that this letter shall also stand as your FINAL NOTICE AND WARNING.
If you fail to make yourself available as requested, this shall constitute as a direct violation of Sec. IV Rule 5 of Contract RE-058-ST, which you have voluntarily signed and received an advance payment in the sum of two hundred thousand euros (€200,000).
No further warning will be given following this, and our law firm has been authorized to pursue the necessary legal action if you continue to disregard your employer's request.
Sincerely,
Al-Dimashqi & Ghazali LLC
Chapter Two
Come on, Dahlia. Pick up the damn phone. But just as it had been for the past six days, all I heard was her mobile ringing, and so it went on until an automated response kicked in. "Sorry. The person you're calling is busy at the moment..."
Busy, my ass.
Or maybe Dahlia was busy, since my twin did have six digits to burn, and she didn't even have to worry her pretty little head about repaying it. Nope, no worries at all, since I was the one who'd get my ass sued, if I kept trying to fool myself, thinking I'd get away with ignoring the requests of my "employer".
And the latest request that the SOB threa
tened to take me to court for?
My steps came to a halt as I gazed moodily at the newly-opened restopub across the street.
Y + K, its minimalist-style signage read. A Yelp review described the place as 'swanky casual' and its menu a delicious but rare fusion of Japanese and Greek. On any other day, I'd have been happy to give this a try. Tonight, however...
Wear a dress. Don't be late.
Those were the asshole's exact words, included in fine print in the law firm's last courier-delivered letter, and the memory of it completely soured what should've been a fabulous dining experience. Y+K might as well have been the doorway to Hell, considering who was waiting for me behind its doors.
The urge to turn around struck anew even as I forced myself to cross the street as soon as the pedestrian light turned green. No point running away, I reminded myself while climbing the stairs that led up to the second-floor dining area. The SOB was just going to give me more shit if I did, so I might as well be done with it.
A couple was still speaking with the maître d' when I reached the second floor, and since this part of the restopub was strictly by reservation, I didn't hesitate to give my name when it was my turn. I waited for the maître d' to check his reservation book like he had with the other couple but the man only nodded, saying with a smile, "Let me escort you to your table, Ms. Teller."
SOB was a VIP here, I guessed right away, and no doubt I wasn't the first girl he had brought to this place. The thought pissed me off for some reason, and the fact that it did pissed me off even more.
I looked around as we walked farther inside. Since the place was built like an arena, everyone in the second floor could enjoy the view of all the dancing going on below, and the first thing I saw was the DJ fist-pumping the air as he hyped the crowd from his booth.
"I'll take it from here, Phil."
The hatefully familiar drawl startled me out of my observations, and I heard the maître d' murmur in assent as I reluctantly turned to face my tormentor. I had been hoping that I could've remembered him wrong, and that the reality of him would be far less attractive.
But...nope.
If anything, my memories of him seriously paled in comparison, and the SOB in the flesh was even sexier and more devastatingly handsome than I allowed myself to remember.
Raven black hair that would make any woman wish she could run her fingers through its locks. Dark eyes that could seduce with a single sizzling glance. And that to-die-for body...
Stop lusting after the enemy, you idiot!
My jaw clenched, and I fought to keep my face expressionless as my gaze finally lifted to meet his. He was dressed in a gray wool suit tonight. It looked expensive, naturally. No tie, but he did have a fancy silk handkerchief peeking out of his breast pocket.
Behind him, I could see women glancing his way all the time, all of them clearly hoping they'd have the chance to catch his eye, and none of them obviously caring he wasn't alone. Then again, why would they?
This guy could have any woman in the room, and yet here he was with me, an ordinary-looking, potty-mouthed undergrad who had only come here to meet him under duress.
I could feel the women glaring at me as the SOB came close. "You look beautiful, habibti." He reached for me as he spoke, and I nearly jerked when his hand rested against my bare back. Hot, I thought in panic. His touch was so ridiculously hot against my skin, and it had me burning up in a flash.
"Thank you for wearing a dress," he murmured.
"You didn't exactly leave me a choice," I muttered under my breath, but the SOB only ignored this, and instead I felt a gentle pressure against my back as he ushered me towards our table.
While most of the other tables in the restaurant were facing inwards and towards the dance floor, ours was directly set against the window and offered a fantastic night view of the city. It would've been perfect, really, except for the fact that instead of chairs, we had a two-seater bar bench to share between us.
"I don't think we'd fit," I said right away. "Maybe we should ask—-"
"We'll make it work, habibti."
A moment later, and my worst fears were confirmed, with both of us squeezed up so closely against each other it almost as if we were one.
I could feel him watching me, but I stubbornly kept my gaze straight ahead and fought to keep still even as I felt him lean closer...and closer...until he was facing me directly, and as his thigh pressed hard against mine, my body temperature, already feverish, sky-rocketed.
