Sheikh's Scandalous Mistress (12 page)

“I thought you’d never ask, sheikha.”

They snuck back to their bedroom and shut the door. It was far from the nursery hall, but one never knew how much time they had with a toddler, and she prayed that no noises would come over the baby monitor.

Amanda slipped her robe off and positioned herself on the bed, hoping she was giving her best come-hither look to her beloved. It seemed to be working because Amir had slipped out of his pajamas. As always, she would never get over what an amazing sight it was to behold. His eyes gleamed like amber, and his shoulders were broad and strong. His olive skin was taut over his abdomen, showing off abs that would always leave her mouthwatering.

“I am so glad we can forego the condom,” he said, stalking over to the bed and crawling up over her with all the grace of a jungle cat.

She laughed and patted her still flat belly. “I think that’s how we got two in the first place—we usually do.”

“Then I’m caught. I need to feel myself inside of you, my love, enjoy your heat around me. There’s nothing better than that intensity.
Nothing
.”

“Prove it,” she said.

There were no more words between them. He was on top of her, his heft complete as he entered her. His manhood teased her entrance at first, tormenting her with just a feel of his girth and heat. But slowly, Amir eased himself into her, driving deep into her channel until he was pressed flush against her. She could feel the scrape of his beard against her neck, smell the hints of sandalwood and his own musk as they wafted into her nose.

“Please, I need you!”

He started to rock his hips, a slow and sensuous rhythm that sent heat flaring through her body, consuming her as it had the first time and every time since.

Amir’s lips were on her neck, his teeth scraping and nibbling at the sensitive skin there. She bucked her hips, thrusting her own body up to meet his. She was grateful when his length seemed to hit her G-spot, sending more pleasure than she could imagine burning through her limbs. The fire was no longer just flickering flames, but a riotous explosion that was setting every nerve alight. His tempo increased and she felt every movement of his hips, every slam of his sweaty body against her own.

Amir came first, his seed flooding into her as his length hit just the right spot, the right intensity, and she shattered apart, her climax overcoming her. The fire was now an explosion, like her body had gone supernova, become a shooting star of its own. Amanda screamed, her cries echoing out in their massive bedchamber, and she was glad that they were so far from everyone else.

It was hard to be quiet when Amir left her feeling like that.

She took a moment to catch her breath then rolled onto her back. Amir had one other thing he loved to do, a ritual between them. As she lay there, he rubbed at her shoulders, easing out all the knots of tension that the hustle and bustle of caring for a toddler caused.

“I’m always going to care about you, protect you.”

“I have no doubt you will,” she said, her voice a throaty purr.

“You’re the light of my life, my sheikha.”

“I feel the same way, my sheikh,” she echoed.

Then he stopped rubbing her and leaned lower, letting his tongue stray over her shoulders, making soft flicks against her lower neck, against her collarbones. Amir kept licking her skin, tracing curlicues over her back. She moaned and burrowed deeper into the bed, letting the ecstasy wash over her. But now it was more about the sensuality of the act; it was about the trust. Here she was, naked and vulnerable in his grasp, and she had confidence that he’d be there to save her, as he did before at Jackson’s home.

Finally, he resumed rubbing her back, his hands going low to get the tightness low on her body, right over her hips.

“You’re carrying far too much tension. I need to make sure I increase our sessions to twice a day,” he said. Amir leaned lower and his whisper was sharp against her ears. “Maybe I’ll lock you up here and never let you leave.”

“How nefarious of you, but the kids will riot.”

“I think we can try and stave off any mutinies,” he said, even as his hands dug deeper into her muscles. More than that, she noticed that his erection was rigid again and pressing into her rear. “There are certain things I need,” he promised.

“Oh,” she added, lifting her hips a bit to feel his length pressed against her. “I think there are things that I need too, and did anyone ever tell you that you’re insatiable?”

“I’ve heard that,” he whispered, nibbling on her ear.

Amir shocked her by grabbing her around the waist and rolling onto his back. She was above him now and his returned erection was even more obvious as it pressed into her belly. It was enough to leave her wet and wanting. Then again, she was always ready for him—ready and so glad for the life they shared that she almost lost through her own stubbornness and a corrupt senator’s hand.

“You’re so quiet, my sheikha,” he said, his amber eyes boring into hers. “Is everything alright?”

She kissed his lips, biting the bottom one playfully between her teeth. “Everything’s perfect.”

And it always would be.

THE END

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Chapter One

The wind whipped against her face as her thighs tensed tightly around the great steed’s sides. As he always had, Tornado made the jump over the crossed logs—a clear three feet—without breaking a stride. She pitched forward a bit trying to keep her weight balanced over the leap. She’d been spending too much time sitting in the office these days and not nearly enough time riding. Getting rusty was something that a former barrel racing champion should never allow, and it was far from what Samantha Cutter wanted.

But life, she’d found, wasn’t about what she wanted at all.

It was about responsibility, about taking care of things her father couldn’t, and most of that included hopeless days trying to figure out the mess the books had fallen into lately. She’d only been back from college a couple of years, but her dad had turned the day-to-day office work over to her after a hip replacement.

Now, she was confused about how everything had fallen apart.

