“Yacht?” Jenny said, feeling like a parrot or something as she shuffled her heels into the second elevator.
Kabeer turned to her and smiled, clearly aware of—and clearly pleased with—the effect he was having on her. “Yes. One of our yachts. I forgot that Yasmeena and I had a meeting with Father this afternoon. He is visiting America to check on his businesses.”
“Oh,” Jenny said, looking down at her heels. “Well, of course, we can reschedule. I mean—”
“Absolutely not. You’re coming with me.” Kabeer stepped out of the elevator, pulling Jenny with him, his arm still firmly around her waist. The elevator doors closed behind them, and Jenny realized they were in an underground garage that was very large, very empty, and rather alarmingly private. Kabeer pointed towards the left. “That’s us.”
Jenny looked over and saw three BMW stretch limousines. They seemed unmanned and silent. “I don’t see any drivers,” she said.
Kabeer looked at her with a frown. Then he tilted his head back and let out a clear, delighted laugh. “Oh, no. We are not taking one of those monster-sized limos! That is my ride over there, behind the third car.”
Jenny squinted into the darkness, and finally she made out the silhouette of a motorcycle. It was large, heavy, and black. It looked absolutely terrifying, especially since she was in a narrow, knee-length skirt and heels.
“No way,” she said, almost laughing at the absurdity of putting her round ass on the back of that thing. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes,” Kabeer said. “It is the only way we are getting through downtown traffic in time. I have got an extra helmet. Come, Jenny. It will actually be fun. The helmets have headsets, so we can even talk while we ride.”
“You don’t get it,” Jenny said, shutting down completely as she stopped dead in her tracks. The motorcycle looked even more intimidating now that she saw it up close. And the backseat looked incredibly high up off the ground—how the hell was she supposed to even climb on there? “I’m wearing heels. Um . . . and a skirt.”
Kabeer looked at her feet, his eyes traveling up her legs, taking in the sight of her full hips once again. Now he looked back down at her legs and shrugged. “The heels can stay here. We’ll get you some of Yasmeena’s shoes on board. As for the skirt . . .” he grinned now, those green eyes twinkling even in the blue-tinted darkness of the private underground garage. Kabeer came close now, so close that in a panic Jenny thought ohmygod he’s going to kiss me, right here! She inhaled sharply as she smelled his musk, sensed his heat, took in his aura. The silence was deafening, and Jenny shivered and felt her tongue dart out involuntarily as Kabeer slowly, subtly, smoothly traced his finger down the small of her back. It was so inappropriate, Jenny thought. So not done. So wrong. So . . . so . . . oh, God . . .
“Kabeer,” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering as she focused on his singular touch that was somehow, someway turning her inside out.
“Like I was saying,” Kabeer said, his voice low and deep, his breath hot against her cheek. “As for the skirt . . . well, you are wearing tights underneath, yes?”
Jenny blinked. “Well, yeah, but . . .”
“But nothing. What, you have a run in your stocking? A tear in your tights? Here, let me see.”
And then slowly but without hesitation, gently but without an invitation, intentionally but without asking, Kabeer went down to his knees in front of Jenny, his hands on her hips, now her sides, and as she gasped and shuddered under his firm touch, the Sheikh ran his hands down along her sides, down the contours of her hips, down along her thick thighs, his fingers curling under the hem of her skirt, hands sliding smoothly up beneath the thick cloth.
She should have pushed him away and screamed for help, she knew. She should have kicked at him, cursed at him, asked him what the hell gave him the right to touch her like that. But she did none of those things, and she couldn’t understand why. She wasn’t frozen with fear. She wasn’t afraid to say no. She wasn’t shocked into silence.
No. She was turned on, she realized. Turned on like hell. And now she felt her breath catch as she looked down at this handsome man on his knees before her, his thousand-dollar pants touching the tarmac, and she inhaled deep as she felt his strong hands slide up beneath her skirt, his fingers pressing firmly against her calves, her thighs, now her round bottom as she shivered and gasped.
He ran his fingers along every inch of her broad behind, circling round to the front, his thumb grazing her sex for less than a moment, the touch so subtle that it was almost imperceptible except to the deepest part of her. Now he caressed the front of her thighs, slowly pushing his hand between her legs that were closed tight together because of the skirt.
