Sheikh With Benefits (8 page)

All she could do was blink at him. With every other blink of her eyes, she thought she saw him in traditional
salwar
pants and
jameh
tunic, a wickedly curved dagger stuck into a wide
kamarband
sash. In the illusion, his hair streamed back in the desert wind. There were possibly some horses involved.

"That is Javad, correct?" his brother asked.

It was. Her panic turned to anticipation. Pure glee rose inside her, bubbling up until her heart fizzed with a little girl's joy. It was Javad, coming to claim her. She fought the growing smile on her face. He wanted her and he didn't care who knew. No. He
loved
her and he
wanted
people to know.

When he was only a step away, she became aware she should probably release herself from Darius' arms, but it was too late.

"Javad," Darius said, his light tone practically singing his brother's name. "You look thunderous. What has gotten into you tonight?"

Javad reached out and placed one big hand on Darius—the king's—chest. And shoved.

She watched in delighted horror as Darius stumbled back a step. When the king recovered and raised his eyes to his brother, they flashed with rage.

Javad had just insulted his king in front of a crowd of diplomats, for her. She tried to remember the last time she'd been this happy. It had been a long, long time. Through heroic effort, she kept herself from grinning like an idiot.

"This," growled—growled!—Javad, "is my woman. You will stay away from her."

Darius lifted his chin, suddenly looking extremely royal, and extremely pissed off. "Are you out of your mind?"

Butterflies performed an aerial display in her tummy. This fierce, passionate man was hers. Nothing this incredible had ever happened to her before. Her throat tightened with wild joy. A tear of relief slipped down her cheek, leaving a warm, moist trail.

Javad, still facing his brother, had a clenched fist jammed into his thigh. She reached for it. His fingers opened to her touch, instantly tangling with hers. He held her hand tight, and she thought he would never let go—but that lasted only a moment. In one second, he turned to her, his eyes flashing heat. He only set her hand free to sweep her off her feet.

She was too stunned to react as he leaned over to put his arms behind her back and under her legs and picked her up like a desert rogue kidnapping his chosen woman. It wasn't just instinct that made her throw her arms around his neck. Every desire in her heart wanted to draw as close to him as she could without getting arrested for indecency.

She wasn't feeling particularly decent as Javad carried her through the equally stunned crowd out to the moonlit balcony. She felt like she was flying through the air. Even after he set her down, she wondered if her feet would ever touch the ground again.

Another amorous couple was enjoying the privacy under the stars. All Javad had to do was level an acidic stare their direction, and the man took his lady by the hand to lead her back to the ballroom.

She leaned against the carved marble balustrade for support. Her legs were way too weak at the knees to put up with her weight.

"You," he said to her, in a new, irritated voice she'd never heard from him before. "Will never be allowed to choose your own clothing again. What is this?"

He fingered the wispy sleeve of her gown.

"It's gray," she pointed out.

"I can practically see your undergarments," he said. "Which is not a problem for me. But other men can almost see them, which is never going to happen, do you understand me?"

Inwardly, she hugged herself in relief and pure delight. Of course she would pick out any dresses she damn well pleased, especially if it resulted in this reaction. He noticed. He cared. She wanted to giggle at the thought that they could fight about it for the rest of their lives. Because whatever else happened, no other man in Ulai could marry her now, after Javad had compromised her honor so very, very publicly.

He'd taken away all her choice in the matter. But she'd chosen him a long time ago, just like she'd chosen him last night. She'd just bask in the glory of a man she thought would never show any emotion in public claiming her for his own in front of everyone who mattered.

"Yes, Your Highness," she said, to goad him.

He barely moved his jaw as he spoke. "I told you to call me by my name."

"Really," she continued, fighting to keep her tone level. "You don't need to make such a drama out of this. We had a good time last night, that's all. We can still be friends. I know you have a high sense of honor, but you don't have to marry me just because I was a virgin. I knew what I was doing as well as you did. These are modern times—"

He cut her off with a scorching kiss that possessed her from the inside out. He left her breathless and grabbing him for all the support she could get. His arm at her waist was the only thing keeping her from losing all cohesion and devolving into a puddle of lust.

