The Sheikh's Unexpected Wife (Zahkim Sheikhs Series Book 3) Read online

  Eyes alight, Ginni sat up. "Keep going." She kicked off her shoes.

  He stripped off his boots and threw off his robe and shirt. She reached behind her, unzipped her dress, and shimmied out of it, leaving her clad only in scraps of black lace that barely covered her. Nasim slipped out of his trousers, left them pooled onto the floor. Ginni's eyebrows rose high. "No underwear underneath. I'll have to keep that in mind."

  He covered her body with his, pressed her down into the mattress, took her mouth with his. She wrapped her legs around him, reached between them—and suddenly he found himself on his back, with her over him, her eyes bright. He frowned at her.

  "How did you do that?"

  She wiggled herself onto him, her breasts swaying, utterly distracting him. "Aikido—it's not just good for fitness. And now…" Swinging her leg up and over, she got herself turned around. Her ass rested in front of him now—a tempting globe. So he put his hands on it, spread her cheeks, and swiped a lick from front to back.

  With a groan, she pushed back onto him, pushed herself onto his face, and rubbed. The scent of her drove everything else out of his head. She smelled of the ocean—of an aroused woman. She smelled elemental…and divine. He pushed his tongue up into her, started a slow fucking, in and out, with just his mouth and tongue.

  Another wiggle of her hips had him groaning and losing concentration. He tightened his hold on her hips, but she had her fist around his cock now, had one hand stroking firm, and then she put her mouth around him. The world slipped into sucking sounds, into the slap of skin on skin, her slick body sliding over him, her breasts pressed into him. She pulled off him and put his cock between her breasts, caught it there, squeezed herself around him. He pushed his tongue as deep as he could, pressed her into him. He tried to hold on, tried to make her come first, but he couldn't. She squeezed him tighter.

  The orgasm burst out of him, shooting down his spine and leaving him almost senseless. Ginni gave a groan, wiggled her hips so he could get to her clit and suck on it. She started to lick the semen from him with broad swipes of her tongue.

  Another spasm shook him, and she milked him with her hand, pulled on him, muttering, "Yeah, gimme more, gimme more."

  He did, coming a third time, the world whiting out for an instant. And then he was aware only of Ginni lying on top of him, humming softly, and patting his thigh. "Now that's what I call dessert."

  He wrapped his arms around her legs. He'd wanted to be inside her—not this. But how could he fault such pleasure as his Ginni could bring? He drifted into dreams of her—of her at his wedding, but with her pulling back her veil, smiling up at him. Then turning and running from him.

  He woke cold and abruptly to find his bed empty and Ginni gone. Sitting up, he glanced around. She had left a note on the bed—a scribbled and lopsided happy face.

  Nasim fell back on the bed, arms spread wide. Last night had been amazing. But it had left him even more determined to make Ginni his wife in more than name.

  Chapter Nine

  He would seduce his wife. Or that was his plan. This was no longer about business. She had set herself as a challenge to him. One he intended to meet. She was his wife. He would see she became more than one in name, and then they would talk finally about this bloody stupid deal she wanted for Leeland bloody Enterprises.

  But a seduction needed a plan.

  It took him two days to arrange everything and every ounce of patience he could muster not to simply walk into Ginni's room and have done with the business. He kept telling himself this would be worth the effort, but a small voice niggled in the back of his mind that he was deluding himself. She had shown no interest in remaining his wife—he had made discreet inquiries and discovered she had contacted several law firms in Al Resab about divorce. He quickly put a stop to such a thing. But she was Aldrich Leeland's daughter—she would have resources back in America to get what she wanted, if what she wanted was her freedom from him. So how did he make her want to stay with him? This was, after all, a point of honor. He could not lose both a bride and a wife within such a short time.

  And so he began his seduction of his wife with a tour of Al Resab.

  He had sent a midnight-blue evening gown to her room, along with a set of dark sapphires and diamonds for her to wear. She walked down the stairs of the palace, however, in a gold dress that clung to her curves and showed off her legs. He frowned. She was already upsetting his plans—yet again. But she gave him a brilliant smile and her hand, and he found it difficult to bring up the topic of her ignoring the dress he'd sent her.

