The Sheikh’s Fierce Fiancée: Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid Book Three

by North, Leslie

  Before he could get lost in the fantasy, Mackenzie hit the STOP button on the treadmill and jumped off. “I’m ready,” she told him, jogging back toward the center of the gym as if it had taken no effort to run that fast at all. “Do you have the workout pulled up somewhere?”

  Issam pointed to a TV screen on one of the side walls. There, in large letters, the workout of the day was laid out.

  “Nice.” Mackenzie approved. Issam had never been so proud of a television in his life before that moment.

  They launched into the workout. Thirty walking lunges with weights. Thirty kettlebell swings. Thirty pushups. Thirty weighted squats. Thirty bench presses. More weight. Another round.

  Mackenzie was beating him.

  Sweat glistened on her forehead, and her face was a mask of concentration. She approached every rep like it was the most important thing in the world and moved through them quickly, with precision.

  What would she be like in bed?

  Issam missed a rep imagining it, and Mackenzie caught him. “Keep your head in the game, Issam,” she said, taunting him. “Otherwise—”

  He stepped closer in. “Otherwise what?”

  Mackenzie’s face was already red, but her cheeks got pinker. “Otherwise you’ll pay for it—”

  “I doubt that,” he said, then moved through another series of exercises. “You’ll be the one paying.”

  “Oh, is that what you think?”

  They moved on to the last set of weights, and Mackenzie dropped hers to the ground seconds before Issam. “I win.” She crossed her arms and jutted a hip out.

  “I was lifting heavier weights.”

  “Fine.” Mackenzie’s eyes sparkled. “You choose the final round, then.”

  “A race,” he said instantly. Issam could run fast. He’d proven that time and again. “Around the building. The first one back to the door wins.”

  “Ready, set, go.” Mackenzie bolted for the door.

  His heart was still pounding from the workout, but he put on a burst of speed, hitching his hand on the doorframe and spinning after her. Issam was fast—but Mackenzie was faster, lighter on her feet, and hungry for victory.

  She took every turn with the same precision as with her weightlifting, and her tight body moved more easily in the space. He’d never been so torn. He was half proud of her and half irritated that she was beating him.

  Mackenzie wheeled around the last turn, her breath harsh in the air, and sprinted for the door.

  Issam gave it everything he had, his legs burning, his lungs about to burst. He nearly had her—he was almost there—

  Mackenzie slapped the door with a triumphant yell. “First!” she cried, then spun back toward Issam. “See? My standards are so high that you’re the one who’ll be struggling to meet them!”

  She was absolutely irresistible.

  He went for her.

  Their lips crashed together, and Mackenzie gasped as Issam backed her up against the wall. “You think you’ve won?” he growled into her ear. “You think you’re the one who’s come out on top?”

  She was breathless. “Yes.”

  He picked her up in one smooth movement, her legs wrapping around his waist, and yanked open the door to the gym. Mackenzie leaned her head down and planted kiss after scorching kiss against the salty skin of his neck.

  “Where are you taking me?” she murmured. “To put me in my place? I’d love to see it.”

  It was too much.

  He turned a sharp corner into a secluded alcove and pressed her back against the wall, taking her chin in his hand. “I’ll put you in your place,” he warned, and her eyes went wide. She squirmed in his grip until he pinned her with another kiss so fierce she bit him back and he tasted blood.

  Mackenzie’s eyes blazed, and Issam’s soul was on fire. His cock pressed painfully against her, and he stepped back, creating enough space for her to plant her feet on the ground. The moment she had her balance, he turned her around, pressing her palms against the cement wall, and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her stretchy capris.

  It took one good yank to have them down around her knees, and Mackenzie fought against them to spread her legs as Issam ran a hand down her throat and over her breasts. He shoved his shorts down, his cock springing free, and Mackenzie rose up on tiptoe. He leaned in and pressed a hot kiss to the side of her neck, and she wriggled back into him. “Yes.” Her voice was low and sultry. “Yes. Please—yes.”