A long time later, he broke the kiss and spoke, his tone gravelly. "This has nothing to do with that. I love you and you gave yourself to me and I know that means something to you, as it does to me."

It meant everything
, she wanted to say. "What?" she said instead.

He grasped her by her upper arms, steel in his grip. "You gave yourself to me."

Just then, a rattle, coming from the doors to the ballroom, interrupted.

Rapping at the locked doors with a vicious look on his face was her father. Oh crap, she thought, fear of his disapproval racing through her. Then she made herself pause. What did she have to fear from him? She didn't care what he thought of her. He'd certainly never cared about her, not really. He'd spent the last twenty years encouraging her to be silent, invisible. The perfect slave to his career. Perhaps he couldn't stand that he'd once stepped out of his diplomat role to marry her mother, and then she'd died. But that hadn't given him the right to resent his daughter, to erase her from her own life.

And he could go hang.

Apparently the palace guards thought so, too. A pair of burly men on either side of him slid their gazes to Javad for silent orders as they approached the former ambassador. Javad lifted his chin slightly. She watched as a guard touched her father on the arm. He tried to shrug the big man off.

It didn't work. The guards got insistent. As they practically dragged him away, he glanced over his shoulder at her, begging with his gaze.

"I should—" Go to him, she meant to say. An automatic reaction.

"You will stay with me," he informed her. "You gave yourself to me."

"You said that before. But last time, you said something before it. There were two or three words, then 'and'," she prodded, not bothering to fight the feeling of hope inside.

"Ah, I think that was..." A rakish half-smile quirked his beautiful mouth. The mouth she wanted to kiss so badly it was painful. "I love you."

"Oh, thank God," she said, her relief spilling out of her. "It would kill me to go through all that again with another man."

"Never." His voice was all grit. "You will be with me, and only me."

She grabbed the lapels of his tux and pulled him down to her. His lips against hers, his tongue invading her hidden places, it made her blood scorch through her veins like wildfire. The kiss could have gone on forever and she never would have tired of it. But the sensation of his hot hands on the night-chilled skin of her back made her forget to breathe. Eventually, she had to let him go, or suffocate. When they pulled away, they were both gasping.

One lock of Javad's normally perfect hair hung down over his eye. It was so sexy she nearly combusted on the spot. When she caught her breath, she repeated, "Oh, thank God."

He tightened his arm around her waist. They couldn't be any closer without removing clothing. Everyone in the ballroom was probably trying to see through the gauzy curtains. But Javad had his back to them, hiding her from their view.

"Those are not the three words I want to hear from you."

No, she knew it. He wanted to hear her say she loved him.

"I should drag this out. I should play games with you and drive you wild by holding back. I know I should make you work for my love. But I can't. Of course I love you. Why wouldn't any woman love you?" She took his hand. Warm and dry, it dwarfed her own. She lifted an honest gaze to the face she wanted to look at for the rest of her life.

"I'm so tired of hiding and lying and pretending to pay attention to some diplomatic treaty or trade agreement when I really want to talk about smart you are, your kindness to me, and how you have the hottest ass in Ulai." As the words, and her true feelings, escaped the prison where she'd locked them, they took with them a great weight she'd barely realized she'd been carrying around. Very seriously, she added. "I'm afraid the truth is that I'd like to take a big bite out of it."

He seemed to consider that for a moment before saying, "I would be open to such a thing, but perhaps a bit later,
man jigaram
." Literally, the words meant 'my liver,' which sounded strange to Western ears
,
but it was a term of endearment no Farsi speaker threw around casually. Everything in her thrilled. "You were the most important woman in the world to me from the moment you saw my pain and sought to relieve it. I will never again let anyone treat you the way your family has. We will be together from now on. We will speak and do as we please and pick up leaves from the ground if we wish to."