  On the drive into the city, he talked about the sights of Al Resab—the museums, the new hotels Tarek was working to build to lure tourists to Zahkim, the university that Arif wished to expand. Ginni asked questions—didn't she always—about the oil fields, what folks did to earn a living, and then about the city, as the desert gave way to buildings, parks and crowds.

  Turning to him, she asked, "Just how many folks live here?"

  "In Al Resab? Most of the population of Zahkim—it is the major city. Tarek is thinking of building a reservoir to the north, which would help provide water to grow the capital and provide a water feature for tourists."

  She shook her head, her dark curls bobbing. "Oh, no. It's the desert you want to be selling. Folks can get a lake almost any ol' place. Pull in folks tired of the cold by selling the sunbaked sand and the exotic."

  He smiled. "Then let me show you some of Zahkim's exotic." He'd taken over the best traditional restaurant in Al Resab. Ginni's eyes widened as they strolled into Dimitri's. She lifted her eyebrows at the menu—all in Arabic.

  "Place called Dimitri's—I was expecting borsht, maybe."

  He smiled. Snapped his fingers for a waiter, ordered for them and turned to Ginni. "Dimitri came here after the Russian revolution, almost a hundred years ago. His family adopted Zahkim as their own, and this restaurant has become known as having the best traditional food in the entire country."

  A waiter came out with a brass pitcher, a basin, and towels so they might wash their hands.

  "We will eat with our fingers," Nasim said.

  The appetizers came out on trays, and Nasim explained each dish to her—the flatbread baked over charcoal, the bitter herb salad, and the various small bites of food, all spiced delicacies. But when the band began to play—all traditional songs—and the belly dancers came out, Ginni's eyes went wide, and she forgot about the food. She clapped to the faster songs, was urged to her feet by the dancers so they might teach her the moves. Eyes glowing and bright, she tried to copy everything they were doing with their hips and hands. Nasim found himself unable to look away from her. The dancers were the best in Al Resab, but Ginni captured the eye with her vibrancy, her laughter, her energy.

  When the song ended and a new one began, she ran to Nasim and grabbed his hand. "Come on, you try it."

  He shook his head and pulled her down on his lap instead, stealing a kiss from her. "Men don't dance like that in Zahkim."

  "What? Too sissy for you?" Standing, she tugged on his hand, pulled him to his feet and out to the dancers. They seemed only too happy to drape their veils over his shoulders. Ginni put her hands on his hips to try to get him to shake them. He was saved by the arrival of their main courses.

  Taking Ginni back to their table, he fed her lamb and chicken baked in pastry. Her lips wrapped around his fingers, leaving him hungry for her, not for the meal. He barely tasted anything she fed him. He wanted her—just her. He forgot about patience, canceled dessert, and instead escorted Ginni to his office in Al Resab, atop the tallest building.

  Chilled champagne waited for them in his office, which took up an entire side of the building. One hand on the small of her back, he led her to the far corner of the room, where floor-to-ceiling windows gave a spectacular view of Al Resab's sparkling lights, and black leather couches on the thick carpet offered a seating area. He poured Ginni a glass of champagne. She took it but did not sip.

  Arms
folded, she walked to the windows. "Y'know, I keep thinkin' it's not oil you should be trying to sell." She gestured out to the lights with her champagne glass. "You got a nice city here—pretty. Parks, good shops, not too many folks. Oil's going away—sooner than my daddy's thinkin'. Car makers are going electric. Solar and wind are coming in—and a lot of my generation would rather work in a pretty place and telecommute. They're looking for low cost…exotic. You ever thought about switching infrastructure to great Internet and making this the perfect spot for those lookin' to retire at twenty?"

  Coming to her side, he took the champagne glass from her hand. "I don't talk business after…" He glanced at his watch and then back to her. "After nine."

  She laughed and stepped away from him to peer down the side of the building. "Oh, my gosh, you've got a French pastry shop across the street—did you know that?"

  Taking her hand, he pulled her away from the window. "If you like, I will order some brought up here."