  “Who’s the winner now?” He said into her ear, the head of his cock nudging up against her entrance. She was so wet. There wasn’t time, but then—of course there was time. They’d bought themselves so much time. He reached around in front of her and played his fingertips around her swollen clit.

  Mackenzie was beside herself. He could see her struggle in the lines of her arched back. Stay on tiptoe, or press herself forward against his hand? He circled her clit and added pressure, stroking and stroking. She was so wet she was dripping down his shaft, and on his next circle, he pushed himself inside of her.

  It was an inch. Maybe two. But she reacted like she’d been struck by lightning, spreading her legs wide, forcing her ass back against him. “More,” she breathed.

  “More?” He teased her clit again, then reached down lower to stroke along where they were joined. “Demands aren’t going to be enough, Mackenzie.”

  She was rocking helplessly between his body and the wall, trying for more pressure on her clit, trying for more of him in her body, and he could feel her frustration.

  It was delicious.

  “More please,” she said.

  “That’s not going to do it, either.” He kept his voice calm, detached, but his self control was wound so tight it was about to snap. “Say the magic words.”

  Mackenzie let loose a growl of frustration, and her body tensed. “You win, Issam.” Her voice echoed through the alcove. “You win. Please.”

  That was enough to set him free.

  He rammed into her with all his strength, using both hands to pull her hips back. She mewled a little at the loss of his fingertips but pulled one hand from the wall, dipping it between her legs. Her pussy clenched around him as she stroked herself, and it was so hot that he couldn’t stand it. He needed more of it. He let go of her hip and brought one hand down on top of hers so he could feel the way she played and teased her body.

  Issam had never met a woman like this in his life. One who was so utterly confident that she would do this while he was fucking her. She wanted him—needed him—but she was taking control of her pleasure.

  “Make yourself come,” he commanded. Mackenzie shuddered and tensed, her hand moving furiously, and he had to take his own hand away to brace them both for what was to come.

  His body tightened, wound itself into a coiled spring, and then, as Mackenzie’s orgasm broke over her, he came too, hot and pulsing inside of her.

  She leaned back against him, her skin glowing with sweat and exertion, and raised one hand to curl it around his neck. Mackenzie was a lot shorter than he was, so she could barely reach, but the sweetness of it after the animal energy of their fucking was almost too much to bear.

  He knelt down behind her and pulled up her panties and capris.

  It was only then that Issam stopped to see if any of his men had returned.

  The training center was deserted.

  “Shower?” Mackenzie asked, still catching her breath.

  “I’ll race you,” said Issam, and then she was off like a shot.

  He followed her, knowing he’d won.

  9

  Issam carried that sweet taste of victory with him for a full five hours before Mackenzie was back at it again. Dressed to the nines in a sharp black skirt suit that made him hungry for more of her and smiling that wicked smile of hers.

  She wanted in on the negotiations.

  “You don’t have security clearance,” he’d said. It was true. She didn’t.

  “But surely, you—a powerful sheikh and m
ember of the royal family—could nudge that process in the right direction.” Her eyes burned into him, and all he could think about was the curve of her ass lifting toward him in that alcove. His body wanted to relent. His body wanted to say of course I can if only it would mean pinning her down in his bed right this instant.

  He very nearly gave in. He would have, if it weren’t for the weight of responsibility that still tethered him to honor, even with Mackenzie looking at him the way she was, biting her lip.

  It went on like that for three full days. It was torture. It was against all codes of warfare. Mackenzie would pull away, finding things to occupy her after the initial ask, and Issam would find himself wanting her.

  She became untouchable.

  Not fully untouchable. She would kiss him, yes. She would let her lips linger on his, tasting and teasing, her breath hitching, but when it came time…

  Three days, and he cracked.

