“Oh?” Jenny raised an eyebrow, and although she hated it, she could feel a REAL smile teasing its way onto her lips. “And what temperature is that?”
Kabeer held her gaze for a long, cool moment. “The skin is roasted to crisp perfection while the inside is moist and just the right side of cooked. So I’d say INSANELY high heat and then you turned off the oven and let it cook in the afterglow.”
“Afterglow?” Jenny could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. “Is that a technical term?”
“It is ABSOLUTELY a technical term!”
And suddenly they were smiling, chatting, laughing, FLIRTING . . . Kabeer teasing her as Jenny giggled, the two of them verbally pushing and pulling as they ate and drank, Kabeer snagging a piece of duck from her plate as she tried to playfully stop him, and they were playing like children, chatting like old friends, laughing like . . . like . . . like lovers?
Love?
Was it even possible to bring that four-letter word into this? How could love happen like this? It took months, perhaps years to get to know someone, didn’t it? Love doesn’t just happen, does it? You can’t just start off by being in love, can you? Can you? Can’t you? Aren’t you? Won’t you? Don’t you? Do you? Does he? Does he? Does he?! STOP!
“Your sister was here,” Jenny said suddenly, smiling as she looked down at her plate and then up at Kabeer. “We talked for a while.”
Kabeer looked like he had indigestion for a moment, and Jenny couldn’t help but feel a strange sort of victory right then, an odd sort of power, like she was, for at least one damn moment, in control of this madness that her life had become!
His eyes narrowed now, and Jenny knew he was trying to figure out what Yasmeena had said to her. Clearly Yasmeena hadn’t talked to him after leaving the restaurant, and so Jenny kept going, starting to enjoy this in a way. “She’s very different, you know.”
Kabeer exhaled. “Different from me? That is an understatement.”
Jenny shrugged. “I meant she’s different from what I thought she was.” She touched her hair unconsciously, glancing directly at Kabeer now. “As far as different from you . . . not as different as I thought. Maybe not as different as YOU thought.” Now she shifted in her chair and looked down for a moment. ‘I mean, not like I know either of you that well. I’m just—”
“I think you know me VERY well, Jenny,” Kabeer said, leaning forward, reaching out, grabbing her by the wrist. His grip tightened on her wrist now, and she could feel him pull—gently, but unremittingly, with no give, no slack. “Listen, Jenny, this story with that model Selena—it is fake. Planted. Nothing has happened between us.”
“Why not?” Jenny said, the words coming so quickly she almost choked. She looked at Kabeer’s fingers around her wrist but made no overt move to break free. “Not your type?”
Kabeer let go instantly and leaned back. His jaw tightened and it looked like he was literally biting his tongue right then. A smile emerged now, that “planted” smile that Jenny recognized from every posed tabloid picture of him back in Chicago. “Oh, she is certainly my type. You have seen a photograph of her? Very sexy. And I did not say nothing is GOING to happen between us. I just said nothing has happened YET.”
“And I said why not?” Jenny said, crossing her arms over her chest now, leaning back and staring at him, her mouth firm, her look defiant.
“You know why not!” Kabeer growled, reaching for her hand across the table again.
But Jenny pushed her chair back from the table, away from him. “Stop it, Kabeer. I—”
“No, YOU stop it, Jenny! You cannot play this game at my level and expect to win. There is something between us—something real, something I cannot explain, something I thought meant nothing but now I know means something, means EVERYTHING! It sounds mad, I know, but I am Sheikh and you are my queen. That is the only thing that makes sense to me. That is the only way to explain why I feel like this, why YOU feel like this! I know it and you know it. You want to fight it and keep your distance—fine. You want me to keep things PROFESSIONAL while you get the restaurant up—OK. Just don’t try to convince me—or yourself—that there is nothing here.”
Kabeer stood up now with a force that shook the heavy wooden table, sending silverware clattering to the tiles, half-filled glasses shaking in his wake. He walked to where Jenny sat on that straight-backed wooden chair that was pushed back away from the table.
