The Sheikh’s Contract Fiancée Page 8

  “I agree—it’s quite outdated. But at the same time, it works for some people. I don’t know. Not everyone looks at marriages as love contracts. They weren’t always that way, at least. My uncle and aunt were arranged, and one of my cousins was also arranged with a man she originally hated. Now they’re inseparable.”

  “Two anecdotes don’t make a strong case,” she pointed out.

  “Not all of them turn out that way, of course. But I think most parents just want the best for their children.” He sighed. “I know that’s what my father wants with this marriage. For me to be happy.”

  “I wish I could say the same about my dad. Unfortunately, it’s more about him than me.” She paused, dragging her fingers in a circle around his belly button. “And really, I’m not worried about being happy. It’s just that I didn’t have a choice. This wasn’t my choice. It’s so like him—to make me an offer and hide the strings.”

  “How did he rope you into this one?”

  Annabelle creased her brow. “He offered to pay for my mother’s medical bills if I would come close the deal here. Of course I couldn’t refuse. My mother’s bills are sky high.”

  Imaad buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the soft fragrance there. “Has he done something like this before?”

  She laughed bitterly. “Too many times to count.”

  “So, you’ve been in other arranged marriages prior to this?” He grinned down at her.

  She paused, as if the joke took a second to sink in. She relaxed in his arms. “I have to say this is my first. And definitely his worst secret scheme.”

  Imaad wanted to add something, to tell her this might not be as bad as they thought, that with time—and probably not much of it—their marriage would be as happy as any love match. But that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She’d strike it down in a heartbeat.

  “Interesting that our fathers are so similar. My father schemes for my best interests, but they’re so closely aligned to his own traditionalist values it sometimes feels like punishment.”

  “So, being married to me will be a punishment?” Her eyes glittered with mischief.

  “I think only time will tell that,” he responded, smoothing his lips over hers.

  “I’ll be the best temporary wife you’ve ever had,” she said, hooking her arms around his neck. “And that won’t be hard, since you’ve never had one before.”

  The word “temporary” seared through him, but he stilled himself before he could react. As she giggled, he nuzzled her neck, which elicited more giggles. They rolled around on the bed for a few minutes, kissing and laughing, until their romp brought him head-on with the bedside clock.

  “Shit. I really should go.” He looked down at her, distracted by the lush slope of her breasts.

  “Just stay,” she whined.

  “I can’t.” He pressed his lips against hers and then rolled off her. “It hurts, but I have to leave.”

  She watched him dress, the sheets bunched around her on the bed, a tiny pout on her face. Once he’d slipped his shoes on, he came over to her for a final kiss.

  “I swear. I don’t want to go.” He caught her mouth in a kiss and one turned into another. When they parted for air, her lips were kiss-swollen and red.

  “I won’t tell the paparazzi if you stay,” she whispered.

  He grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll be dreaming of you.”

  “Same here.” She flopped back onto the bed. “And maybe touching myself.”

  He paused in the doorway, turning back toward her. “You have to make this harder for me, don’t you?”

  Her evil nod was the only confirmation he needed.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised, blowing a kiss through the air. “And we’ll pick up where we left off.”

  She mimed catching the kiss in the air, and Imaad tore himself away from her warm and welcoming gaze, hurrying out the door before he could think better of it.

  Annabelle awoke slowly in the morning, alternating between yawns and body stretches as she acclimated to the bright sunlight in her bedroom. What a great sleep. No, what a fantastic sleep. As if she’d been in the womb again. She rolled over, seeing the rumpled sheets at the side, and caught a whiff of Imaad’s cologne.

  Disappointment crashed through her. Why hadn’t he stayed? She pouted in no particular direction, letting herself whine internally about it for a little bit. She wasn’t one to want men to spend the night too often, but guys like Imaad were different. Hell, she’d never taken anyone like Imaad home before. Which made it even more devastating that she didn’t have his strong arms to crawl into or that dark sweep of his gaze to push her stomach into a free-fall.

  Are you falling for him? The thought appeared, stealthy and taboo, in the recesses of her mind like the flash of a lightning bug. It couldn’t be. He was her arranged marriage, the literal embodiment of having no say in the matter. There was no possible way she could fall for him.

  She pushed out of bed, resolved to steady her mind and start the day out on the right foot. She headed for the kitchenette to start a pot of coffee and thumbed through the room-service menu for an appealing breakfast. Thoughts of Imaad clouded her head at every turn. Bacon and egg wrap. Would Imaad eat that? What’s his favorite food? Hummus and pita platter. Mmm. Reminds me of the dunes. Scrambled eggs with toast. Seems like a metaphor for my insides after the way he fucked me last night.

  She sighed, pushing the menu aside. So maybe she was a little into him. Picking up the phone, she nibbled on her lip while it rang the reception desk. She placed an order for scrambled eggs and toast—the breakfast kind only, not the metaphorical kind—and then went to her desk to resume looking over the merger documents.

  Every few lines, her mind wandered to Imaad. Imagining a quip about the paperwork in his baritone voice, or pausing to remember the feel of his hands on her arms. When a knock sounded on the door, she jumped. Ten minutes had passed, and she was still only three lines in.