  “Let me do something for you,” he’d said that morning, with Mackenzie perched on the edge of his bed and her lips inches from his. Her legs had been pressed firmly closed. “What are you working on with the wedding planning?”

  She’d trailed a finger down the front of his shirt, hooking her knuckle in the places between the buttons. “It’s a tasting for food this afternoon.” Mackenzie looked up at him with huge eyes, excitement glowing in her face. “Will you come?”

  Entrapment.

  And now he was giving up half a day’s work to taste food he had undoubtedly tasted hundreds of times before.

  One of his guards opened the doorway to his office. Mackenzie stood a safe distance outside in the hall. When she saw him, her expression brightened, and she waved.

  He knew what food was like. What he didn’t know was how he could get his forces to occupy the dilapidated fort in the no-man’s land without setting off Mackenzie’s brother-in-law in Al-Madiza. If he moved first, he’d have the high ground, but it would also enrage the leadership there. But if he waited too long—

  It wasn’t a problem he could solve right now. He had a tasting to attend.

  They went down to the state-of-the-art kitchen on the terrace level of the palace, where the family’s world-class chef, Jacques, was waiting. He catered almost all the special occasions with a team that specialized in a fusion of local and international cuisine.

  “I wonder what his plans are for the menu,” Mackenzie said as they took their seats at a table at the edge of the kitchen. “I’ve never been so excited for a meal.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be the same as ever.”

  That got her attention. “What is it? Have you seen a draft of the menu?”

  “No, no.” He tried to cover. “I only meant that Jacques is a highly talented chef. I’m certain he’s planned something utterly delicious.” Still, as the kitchen hummed around them, Jacques directing an army of sous chefs, the tension descended on his shoulders like an iron bar.

  He shouldn’t be down here.

  He should be in his offices, working out the land dispute.

  It was his highest priority.

  But Mackenzie’s life depends on this, he reminded himself. The wedding was important too—and it was an essential key to the land dispute.

  Jacques came to the table, putting two small bowls in front of them both. “Sheikh Issam,” he beamed. “We’ll begin with a twist on your classic favorite, the lentil soup.” He went on to describe how he had made small changes to the recipe to enhance the flavor, and despite Issam’s skepticism, the first bite flooded him with comfort.

  Maybe they could survive without him for a few hours.

  At any rate, Jacques was just beginning.

  * * *

  Mackenzie had expected a meal. She had not expected a marathon.

  After the first three dishes, she stopped cleaning the tiny plates Jacques brought out. Each of them were over-the-top delicious, but there seemed to be hundreds. Hundreds. Middle Eastern feasts, she learned, were not one-and-done affairs.

  “This many dishes for one reception?” she said to Issam after two hours had passed and Jacques was still bringing out plates.

  “It’s tradition.” He took another bite of the palate-cleanser sorbet. “Wedding feasts last hours, and you choose only the best delicacies to feed to your lover.”

  “Feed to your lover?” She set down her fork beside her plate. “Why haven’t you given me the royal treatment?”

  “It’s not our wedding day yet,” Issam teased. Jacques came by with another set of plates. This time, it was simple—strawberries cut in neat little slices, dipped in sugar. “For between courses,” the chef said, then went back into the fray of the kitchen.

  Issam speared a slice of strawberry with his fork and lifted it to Mackenzie’s lips. He did it with such care and precision that a rush of warmth went through her. She saw that same heat echoed in his eyes. “We’ll have to work this off later, you know.” She took the strawberry into her mouth. It was the best strawberry she’d ever had. Perfectly ripe and sweet.

  Issam grinned at her. “That would be a happy ending to this...feast.”

  On the next round, she lifted a delicate pastry to his lips, and Issam took her fingers all the way into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them. It was mean—she wanted more of that tongue. On her neck. On her lips...

  But she had to focus on the task at hand. Getting herself into those negotiations, even if it was over a never-ending meal.