Kabeer stood before her, towering above Jenny as his body hardened, his voice deeper but somehow soft, intense but warm, harsh but still delicate. He looked down into her eyes, and this time she could not look away. “I do not know what my sister told you, but it does not matter. Yes, because now, now that I am near you again, looking into those big brown eyes that have haunted my goddamn dreams for the past month . . . yes, now I know why I lied to my sister.” He smiled now, looking up at the ceiling and then down into her eyes again. “Because it was not a lie, in some sense. It was not a lie because I finally understand what destiny means, what ‘meant-to-be’ means, what . . . what . . . what love means.”
Jenny felt a tremendous, unconscious swell in her deepest core as he spoke, and her lower lip trembled as she looked into the Sheikh’s eyes. She couldn’t trust herself to speak, but speak she did, the words coming out like it was someone else talking:
“But Kabeer,” she mumbled, realizing that she didn’t believe what she herself was saying, realizing that she already knew the answer to her unspoken question. “But Kabeer, it’s only been two months! How can it be love? How can it be—”
“How can it NOT be love?!” Kabeer bellowed, and now he was on his knees, his head down near hers, his eyes locked with hers, his presence enveloping her, drawing her in, opening her up though she DESPERATELY wanted to stay closed, to hold her ground, stick with her goddamn plan . . . that plan which seemed so hopelessly futile now that she was near him, near Kabeer, near her man, the father of the child within her. “How can it not be love, little Jenny? How can it not?” Kabeer whispered, leaning in close, so close now, so damned close . . .
Oh, God, I have to tell him, the voice inside her shrieked as he drew near. I have to tell him, I have to tell him, I have to tell him!
But then the voice was lost because he kissed her, kissed her hard, kissed her deep, kissed her in a way that made it SO clear that time meant nothing when it came to matters of love, that lovers can live a lifetime in an afternoon, an eternity in a moment.
21
And the moment to tell him had passed, and now the only words that came from her mouth were “Oh, GOD, Kabeer,” the sound coming out with throttled urgency, her eyes meeting his gaze as she felt him pull her by the wrists, pull her hard, dragging her to her feet like he couldn’t control himself, like he had controlled himself too damned long.
He leaned in for a fierce, raw kiss that she was sure would leave a bruise, and before she had a chance to catch her breath, he had her by the back of the neck and he pulled her swiftly to him as his fingers gripped her hair by the roots.
“Kabeer,” she muttered, her words sounding muffled as he smothered her lips with his, pulling her hair with one hand as his other hand closed HARD on her right breast. “The door, Kabeer. It’s not—”
“I do not give a damn, Jenny,” he growled as he licked her neck hungrily. “I do not give a DAMN!”
And he stood and broke off the kiss, grabbing her by the waist, lifting her CLEAN off her feet as he backed up into that heavy round table, his hard body colliding with it, forks and knives clattering to the floor, sideplates and waterglasses shattering on the tiles. The Sheikh dragged her now as she swooned, dizzy from his violent, pent-up passion, breathless from her own spiraling heat, dragged her across the smooth tiles to that open kitchen, one hand feverishly unbuttoning her blouse, holding her body secure in his strong arms, holding her from behind and moving her with a power that was as gentle as it was urgent. Jenny stumbled out of her heels, her soft cheeks hitting Kabeer’s rock-hard chest as he lifted he
r once more and effortlessly popped her up on that steel kitchen countertop like she was that feather in the breeze again, that wisp of smoke in the endless night.
“I have thought about you every day when we were apart, Jenny,” he muttered against her face as he kissed her HARD, pulling, kneading, massaging her full breasts beneath that thin satin blouse, his strong fingers sliding down her tight bra-cups, finding her stiff nipples and pinching with DESPERATION, rubbing her hips through her jeans, feverishly pushing his hands between her ample thighs. “Every damned day, you hear? It has never been this way for me, not with any woman. And it can never be this way with any other woman, I am sure of it.” Now he pulled away for just one moment, but it was one of those moments that last an eternity, because he looked deep into her brown eyes and said:
“Do not ask how this can be love, Jenny. The only question is how can this be anything BUT love! It can ONLY be love, Jenny. It can ONLY be love!”
