Stolen by the Sheik (Black Towers Book 2) (3 page)

Muttering in Arabic, Nayo pulled out his cell and was relieved to discover that his wound had felt marginally better. Scrolling through his contacts, he settled on a friend he knew had a residence in the area. Somewhere guarded and quiet where he could rest and think.

Liv took a step back. “Did you?” She glanced around at the empty street. “Oh shit.” She started to run, but he grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Hey Cole," he said when his friend, Cole Anderson, picked up the line. "I was wondering, I need a place to crash for a few days. Can I come over?"

Cole laughed. "Sure thing, although I'm not there right now."

"Where are you?"

"I just wrapped up that production at Black Towers for Ethan Black. You know the one I told you about.”

Yeah, Nayo knew. It was why he had been in Black Towers in the first place. He was searching for Cole so that he could ask him for some advice on his betrothal situation. If anyone knew how to get out of a sticky relationship, it was his buddy Cole. The man flitted around from woman to woman like a bee in flower garden.

“Well, the production schedule was grueling, so I’m in Europe taking an extended vacation." Feminine laughter could be heard in the background.

"Leave it to you to hook up with the first woman you find over there."

Cole laughed. "No, this one came with me." He lowered his voice. "Georgia’s amazing. You have to meet her sometime."

“Georgia? Not the Georgia.”

“The one and only.”

Nayo smiled. Cole had had an obsession with Georgia Evans for as long as he could remember. She was always the one that got away. It was nice to hear that they were back together. At least someone he knew would get a happy ending.

"I’ll meet her at the first opportunity, I promise. Where can I find the key?"

"No key, I'll call security and let them know you’re coming."

"Is there a back way? I don't want to go through security."

"Why not?"

Nayo glanced at Liv. If looks could kill, the fiery redhead would be giving him a slow, painful death. "Long story."

There was a slight pause, and then. "Sure, go around to the back and. . ."

L
iv watched
Nayo talk on the phone as uneasiness grew in her belly. She had no idea who this guy was, or who he was talking to. Yes, he was incredibly, sinfully handsome, and that crop of black hair on his head would make any woman swoon, but every sensible nerve in her body was telling her that going any farther with him was a bad idea. She wasn’t afraid of Nayo. No, she didn’t think he would hurt her, if anything she felt protected around him. But this was all getting out of hand. She didn’t understand how it had gotten to this point, a quick flirtation in the lobby that had turned into bomb threats, running from the police and bandaging a bullet wound – all in what felt like a matter of minutes. And she was sure the more time she spent with him, the further down the rabbit hole she would find herself. Was she aiding and abetting and didn’t even know it? But regardless of all this, the past few hours had been the most exciting in her whole life. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she couldn’t deny that she liked the way it felt.

"We have a place to stay," he said, closing his phone.

"We should turn ourselves in," she said.

"Haven't you been listening? They shot Taz. They’d shoot us too if given a chance."

"Not if we call it in first and let them know we were coming."

He shook his head. "Maybe for you, but for a guy like me, the authorities shoot first and ask questions later."

“What do you mean, ‘a guy like you?’?”

“You’re not serious, are you?” He waved his hand in front of his face. “Look what happened to Taz. Do you want to end up in a hospital?”

“No.”

“Come on, then.” They made it a few steps down the street before four large men in blue uniforms came out from the shadows.

“Hold it right there,” one of them said. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

“You have it wrong,” Liv said. “We didn’t do anything.”

“I am Sheikh Nayef ibn Saeed ibn Tariq al-DarziYou have no right—”

“Relax, buddy. We aren’t arresting you.”

“Yet,” said the other officer.

The first cop flashed his buddy an irritated frown. “We’re just bringing you in for questioning.”

“I don’t have to listen to this. I’m innocent.” Nayo started to move past them, but one of the men drew a gun.

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

“Tell you what. Let’s go to the station and straighten all of this out.”