  “I hope we will have many happy endings,” she said. “Here, and elsewhere.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She gave him a hopeful smile. “I hope the land dispute can be resolved so that all parties walk away satisfied.”

  Mackenzie hoped that this would prod Issam into revealing more of the details, but he only gave her a wicked look. “Are you not satisfied yet? Then I haven’t done my job.” A fierceness came into expression.

  “You take your job seriously, don’t you?”

  Issam straightened up. “Very seriously. The country depends on me.”

  “Not just the royal family?”

  “Of course, the security of my family is paramount.” He furrowed his brow. “Though I’m not always certain that I’m doing enough to protect them.”

  Mackenzie nodded. “No wonder the land dispute is weighing so heavily on you.”

  He gave her a long look. “It’s...at the nexus of many political issues. You are at the nexus of many political issues.”

  “It’s why I’m here. My mother—” Mackenzie laughed. “My mother is ten times as fierce as I am. She’s a federal prosecutor, and she’s taken down some of the country’s most insidious criminals. If I have any hope of filling her shoes...” She shook her head. “Well, I could start with an important issue like this land dispute.” She put her hand on his. “You need it as a military stronghold. I’ve heard the news coming out of Caldad.”

  This time, Issam didn’t change the subject. “I need to keep my family protected. And the rest of our citizens.”

  “And yet you can’t provoke...the other parties involved.” Mackenzie was treading on dangerous ground, and she knew it. “If I were looking for precedent, I’d go back to caretaking.”

  “Caretaking?”

  “Yes. The location of the land makes it important, but the fort on the land makes it invaluable.” She shrugged as if the idea was just coming to her. “Who last maintained the fort?”

  Issam was staring at her.

  “It was your people, from Al-Dashalid. In which case, I’d argue that Al-Dashalid has a duty to occupy and defend the fort.” Not at the expense of the people hiding there, but she could get to that later. “It’s a simple position and unlikely to offend my brother-in-law,” she went on, “and precedent is always—”

  Issam swept her into his arms and kissed her so hard she forgot to breathe. She saw a flash of white in the corner of her vision—Jacques, turning hastily around—and then Issam was on his feet, pulling her along with him.


  “Issam,” she breathed. “Where are we—the tasting—”

  “Come on.”

  His strides were long, and she hurried to keep up. They went down the maze of hallways on the terrace level until they turned into one that was quiet, carpeted, rich. Six doors lined either side of the hall. Issam opened one at random, pushed her inside, and slammed the door shut behind them.

  It was a guest bedroom, and small, but from the look in his eyes, Issam didn’t care.

  “You’re a genius,” he said. “Now take off your clothes.”

  10

  Issam stripped his shirt over his head, giving Mackenzie a full view of his eight-pack. Every single muscle stood out in sharp relief, and Mackenzie sent up silent thanks to whoever had invented CrossFit. And from the look in his eyes, Issam would take their time together as seriously as he took his workouts.

  “Take them off,” he commanded again, and this time Mackenzie hurried to obey. Her shirt was hardly over her head when Issam came close, sliding his palms over the curve of her waist, down, and then back up to the lace of her bra. He ran his thumbs over the fabric, and her nipples tightened in response. He was a prince, and power radiated from him. It made her hot.

  Issam reached around and deftly unclipped the bra, putting her breasts on display. He sucked in a breath. “Perfection,” he murmured, half to himself, and then he tested each one out in his hands, rolling his thumbs over her nipples.

  The sensation nearly made her knees buckle. But Issam took his hands away and stepped back. “Skirt.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Would you rather I bent you over this bed and shoved it up around your waist?” His mouth curved in a smile that told her he would do exactly that. But as badly as Mackenzie wanted his hands on her, she couldn’t fight the urge to push back. Just a little.

  “No,” she said flippantly, then turned away from him.

  First she had to unzip the skirt, then she wriggled it down over her hips. Issam was there again in a flash, his hands tracing the lines of her panties.