And he kissed her again as the hot kitchen lights blazed down on the two lovers, and Jenny gurgled and gasped, flailed and fluttered, shook and shivered as she felt herself surrender to the Sheikh, surrender to his passion, his need, his desire. His love.
Surrender to his love.
22
She wore blue jeans that were snug around her curves in a way that had gotten him hard the moment he saw her turn and walk toward the kitchen. From that moment on Kabeer knew he wasn’t leaving this restaurant until those jeans were a crumpled heap on the unfinished floor, her bra and panties swinging from the old-style ceiling fans, the smell of sex infused into every nook and crevasse of this half-finished space.
Now she was sitting up on that broad, sturdy steel counter facing him, her thin top already half-unbuttoned. He could see the swell of her breasts, and as he brought his face close he felt the heat of her body released through the open buttons of her shirt.
“Every goddamn day, Jenny,” he rumbled as he pushed his face between her breasts, his tongue darting into her cleavage, licking left and then right as he RIPPED the last two buttons off her shirt and tore it off her back. “The way you looked when you were lying under me as that boat rocked and rolled on the waves. The way your black bra was pushed up over your magnificent breasts. Ya, Allah, Jenny. I could barely contain myself then, and I cannot, I WILL not, contain myself now!”
“Don’t you dare contain yourself,” she whispered into him, her breath feeling hot and urgent against his skin. “Oh, God, don’t you DARE, Kabeer!”
Now the Sheikh pulled back, a smile of ecstasy lighting up his dark face. He looked at his woman, little curvy Jenny perched up on that broad countertop, those big brown eyes staring up at him, her soft white skin looking lush and fresh under the hot lights, her breasts looking gorgeous and full, the top-down view of her womanly hips and thighs getting him so hot, so hard, so goddamn WILD!
He played with her breasts as he kissed her deep, kneading the flesh with his palms, teasing her nipples between his fingers, pinching gently at first, now harder, pulling, plucking, kissing, and suddenly SLAPPING her soft breasts as she SQUEALED in surprise, her eyes going wide as she inhaled sharply.
“Kabeer!” she shouted. “Oh, my GOD, Kabeer!”
“Baladi alihat, biludi alhabiba, ya mulkatan!” he muttered as he reached around and expertly popped the bra-clasp, grinning down at her as the bra-cups fell loose from her swollen breasts. “My queen. Ya, Allah, my QUEEN!”
Jenny’s eyes went wide again for a moment as he uttered the words, her eyelids fluttering as he kissed her face, fondled her breasts, his fingers making her tremble. She kissed him back, and he could damn well TASTE her arousal. This is right, he thought. Allah, this is right.
He pressed her thick thighs through her jeans again, squeezing with all his strength, pressing hard until he could feel it in the way she was breathing into his mouth—those short little gasps that she had produced the first time he made her come.
“My queen,” he said again, the words coming out slurred as they kissed frantically. “I feel it. I see it. I know it. You are woman to my man. Just as you will be Queen to my Sheikh. Just like you will be mother to my child. Yes, mother to my child, Jenny!”
She jerked in his arms as he said it, and he shuddered as his arousal took him close to delirium. Ya, Allah, she feels it too! I may have lied about it, but it is truly a prophecy! A prophecy that I will make true right now, right here, as Allah blesses us, as eternity watches us! I will MAKE it true!
“I should have told you,” Jenny mumbled as she broke off the kiss to take a desperate breath of air. “Oh, God, I should have told you, Kabeer. You had a right to know. I should have told—”
“Told me what?” Kabeer said, as her words finally registered in his overheated brain. “That you know this is love? That you know that our bodies cannot lie? That what we feel is love and cannot be anything else, no matter what logic and common sense and—”
“No,” she gasped as she came up for air again, her hands clawing at his hair as he unbuttoned her jeans, feeling the warmth of her sex on his fingers as he touched the front of her soaked panties. “That I’m pregnant, Kabeer. That I’m really pregnant.”
The blood of arousal was surging so hard through Kabeer’s veins that he could barely hear anything as his head buzzed, his heart pounded, his hardness throbbed as he pushed his hand down the front of her panties and ran his stiff fingers along her wetness, finding her warm slit, now sliding his fingers inside as she moaned and tensed up around his flexed arm. Her words sounded faint and faraway as his hunger rose along with her moans, but slowly they came into focus, came into view like solid objects spinning through a dream.