“Listen to them,” Liv whispered. “I don’t want any more bloodshed.”

In the end, it was Liv’s words that helped Nayo make is decision. “You’re going to question me like you did Taz?”

The officer glanced at one of his partner’s. “Who’s Taz?”

Nayo shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.” He nodded toward Liv. “And neither is she.”

“Let me be the judge—” Liv sneezed, drawing the attention of the men. Their guard was down. It was now or never.

Nayo grabbed her arm and, using the dumpster for cover, dragged her back down the street from which they came. Shouting and gunfire followed them, but it was Liv’s outraged cry that rattled his nerves the most. How was he ever going to make her understand? To Americans, all Arabs were the enemies. Facts didn’t matter. Truth didn’t matter. If he stepped foot inside that precinct, he was as good as dead.

A
s ridiculous as it sounded
, Liv felt as if she was in the middle of her favorite television show. In season three of Cops after Dark, a dark, handsome villain had taken the hero’s girlfriend hostage. During the time she was a hostage, she had fallen in love with her captor, who had treated her very well. When the hero finally freed her, she dumped him and worked hard to free her new love.

Liv had always secretly wished that she was that girl. She didn’t have a boyfriend, but the thought of being captured and taken to some remote place, forced to do her captor’s bidding, made her panties damp. She figured it must be because deep down, she wanted a man’s man. An alpha. A man who would take without asking, but give her everything she needed in return. This was why she had all but given up on dating. She had grown tired of dating men who expected her to take charge; they were weak and couldn’t give her what she wanted. She wondered if Nayo would take her to some remote place and have his way with her. If he did, how would she react?

After a quick glance down at his tight, firm ass, she knew exactly how she’d react. Just imagining those hips between her thighs was causing a flutter in her lower abdomen.

“Why are you in such a rush? We lost them.”

“It’s only a matter of time before they find us again. In here.”

“Where are you taking me?” She looked up at the sign. It read “Annie’s Thrift Shop.”

“We need some new clothes. Now act natural.” They made their way through the brightly colored racks of clothes. “What size are you?” he whispered.

“That’s a rather rude question, don’t you think?”

He frowned and grabbed something off the rack. “Here, try this on.”

“There’s no changing rooms.”

“In the back.” He grabbed something for himself. “Come with me.”

The changing room was a single unisex room with a locked door. Along one wall was a mirror and underneath the mirror was a counter. Hooks lined the second wall for clothes and a ratty brown couch sat up next to the wall of the third.

He guided her inside and shut the door behind them. “Take off your clothes.”

“What?” She crossed her arms over her chest as she thought about her favorite episode.

“You heard me, take off your clothes.” He removed the scarf around his arm, then took off his suit jacket and shirt.

“How is your wound?” she asked, trying to take her mind off the fact that this gorgeous man was stripping in front of her.

“The bleeding is stopped, see?” He showed her his large bicep and ran his finger over the line there. “It’s fine, just like I told you.”

“Good.” She swallowed hard as she took in the ripple of muscle over his arm and shoulder. The man must have worked out, and it was a damn shame that all of that sexiness had been covered up by a suit.

“Now strip. We don’t have much time.” He continued to take off his clothes, tossing his shoes, socks, and dress pants onto the floor.

“Well?” he asked.

The man stood there in front of her, this proud Arabian Sheikh, wearing nothing but his designer boxers. They were the fitted kind, coming just below the butt and leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Are you. . . I mean. . .” She swallowed as his cock seemed to thicken before her eyes.

“Am I what?” he asked, closing the distance between them. He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her head to meet her gaze. “Am I what?”

Her breath caught as she stared at the golden flecks in his eyes. She had seen them before, first in the foyer of Black Towers, and then again in the alley as she was bandaging his arm. Each time she thought how it was such a contradiction – the warmth of the golden in his eyes didn’t match the intense, dark stare he seemed to always have when he looked at her. It made her knees weak. “Are you going to have your way with me?”

