Flames for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 2)

by Annabelle Winters

  “Come on. These are nice. I think they will fit. Here, let me.” Kabeer reached up and grabbed a pair of dark red, closed-toe flats that actually looked quite comfortable and would go just fine with her black suit and stockings, so Jenny shrugged as he placed them on the smooth wooden floor by her feet.

  “Come,” he said, bending down and holding one shoe out. “Come on, Cinderella,” he said, looking up at her and winking, his eyes dancing, like he was telling Jenny that if she was Cinderella, then maybe he was the prince who wasn’t fooled by the raggedy clothes and the pumpkins.

  Jenny placed a hand on his shoulder for support, giggling as she felt him tickle the sole of her foot as she slid into the shoe. But the giggle faded and she inhaled sharply as she felt that muscle in her thigh pull tight as she pointed her toes to get the shoe all the way in.

  Kabeer looked up at her, and then down at her leg. He seemed to instantly know she was in pain, and his expression changed and now he motioned to a large cushioned chair not too far away. The smile was gone, the mischief in his eyes replaced by pure authority. “Sit down,” he ordered. “Now.”

  Jenny obeyed, holding onto Kabeer as she limped to the chair. It was dark purple and very soft, and she sank thankfully into it, sighing as she felt it swallow her up.

  Kabeer sat on the floor by her feet, taking her left leg onto his lap. The shoe was off, and Kabeer placed his palm beneath her calf, his other hand reaching just above her knee, where the pain was. Her heel was resting on his upper thigh as he sat cross-legged, and Jenny exhaled now as Kabeer began to rub her aching thigh muscle through her black tights, those same tights he had so crudely “inspected” down in that underground garage—while she had LET him! It seems so long ago now, doesn’t it, Jenny thought as she blinked at the sight of this handsome Sheikh expertly massaging her thigh, his strong fingers kneading and pressing at just the right spot, his stiff thumb burrowing into her soft flesh, finding the tight spot and working it.

  “My personal trainer used to work for Tom Brady,” Kabeer said. “He showed me how you can literally massage away even a serious muscle injury if you know the right techniques. When Tom had a partially torn calf muscle during practice, this guy got him back on his feet the next day.” Kabeer looked up. “That’s a six-week injury normally, and my trainer had Tom back at practice like nothing happened.”

  Jenny nodded, leaning her head back on the cushioned neck-rest. She could feel the pain leaving her as Kabeer massaged her thigh, and she liked how her leg felt so firm and secure in his grip, under his touch, his palm beneath the curve of her calf, her heel gently rocking back and forth on his lap now.

  She felt Kabeer shift on the floor, moving closer, and she moved a bit in the chair, pointing her toes forward for a moment. Then she gasped in shock as she felt his hardness move against her soft toes, and when she looked down she blinked when she saw that her foot was resting against the center of Kabeer’s trousers, right against his—

  Oh, God, she thought as she felt herself move her foot up and down slowly, the feeling of him getting hard beneath her touch arousing her in a way that made it difficult to breathe. She glanced at his face, taking in the way he was looking at her, his gaze narrowed, his breaths becoming short and quick, his heat rising just like his hardness was rising against her foot.

  Be careful, a voice inside her whispered. This is not the time to give in to what your body wants, what your flesh needs, what your arousal craves. Your body isn’t always right, Jenny, that secret voice rasped. This may feel good . . . DAMN it feels good. But think about what you’re doing, where you’re taking this.

  Think about where this is taking YOU!

  I should stop, Jenny thought. But she didn’t stop. She told herself she couldn’t stop even though deep down she knew that she just didn’t want to stop. It had been a hard three years—school, part-time jobs that she hated, all those rejections about her restaurant investment. Her body needed an outlet, didn’t it? How long had it been since she had felt this sort of need, this sort of surging desire, raging passion, so sudden, so unexpected, so REAL. Was it right? Was it proper? Would Grandma approve?

  Damn RIGHT, she would, Jenny thought in a moment of almost delirious ecstasy, and now she was heating up, her own secret wetness slowly making itself known. Wouldn’t Grandma say to just trust your instincts and make the leap, no matter what “society” says is the right thing to do, the proper thing to do, the “womanly” thing to do?

