by Olivia Gates
Then when Zafrana’s king had died twenty-two years ago, the throne had gone to his closest male relative, his cousin Khalil, Jenan’s father.
His plan coming here had been simple. To reclaim his heritage, and punish the monster who’d murdered his father and caused Numair to rot in hell for a quarter of a century.
He was still working on providing irrefutable proof of his identity. With his father being dead almost four decades, it was hard to find anything with his DNA. Proof positive was to find his remains, so he was scouring the Mediterranean where his father’s yacht had sunk.
Once he found it, he’d reclaim his true identity. He didn’t fear exposure, like Rafael Salazar, who’d been abducted from his parents. No one in The Organization knew who Numair really was, having obtained him as an anonymous child from an orphanage in a faraway country. And he’d make his story work perfectly with the meticulous history he’d created for his Numair Al Aswad persona.
Once he decided to announce his real identity, he’d reveal the part where he’d survived the assassination attempt. His story would diverge from the truth when he’d claim he’d been found by a fishing fleet on the shores of Damhoor, a neighboring kingdom to Saraya, and taken to an orphanage there. A couple who’d been working there had adopted him almost immediately, but had never announced it since adoption was forbidden there, taking him to the States as their biological son. They’d told him he was adopted only when he’d been in his late teens.
The other truth he’d say was that it had taken him all that time to investigate his origins.
Until he proved them, he planned to prepare the playing field. And to punish Hassan. Before he exposed him for the murderer he was and throw him in a dungeon for life, he’d first disgrace and destroy him a bit at a time. Everyone should be happy with that, since all monarchs in the region wished he’d abdicate the throne to one worthy of it. But that wouldn’t be Hassan’s crown prince and his cousin, the much-loved Najeeb, but Numair himself.
If his cousins contested his right to the throne, which he fully expected they would, he had the power to curb them and any allies whose help they enlisted, and the finances to buy them all a few times over. If not, he could escalate to whatever level of conflict it took to make them bow down to him. He had no problem taking the throne in a coup. Or starting a war to claim what was his. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d instigated an armed conflict.
The other part of his plan had been to claim the other side of his heritage.
He’d come here bound on taking Zafrana’s throne, too, and saving his other homeland from its inept king. The only way to do this was through blood. Khalil’s blood. Through one of his daughters. Jenan had been the obvious choice, since her half sisters were so young. Then Hassan had made a bid for her, unintentionally trying to beat him to Zafrana with his same plan.
That had posed little change in his plan. Instead of claiming Jenan directly, he had to pulverize Hassan’s bid first. He’d intended to seduce her, impregnate her then marry her, becoming Zafrana’s de facto ruler during Khalil’s life through the marriage alliance. After Khalil’s death, when the throne became his child’s, he’d intended to rule as regent until his child came of age.
Then in mere hours, everything had changed. His one objective was now Jenan. Not because she was strategic to his plans, but because he had to have her.
Now he feared his marauding ways had alienated her.
He heaved up to his feet, his every muscle bunched as if in preparation for the fight of his life.
Not having her wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t retreat and change his approach. He’d escalate his attack, besiege her, leave her nowhere to run and hide.
Tomorrow night, Jenan would be his.
* * *
“You are my hero!”
Jen winced as Zeena launched herself at her the moment she opened the door for her and Fayza the next morning.
Fayza, her ball-of-energy nineteen-year-old sister, zipped around her and inside her apartment, excitement radiating from her eyes and spilling from her lips. “When they realized you disappeared from your own engagement party, Father and Hassan almost had strokes. Father with worry and Hassan with outrage. It was so funny.”
Though her sisters were in such good cheer, she still worried. “Is Father okay?”
“Yeah.” Fayza threw herself down on Jen’s huge floral couch in the living room. “His blood pressure is just through the roof.”
Jen groaned at what Fayza considered okay. “Ya Ullah, Fay, the way you take nothing seriously will one day give me a stroke! Please tell me you gave him his medication!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Fayza rolled her hands, in a hurry to attack the next topic. “I bet it didn’t work until we called him on the way up here to tell him you’re okay.”
But she wasn’t okay, might never be okay again.
Since she’d left Numair, she’d been unable to sleep or even sit, pacing holes in her wall-to-wall carpeting, her stomach eating itself with tension and hunger, yet unable to tolerate even a sip of water. Every inch of her buzzed with excess electricity, every nerve so taut she felt they’d snap.
“You know, sis...” Fayza stretched out, her knee-length raven hair a sharp contrast to the pastel print sofa, her gold eyes glittering with mischief, her face the very sight of admiration and smugness. “We always thought you were a wonder woman, but that stunt you pulled last night? That qualifies you for an all-time record in sticking your tongue out to our collective region, culture and history.” She guffawed, drummed her heels on the couch. “I would have given anything to see Hassan’s face the moment he realized you’d just up and left.” She jumped up onto her knees as Jen approached, draped herself over the couch’s back like an inquisitive cat. “So what did you do instead of attending that funeral? Caught a movie? Went roller-skating? Or came back here, ordered pizza, watched Will and Grace reruns and did your toenails?”
