The Sheikh's Unruly Lover Page 4

  The taxi driver pulled up to a tall building, encased in reflective blue panes. The bottom level was a restaurant—she could see the maître d’s stand as a well-dressed couple entered. As she stepped out of the taxi, which Omar insisted on paying for, Marian craned her neck upward to see what lay above.

  “This looks pretty fancy.”

  “It’s just fancy enough,” Omar said. “They’ll let me in, at least.”

  “Oh, please.” She waved her hand at him as they strutted toward the front doors. “You look like an off-duty underwear model.”

  Omar lifted a brow at the same time her words crashed around her. Jesus, Marian, could you get a filter? She opened her mouth to smooth it over, but found nothing waiting on her tongue.

  He opened the door for her, an amused air lingering between them. As they approached the podium, his hand found the small of her back. She relished the jolt of electricity that coursed through her again, made her toes tingle.

  Omar spoke to the hostess, and soon they were seated at an intimate table for two along the front windows, overlooking the busy street. The glass was tinted from the outside, so they could peep out on the world in peace.

  “This will be fun,” Marian said, settling into place. She smoothed the napkin over her lap in preparation. “We get to comment on everybody’s fashion choices without them knowing.”

  “So you’re a voyeur,” Omar said, his eyes glinting.

  “Maybe,” she said, teasing. “Important things to know about your business partner.”

  A waiter came with glasses of water and the wine list. As Marian perused the choices, a thought occurred to her.

  “Don’t think you have to pay for my dinner,” she said, her gaze traveling along his square jaw, over the five o’clock shadow. “You just ran into me at the hotel, so this isn’t me strong-arming you into a meal. I’m on an expense account, after all.”

  “Please. I would hardly be a good man if I allowed a guest in my country to pay for her own meal.”

  Marian batted her eyes at him. There were sparks here—right? She swore there were. Or maybe he was just being a sweet host. It was so hard to tell. The only thing she did know was how desperate she was to peel that shirt of his off and see what lay beneath.

  They talked easily while waiting for the main course. Marian sipped on wine while Omar nursed a sparkling water. When she ordered her second glass, she said, “You don’t drink alcohol?”

  “Not much anymore,” he replied, eyeing her as she downed the rest of her wine. “I…gave it up.”

  “Any reason?”

  A strange cloud covered his face, the same one that appeared when she’d caught him at the hotel. “Not really.”

  “You’re just a good boy, then.” Marian folded her fingers over the table, casting him a secret smile. How many more hints did she need to drop? She’d held his hand and called him an underwear model. By all rights, he should be mounting her by now. At least, he would be if they were in New York.

  “Not always.” He ran his thumb over the side of his glass, his dark gaze setting her pulse racing. There it is. The man could start a fire with so few words. That was a talent.

  “Hm. You seem like a pretty good boy to me.” She leaned forward, conscious of her spilling cleavage. “What’s an example of you being bad?”

  He wet his bottom lip, his gaze not moving from hers. She could practically feel the skin sizzling on her face. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to say. Bad boys don’t share.”

  “Oh, jeez. Now I’m really curious. This probably has something to do with your brothers, right? I bet you three got into trouble back in the day.” She cocked a smile. Fire sizzled between them. Take the ball and run with it.

  He chuckled throatily, and at the same time the waiter arrived with their dishes. Talk about poor timing. She received her plate gratefully, something with lamb and an impossible name. Omar looked just as disappointed as she felt.

  The conversation flowed back to non-suggestive things, maybe due in part to the slurping and inhaling taking place over the plate in front of her. By the time their plates were cleared, Marian was stuffed and feeling significantly less sexy in her black dress. Maybe she should have left Omar at the hotel so she could bloat and grunt in peace.

  But no, he was worth the discomfort of sucking her belly in post-meal. Especially when shivers thrilled through her almost any time he even glanced her way.

  “So. Now that we’ve finished eating…I have a question for you.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth, placing the napkin on her plate. “Do you think we can salvage this deal?”