  Oh, jump in, Grandma would whisper. Jump in, and trust that the universe will catch you. Jump in, little Jenny! Jump in!

  Jenny shivered as she felt goosebumps rise along her arms, those invisible hairs on her neck standing up, that wonderfully warm chill running up and down her legs . . . running between her legs. But this is more than just my body telling me to go on, she thought as she watched herself keep going. It’s more than just everyday attraction that’s pushing me forward, signaling that it’s OK, that it’s all right, it’s good, it’s pure, goddamn REAL.

  So Jenny kept going, involuntarily licking her lips now as the Sheikh slowly uncrossed his legs and leaned back on his arms, looking up at her and then down at her foot as she rubbed his hardness firmly now, his girth clearly discernible through the cloth as she got him harder, harder, so DAMNED hard.

  She couldn’t understand what she was doing, why she was doing it, how this man had turned her into some kind of sex-crazed demon in two hours. Again the thought that this man is a billionaire flashed through her mind, and as she smiled at the way his jaw was tightening as he looked at her, she wondered if she truly understood the game she was playing.

  Oh, God, am I a whore, she suddenly thought again as Kabeer finally got to his knees, his chest heaving as his hot breath drew near. He was fully hard, the front of his pants strained and peaked in the most captivating way. He’s handsome and sexy and God, he turns me on . . . but you can’t ignore the fact that his money can set me up with this restaurant, give me the chance to launch my business the way I want, realize my vision for my future. How can I separate those two things? How can I?! Oh, God, what should I do? What should I DO?!

  Kabeer’s hands were on her knees now, and he was pushing her legs apart as he drew close. Her skirt was too narrow for her to spread all the way, and now Kabeer stood up and leaned over her, bending down as she looked up at him, looked into his eyes, her mouth opening to receive his kiss.

  He bent down and kissed her, with no hesitation, the back of his hand stroking the swell of her breast through her suit jacket. He unbuttoned the single button and opened up her jacket. She exhaled hard as she felt his tongue circle the outside of her lips just as his hands slid beneath her jacket, his fingers teasing forth the outline of her nipple, his thumb and forefinger quickly pinching the sensitive nub to its plump fullness.

  “Oh, God, Kabeer,” she gasped as he kissed her with FURY now, both hands full and firm on her soft breasts, her nipples instantly tightening into raised points as he pinched her hard with those strong fingers, those stiff thumbs.

  Now she felt him pull her black fitted blouse up from where it was tucked into her skirt, and she gasped loudly and arched her back as Kabeer pushed the tight stretch cloth up over the globes of her breasts, revealing her black satin bra with the thick underwire. She looked down at herself, mouth open with arousal—God, she looked huge and swollen, she thought, inhaling sharply as Kabeer groaned out loud as he looked down at her milky white cleavage, the way her breasts were pushed up and squished together by that tight bra and the way that soft purple chair was cradling her.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered, gently running his fingers along the top of each bra cup as she shivered in ecstasy at the way he was teasing her. “Oh, Jenny. You have no idea . . . no DAMNED idea how this feels to me, how this looks to me, how badly I want to—”

  “Are you INSANE!” came the scream from above and behind them, and Kabeer whipped around as Jenny squealed and tried to push her top back down over her bulging boobs, her s
hining black bra. “In my room, Kabeer? In MY DAMN ROOM?!”

  It was Yasmeena, and she made no move to turn her face or even look away while Jenny attempted to get decent. In fact she stared right at Jenny, glancing down at her overflowing boobs with raised eyebrows, hands on her slim hips as she waited for Jenny to pull her jacket back tight over her chest. Only then did Yasmeena blink and look over at her brother, who was sitting back on the floor, looking up at his sister with eyes narrowed, jaw tight, like he was PISSED at the interruption.

  “And are those my shoes?” Yasmeena said, her long arm darting out like an arrow as she pointed at the bright green Jimmy Choo pumps that Kabeer had tossed aside earlier. Now Yasmeena looked over and saw the second pair—the dark red flats that Prince Kabeer had slipped onto Cinderella’s feet. The woman's expression hardened, and Jenny could see color rush to her brown face, making her look dark, almost menacing as she towered above the purple sofa that seemed to be pulling Jenny lower and lower, like she was being swallowed by quicksand.