“She left with a hunk from some Arabian Nights fable.”
Zeena’s enthusiastic declaration was followed by total silence as Fayza’s irrepressible chatter came to an abrupt end. For three seconds. Then she exploded.
“What? And you didn’t tell me? Zee, I’ll kill you!”
Jen grimaced at her sister’s loudness as Zeena spluttered, “Tell you what? All I know is that this genie seemed to appear out of nowhere, materialized beside Jen and then poof, they were both gone.”
Jen had to laugh. As ridiculous as that account was, it sounded more plausible than what had actually happened.
Fayza turned excited eyes to Jen. “Spill!”
Knowing it was pointless to avoid their questions, Jen told them everything, with some key elements left out. Like Numair almost making love to her, and his pregnancy-to-marriage demand.
It was late in the day before Zeena and Fayza left, during which they did order pizza, watched Will and Grace reruns and did their nails—hands and feet.
The two girls floated away, buoyed by delight that their big sister wouldn’t barter herself for their kingdom’s peace and economic salvation, and that a knight in shining armor had charged to her rescue.
Jen closed the door behind them, slumped against it and let the smile she’d pinned on for their benefit crumble. If only they knew her knight was a black-as-sin marauder, and as unstoppable as a hurricane...
Though she still couldn’t bring herself to do as he’d demanded—tell her father everything would be taken care of—she did believe Numair when he’d said she didn’t have to say yes to his proposition in return for his help. That wasn’t why she was in such turmoil.
It was his demand itself. Becoming his lover, sleeping in his arms, sharing every intimacy sounded deliriously fantastic. Since he’d touched her, she’d been aching with need for him. She felt certain he was the man who’d show her what sex could really be like,
what passion and satisfaction were.
Yet getting pregnant by him? It sounded terrifying.
But what was her alternative? She could continue to live alone, work, succeed, exercise, volunteer... Rinse and repeat. Sure, that was great, and it had been good enough—before him. But she’d had the hope that she’d one day find a man and fall in love, at least in lust. But now she knew no other man would ever compare to Numair. She’d never look at another man twice, let alone share her body with him. So if she didn’t indulge her feminine urges with Numair, she’d have to put them in deep freeze for life. That sounded as horrible as a lifelong prison sentence. Living in hope, even if it never came to pass, was one thing; knowing there was no hope was another.
As for having a baby, she’d always thought she’d one day have one. But since she’d given up on marriage, and no one had tempted her to have sex with him, she’d thought she’d seek out a donor. But after Numair, that didn’t feel like an option anymore. Now that she knew he existed, that she could want a man that much, that he wanted her as fiercely, how could she contemplate having a child not born of this perfection, as he’d said?
To have a child with this wonder would be incredible. And once she got pregnant, if they married as he’d insisted, he’d certainly never be a needy, clingy, exploitative partner, like her ex had been, so she had nothing to worry about in that arena. He’d also promised he’d never smother her. Realistically speaking, with a man like him, who was so preoccupied with burdens the magnitude of which she probably couldn’t imagine, the opposite would probably be true. He’d probably have little time for her, giving her all the space she needed and then some.
His ardor would probably cool off gradually, too. And hers as well, no doubt, especially with a child changing the essence of her existence. Once things settled, she’d end up having everything she had now, plus a child and the best possible partner in raising it.
Though Numair felt as if he was missing human components, she had a feeling he would make a good father. That protector vibe told her he would. She knew in her bones she’d be safe with him, and so would a child.
In fact, the more she thought of it, the more it sounded too good to be true. She couldn’t even imagine why all this was happening to her, of all women. It sounded like too much of a coincidence, too much the answer to her every fantasy. Everything about him, everything he’d said and done, was the best thing she could have hoped for. So was it what it appeared to be? Or was there somehow more to it?
She had a thousand questions. And worries. This man was the most unfathomable quantity she’d ever met. She knew there was far more to him than even she could imagine. And for some reason she couldn’t even begin to explain, she felt there was far more to this whole thing...
The bell rang right at her back. She jumped as if at a close-range gunshot, blasted out of her reverie.
Her eyes tore to the clock on the wall. It was 7:00 p.m. This had to be Numair’s right-hand man.
Heart hammering, she squared her shoulders. She would go to Numair. To ask him to have a long, rational talk.
She’d ask her questions, demand her terms—her safeguards, more like. Once he’d given her satisfactory answers and they had a roadmap of sorts, she’d tear his clothes off and demand he show her no mercy.
Inhaling a bolstering breath, she opened the door with the smile she’d patented for strangers. The next second her lungs almost burst in shock.
Numair. On her doorstep.
Before she could draw another breath, she was swept up as if she was made of cotton candy, in arms that defined power, looking up into a face that was mastery incarnate.
Kicking the door closed behind him, he looked down at her with a voracity that turned her body from solid to molten. And that was before his deep, devouring words hit her.
“I realized I’ve been remiss. I spoke of the untold pleasure I have in store for you if you say yes, but gave you no true sample of my claims. I’m here to rectify my oversight.”
