Sheikh With Benefits (4 page)

The beauty of his midnight eyes struck her physically. And having him between her legs—she could barely breathe. But the best thing was the look of pure stupefaction on his face. He betrayed far too much emotion. He hadn't expected this. Hadn't thought her capable of it.

"Is this better?" Her words came out breathy and seductive.

"Much better," he said, recovering from his shock. His hands moved to grip the backs of her thighs under her dress. With the heat of his palms against her skin, intimately pressed where her legs met her butt, she had to fight her blush.

Yet this was where she'd wanted him ever since she'd returned to Ulai with her father. And right now, it didn't feel like he was laughing at her or mocking her lack of experience. It felt very much like he wanted her the way a man wants a woman.

"I like it better, too," she told him, in a voice too sexy to have come from her.

Then she gave herself what she'd craved for months, a taste of his mouth.

She'd obsessed over his full lips every night, dreaming of touching them with her own. The reality was better than any dream. His lips were warm and firm, and moved with sensuous confidence. God, he tasted so good, like the scent of spice he wore. Her lipstick slicked the kiss, made her lips slide over his as she licked and sucked at him.

He, of all miracles, responded to her. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. Sounds of appreciation rumbled in his chest. She had done that. She had made him nearly growl with desire.

But before she could glory in her power over him, he took control. He parted her lips, demanding entrance to her mouth. She didn't need persuading, but opened for him, just as hungry for more as he was.

It was the most erotic thing she'd ever felt. Far better than the few fumbling kisses she'd had from high school boyfriends who got scared off by her father or tempted away by her sisters' charms. He thrust his tongue inside her mouth, as if he was determined to discover all her secret places. She welcomed him, sucking him in like she couldn't get enough. She savored every sensation, tried to burn the feeling of being close to him, held by him, and even exposed to him, into her memory so she could revisit this place in the lonely nights to come.

She tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and ran her short nails over his scalp. He seemed to like it, dropping his hands lower on her back, pressing her to him.

It seemed his body didn't distinguish between a woman he wanted and one he didn't. She felt him hard against her belly. What would it be like to have him in her hand? To touch him the way only his lovers did? The thought made her even wetter than she was already.

His fingers slipped down her shoulder, taking the strap of her dress with them. Her heart went wild—what was happening? Was he actually
undressing
her? She shivered out of pure hope.

Then the whole car jostled, knocking her sideways and breaking the kiss. She slammed her hand against the ceiling to balance herself, to keep from being dumped on the floor. He steadied her, his hands no longer reaching for her, but merely supporting her waist.

The enchanted moment ended, cruelly broken. Gone forever.

"I think," he said, coolly. "That will do nicely."

She swallowed, unable to meet his gaze. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

A tsunami of awkwardness pummeled her. She was all clumsy legs and gangly arms, tangled and snarled up in him. Her lipstick had to be smudged, her hair snagged into knots. He, however, looked flawless. In control.

Unlike him, she had lost every gram of control she'd ever possessed. He'd felt her starting to slip and taken pity on her, cutting off the kiss before she went over the edge.

She scrambled back to her side of the seat and refastened her seatbelt. She never should have taken it off in the first place.

Chapter Four

Javad cursed himself for a fool. What had he been doing? He'd been ready to rip off that flesh-colored dress and thrust himself into her body without regard for time or place. She was a virgin and his friend, and he'd nearly taken her in the back seat of a car.

He had never been so close to the edge before. Never felt so out of control, so wild for a woman. He'd had plenty of discreet arrangements, certainly. He had needs, like the next man. But that was all his affairs were, a way to fulfill his needs.

Something was different here. He didn't think it was the fact she was untouched. Something else. But the only difference between Arya and any other woman was... Well, that she was
Arya
. He knew and cared about her. She saw things he did not wish to show. She had been a vital part of his life since that night she'd given him the headache pills.