“I am not finished,” he whispered, his face down by her waist, the words spoken quick and clear, almost like a command. He looked up at her now, and she almost melted when she saw the look of desire on his face, a look that told her he was as hot for her as she was for him suddenly. “Come, Jenny,” he said again, his green eyes sparkling in a way that was making Jenny dizzy as she felt the Sheikh's rough hand push right where her thighs were pressed together. “Come,” he said again, his voice so low and deep that she could feel the sound vibrate inside her. “Let me.”
With a deep, shuddering breath Jenny moved her left leg out, allowing Kabeer to slide his hand up between her legs, and she gasped as she felt him against the smooth Spandex of her black tights, so close to her most secret of spaces. She closed her eyes and whimpered, a quivering smile breaking as she pushed away that annoying voice that was screaming “What the HELL are you doing, Jenny? Are you INSANE?!”
Yes, she closed her eyes and smiled, moving her right leg out now as she spread a little more, spread for him. But then suddenly his touch was gone, and now Kabeer was on his feet, towering above her at full height, and he was looking down at her with that innocent, schoolboy-sexy glint in his eyes, and he said:
“Well, it does not seem like there are any rips or tears in your stockings. So we should be good to go. Just kick off those heels, hike up your skirt, and let us ride, shall we? Come on.”
He grinned as Jenny opened her eyes and looked up at him. She looked at his lips, the way his mouth was twisted in a devilish smile, the way his tongue darted out for a moment like the goddamn snake of temptation that he was. Jenny’s mouth was hanging open too, but it wasn’t a smile on her lips. No, it was an expression of desire, and maybe because it had been so long since she had allowed a man to touch her, she was losing her mind, spiraling out of control.
Still, she couldn’t deny what she felt, and with a final internal message to that voice of common sense to shut the hell up and leave her alone, she looked up and stared like she was in a dream as Kabeer leaned in and kissed her.
He kissed her full, his clean, warm lips smothering hers as he pulled her into him, his broad frame easily taking her weight as she felt herself stumble on those heels and lean heavy against him. She kissed him back, opening her mouth wide and letting him in, feeling the warmth of his lips, the heat of his tongue, the depth of his passion as she felt her own depths stir in response.
What she was feeling scared her, and as she felt his hands on the small of her back, slowly moving down along the arched curves of her backside, she knew that her body was opening up in a way she hadn’t felt in years, her need rising to a level where she wanted his hands up her skirt again, pushing down inside the back of her tights, grasping at the bare flesh of her bottom, lifting her and pushing her against one of those sleek black limousines, hiking up her skirt as he pushed her legs apart, his muscular hips holding her against the cold metal car door as he unbuckled and unzipped, and—
“We should stop,” he whispered now, breaking out of the kiss with a gasp, his open mouth moving down and kissing her chin, her smooth neck, licking her, tasting her, marking her as he circled round to just beneath her ear, finally moving back to her mouth again and giving her a full, deep kiss that send a tremor of heat back thr
ough Jenny’s shaking body.
She could feel his hardness against her as they kissed—it was unmistakable, almost unbelievable. And now she looked into his eyes again, her tongue hanging out as she shook her head in wonder—wonder at what the hell was going on, at how the hell she had walked into this building planning to pitch a business idea to Yasmeena Bukhaara and was now in a private underground garage, in the arms of her younger brother, billionaire Sheikh Kabeer Bukhaara.
“We need to stop,” he said again, his whisper coming out urgent and sharp. “Or else I am not going to be able to stop, Jenny. I don’t know what came over me, but I want you. Now. Badly. Your curves are unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Like damned NOTHING I’ve ever touched. And your lips, the way you kiss, you’re heating me up something wild, getting me so bloody hard, Jenny. I just want to push you up against that car, rip that tight skirt off your magnificent hips, tear those sexy black tights right down the middle, push your panties off to the side and just—”
And he pushed her away and stepped back quickly, shaking his head like a madman. He SHOUTED out loud now, looking up at the black ceiling and cursing, and now he turned to one of those black limousines and RAMMED his fist down onto the broad hood of the car, the sound echoing through the empty garage, bouncing off the walls.
