by Olivia Gates
The first and lesser reason was that she couldn’t stand aside and let their father be humiliated and hurt. She loved him, in spite of his weaknesses, felt even more protective of him because of them. She knew he shouldn’t have become king, that it continued to be an unbearable burden. But fate had conspired to put him on the throne, and it had been the one thing that had appeased many a tribe at the time. He’d sacrificed his own desires for Zafrana’s. This current mess was not solely his fault. In her pursuit of independence, her career and immigration to the United States, she’d stopped following the developments in Zafrana, until things had deteriorated beyond resolution. The internal situation was now so volatile, if the major tribes didn’t get a solution soon and with their interests finally threatened by Saraya’s impending takeover, civil war would erupt.
But the major reason she’d agreed to the marriage remained her sisters. Even if she’d been able to leave her father and her people to a doom they’d caused, she couldn’t leave Zeena and Fayza to a fate they hadn’t brought on themselves. If Hassan couldn’t have her, he’d ask for one of her sisters. And their father would be forced to comply.
But they were nothing like her. They were too young, too sheltered and too inexperienced in life and with men. They didn’t have the power of another nationality and the protection of personal wealth. If Jen left, neither of her sisters would be able to resist being shoved into this marriage. Zeena would crumble, and the two-years-older Fayza would do something drastic.
So it was up to her to protect them. She had to marry that power-grabbing old man and save them. And along with them, her whole family and kingdom.
She hugged the sobbing Zeena tighter, kissed the top of her head soothingly. “Don’t worry about me, Zee. You know me. I’m a survivor, a winner, and I’ll find a way to...to...”
Words and thoughts petered away. The whole scene in front of her blurred, then disappeared. Nothing remained but a man. The most magnificent male she’d ever laid eyes on...
“To what?”
Jen started at the question, blinked as if coming out of a trance. For seconds she couldn’t remember where she was, why she and Zeena were sharing this fervent hug and why her baby sister was looking up at her with such entreaty.
Then noise and lights and movements and memories started to register again. But her senses remained trained on the man as he stood at the ballroom’s wide-open doors, surveying it with all the somberness of a general studying a battlefield. He filled her awareness, the sheer force of his presence nullifying everything else. As if he had some kind of gravity well that nothing could resist or escape.
Then he moved, and the crowd parted for him, seemingly unable to withstand being in his path. It felt as if he had a spotlight trained on him, illuminating him even as he dipped in areas of shadow. What else explained why he looked more vivid, more in focus than anyone else who was dozens of feet closer?
“Who’s that?”
She blinked again as she forced her eyes back to her sister. Zeena had followed her entranced gaze to the mystery man and was staring at him openmouthed. So he had the same effect on her. Of course he did. He had everyone around mesmerized.
It seemed so weird that she didn’t know who he was, since she felt she...recognized him.
Exhaling at her inexplicable reactions and thoughts, she shrugged. “I have no idea.”
An assessing expression came into Zeena’s eyes as she let her go, before impishness suddenly replaced anguish on her face. “Want me to go find out?”
Jen raised one eyebrow. “And how would you do that?”
“I’ll walk right up to him, introduce myself as the sister of the bride and just ask.”
Jen winced at the word bride, but waved dismissively. “Thanks, darling, but you probably wouldn’t be able to move, let alone speak, if you come within talking distance of him.”
Zeena looked back at the man who kept coming closer to their hideout and sighed. “Yeah, I’d probably turn to stone if he even looked at me.”
So even Zeena with her limited experience with the world in general and men in particular felt the impact of this man. As for herself, she’d been exposed to some of the most powerful men on earth in over a decade of studies, travels and public and private work, and she knew beyond a doubt that this man was exceptional among even those. More than that. He was one of a kind. The way he affected her was unprecedented. And that was from afar, when he was completely unaware of her.
Suddenly, knowing who he was became the most important thing to her. Before she led a mockery of a life dictated by everyone else’s interests, she was due for one thing all her own. What better than to indulge her unstoppable curiosity about this man? After all, where did being perfectly responsible and in control lead her? But then, why should she even need a reason? She was just going to find out who he was, not have a fling with him.
Yeah, right, as if such a force of nature would look in her direction, even if he weren’t here attending her engagement party.
But she would do this, for herself. Even if for some reason she felt the simple action of discovering his identity would have some unpredictable and serious consequences.
Straightening, she rolled her shoulders, as if readying herself for a fight. “I’ll do it. I’ll go investigate.”
Before she strode away, Zeena’s hand on her forearm stopped her. “Just be careful. This guy is radiating something fierce.”
Jen’s gaze went to him again, and she nodded. “That’s called power. The unadulterated form.”
“I guess. But he just feels—” Zeena looked suddenly uncomfortable “—dangerous.”
Jen’s lips curved as she repeated to her sister what she’d just been thinking. “Darling, I’m just going to find out who he is, not have a fling with him.”