He felt... He searched for an appropriate word...
protective
of her, though after the passion in her kiss, he could no longer think of her with his previous brotherly affection. His cock was involved now. It had made its desires known.

Arya was too good for Darius. That had always been clear. In fact, he didn't know a man worthy enough for her. Yet, she had determined that she would bed someone, and from that kiss, he had no doubt she would. She had pent-up passion aching for release.

He knew exactly who he wanted to release it.
He
could have her, some darkness inside his skull whispered, in a voice like hot desert wind. He could introduce her to carnal pleasures, pleasing himself in the process.

He blinked at the alien thought. Where had that come from? Yet now that it had entered his mind, the idea had set up camp.

He watched her try to concentrate on the night scenery passing by the window. A group of old men drinking tea at a café. A store owner shutting the door for the night. He knew she saw none of it. Her cheeks still flamed with heat, though she attempted to look calm, even bored.

The voice that had blown through his mind again urged that he could possess her. Javad forced it into silence.

He would bed her, he decided. Out of principle, of course. No other reason. He would ensure she had a memory to savor. A man would do such a reasonable and logical thing for a friend like Arya.

His only regret was that he had but one night to teach her. Some other man would introduce her to the rest of her lessons. Her husband, perhaps. Certainly not Zakharias. After her appearance tonight, she would find herself with many suitors. He felt an odd twinge at that thought, but couldn't identify it.

The wind inside his head laughed.

The limo pulled up at his house before he could contemplate the issue further. She and her father had visited him in his apartment in the palace, of course, but he maintained a residence outside it as well. For nights such as these.

He thanked Fatima, his driver, and let her know he would not need her services for the rest of the night. His unusual choice of a female chauffeur had raised eyebrows at the palace, but he had found her driving excellent—save for the pothole she had failed to avoid earlier tonight. Her gratitude for the job also meant she maintained the strictest discretion. Very useful. No one would ever know Arya had been here tonight. He could bank on that.

"Why do you have a key to your brother's place?" Arya asked as they entered the front foyer, with its blocky, modern design, all dark paint and white accents.

"So I may let you in, of course." He sensed he needed the pretext a little longer. "Shall I go, or stay?"

A look of pure panic tightened her face. "Stay. Please."

He nodded, as if he had intended to leave.

"It's nice here," she said. "Reminds me of some of my friends' homes in Ottawa."

He liked this place, felt freer here. Sometimes the palace's gold paint and mosaic tiles weighed him down. He'd enjoyed picking out his modern furniture, choosing the paint colors he liked best.

That she appreciated his taste gave him a warm sensation. "Thank you."

"What?" she asked, wearing a look of confusion.

He had slipped. He corrected himself. "Darius would thank you for appreciating his excellent taste."

Arya examined his expression, but he, as usual, betrayed nothing. She could have sworn that he thanked her himself, but she had been busy checking out the abstract painting on the wall. It just might have been real Jackson Pollock. It certainly looked like the ones in the National Gallery of Canada. "I thought you said—"

He shrugged ever so slightly. "I did help him with a few touches," he confirmed. "It is good you like it, since you will be spending so much time here."

Right now, she wasn't even sure she was spending another hour here. She was so nervous. Javad's presence had a reassuring effect on her, but that kiss had made her crush go ballistic. Inside, she felt like the Pollock, all jagged black lines and red splashes of passion. She followed him into a kitchen of light wood and the latest stainless steel appliances, which looked totally unused. "Probably just tonight."

If she asked Javad to take her away, he would. But she'd never work up the courage to make another attempt. She'd wind up a perpetual virgin, practically her father's servant.

"I am certain not. One taste of you will not be enough for him."

She stared at him, struck with some emotion she couldn't define. She hadn't banked on becoming Darius' mistress. Her father would be... Well, he might just be delighted, she had to admit. He might see it as his chance to gain favor from the throne.

No, she assured herself. That would never happen. Her sisters were more like the type of woman Darius preferred. Worldly. Experienced. His brother was likely the same.