“Ya, ALLAH!” he shouted, his voice echoing out now, the sound coming back in waves. “God DAMMIT!”
Jenny just stood there, gently swaying in her heels, her breathing still heavy and labored, her wetness unmistakable now. She watched as Kabeer paced back and forth for a moment, clenching his fists, his entire body tensed up. He seemed to be talking to himself, muttering out loud, oblivious to Jenny. Then he abruptly stopped pacing, turned towards her, that devilish smile on his lips again as his tongue darted out once more.
What the hell, Jenny asked herself as she watched this incredibly sexy man start to walk towards her, shaking his head like he was talking to himself internally. Is this guy seriously unhinged? Really insane? Cousin Paula had mentioned something a few months ago when she was reading about Kabeer Bukhaara online. Something about serious behavioral problems when he was younger—fighting, refusal to submit to authority. What had Jenny said to Paula back then, sort of flippantly . . . yes, she had said something like, “Well, Paula, if he’s a hot billionaire playboy, then all those things are actually qualifications, not faults, yeah?”
Paula had laughed and pretended to swoon as she pulled up that naked-butt photo—that was the first (and only!) time Jenny had seen the picture. But now, she thought, yes now that you’re alone in a dark basement with this man—in HIS dark basement, nonetheless—is it as funny, Jenny?
And now she thought back to the way Kabeer had literally FELT HER UP as she stood there like a helpless damsel and f-ing LET HIM! Oh, my GOD, why didn’t I SCREAM and run for help! Why DIDN’T I?
Is it because deep down I know I need this man, need his approval, need his goddamn MONEY?! Am I now a WHORE? Or on my way there? Is that all it takes, Jenny? Is this dream so important, so big, so all-encompassing that you’re willing to give up your dignity just for a chance at it?
Shivering, angry at herself, questioning her own motives, doubting the legitimacy of her strange attraction to him, Jenny watched Kabeer Bukhaara as he came close and stopped beside one of those black BMWs and leaned against it in his tailored pinstripe trousers, his white shirt that looked just a bit rumpled now. He had calmed down, and his face exuded supreme control, his stance oozing confidence as he gently tapped on the shining metal hood of the long dark limousine, his dark green eyes somehow flashing in the dim lights of the underground world surrounding them.
For a moment it struck Jenny that maybe all that shouting and raging and muttering and punching metal car-doors was an act, part of this man’s made-up persona. Perhaps it was an act that he had been doing so long that it was habit now. Habit, but still not real.
Stop it, Jenny. You don’t know much about him. Really, you don’t know anything at all. Stop trying to make excuses for him in your own freaking mind! Why are you doing that? Why?
Because although I don’t know anything about him, she told herself as she watched Kabeer Bukhaara knock twice on that hard black metal of the BMW and then straighten up to full height as he faced her, shamelessly looking at her up and down, taking in her curves, her cups, her contours . . .
Yes, she thought, although I don’t know shit about this billionaire Sheikh who is from some far-off Arabian country but for some reason hangs out in Chicago and acts like an American, I DO know something about myself: I’m attracted to him. I was turned on by him. And although he didn’t ask permission, he touched my body because he sensed that I wouldn’t say no.
So now those conflicting thoughts came TEARING back into her overloaded brain: So I’m attracted to him but I also need him for my business. How do I navigate this? How the HELL do I navigate this?
And now Kabeer Bukhaara was close, so close, and she could smell him, feel his heat, literally TASTE his arousal as she saw the look in his eye and realized that her body was reacting to him, opening up for him, welcoming him . . .
But in a moment of total control that seemed to come out of nowhere and everywhere, Jenny looked calmly into Kabeer’s blazing green eyes, smiled her own devilish little smile, kicked off her shoes, and walked to that motorcycle.
“OK,” she said, her voice almost betraying the effort she was making to do what she was about to do. “Let’s ride, Cowboy.”