  "Even if they're closed. I can't do that to workin’ folks." She slipped from his hold again, heading back to the middle of the office. Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, "You got a terrace here, too?"

  He nodded and stepped over to open the doors for her. Her impulsiveness was a delight at times—and frustrating at other moments. A cool breeze greeted them on his private balcony. Ginni shivered and rubbed her arms. Unbuttoning his suit coat, he pulled it off and draped it over her shoulders.

  She glanced back at him. "Thanks. Didn't expect it to be so chilly."

  "This is actually our winter. It has snowed once in Al Resab in all of Zahkim's history."

  "How ’bout rain?"

  "That mostly comes in the spring and fall. We're grateful for every drop."

  Turning to face him, she tipped her head to one side. "You ever thought about investing in water instead of oil? Deep wells that could make you the—"

  He kissed her, took hold of her arms, and deepened the kiss. She tasted of spices and the sweetness that was all her. She leaned into him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and opened her mouth. He forgot about taking this slow, about teasing her. He forgot patience or anything except the warmth of her in his arms, the heat of her mouth, the need to be inside her.

  Turning, he pressed her back against the side of the building. She gave a low moan, pulled up his shirt, and put her hands on his belly. He wanted the touch of her skin as well—the need to do more than taste drove him hard. Reaching down, he pulled up her skirt and trailed his fingers along her thighs. She gave a soft groan—and he realized she wasn't wearing anything underneath that golden dress. His cock jumped, and he pushed a finger up into her, finding her wet already, dripping and welcoming.

  The last thread of control snapped inside him. Pulling his mouth from hers, he leaned his forehead against hers. "I planned—"

  She put a finger over his lips. "Less thinkin'…more doin'." Fumbling with his belt, she got it unbuckled and the zipper down on his pants. Cool air brushed over him, barely lowering the heat pumping through him. She got her fingers onto his cock and stroked him, and he let out a low growl. He was not doing that again—no more fingers and hand jobs. He wanted to bury himself inside her.

  Hooking a hand under her thigh, he lifted, got one of those long, luscious legs wrapped around his waist. She gave a gasp, and then he pushed into her, slipped the head of his cock into the welcoming warmth of her. She wiggled and put her hands on his shoulders.

  "Wrap your legs around me."

  "I…not sure…I…oh, yeah."

  That was all the encouragement he needed. He pushed deeper, found her open and wet. He met a slight resistance—she was so tight—and she gave a gasp. He took her mouth in a bruising kiss, nipped at her lips, kept one hand under her thigh and put the other on her hip.

  "Open for me," he said, almost gasping the words.

  She gave a groan, shifted her hips, and he pushed into her. He held still a moment, held her trembling body. The breeze shifted to the west, coming from the desert, warm now, a gust of sweetness and sand.

  Ginni dug her fingers into his shoulders. "You stop now and I'll never forgive you."

  "No stopping," he promised.

  Inside her now, he tried to slow the pace, but the small gasps she gave him, the moans, the twitches of her hips, and her breath on his neck drove him to quicken his speed. He pulled out and pushed in, going deeper this time. She gasped again, but she was so wet, so tight. She grabbed his ass with one hand.

  Her orgasm hit fast. He heard her gasp. She leaned back, braced herself on the wall of the building, eyes half closed and neck stretched taut. Pulling out, he pushed in again, delighting in the feel of her in his arms—so pliant, so giving. And then she swept him along with her. Heat burst into him. The spasms shaking her claimed him as well. He gasped out her name and buried himself as deep as he could, and then he could only hang onto her, panting, the sweat cooling on his back and sticking his shirt to his skin.

  A small pat on his shoulder roused him. Leaning back, he stared into Ginni's eyes, huge now. He kissed her lips and found them soft as velvet pillows.

  "The plan had been to take you back to the palace and my bedroom there."

  Ginni smiled. "I'm not seeing any reason to change that now."