  “They fit you well, yes?” Yasmeena said, crossing her arms over her chest now, her white linen shirt crumpling beneath her tight, slender arms. “Fit you as well as that bra fits you, I hope?”

  “I . . .” Jenny stammered, feeling the blood rush to her face as she checked to make sure she had gotten that tight top down over her bulging chest.

  “She needed shoes, Yasmeena,” Kabeer said, not really looking up at his sister. But his tone betrayed his anger. “And I swear I have never seen you wear any of these bloody shoes. So just be calm, yes, sister? We will join you soon.” He took a breath and now looked up at his sister. “One more thing, Yasmeena: Regardless of whose room this is, you knew I was in here, and so you damn well KNOCK before you walk in here again! Understood?”

  Yasmeena took a deep breath, glancing down at her brother and quickly looking up. Jenny really couldn’t read her deadpan expression. How old was Yasmeena anyway? Her skin was flawless and tight, not even the finest lines visible around those intense gray eyes. Those eyes though . . . yes, those betrayed a hardness, like she had some years behind her—certainly some experiences behind her, something behind that intensity.

  Yasmeena glanced over at Jenny and held her gaze, like she was assessing, evaluating, judging Jenny right there and then, reading what she could in Jenny’s big round eyes that were wide like Cinderella’s pumpkins right now. Finally Yasmeena blinked, looked up at the ceiling, then at Kabeer, and shook her head in exasperation, reminding Jenny of Kabeer’s earlier comment of how Yasmeena thought she was his mother sometimes.

  She turned to go, but then, as if in a calculated move, Yasmeena turned her head halfway and said with exceptionally smooth delivery, beautifully calm cadence, perfectly elucidated diction: “I am sorry, respected brother Kabeer. I apologize for not knocking. Now finish up with your whore and—”

  But before the words even fully registered with Jenny—and indeed, before Yasmeena even finished uttering her pointed jab—Kabeer LEAPED to his feet, his handsome face suddenly twisted with an anger that shook Jenny, almost scared her, because it seemed to come from a very deep place in this supposedly shallow man.

  “By ALLAH, Yasmeena!” he growled. “You EVER speak like that again and I swear I will . . . I will . . . I will damned well . . . ” The words caught in his throat like he had literally forced them back down, and Kabeer was standing at his full height now, towering over his sister, his forearm flexed, veins rippling in high relief as he pointed his finger at her.

  “You will what, little brother?” Yasmeena said, looking up at her “little” brother as he stood a good eighteen inches taller and looked three times broader than the slim Arab woman. “Strike me? Strike your older sister? Is that how a man treats his family? Is that how a leader inspires his followers? Is that how a king rules his people?” She paused now, those gray eyes looking almost silver as they flashed, like Yasmeena had been building to this, like her remark about Jenny was made just to get at Kabeer. “And is that how a Sheikh carries out his God-given duty on this Earth, his duty to his land, his people, his family, his God? Is it, Kabeer?”

  Kabeer held the intense eye contact with his older sister for a long time, and Jenny just curled up on that purple chair and tried to disappear into its comfy folds. She watched as Kabeer swallowed once, silently, like Yasmeena’s words had found their mark. Now he blinked, and when his eyes opened again after that micro-second of the blink, it was like he had forcibly brought back that devil-may-care billionaire of the tabloids and the gossip pages.

  “I do not know, Yasmeena,” he said, shrugging like he didn’t give a damn. “I do not know how a Sheikh carries out Allah’s top secret, mystical commands on this Earth. I do not know because I am not Sheikh. Why don’t you ask the Sheikh himself? Father is on board with us, yah?”

  Yasmeena stayed expressionless, but Jenny caught just the faintest of movement in her tight, thin lower lip. Was she trying to hold back a SMILE? A smile of some kind of victory over her brother? What the hell kind of family drama have I walked into? Is this just sibling rivalry—something to do with their Sheikdom of Bukhaara—or is it something more complex, something deeper, maybe darker?