“I don’t believe I’m familiar with the term.” He moistened his lips with his tongue. If you need help, I think something can be arranged."

"I can do it myself."

"Are you sure?" He slid his finger over her sides. "Because I'd be more than happy to help."

Before she could respond, he tugged her shirt out of her skirt and slid his fingers underneath. Liv gasped at the feel of skin-on-skin, and Nayo used it to his advantage. Leaning forward, he invaded her mouth, filling her with his heady taste. As tingles spread out over her skin, she tilted her head and focused on kissing him back. He made a low, throaty growl as she ran her fingers up over his chest. He had a light dusting of hair, just enough to let her know that he was a man, not a boy. She slid her fingers through it and then wrapped her arms around her neck.

"Olivia." Her name sounded so sexy with his accent. She groaned and inched closer, pressing her hips against his. He inched his hands up her sides, caressing her skin with his fingertips. With a flick of the wrist, he undid her bra. He paused just a moment, those dark eyes drinking in her face. He looked at her as though he wanted to devour her.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, quite the opposite." Reaching up, he unpinned her hair and then lifted her shirt and bra off her body.

"Amazing," he said as he tossed the clothes to the floor.

"You like?” She asked, wishing she had his confidence. He nodded. "They're perfect. Now take off your skirt."

She shivered at his commanding voice and moved to do as he asked. When her skirt landed in the pile, she started to take off her shoes.

"No, leave them on." He stepped forward and hooked his finger under her panties. "But this you can remove."

She held his gaze as she slid the thin, cotton fabric from her body.

"Good," he said as she kicked it to the side. "Now hold your hands out to the sides."

"Why?"

"I want to see your figure and I can't with you hugging your middle like that."

"Oh." She pulled her hands away from her breasts and held them out to the sides.

"Higher."

She frowned, but did as he asked.

"Above your head."

She noticed that his cock was getting thicker with each command. Excitement rippled through her as she obeyed him.

"Good, now turn around."

"Turn around?"

He twisted his lips into a half-smile. "I want to see you."

She started to lower her hands.

"No, keep them in the air."

She felt it was an odd request, but there was a part of her that wanted to obey. No, it needed to obey. Every time she did something he asked, a fluttering happened in her lower abdomen.

"Do you have a problem?"

"No."

"Then. . ." He made a turning motion with his finger.

She hesitated, then turned slowly in a circle. As she moved, she realized that every imperfection was open for his assessment. Every flaw and blemish his to critique. As seconds passed, she felt more and more uncomfortable.

"Stop," he commanded.

She stilled her muscles and glanced over her shoulder.

"Look straight ahead."

She jerked her chin back around front and started to lower her hands.

"Keep them up." She felt his hands guide her arms back up over her head until they stretched straight above her. When they were finally positioned the way he wanted, he dragged his fingertips back down over her skin, heading toward her shoulder. Her skin heated under his touch, and anticipation crackled through the air. She wanted to ask what he was doing, what he was examining, but sensed that he didn't want her to speak.

"You have a tattoo," he observed, tracing his finger over the bouquet of roses imprinted on her shoulder.

"Yes," she whispered.

He traced each petal and stem, as if fascinated with the design. "The women of my country would never think to do such a thing.”

"Why not?"

"Tradition.” A horrifying thought entered her mind. "Do you . . . do you hate it?"

He seemed to consider her words for a moment before responding. "Why did you get it?"

"You hate it."

"Answer the question." His voice became stern.

"It was a college thing," she explained. “I went to Cornell University for my first three years of college. I loved New York, it was my home. It was during my third year of college that 9/11 happened. I still remember it like it was yesterday. I was sitting in the library studying for finals when someone turned on the news. It was horrifying. I had family and friends in those buildings. I got this tattoo for them, each rose is in memory of a loved one I lost that day. After that, all that tragedy and pain, I couldn’t stay in New York anymore. I transferred schools and left New York, finishing my fourth year of university here in California.”