  Annabelle graciously received her breakfast, tipping the bellhop, and then set the covered plate on the desk beside the papers. If her entire morning would be spent absorbing legalese about merging bylaws and shareholder details, she’d need a full belly.

  And maybe another interruption from Imaad.

  She shivered, unable to fight the grin overtaking her face. The bottle of wine sat unopened in the kitchenette, and she smiled over at it for a few minutes, recalling fragments of their night together.

  Focus. She turned back to the papers, rereading the same paragraph for the fifth time. She tried to pair eating her eggs with reaching paragraph milestones. She couldn’t have another bite until she’d successfully digested a new paragraph—the only way she might be able to force herself to stay on task.

  But her mind invariably wandered again. And after ten minutes, almost the entire plate remained, and her hand played between her legs while she imagined Imaad thrusting into her.

  Her phone rang, and her heart leapt into her throat. She scrambled to pick it up, hoping that it might be Imaad. Just calling to check on her. Say a few cute things for the morning. Tell her he missed her.

  “Hello?”

  “Annabelle.” It was Marian. “I’m not calling too early, am I?”

  “No, of course not.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to calm her racing heart. “What’s up, girl? Everything okay?”

  “Well…no. Not exactly.” The tone in her friend’s voice made Annabelle’s stomach sink. She sat up in her chair.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Your mom was taken to the hospital last night. She couldn’t breathe. She’s in critical care right now as they try to figure some things out. But they were considering surgery last I checked.”

  Annabelle’s vision closed in and she slumped back into the chair. She gripped the armrest with a free hand, trying to calm the swirl of panic in her chest. “Oh my God.” Her worst fear had come to life. Her mom needed her while she was thousan
ds of miles away.

  “I know, girl. I wanted you to know as soon as I found out.”

  “And I’m so close to being able to take care of her,” Annabelle said, her voice cracking with emotion. She swallowed a knot in her throat. Would her father still agree to take care of her mother’s expenses if she annulled the marriage down the road? Maybe she’d have to postpone the divorce until her mother got better. And when would that be? Maybe never.

  Annabelle’s gaze slid to the mountain of papers in front of her. Panic flared up like a dust storm. “Be honest, Marian. How bad is it?”

  Marian hesitated. “It sounds really serious. And I’m not sure, but it sounds like her medical history might pose a problem. Like her billing history. With so many unpaid bills, they’re hesitant to move forward.”

  A heavy silence settled between them. Annabelle wiped away a few tears that had spilled out.

  “I need to come home,” she whispered.

  “I think you should. Even if it’s only for a few days,” Marian said.

  Annabelle sniffed hard, trying to compose herself. Enough to form a game plan, at least. “I don’t have a few days. But I’ll see what I can do.”

  14

  Imaad was mid-sentence when his phone rang during the morning meeting with his father. He slipped it out of his pocket, leaving his father watching him with an arched brow.

  “It’s my fiancée,” he said with a smirk at his father, answering the phone with a swipe of his finger. “Hello?”

  Annabelle’s voice was tight. “Imaad, I have a problem.”

  He sat up in his chair, furrowing a brow. “What is it? Tell me.”

  Annabelle sniffed hard, like maybe she’d been crying. His chest tightened. “My mother is ill. Very seriously ill. She was sent to the hospital last night, and now they’re wanting to schedule some sort of surgery for her.” Her breath hitched. “I have to go home.”

  “Wh—? Wait. Hold on.” Imaad popped out of his chair and took to pacing in the far corner of the office. “Do they know what the problem is?”

  “I don’t know exactly what the problem is, but she couldn’t breathe,” Annabelle said, her voice wavering. “And the whole thing is just a clusterfuck. I have to go be with her.”

  Imaad’s mouth went dry and he stared at the gray carpeting of his father’s office, struggling to piece together a reassuring response. Of course she should go. It was just that he wanted to go with her. To make sure she had the help she needed. To be able to hold her when she cried.

  “When will you leave?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I have to make some calls, find out some information. But I’ll go as soon as I can.”

  “Wait for me,” he said, his voice coming out gruff. “I can help. I—”

  “Listen, I gotta go. Marian is calling me on the other line. We’ll talk later.”

  The line went dead, and he stared at his phone for a moment, unsure which of the roiling emotions inside him was the closest to the truth. Panic tremored through him, while protectiveness raged. He needed to be there for her—that was the only thing he knew for sure.

  Imaad turned to his father, approaching the desk. “Annabelle is in a bit of trouble.”

  His father looked up at him, squinting. “The merger?”

  “No.” Imaad cleared his throat. “Her mother is ill and scheduled for an emergency surgery of some kind. She has to return to the States to be with her.”

  His father grumbled something, slamming his pen down on the desk. “Absolutely not. We’re in the middle of the merger! Is she insane?”

  Protectiveness licked through him and he straightened his stance, holding his father’s gaze. “If you were in the same sort of trouble, I’d be there in an instant. This is no different.”

  “That’s completely different. You’re my son!” His father’s jowls quivered with the force of his words. “A son’s place is by his father’s side. A daughter’s place is by her husband’s side.”