  “No work talk,” Omar said, his firm voice feeling like a sizzling slap on the ass. “That’s a rule of mine.”

  “Ever?”

  “Outside of work,” he clarified, a boyish grin covering his face. “I devote enough of my time and energy to that place; I need to draw the line somewhere.”

  “Hmmm. In that case…” She glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe for dessert, we should…go someplace else?”

  The question hung in the air for a bit too long. Each second that dragged by felt like its own separate “no.” She was crazy. She was hallucinating the attraction. She needed to stay in her lane. He was a coworker, not a booty call. Every negative thought possible crowded her mind, filling her with doubt.

  “Marian.” Omar wet his bottom lip again, his eyes fastened on the tabletop. “We need to keep this professional.”

  Regret lashed at her, forced her to pinch her eyes shut with embarrassment. What had she been thinking? The sexy fantasies featuring Omar dissipated in a puff of regret. You’re an idiot to think he’d ever want to try anything with you.

  “Right.” She forced a tiny grin, trying to shake the stinging rejection. The sense that no matter how craftily she used her feminine wiles, she couldn’t get the hottest man in the world to say yes to her.

  The waiter came with their bill, and Omar scooped it up before she could protest.

  “You don’t have to—” she started.

  “But I want to.” Omar sent his card with their server, leaving them in a tense silence.

  “Listen. I’m not trying to be a creep or anything,” Marian said, eager to smooth over the blip from a few moments ago. “This won’t affect our professional relationship. I need you to know that. I’m just…a fun gal. I like to go do things, get to know new people. That’s all.”

  “Of course.” Omar took a sip of water, his eyes over her shoulder. Maybe he was wishing the waiter would return immediately. “Don’t worry, Marian. There’s no problem.”

  The waiter returned a few moments later, and Marian drained the rest of her wine. She and Omar walked to the front door, but she’d never felt so awkward and bulky beside a man before. Was this the self-esteem boost you were looking for?

  Outside, Omar hailed a cab, and again several pulled over. He spoke to a driver through the front window, then held the door open for her.

  “He’ll take you back to the hotel,” he said with a small smile. “Have a good night, Marian. See you tomorrow morning. I’ll send a car for you.”

  He shut the door, leaving her in a gloomy silence in the back seat.

  Even though it wasn’t devastating or heart-wrenching or traumatic or anything of the sort…it still felt like it. Because there had been a secret voice inside her, whispering that Omar was on her level. Hoping that someone like him might be willing to have a connection with someone like her.

  Just one little thing was missing: mutual attraction.

  6

  Omar paced the length of his office the next morning, as jumpy as if he’d overdosed on caffeine. But he hadn’t—not by a long shot—and was simply anticipating Marian’s inevitable arrival.

  His willpower had taken a nosedive once he’d gotten home the night before. He’d gone straight to the shower and worked himself to an orgasm that made his knees buckle, Marian’s image burning bright under his eyelids. That in itself felt like a betrayal. He’d had s
ex since his wife passed, but nobody had had that mystifying link to Anahita like Marian did.

  Marian had wife potential, even though it made no sense. They barely knew each other, were strictly work partners. But still, the core of him reverberated with this knowledge, and having anyone replace Anahita seemed a grave offense. It didn’t feel right to move on when his wife had been stripped of her life. It was his solidarity pact—one way to prolong the closeness.

  Someone rapped on his door, and he jolted, moving to sit at his desk. But maybe he should lean against the windows, appear aloof and pensive. He walked in a circle before settling on the desk after all. He leaned against it. “Come in.”

  Marian poked her head in, a bright smile at the ready. Just the sight of her made him relax.

  “Good morning.” She bounced inside, clutching files to her chest. She wore simple black slacks and a tight-fitting top, one that simply demonstrated her curves instead of allowing him a glimpse of flesh. He had to pry his eyes off the deep swell of her hips.