Five
A high-pitched alarm kept clanging in the distance.
Jen vaguely recognized it was logic, reminding her that she hadn’t asked her questions, stated her terms or obtained her safeguards.
She let it clamor, then tuned it out. Everything it was yelling about suddenly felt irrelevant. Anything would be when you were drowning. As she was. In Numair.
And he hadn’t yet done anything but sweep her up in his arms and claim her lips. If she felt taken, possessed, devoured already, what would she feel like when he fully made love to her?
For the first time in her life, self-preservation wasn’t her foremost consideration. She wanted him more than she wanted to be safe. It was insanity and she knew it. She never knowingly did insane stuff. But for him, she’d do anything. With him, she wanted everything.
Suddenly the world gave way beneath her, and she felt she was plummeting. He’d only put her back on her feet. The only reason she didn’t heap to the ground at his feet was because he kept one muscled arm around her waist. It tightened, pulling her against him fully, her toes barely touching the ground. She was totally in his power, loving it and delighting in every hard inch of him that was imprinting her trembling flesh. She moaned when his other hand rose to cup her cheek.
“I spent all night and all day in agony. Tell me you did, too.” She could only nod, but her muteness seemed to satisfy him. “And as I suffered, I planned everything I’d do to you, all the ways I’d assuage the hunger, slowly, thoroughly.”
She was all for thoroughly. But didn’t know if she could withstand slowly. The plea to hurry and take her would have spilled from her lips if they weren’t trembling out of control with anticipation.
He made it worse, rubbing his thumb against them, his breathing becoming audible, each draw into his endless chest chafing inside her own. “I never knew wanting like this, or anything like you, existed. I thought the ferocity of my desire scared you, that it sent you running away.”
She forced words out. “It scared me how much I wanted you. I was terrified I was out of my mind.”
“You were. As I was. As I still am. As I will remain.” His thumb stilled. “Are you still afraid?”
She rubbed her lips against his hard flesh, begging him to continue. “Only that my heart might stop.”
Triumph and lust blasted her as he pressed her harder into his length. “I will stop your heart. With pleasure.”
She nodded, closed her eyes to savor the sensations that emanated from her deepest recesses. She moaned as she caught his tormenting thumb in a nip.
His sharp intake of breath sliced away more of the leashes of her inhibition. She grazed her teeth along his skin, the skin of a seasoned warrior, hardened in battle, scarred in ordeals, healed with limitless stamina and now impervious. She again wondered what kind of life he’d really led. As if tasting him would explain it to her, she suckled him, and his texture and taste only had more moist heat surging in her core.
A fiercer inhalation expanded his chest, crushing her swollen breasts against it. He rubbed against them until she felt they’d burst, the abrasion of his hardness and their clothes turning her nipples into pinpoints of agony. A scalding growl rumbled from his depths as he tugged her thigh around his hips, the hand at her waist securing her there as he ground his erection against her melting core.
She whimpered as he started thrusting against her, at the same time ravaging her neck in suckles she knew would leave their mark. Pleasure hurtled through her blood, making her lightheaded. Her knee buckled, and he picked her up, had her wrapping her other trembling leg around him, letting him have all her weight, making him crush her to him even tighter.
She felt as if her very existence depended on him, his body and breath, his hands and mouth, as he tasted her flesh and took over her will. She was no longer herself, but a mass of need open t
o him, his to exploit and plunder. There was nothing more to hear but his voracious growls and her thundering blood as he stroked her up and down his body, had her ride his erection through their clothing.
The throbbing between her legs escalated into pounding, and she cried out his name. His torment only increased until she nipped at his lip in her desperation.
“You’ve got it all wrong.” His bass tone made her eyes snap open. “I’m the one who’s going to feast on you tonight, wring your magnificent body of every pleasure it’s capable of experiencing.”
She nodded, her breathing becoming ragged, her lungs starting to burn. She’d agree to anything he wanted to do to her.
He rested his forehead against hers. “This is unparalleled. Agonizing but sublime.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Nothing she’d ever experienced had prepared her for this. For him. She was disintegrating with need, yet she knew this protracted inflammation of their senses would make his eventual lovemaking far more satisfying than a frenzied coupling would have been.
He separated from her, making her cry out again with his loss, but he did so only to press her against the wall. He slid down her body, then, in torturous slowness, rubbed up over her again as he bunched her stretchy dress on the way up. His visual embrace was only interrupted for the seconds it took to sweep the garment over her head.
He set every inch his lips and hands touched on fire before going to her bra’s clasp, snapping it undone. She gasped as its constriction eased, then louder at the spike of ferocity in his gaze as he monitored her reaction. He drew more gasps as he caressed her bra loose, then in one silky sweep, he freed her from its bond.
Suddenly, shyness hit her out of nowhere. This man she’d met only last night was here, in her home, just inside her door, and he had her almost naked as he stood fully clothed. It was crazy. It was insanely arousing. And it was the best thing that had ever happened to her. And the most overwhelming.