Zeena gave an embarrassed giggle as Jen swept her velvet cheek in one last reassuring caress before striding away.
As she rejoined the crowd, heading for the one most likely to know who that man was, Jen exhaled a ragged breath. For Zeena was so right.
She had no doubt this demigod was very dangerous. Deadly. But that only made her desire to find out everything about him even more overpowering.
She zeroed in on Jameel Aal Hashem, her five-years-younger maternal cousin, a walking encyclopedia of social gossip and celebrity news. She’d bet her mystery man hadn’t escaped her cousin’s all-encompassing curiosity.
And she was right. Before she could even ask Jameel, he pointed out the stranger in a fit of ecstatic excitement. After gushing about how he couldn’t believe he was here, Jameel told her who he was. Numair Al Aswad.
And how fitting that name was. He was indeed as majestic and sleek and powerful as his namesake. He was actually known by the English version of his name: the Black Panther of Black Castle Enterprises.
Now that she knew his name, she knew far more about him than Jameel possibly could. Since she’d become deeply involved in the world of business, anywhere she’d turned there it had been, the global corporation he’d founded that was shaping the market in every major field that made the world go round.
As the senior partner, Numair was a leader among the gods of science, finance and technology responsible for Black Castle Enterprises’ staggering success, and one of the most individually rich and powerful men on the planet. And now she’d found out that he was also the sexiest thing to ever walk the earth.
But not much was known about his personal life. Only that he came from Damhoor, a kingdom in her region, but had immigrated to the United States in his childhood, and his parents were long dead. As far as she knew, he’d never been married.
Then at one point, as Jameel joined her in openly drooling over the man, Numair turned and looked straight at them.
At her.
His gaze slammed into her own with the force of a lightning
bolt. Feeling as if it had fried her brain, nothing was left in her mind but alarm.
Had he felt her staring at him?
Before her stalled breathing could restart, people moved in front of her, severing the electrified visual contact.
Shaky with relief and disappointment at once, she murmured something to Jameel and hurried away, unable to risk being in Numair’s crosshairs again.
Secure that Hassan hadn’t bothered to look for her, she maneuvered around the few people who recognized her to rush back to her retreat. She wanted to continue watching Numair from its safety. The memory of savoring his magnificence would be what she’d remember from this wretched night.
As she reached her previous vantage point, another jolt hit her again. It was fiercer this time, making her stumble and drop her purse. Cursing when it opened on impact, spilling its contents, she crouched to retrieve them...and felt as if the place was plunged into darkness. The next second, she knew why. It was the massive figure towering over her, seeming to block out the whole world. She didn’t need to look up to see who it was. The current that now mercilessly arced through her told her who it was.
Numair.
As her chest filled to bursting with erratic heartbeats, he dropped to his haunches before her. Before she could raise her eyes to his, his hands, cool and calloused, brushed hers and zapped her with another thousand volts as he took the purse from her limp grasp and put everything back in it, his every move the essence of control and elegance.
As he handed it back to her, she mustered enough volition and looked up...and lost what remained of her compromised balance. Only the hand that shot out to support her stopped her from flopping back on her ass.
Finding herself inches from him was as heart-stopping, literally, as finding herself face-to-face with his predator namesake. All that lethal power coiled and simmering under the polished, perfect veneer of savage beauty.
She now realized she’d gotten it wrong before. He was no demigod. This was a full-fledged god, one who ruled over a whole pantheon of deities. A desert god in specific, forged from its heat and harshness, from its mystery and moodiness and magnificence. He might not have lived long in her region, but his heritage was carved in his every line.
And carved was an accurate word. Every inch of him seemed to have been hewn by some divine force. His all-black formal silk suit and shirt clung to a body she had no doubt was solid, chiseled muscle. The clothes offered not an inch of padding to the breadth of his shoulders and chest, no accentuation to the hardness of his abdomen and thighs or the sparseness of his waist and hips. This was the full potential of the species realized, a powerhouse of virility and manliness.
And that was before she took in the details of his face. From a luxurious mane of raven silk that would reach almost to his shoulders when freed, to stunning emerald eyes that seemed to radiate a hypnosis, to sensual lips and polished teak–colored skin spread taut against a bone structure to tear heartstrings over, he was breathtaking.
Then he was pulling her up to her feet as he uncoiled to his full height, and for the first time ever she felt dwarfed. She stood six feet in three-inch heels, and he still towered over her by what appeared to be half a foot.
Then he did something that once again made her heart hammer as if it was trying to ram out of her chest. He raised a hand and swept back the swath of hair that had cascaded over her face, ensnaring one strand, rubbing it between his fingers.
“You hate being here.”
No preliminaries. Just...bam. Of course he would follow no rules. It made it even worse that his voice was like darkest velvet gliding over her every nerve. Did he have to sound mouthwatering, too?