"Shall we see what Darius has to drink? Or perhaps you'd like some coffee?"

They weren't really questions, she knew. Javad had already opened the fridge. She would get what he chose to serve her.

"No coffee," she requested. "If I lose my buzz, I'll change my mind."

He pulled out some cold champagne, popped the cork efficiently, and poured them each a flute, which he found far too easily in the cupboard. He spent time here, that was clear. Did the brothers share this place to entertain women? To take their pleasures away from the palace?

Even in the domestic setting, he moved like the royal prince he was. Confident. Self-assured. Relaxed. All the things she was not. He leaned against the dark granite kitchen counter and scanned her from head to toe, lingering on parts of her she didn't think he had ever noticed before. Noting her flaws, she suspected.

"You are an excellent kisser. Yet you are nervous. Why?"

"I don't know." She fought the urge to add 'Your Highness.' She didn't say it, but she couldn't bring herself to call him by his name, either. "I don't know why everyone else can do this but not me. There's something wrong with me."

"As I have told you earlier tonight, you are beautiful."

"I mean there's something wrong inside me," she clarified. "But thank you."

"There is also nothing wrong inside you. You are just shy, I think." He said it clinically, like he said most things. "Though why that is, I do not know."

That was easy enough. "Oh, I know why. Daliya and Komal outshine me. It's been easy to hide behind them. When I was in high school, the few boys who were interested in me... well, they stopped being interested once they saw my sisters. Or when my father growled. So there wasn't much point."

"Young men are fools."

She appreciated his attempt at support, and refrained from telling him it wasn't just young men who thought her a sexless piece of the furniture. She'd never cared, until him. With Javad, it cut like a rusty scalpel in the hands of a drunken surgeon.

"I can't blame everyone else. Maybe I found it easier to be shy than to get rejected. It's a useful defense mechanism for a fragile ego. Also—" She circled her index finger over the front of her dress. "These."

They both looked at her chest. It wasn't much to speak of. Or even whisper about.

"Those," he said, in a tone that gave her zero clue as to what he was thinking.

She poured champagne down her throat. There was something strange about the way it tasted, and her buzz was fading. She resisted a sigh. He'd given her non-alcoholic champagne. Either he wanted her to change her mind or his brother didn't like his dates drunk. Javad did not want to make this easy on her.

"Small," she said.

"Compared to your sisters, yes. But I am certain my brother wants to see them." He paused for a beat. "Very much."

Who cares? I want you to want to see them.
She pushed the thought out of her mind. Getting Javad to notice her was off the table now, and always had been. One kiss was all she'd ever have.

"Why are you rushing into this tonight, Arya?"

She didn't hold back an unladylike snort. She couldn't tell him the truth, of course, that if she continued thinking about him, day and night, her mind would crack. He would know if she lied, though. Luckily, she had another stressor to share. "Seems like Sheikh Zakharias is going to offer for me."

Javad visibly stiffened, a stunning display of emotion for him, and confusing for her. What did he care about Zakharias? "Your father is not considering this."

Her father? She narrowed her eyes at him.

"He might be. My stepmother definitely is. But I'm the most important factor here, remember?"

"And you want to sleep with a young man before you decide if you will throw yourself to the dogs." Contempt splattered Javad's tone.

"He's rich. I could have my own home. No one else is stepping up to the plate. There are lots of advantages."
I could stay near you
, she didn’t say.

"But no love," he pointed out.

Love. The word, from his lips, set her heart pounding. Her throat constricted, tingled with emotion. Tiny needles prickled her eyes, warning of tears. She made an effort to treat him like the friend that he was, changing the subject in the process.

"I nearly slept with Jimmie deLuca, you know. He was the only boy I was ever horizontal on a bed with. His hand was..." She'd never even told her sisters this. How could she? It wasn't their fault they were gorgeous and outgoing while she had all these hang-ups. "Well, it was down my jeans. And he whispered a name in my ear."