"Why are you so determined to fight this?" The words, whispered straight into my ear, nearly had me jumping out of my skin.
Shit!
I instinctively tried moving away, but his arm, resting against the back of the bench, was around me in an instant.
"Let go," I hissed under my breath.
Instead of answering me, I felt his fingers slowly trail up until they were wrapped around my nape, and a moment later, it was that pressure again...like a gentle but inflexible command.
He wanted me to face him...and I found myself doing as ordered.
Because I have no choice, I told myself, and not because I liked him ordering me around.
When his dark gaze captured mine, the glitter of lust I saw in his eyes made me catch my breath.
Ever since that day Dahlia impersonated me, I had never allowed myself to have any male friends, much less let a man come this close to me, so damn close that when I looked into the sheikh's eyes, I could read exactly what he was thinking.
And right now, this man had only one thought in mind.
He...wanted...to fuck...me.
Hard.
I could feel my cheeks burning at the realization, and I hurriedly tried to think of something to talk about, just to get my mind out of the gutter. "I...um..." Think, you idiot! "I...I asked the law firm for your name."
"Ah." The sheikh leaned back slightly at the words, and I hated the way the increased distance made me feel a little empty. Something was definitely wrong with me, dammit.
"My name is not something you need to know at the moment."
I gaped at him. "Are you serious?" This man was willing to pay me - I mean, Dahlia - half a million bucks total to impregnate me (no, wait, it's Dahlia, dammit)...and he didn't think I - she - needed to know his name?
"You may call me sheikh, whether we are fucking or not—-"
"You really are an asshole, sheikh. The biggest fucking asshole I've ever had the misfortune to meet...sheikh." I made sure to spit the last word out like it was another word for shit, but to my consternation, this only had the SOB smiling.
"I wonder if you'll continue talking in such a manner," he mused, "if you can see just how much hearing you cuss like a sailor turns me on."
When I opened my mouth to say 'fuck you', I saw him smirk and realized right away he had been telling the truth.
My potty mouth did turn him on.
Dammit.
I was still trying to think of a way to get back at him when a pair of waiters came to our table and served our first course: a beautifully plated dish of Greek salad, along with a single serving of Japanese sushi.
"Truce for now?" the SOB asked.
"Fine," I answered grudgingly, mostly because I was starving, having only had cereal for breakfast and nothing else after that.
The entrée that followed was a huge, mouthwatering slab of A5 wagyu, Level 12, and served with Greek lemon rice on the side. This was then followed by a dessert tray: bite-sized pieces of revani along with a colorful assortment of wagashi or traditional Japanese sweets.
"If I tell you I love watching you eat..."
"Then I'll start on a diet tomorrow."
"If you do," he warned with a glint in his eyes, "I'd have to punish you."
I glared at him. "Just try laying a hand on me—-"
"You can count on it," he purred, "and you'll love every second of it, too. In fact, you'll be begging for more—-"
Yeargh!
My fists clenched.
Don't punch him, Smarter Side of Me pleaded right away. You can't afford to punch him, you know that.
And since that was true, my fists...stayed clenched against my sides.
"You have quite the temper, don't you?"
I refused to answer and made a show of ignoring him.
"You take offense rather easily—-"
Oh, fuck taking the high road.
"Of course I'd take offense, you fuck," I snarled. "Everything you say and do is offensive, and if you really are a sheikh—-"
"I am."
"Then you must be the Sheikh of Ass-rabia," I snapped, "because no one can compare to your asshole-ness."
"And yet..." His smirking gaze trailed down, and I was horrified at the way I felt my breasts instantly swelled against the tight bodice of my dress. "You are still attracted to me."
"Fuck you."
"Soon."
I opened my mouth to tell him he was probably the Sheikh of Randy Goats, too, when the waiters came by to take our plates away, and I quickly snapped my mouth shut. I could see he noticed this right away, and so I wasn't surprised when he pounced on this as soon as we were alone again.
"You surprise me, habibti. I would've assumed you're the type to enjoy..."
"Brawling in public?" I asked dryly.
"I was trying to look for a better term, but yes."
"Childhood trauma," I answered shortly. "So consider yourself lucky."
"I've considered myself lucky," he said gravely, "from the moment I watched the video of your interview."
I was so damn tempted to tell him that I hadn't been interviewed for anything, but while the truth might let me off the hook, it could also mean creating trouble for Dahlia, which would then anger Portia and have her start threatening Greg again...
"You appear troubled."
"And that really surprises you?" I couldn't help asking sarcastically, but this only had his gaze gleaming with amusement.
"You know you truly not want to get out of this arrangement, habibti," he purred.
"God, you are so fucking full of it—-"
"But it's the truth nevertheless," he dismissed lazily. "So there must be something else that's troubling you..."