What did she say?
What . . . did . . . she . . . say . . . ?
What . . . did . . . she . . .
And now Kabeer was falling into an abyss in that dream, and it was he that was spinning, his body twisting and turning, his mind spinning and slamming, and he could not breathe, could not see, could not talk, could not . . . could not . . . could not BELIEVE . . .
. . . could not believe she had kept this from him! Kept it from HIM! She did not trust her feelings about me? She did not trust my feelings about her? She did not trust ME?!
It took all his will, all his strength, all his goddamn power to bring himself back under control, to still his mind, harness his anger, quell his rage, roll back his arousal. Yes, it took all his strength, the strength of a king, the strength of a Sheikh, the strength of his ancestors even . . . but he did it, and suddenly there was calm, there was focus, there was control, and Kabeer buried his passion, barricaded his desire, denied his need, and with a cold smile that he could see shook her to the core, the Sheikh GRABBED Jenny by the hair, PULLED her head back, kissed her HARD on the mouth, and finally locked his eyes onto hers, his gaze speaking a thousand words, his words spinning a thousand nightmares.
“I cannot have a queen who does not trust her king,” he whispered. “I cannot.”
And he let go of her hair, turned, and walked away.
23
She SCREAMED as the door swung shut, the wood and metal doorframe making a tinny sound that made her want to scream again. She wasn’t sure if she was angry with him or herself. But it wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t just frustration at being left in this state. No, it was because she knew Kabeer was right. She hadn’t trusted him. Even worse, she hadn’t trusted HERSELF!
Oh, God, Kabeer was right! She KNEW it was love the moment he first touched her, didn’t she? It didn’t make sense, but since when does love NEED to make sense?! Did it make sense that she was here in the United Arab Emirates, accepting the change of location without argument?! Did it make sense that SO much happened SO quick and ALL of it seemed so damned natural, so damned perfect, so damned . . . so damned WONDERFUL!?
In all that focus, all that perseverance, all that dedication to the dream of her own business, being self-sufficient, making her mark on the world, did she deny herself the right to chase that other drea
m alongside? That ancient dream of knowing love, knowing marriage, knowing motherhood? That dream of having a man she desired, a man she trusted, a man who trusted HER?!
Because wasn’t that what Kabeer had shown in every damn thing he did? That he TRUSTED her? From the very first act of taking her to the boat, introducing her to his family, in his own way telling them that this woman, Jennifer Bethany Jones, was different, was special, was . . . was HIS! Perhaps he didn’t know it at the time. Certainly SHE didn’t know it at the time. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true! It WAS true! HE was true! Their LOVE was true! The only thing that wasn’t true was Jenny: She wasn’t being true to herself, to her ENTIRE self, to the fullness of what it meant to be a woman, a woman in love with herself, in love with her work, in love with her MAN!
And Jenny the woman, the COMPLETE woman, just sat there shaking and wet, sweat beading on her forehead, the smell of perspiration and the aroma of her sex heavy in the air. Her shirt was in tatters on the counter behind her. She didn’t even know where her bra was. Her panties were soaked, jeans damp at the crotch. She could taste him on her lips, smell him with every breath, see him when she closed her eyes to blink. She cursed out loud and spat on the floor and cursed again. Then she slowly reached for that torn shirt and tried in vain to do something with it.
“There’s no way,” she said out loud, shaking her head, almost in tears simply because her body and mind were in overload. “There’s no way I can do this. I’ll screw up everything if I have to work with him. There’s no way. Absolutely not. What was I thinking?”
She muttered to herself now as she paced, that tattered blouse hanging off her as she tried to pull it close. The Sheikh’s words hung heavy in the air: ALL his words.
“Woman to my man . . .”
“Mother to my child . . .”
“Queen to my Sheikh . . .”
Queen to his Sheikh. Queen to his Sheikh. Queen to his Sheikh.
Flames for the Sheikh: A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel (Curves for Sheikhs Series Book 2) Page 15