Cutter Farm was one of the top horse facilities in Lexington, Kentucky, and it was home to some of the best breeding stock in the country. These were racing lines and lineages who claimed their heritage far back, before the days of Man of War and Secretariat, although both of them were progenitors for most of the horses living now. They had horses who had won the derby in recent memory and Tornado’s father, Lightning, was worth close to a million dollars for his own racing record.

So why was the operation bleeding money?

Clicking her tongue, she set off into a trot, rising and falling with the posting position as the wind breezed through her ponytail, that small stray bit of hair that was poking out under her helmet. The cool Kentucky wind was growing cold as the sun set. Kentucky was set up in the corner of the Appalachian Mountains, nestled beneath Ohio, and spring was a weird time in the country; during the day it was almost warm enough, a promise of summer. But once the sun was down, the cold began to set in immediately. March still had bite left to it and, for now, Samantha wanted to be home and untacking her stallion before her hands froze off.

As they approached the stables together, its bright red roof glinting in the sun, Sam finally slid off her horse and ran the stirrups up. Then she patted Tornado’s long and sweaty neck, smiling back at him.

“See, now that’s the exercise we both needed, isn’t it, buddy?”

He snorted and pulled her toward the stables. The young colt knew the routine. As soon as she brushed him down, then he’d be ready for his salt cubes and other treats. Someone desperately wanted his extra carrots today, but that made sense. She’d run him hard and could see the sweat slicking his forelock to his head. He needed all the protein he could get, too. Hoping to get back to her routine, Sam knew she’d be trying to run him more, to do anything to get out of the routine of the office and the endless rows on the excel spreadsheets that never made sense, no matter how hard she tried.

They were going to lose the farm, and she knew it. She just wasn’t sure, short of finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, if there was anything she could do to stop it.

Sighing, she clicked her tongue once more and walked with her steed back to the old building. It would need some painting again, and one of the doors had cracked from another horse kicking it a few weeks ago. That would take some money to fix. Again, things added up on a farm, and it kept her up nights.

“Alright, Tornado, let’s get you settled.”

* * *

“I just don’t get it,” she said, tempted to throw the damn mouse across the room, as if that would make the numbers any less dire.

“What’s that?” Andy said, frowning back at her.

Despite her mood, she stifled a laugh. Andy had one of those massive handlebar mustaches, the kind that made him look like he was about to go roughriding out on the plains with Wyatt Earp. When he frowned, it made the whole thing wriggle across his face.

“I don’t understand where all the money is going. I have no freaking clue. We have great sales, great breeding reputation. We haven’t had any illnesses and, yes, there are always repairs, but it’s never been more than we could handle before. It’s not like we developed some damn sinkhole or had to weather an ice storm. I don’t get why we’re bleeding money.”

“I don’t know either. You father kept the books until his surgery, and I respect that. A man’s finances are his own. Still, I’ve always thought of Gerry as responsible.” Andy shook his head. “Maybe there were old loans he took out that he never wanted you to know about.”

She paused and sighed, pressing the bridge of the nose with her fingers. “You mean things from when Mom was sick?”

“I didn’t say that. I just said that sometimes there are things a man keeps hidden for a reason,” the old hand replied.

“And I get that Dad has his pride. God knows that drove me crazy before he admitted his left hip was so bad off.”

“A man…”

“Has got to do what a man has got to do,” she said, puffing up her chest and forcing her voice to go as deep as it could. “And John Wayne died of cancer after filming a movie on a nuclear testing ground. Sometimes manning up doesn’t do a thing. Sometimes you have to ask for help.”

“Maybe, but they were his books.”

She sighed and raked her hands through her long, honey-gold hair. It tended to tangle when she did her accounting work. She’d twist it back into a bun and secure it with a pen, but that never held it for long. Over a long session, she’d pull out tendrils and fidget with the pen until it was a mess all over again. Once, her Bic had snapped and she’d had a patch of hair the color of a Smurf for two days.

“That’s not good enough. If he were in trouble, all he had to do was ask…unless,” she stopped, her eyes growing wide with understanding. “You think that he didn’t know. I know between the surgery and maybe Mom’s anniversary coming up, he’s been very much hands off. I just can’t tell by how much.”

“He seems chipper now that he can ride again. Frankly, you have to talk to him. This farm has been in his family for four generations. He can’t have it yanked out from under him with no warning. Ain’t no way to do a man,” Andy said, taking in a deep breath and spitting out his chaw into the nearest spittoon.

Gross. Is it too much to ask for no tobacco in the office?

Glaring back at him, she gestured to the old bronzed urn. “You know you’re dumping that.”

“I always do, princess,” Andy replied, hearkening back to a nickname she’d begged her dad and the hands to stop calling her when she was entering high school. “Either way, you can’t solve this problem in the books by yourself. If you could, you’d have done it. I don’t think you have however much it is lying around.”

However much was close to five million dollars. They barely had enough left, according to the books, to keep the farm running for the next year, and that was only if they assumed that no huge sicknesses, weather emergencies, or other general farm disasters happened. The odds that Murphy’s Law would leave them alone, maybe give Sam a full year to figure out how to either become a consummate bank robber or possibly run to Vegas to win the money needed, were extremely low.

Andy wasn’t wrong. If she had five million, then she wouldn’t be terrified about all the money she owed everyone, about losing the only home she’d ever known, the place she’d lived, not only with her parents, but her grandparents back when she was just a kid.