  “You look perky.” He fiddled with a pen, relishing the wash of energy that coursed between them. Was this what falling in love was like? It just happened, sideswiped you, without any warning or reason. He blinked. That was not a thought fit for the office. He should never think that thought again.

  “Well, I am. I have a lot of perky things to show you.”

  Like…maybe your breasts? He had to bite his tongue to keep that comment in. She would have liked it, had he allowed their conversation to flow to the sexual territory she’d craved the night before. Like any normal man with a penis. But no—he had to have the moral hang-up. Life would be easier if he weren’t bound to these rigid standards.

  Marian set her files on his clear desktop, spreading papers out as she hummed. Her perfume reached him, something dusky and floral. His cock twitched in his pants.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “I did, thank you. You’re certainly concerned about my sleeping habits.” She clicked her tongue, rearranging a few papers. “Though I suppose that’s nice of you. Sleep deprivation is a very serious issue, and I would want to know if someone around me was suffering from it.”

  He grinned. “Just trying to do my part.”

  She glanced up at him, the vibrancy of her eyes ensnaring him. So much of him wanted to pin her to this desk and have his way with her. But Anahita…

  “Well, I appreciate your concern. Have you been eating regularly? Urinating normally?” She eased into her seat, eyebrow cocked.

  Omar blinked at her, the words settling into him, and then burst into laughter. Marian looked pleased with herself.

  “We could keep a chart of these things, just to see how they progress over time,” she added.

  “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” He gestured to an empty bulletin board by his desk. “We could put it there.”

  “I think this is how work colleagues truly bond,” Marian said with a wink. “Monitoring bodily functions.”

  Omar let the laughter coat him like a glaze. It felt like the first time he’d laughed—really laughed—in years. It was so hard to remember the last time he’d felt this way around a woman. A stranger, basically. Because it hadn’t even happened this way with Anahita. She’d been an arrangement, another wily plan of his father’s. They hadn’t fallen in love as much as grown in love.

  Marian got to work explaining her new approach, pointing out some notes that she’d made and a new plan of attack. When she finished, Omar clapped his hands.

  “Stunning. You really do know what you’re talking about.”

  “I told you I could replace He Who Shall Not Be Named.” She puffed her chest out with pride. “No problem.”

  The two worked until lunchtime, when Marian excused herself to meet Annabelle. Omar headed for a café down the road, spending his lunch reading the news and thinking about Marian. When they reconvened for work in the afternoon, Marian was breathless with excitement.

  “I have some news.” Marian hurried toward him, resuming her spot in the chair. “I asked a friend of mine, Layla, to look into National Oil for me. She’s a researcher, and I trust her. I had some misgivings about the equipment, like I told you. Well, guess what?”

  It was hard not to get caught up in her excitement. He practically shouted, “What?”

  “They’re being manipulated.” She squealed. “She found out that Arab PetroChem has a stake in National Oil. Once they found out an American company was sniffing around for a deal, Arab PetroChem insisted on offering the cheapest equipment possible for the mining job. Because otherwise, we’d have to go out of the country to get it, which would be way more expensive for us. The imbalance in the deal would mean serious profits for National Oil and Arab PetroChem, and almost nothing for us.”

  “Right. There’s no other local supplier for that equipment,” Omar mused.

  “Exactly. But what they don’t know is that National Oil also works with one of our affiliates in the States,” Marian went on. “They get materials from a company that we can influence. So, I think if we bring this up and convince them that equal pressure does not a good deal make, we’ll get the best deal possible for everyone concerned.”

  Omar’s mouth parted as he took it all in. “Wow.” He ran a hand through his hair, popping to his feet to look out the window. “And you have this information in some form that we can present to them?”

  “It’s in my email right now. I can print it if you’d like. All we have to do is connect the dots.”

  Omar nodded, hands on his hips as he looked at her. “Excellent. Absolutely stunning.” To say he was blown away was an understatement. It was all he could do to fight through the rest of their planning session, maintaining normalcy, when really he still wanted to press her against the wall and tear her clothes off. By four o’clock, he couldn’t resist it any longer. He had to give in, just a little bit. To ease the pressure.