"Uhm, what?" she said. "You lost me on that last one."

"If I know my brother, he will exile me." She must have startled, since he raised a hand in reassurance. "Not officially. Not permanently. I will have to leave Ulai for a time."

Ferocity rose in her. "I don't care. You know I don't care, so why are you telling me this? I'm going with you."

"You going with me was not quite what I had in mind."

His words made her go still with fear. For a second, he wore his old face, the mask she couldn't read.

"I believe," he continued, "he will also appoint a new ambassador to Canada. I thought I would go with her instead."

Why would the new ambassador be a woman? she asked herself. Why would Javad go with her when he clearly wanted to be with... A thought struck her, like a physical blow.

"Me?" she barely squeaked out.

"It solves the problem neatly," Javad pointed out. "It offers your father recompense for the insult to his family he received tonight, and gets me out of the way. "If he does not think of it himself, I will suggest it to him. It is the only way, really."

"I'm way too young. Also, a woman."

"Quite a woman," Javad said, in a wolfish new way that made her blush to her ankles. "And no one is more qualified. Besides, it is a perfect opportunity to show the world how very modern Ulai is. Yet the old guard will assume that I am the ambassador in all but name. They will be wrong, of course. Yes, it is a very tidy solution."

The responsibility seemed overwhelming. She was just shy Arya, after all.

She was about to explain why she couldn't accept the position. Couldn't be in the spotlight all the time. Then she looked at Javad and saw herself the way he saw her. She'd watched and learned from her father for two decades. She'd won herself the man she loved through a twisty kind of truth mixed with deceit.

She could, she realized, do the job. And do it well.

"I can't do it—"

When he attempted to interrupt, she raised her hand to silence him. Like a miracle, it worked. "I can't do it
without your help
."

He nodded. And she knew that he would support her as she needed, not interfering when she did things her way, but assisting when she asked for his help.

"Daliya is coming with us," she told him.

"I thought you did not care for each other," he said.

She shrugged. "Things can change between two people. Sometimes in a single night."

"Yes," he agreed. "They can. I look forward to hearing the story another time. But tonight is for us, and you will finally dance with me."

Even though she knew he loved her, a pang of the old fear moved through her, apprehension that he'd see her crush written all over her face. But she forgot that fear as Javad put his hand to her waist and drew her against him. Together, they moved to the soft music that filtered over the balcony from the ballroom.

He held her much, much closer than Darius had. They probably presented a very indecent silhouette to the party guests. She didn't care. More importantly, Javad didn't care.

He gazed into her eyes. She didn't turn away, though she knew what he'd see there. Her months of longing, her shyness and frustration, and her unspoken acknowledgement that she loved him. That her love for him had been planted when he'd visited Ottawa as a teen, but hadn't blossomed until she'd returned to Ulai from Ottawa and had seen what an amazing man he'd become. She refused to hide her feelings behind shyness and ugly dresses anymore.

"Arya," he said, and that one word told her he'd seen it all.

She snuggled against his chest, and for a long time, just savored the feeling of moving as one with the man who'd declared himself hers in front of everyone.

After a time, she knew the moment was right. She hadn't spoken his name for the same reason she hadn't danced with him. She wouldn't risk betraying herself. Now, it no longer mattered. They were going to be together. This was the beginning of a new life they would build, one where nothing would separate them.

"Javad," she said, putting a world of love in her voice. "My heart is yours."

He kissed her temple in response. "My name on your lips is the sweetest sound I have ever heard."

"I want to ask you something."

He shot her an expression of pure heat. Thank God she'd never seen that look on him before, or no power in the universe could have stopped her from slingshotting her panties at him from across the ballroom.

"Yes," he told her, sighing over-dramatically. "I will marry you. If you insist."

She laughed, but shook her head. "Okay. But that wasn't what it was."