And with a deep breath and a brief moment where she closed her eyes to summon up the courage to do it, she hiked her skirt up over her round hips and stepped right up to the motorcycle, turning as she touched the leather seat, looking back over her shoulder at Kabeer, who was standing dumbstruck. He glanced at her bottom, exposed in her thick black tights, and Jenny could see his breath catch as a deep shudder betrayed his arousal. For a moment Jenny wondered if Kabeer, this billionaire Arab who wasn’t used to women turning him down, would be able to pull back from what he had clearly decided he wanted. But the Sheikh looked into her eyes, saw the way she was smiling at him, and slowly began to shake his head.
Then Kabeer Bukhaara came close to her, his chest still heaving, his arousal still awesomely apparent, and he placed his hand on her hip for a moment, leaned in, and said, “OK, you have my attention now, Jenny Jones. My full goddamn attention.”
4
Kabeer could feel her weight pushed against him as he downshifted and took a quick left, accelerating as the motorcycle banked hard, forcing Jenny to cling to him. She tightened her grip around his waist now as he sped up again, and when Kabeer got up to cruising speed on the long straight stretch, he felt Jenny rest her cheek against his back. It felt nice, he thought. Why does it feel nice? I’ve had a lot of different women ride with me, hold me tight, snuggle up like it means something. But it never means something. It’s never felt this way. What is different? Ya, Allah, what is different?
It’s because she made me stop even though she wanted it, isn’t it, Kabeer finally admitted as he felt that lingering arousal turn into a spark of anger, but anger that quickly faded into a tight smile as he thought of how she looked at him when she hiked up her skirt and kicked off her shoes. It took effort and courage to do that, he could tell. God, this woman had the strangest, most endearing mix of self-confidence and self-consciousness, and it struck him as so real, so genuine, so . . . her! In a way Kabeer felt that in less than an hour he knew more about the kind of person Jenny was than he did about that woman he had spent the entire previous summer with! He could barely remember that other woman’s name, and already he knew that no matter what, Jenny Jones was a name he’d never forget.
“You are all right?” he said, turning his head halfway and shouting over his shoulder.
Jenny didn’t reply, but Kabeer could feel her head move against his back like she was nodding, and her arms tightened around his hard stomach as he tilted his head back and laughed.
“Sor
ry,” he shouted over the roar of the wind. “I forgot the helmets. I guess my mind was elsewhere.”
But she didn’t reply, and they weaved through traffic together, Jenny hanging on tight as Kabeer gunned the engine, smiling all the way because he felt so damned good for some reason, so bloody great to be riding through town with this courageous, curvaceous, shoeless woman in a hiked-up skirt-suit clinging to him like . . . like . . . like it meant something.
And now Kabeer felt true joy as he roared through the streets of downtown Chicago, hitting Lakeshore Drive at high speed and enjoying the looks the two of them were getting from cyclists, roller-bladers, and stuffy people in their air-conditioned Range Rovers. He felt like a king for moment, riding his chariot through the streets of Bukhaara, his queen by his side, and as Kabeer squinted into the wind and glanced over to the side, he could swear that the tall highrises of downtown Chicago looked like the towering minarets of Bukhaara, and as he blinked and turned the other way, towards Lake Michigan, all that blue was shining like gold sand in the sun, the waves turning into the rolling dunes of that desert, the sailboats reborn as palm trees surrounding one of the three major oases around which Kabeer’s ancestors had built the old city of Bukhaara.
A sudden wave of what he could only describe as a deep YEARNING flooded his being as he became aware once more of the woman pressed up against him, this American woman who had literally just walked into his life and was making him think about things he didn’t want to think about: his homeland, his future, the responsibilities he was shrugging off . . . the responsibilities of a leader, a ruler, a king.
The responsibilities of a Sheikh.
Now darkness took over and Kabeer’s jaw went tight and his body tensed up and he GUNNED the engine into a tight turn as he felt Jenny’s fingernails dig into him, her face pushing tight into his back. Her physical presence was overwhelming to him suddenly as he focused on how close her soft body felt to his, how her curves seemed to fit just right with his contours, her smoothness the perfect offset to his sharpness. And just like that he was happy again, that darkness buried back down where it wouldn’t bother him until he needed to deal with it. Yes, he was happy, and it feel DAMNED good to have this sexy, shapely woman clinging to him. And, ya Allah, she was enjoying it too, was she not!
Flames for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 2) Page 3