  “Let’s call it a day.” He slammed a pen down, looking up at her with hopeful eyes. “I’d like to take you out for a celebratory drink.”

  “You mean celebratory water?” She winked at him.

  “No, I think I’ll have a drink myself today.” He stayed away from alcohol because it usually led him to one place only: sadness and reliving the most painful memories stored in his head. But today, he felt like he might have a chance at handling his liquor. At the very least, it could help him break through his inhibitions and at least kiss this beautiful woman.

  “Wow.” Her eyes widened appreciatively. “I wonder what you’ll do when we seal this deal tomorrow.”

  “One can only wonder.” He led them out of his office, locking the door behind him. He knew exactly where they’d go: a little lounge bar near her hotel, famous for after-work cocktails for professionals in the district. When they pulled up to the bar, Marian looked like a child in a candy store.

  “This is the place I want to be every day after work.” She glided inside, her gaze bouncing around their surroundings. Steel beams crisscrossed the open ceiling, modular art dappling the walkways between bold patterned couches. Sleek professionals lounged casually, looking more like models than the working class, even white-collar working class.

  “Minarak is trendier than I imagined,” she murmured, sliding onto an open couch. Omar slid next to her, their legs brushing. He slung an arm over the back of the couch, smiling down at her. This felt right—but it would feel even more right after a drink. Already he could feel the guilt threatening at the edges, promising to steal his thunder.

  “It’s a fun city to live in,” he said. “There’s always something to do, if you can stop working long enough to do it.”

  “I’m a bit of a workaholic myself,” she said. “It’s hard not to be, as a woman in a man’s world.”

  “You mean it’s harder in the US than it is here?”

  “No, it’s easier in many ways. But still…” She trailed off as a waiter paused to hand them menus. “It’s a fight to be taken seriously.”


  “I can’t imagine,” he said, the only thing that seemed appropriate.

  “Well, apparently possessing tits means you’re somehow less capable.”

  At the anatomical reference, Omar couldn’t help but glance downward. “I’d say they make you more capable.”

  “Really?” A knowing smirk waited for him. “How so?”

  “They attract all kinds of attention, but still you manage to succeed. If men had breasts, we would have floundered long ago.” Omar paused, perusing the menu. “Probably because we wouldn’t do anything other than play with them all day.”

  Marian burst into laughter. The waiter arrived, and they ordered two martinis. The drinks appeared quickly, and both sipped appreciatively.

  “I love a good martini,” Marian murmured.

  “Yes, it’s very nice.” He ran a tongue over his teeth, enjoying the lick of alcohol through his veins. “A fitting celebration for your investigative connections.”

  Marian lifted a brow, looking like she wanted to add more. His admonishment from the night before probably weighed on her. It certainly weighed on him. Perhaps the low point of his career as a man—imploring the sexiest woman he’d met to keep it professional. That has to change. Today.

  They chatted easily, about everything from current politics to literature. One drink turned into two. When he’d drained his second drink, Omar knew he had to call it a night, or they might regret it.

  “I think I should head back,” Omar said, signaling for a waiter to bring their check. “I don’t drink often, so I have to be careful.”

  “Mmmm.” Marian eyed him, her eyes glittering as if she knew a secret. “A man who knows his limits. What a treat.”

  His heart raced as he filled out the receipt and then offered a hand to help her stand. She wobbled to her feet, laughing as she stood.

  “I’ll walk you to your hotel,” Omar said, sticking out his arm. “It’s very close.”

  “What a gentleman,” she purred. She slid her arm through his. It fit perfectly, but more than that, the weight of her at his side felt ideal somehow. Like a piece he’d been missing. Sadness tried to take its familiar path through him but he rerouted it, inviting back the sexy thoughts from earlier. He would show her how he felt…what he’d been dying to show her.