"You were good to do this. It is a great honor that you give to your loved ones." There was a heaviness to his voice that pulled at her heart strings.

"What is it?" She glanced over her shoulder at him.

"I am ashamed for what those radicals have done to your country. Because of them, I can no longer walk down the street without people staring or shying away in terror."

She started to turn to face him, but he directed her to face forward once more.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"My brother is one of them, you know," he whispered as he continued to trace the flowers.

"Has he killed anyone?"

"Not yet, but I'm sure he will if something isn't done about it."

"Why don't you do something?"

"My father has tried, believe me. Jamal's hatred for western culture runs deep, and his friends only encourage his way of thinking. I worry about him." He lowered his hand. "I worry about all of us."

"I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine what it must be like."

"Do you have a sibling, Olivia?"

"No. I'm an only child." One with enormous pressure to succeed. Her parents were both university professors, academics who had paid for her private schooling and an education at one of the best colleges in the country. Needless to say, they weren't exactly thrilled when they learned that she had taken an internship at a women's magazine. They had hoped that she'd go into research or teaching. But Liv had to follow her dream. She couldn't see herself with a bunch of stuffy academics.

"You're lucky." He placed his hands around her waist, sliding them up over her curves. She closed her eyes and moaned as he eased his fingers over her large breasts.

"You are so beautiful, Olivia," he said as he stepped closer and eased his hips against hers. "Beautiful and caring."

"You are too."

"No. My brother was the one who had inherited my mother's good looks and impulsiveness. I inherited my father’s hooked nose and stubbornness."

She turned her head and met his gaze. "But you have other gifts. Useful gifts that are far greater than the ones you have mentioned."

"I'm afraid not."

She thought about the last few hours. "You are protective and passionate. You have amazing instincts and take in everything around you. You learn from your mistakes. Those are admirable traits, Nayo."

"Are they?"

She nodded. "Absolutely."

He shifted his gaze to her lips. "Then you are the only one who thinks so." He leaned forward and captured her lips with his own.

Liv groaned as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, claiming and exploring every inch of skin. As their tongues dueled, he rubbed her breasts, teasing and kneading her sensitive skin until her nipples formed sharp peaks in his palms.

"Spread your legs, Olivia," he whispered. "Let me feel you."

She stepped wide and bent her arms so that she could thread her fingers into his hair. It felt so soft, so inviting--

"No." He let go of her breasts and removed her hands.

"Did I do something wrong?"

He straightened and moved to the side. Avoiding eye contact, he walked her over and placed her palms against the mirror in front of her. "Keep your hands there."

"But—"

"Keep your hands there and look at yourself in the mirror." He got down onto his knees.

"What are you doing?" She looked down at him.

"Just watch."

She returned her focus to her image in the mirror and didn’t recognize the goddess reflected back at her. Her face didn’t look like her own, full of want and need with heavy eyes and parted lips. Her long red hair lay tousled over her shoulders, but was not quite long enough to hide her full breasts. Hands placed high on the mirror, she was bent forward at the hips, putting her ass on display for Nayo. Her legs looked extra-long in her high heels, stance spread wide. Even she thought she looked damn hot. But it was the sight of Nayo, all deep, rich skin taught over rippling muscles, kneeling between her legs that did her in. They locked eyes in the mirror, and the hunger she saw in his stare had her dripping with need.

Nayo eased her legs farther apart. The scent of her desire drifted up, but before she could think much about it, something warm and wet slid over her damp folds.

His tongue.

"Oh my God." Olivia shivered as Nayo dragged his tongue over her sensitive skin. No one had ever tasted her there before. She had given men blow jobs lots of times, but never, not once, had anyone offered to return the favor.

"That's amazing," she said as her mind fogged with lust.

"It's just the beginning." Nayo spread her apart with her fingers and slid his tongue deep inside her opening.