  Ginni snuggled into Nasim's side. They'd barely gotten out of his office in Al Resab. On the terrace, she'd straightened her clothes. He'd reclaimed his jacket and led her back inside. But then he'd given her one smoldering look, had muttered something about her lack of anything under that dress—no way had she wanted panty lines—and then he'd knelt before her, pushed up her dress, and had licked from the inside of her thigh upwards. She'd gasped, had spread her legs for him, and just about collapsed back on a couch. He'd gone down on her, had used that mouth of his, his beard and mustache tickling, and made the world disappear. It'd been nothing but shocks tingling through her, smaller than the one she'd had with her back against the wall, but he'd left her just about purring.

  When she finally couldn't take another minute of it without coming apart, she'd put a hand on his head and stroked his hair. He'd kissed the inside of her thigh, stood, and fetched damp towels for both of them.

  "There's a shower if you wish," he'd said.

  She'd muttered something about not being able to stand, so he'd swept her up, carried her to the elevator and then into the limo, and they'd necked like teenagers all the way back to the palace. He'd kept one hand on her breast, stroking small circles that drove her crazy.

  They'd barely made it inside, up the stairs, and past his bedroom door before she was dragging off his clothes and he had his hands up under her skirt and on her bare ass. They'd fallen into that great big bed of his, had made love yet again, and what had happened to that plan for a deal and a divorce? Or a divorce and a deal? Heavens, but she hadn't done anything to prevent a pregnancy, and she was falling for this guy. Hard.

  Get real—already fell.

  A little sore now—but not in a bad way—too wound up still to sleep, she put a hand on his chest to feel his heart beat and the rise and fall of his breathing. Should she stay or go?

  Last time she'd ended up in bed with him, she'd dressed and had slipped out before he'd woken. Somehow, she'd had the idea that acting like that meant they weren't really married. Well, that idea sure had been shot tonight and put in a deep grave.

  She'd had her honeymoon night with him—boy, had she ever. I'm married. She still couldn't quite take it in, but she felt married now. And not just that—she felt like she'd bonded with this guy, heart and soul. Maybe she could just bring him home, have another wedding there, and…

  Oh, who was she kidding? This was going to blow up in her face, and she couldn't run from that idea. Once her daddy found out about this stunt she'd pulled of taking Jasmine's place in a Middle Eastern wedding, that'd be the end of any hope of ever running Leeland Enterprises. It wouldn't matter that she'd been helping out a friend. It wouldn't matter that she hadn't intended to get herse
lf hitched. Daddy would just see it as her being too quick to act. Again.

  Unless, of course, she could find a way to spin this getting married to a sheikh of Zahkim as all part of her plan, which meant she'd have to head home ready to tell her family she was staying married.

  Her stomach tightened, and her heart rate sped up.

  Was staying Nasim's wife even possible?

  She'd been so focused on getting the deal—and getting a divorce—she hadn't looked at what it might be like to stay married to him. A tingle slipped through her, warming her skin. She sure as anything could get used to having him in her bed. But it took more than great sex to make a marriage work. Was she fooling herself that maybe he felt something for her other than lust?

  Thoughts still whirling, she tried to figure it all out. Instead, she ended up falling asleep in Nasim's arms.

  The heat woke her.

  Sun slanted across her body, warmer than Nasim had been. She reached out, patting the bed, but didn't find him there. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up. No Nasim. Grabbing her phone, she found a text from him.

  Duty calls.

  With a crooked smile, she padded into the bathroom to take care of business and put herself back together. A not-unpleasant soreness between her legs reminded her of the night before. How many times had they done it? There was the time he'd had her on her knees and had come in from behind…and at the office building, of course. And wasn't there one more in there, in the middle of the night when she'd found him hard again and had thrown a leg over him and had him slip into her just like he belonged?

  Well, at least she'd lost her virginity with a bang, and to a guy who knew how to treat a lady right. She let out a sigh. It really was too bad this wasn't the marriage—or the wedding—she'd had in her head.

  She took longer with her shower than usual, dried herself off, slipped on her evening dress—a little torn at the shoulders—and padded back to her room, carrying her shoes. Feeling like she was sixteen and back in high school after slipping out from a dance to neck in the parking lot behind the Big D ice cream parlor, she got into her room and changed into clean undies, skinny jeans, a long-sleeve shirt in a bright red, and sandals.