Without meaning to, she found herself responding, as if under the effect of a truth serum. “I do.”
He nodded, as if he’d already been certain, but approved her corroboration. “This—” he swept the whole scene in a disdainful flick “—is unworthy of your tolerance or your presence.”
She had to force the mouth that kept dropping open closed. “Sometimes we’re forced to put up with much, for the sake of what’s more important than our own preferences or what we think we’re worthy of.”
His lips and eyes hardened, clearly disapproving. “Nothing is more important than your preferences. And your worth is not a matter of opinion. Only the best is good enough for you. The only thing you must always expect and get.”
The heart that seemed to have taken permanent residence in her throat expanded at his praise. Even if it was empty hyperbole, it sounded fantastic coming from him.
“Uh, thanks...but you don’t really know anything about me. And it’s clear you have no idea who I am.”
That dismissing wave again. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew everything I need to know about you. As for your identity, that makes no difference to who you really are, what you truly deserve.”
“Oh, believe me, it does.”
“Because you’re Jenan Aal Ghamdi, and this is supposed to be your engagement party?”
He knew who she was. And it didn’t seem to make a difference to him.
His next words made that clear beyond a doubt. “It’s all quite irrelevant to me. And should be to you, too. You don’t want to be here. But you want to be with me.”
“I—I do?”
“Yes. As much as I want to be with you.” His words were dripping in arrogant certainty. From another man, it would have been offensive. She’d handed other men their asses over way less. From him, though, it was just right. He had a right to such supreme self-assurance.
His eyes flared in the dimness as they caressed her half-open lips before settling back on her no doubt shell-shocked eyes. “Let me take you away from this farce. I’m the only one who can give you everything you need.”
She gaped up at him. Was she so traumatized by the idea of marrying Hassan that she was having a wish-fulfillment hallucination? Creating this god of a man and making it so she’d had the same instant, inexorable effect on him that he’d had on her?
But nothing she could conjure could be as outlandishly incredible as him. No, he was real. He had really followed her here, and he really was offering...offering...
She didn’t know exactly what he was offering. But anything coming from him sounded better than any fantasy she’d ever had. And more impossible.
Her situation might be irrelevant to him, but to her...
Suddenly, everything inside her hit Pause. In seconds, an urge took her over. A plan. It was rash, probably crazy, but it was all she could think of anymore.
This man was even more powerful than the monarchs she’d approached for help. His power was also unbridled by any of their tribal and political shackles, and it was more than enough to resolve Zafrana’s crisis without her sacrificing herself to this barbaric ritual of an arranged marriage. Of course, a man like him wouldn’t help out of the goodness of his heart.
She had a feeling he didn’t have one.
But if he was as interested in her as he seemed to be, they might come to an understanding.
Even if she couldn’t imagine he was that interested, he’d help with something that major. As a businesswoman, she was used to taking risks. The worst that could happen was he’d decline and just walk away. But since the stakes were so high and he was that tempting, she’d risk far more than his mere rejection.
Before she could think again, she said it out loud, making it too late to back down. “There is something I need.”
“Anything.”
His instant, unqualified statement gave her the last shove of courage she needed to make her request.
“I need you to get me out of marrying Hassan.”
Two
“Done.”
Numair watched the impact of his one-word answer widening Jenan Aal Ghamdi’s magnificent eyes, sp
reading a deeper peach blush across the sculpted elegance of her cheekbones.
He was again almost overwhelmed by the need to trace that delectable color that kept surging across her face, the testament to his effect on this irresistible creature. And to luxuriate in every line of her masterpiece features, then drag her to him and taste each one before settling on her lush, dewy lips and devouring them.
It again baffled him, his response to her, the intensity, the immediacy of it. This was unprecedented, inexplicable. Yet it was most opportune. He’d come here for her after all.
He’d come knowing everything about her from the day she’d been born to the moment before he’d seen her. He’d compiled a dossier on her thicker than any he’d ever had on a quarry. From photographs, he’d noted her esthetic symmetry, but he hadn’t had any response to it, as usual.
Then he’d seen her in the flesh, and all thoughts of swallowing the bitter pill of necessity had been decimated by the thunderbolt of his response to her. Compulsions he’d never even imagined had taken him over the moment he’d laid eyes on her across the distance.
No. They’d done so even before he had. He’d felt her first.
Not that he’d realized what it had been he’d felt when a charge of energy had zapped him as soon as he’d entered this ballroom. He’d told himself it must have been a surge of resolve, obliterating any aversion to being here, to launching his mission. Those sensations had strengthened with each step he’d taken until he’d become certain it wasn’t internal, but a response to another person. A woman. Though he’d never felt anything like that toward one, the awareness he’d felt had been definitely...sensual.
Once sure of that, he hadn’t wanted to find the source of the disturbance. It would have been self-sabotaging to make contact with someone who’d triggered such an aberrant reaction in him when he was here in pursuit of a specific woman.