  “She is not my wife yet,” Imaad countered, balling his fists. “And even if she were, I’d support her decision to go.”

  “The shareholders have more questions,” his father spat. “It will look bad if she leaves and returns, no matter what the reason is. Their confidence is already tenuous. Do you want to do this to my company?”

  Imaad’s shoulders prickled with tension. He let a long, tense silence creep by, and then he turned to leave.

  “I’ll be back around later,” he said, storming out of the office as quickly as he could. Before he said something he might regret, something to damage the trust between father and son. “I’ll figure this out.”

  But it was already settled for him—Annabelle was the priority. He would sort things out with his father later, no matter how bad a mess it might become.

  Annabelle dialed her father’s number with shaky fingers. After an hour spent researching flights, she’d found the soonest, and apparently the most expensive. It didn’t matter. She’d be home by the following evening.

  The phone rang, and she drew a deep breath. She wanted to wait to buy the ticket until she broke the news to her father. He wouldn’t take it well—that was already certain. Anything that pulled her from his primary motive would be rejected, point blank.

  “Hello?” Her father’s gruff voice made her belly cinch into a knot.

  “It’s me.” She waited, and he grunted with recognition.

  “What is it? All good with the merger?”

  “Mom is sick. Like, really bad. She’s in intensive care right now and they’re planning an operation for her.” She pinched her eyes shut, imagining the words before they came out of her mouth. “I’m flying home to be with her.”

  Her father scoffed. “Oh, please. She’ll be fine. You get yourself so worked into knots about this stuff. It’s just a surgery. These happen daily. Hourly.”

  Her mouth parted, anger simmering in her veins. “You don’t even know what’s going on with her—how could you say that? I’m not taking the risk that something happens while I’m halfway across the world.”

  “You’re staying there,” her father said. “You have to complete the merger.”

  “Like hell I am!”

  “Don’t throw this opportunity away,” her father warned.

  “You can take this opportunity and stuff it,” she said, feeling something uncork deep inside her. Like the lid had finally blown off. “Besides, what opportunity am I passing up? The chance to spend my life married to a man I didn’t choose and don’t even know?” She scoffed, even though the words rang untrue inside her. She was getting to know Imaad—and she definitely liked him. And he was dating material for sure… But that was beside the point.

  “Bah! You’re overreacting!” Her father’s voice came out gruff and strained. “The sheikh’s son is handsome and wealthy. What more could you want?”

  “What more could I want?” She practically spat it out. “I could want a father who wouldn’t treat me like I was property. Like I’m yours to give away.” Her body shook with emotion. “You know, I really preferred things when you stayed the fuck out of my life.”

  Annabelle hung up the phone, hands trembling as the last few minutes washed over her in a painful wave. She stared at the telephone, bottom lip trembling, helplessness and anger frothing into a chaotic cocktail. A few tears spilled out, which she wiped away angrily. And then she went back to her laptop, pulling open the ticket she’d found, and pressed “Purchase.”

  While she worked through the billing and travel information pages, her mind worked overtime analyzing the situation. Stepping away from Parsabad might mean giving up the whole shebang. Even though it made sense to her to come back in a week and continue the job, it was clear their respective fathers might not be so flexible.

  But oh well. She’d figure that out when the time came. For now, the next step was obvious, because it was guided by her heart. And in the end, she only had herself to answer to. That’s how it would always be.

&
nbsp; She clicked “Confirm,” and nodded at the screen while her final details appeared. Her flight was scheduled for eight p.m. that night. Now all she had to do was pack up her few belongings and get the hell out of Dodge.

  Annabelle closed her laptop, scanning the room to see where she might start. She headed for the bathroom to pack up her toiletries, but paused midway.

  She had to write a note to Imaad. She wouldn’t have time to see him and probably not even call him. She’d leave a note with the front desk so he didn’t worry. It was the least she could do.

  Scribbling furiously, the words poured out of her.

  Dear Imaad. I’m sorry things happened this way, but I really hope you understand—I had to go. I can’t wait around on the other side of the world while my mom suffers. I’m very sorry if this ruins the deal. It’s my full intention to return once her surgery is complete and resume the job, but I doubt very much either of our fathers will be open to the idea. It hurts me to think of the problems this will cause you because you certainly don’t deserve it. If it helps, just place all the blame on me—I’m prepared to take the brunt of this.

  Thank you for everything.

  Annabelle

  Her pen hovered over the end of her name, tempted to add something else. But what? “You’ve been a great lay”? Even that trivialized him somehow. He was more than that. He was…special. She slumped over the desk, massaging her temples. This wasn’t the time for feeling sappy about Imaad.

  But she never imagined she might care about not seeing him again.

  What if last night was the last time you ever get to see him?

  She sighed, stomping into her bedroom, assessing her strewn clothes and rumpled bedsheets. Not seeing Imaad again felt wrong somehow. But she couldn’t think about that now. She had to get packing and get out of Parsabad.

  15

  Imaad called Annabelle’s room for the tenth time that afternoon, and still no answer. He paced the floor of his office heatedly, anxiety mounting like an avalanche around him.