  Jenny tried not to breath as she could literally taste the tension in the air. Yasmeena had clearly gotten to Kabeer, and after seeing the way the man had used his power of will to force himself to return to his “natural” who-gives-a-shit attitude, Jenny wondered if perhaps there was something deeper to this man, this Arab Sheikh who lived in America and raced around on black motorcycles and frequented the elite bars and nightclubs even though alcohol was not permitted for Muslims.

  But now Jenny seemed to remember Cousin Paula saying something about how Kabeer actually never touched alcohol himself when he was out at those clubs and events, in observance of his traditions. So maybe there is something more, Jenny thought as she cast a furtive glance at Kabeer as he stood perfectly still and straight, his jaw still set tight despite the casual persona he had donned. Yes, maybe there is something more to this man. Question is, do I stick around to find out? Or do I turn and walk away now, before anything serious has happened—physical or financial!

  Yes, Jenny thought as she glanced at Yasmeena’s long brown face, her tight skin, her dark red lips, those gray eyes that flashed so bright against her dark skin. I can’t imagine that Yasmeena is going to allow her family’s company to invest any money in my idea, to write out a check to a woman she just called her brother’s “whore.” So what do I have to gain from staying here? More insults? Maybe I say something to Yasmeena that I can’t take back? She knows people in the finance world. Maybe I get blacklisted at every potential investment firm in Chicago?! I should cut my losses and get the hell out of here, out of this drama, this dead end, this no-win situation! The boat isn’t that far from the dock, right? Can’t we pull back and drop me off so I can just take a taxi back to my safe, warm home? My old life? My real life, instead of this alien world of Sheikhs and billionaires and forty pairs of shoes on a boat?

  But Jenny wasn’t going anywhere, because Yasmeena was standing in the doorway, still staring at her brother, that tight-lipped almost-a-smile expression still on her face. The slight Arab woman in her khaki slacks and white linen shirt looked as formidable as a wall, and so Jenny just took a quick breath so she wouldn’t pass out and stayed huddled in that soft purple chair.

  Kabeer finally broke the silence. “She is not a whore, Yasmeena. You will apologize to her,” he said quietly, carefully, calmly but with an underlying seriousness that affected Jenny in the strangest of ways. It was like he actually gave a shit about how Yasmeena spoke about her. Yes, Kabeer’s reaction wasn’t just to get to Yasmeena. It was real, genuine, a protective instinct that seemed so old-fashioned in a way.

  Yasmeena glanced at Jenny again, rolled her eyes, and then shook her head and turned. “I am sorry,” she said as she walked out the door, speaking without turning her head before moving to the stairs. “I forgot. Kabeer is
the whore in this family.”

  Kabeer laughed as he walked to the door and slammed it shut. He shook his head as he walked back to Jenny. “Too serious! She needs some romance in her life, I think,” he said with a wink.

  Jenny raised her eyebrows and smiled politely, not sure what to do next. But for some reason she felt calm, like somehow she knew Kabeer a lot better now, even though technically she didn’t know jack about the guy. “You should probably head upstairs,” she said quietly. “I’ll stay here.” Then a quick smile, spontaneous and sweet. “Maybe in a different room though, yeah?”

  Kabeer snorted. “You are heading above decks with me, Jenny. Come on. I will help you.”

  Jenny blinked three times as she thought about that jetty and that taxi ride home. But the panic passed quick and the words kept coming, almost too easy. “My thigh feels fine,” she said brightly. “Besides, I thought you had a private family meeting.”

  “It is a business meeting. All our family meetings are business meetings. There is nothing else in my family. At any rate, you must join this meeting because you are now on the agenda.”

  Jenny looked up. “What?”

  Kabeer shrugged. “You came to Bukhara Capital to pitch a business plan, yes? So pitch it! My father and sister are upstairs, and together we are the entire executive committee of our firm. And you have most certainly got everyone’s attention now.”

  Jenny swallowed hard as the thought of pitching her idea to Yasmeena and the older Sheikh of Bukhaara made her stomach seize up tight like a fist. Was she getting seasick, she wondered. Or is this just your standard, everyday, straight-up PANIC?!

  “Are you ready?” Kabeer asked now, a slow, deliberate smile breaking on his face, like he was challenging her, daring her, asking her to show him what she was made of. “Are you ready, Jenny Jones?”