Sheikh With Benefits (2 page)

"An appletini," she told the bartender. Her order was delivered instantly, with an appreciative glance from the man mixing cocktails.

"You have never taken alcohol before." As the glass was passed, Javad restrained his desire to throw it to the floor.

"Maybe I do now," she said, tasting the liquid in the very full glass. "Mmm. My sisters told me these were delicious. Why haven't I ever tried one?"

"Common sense," he told her. "Tell me the reason you act so strangely tonight."

She shrugged, dislodging one of the straps holding up her dress. Without thinking, he reached over to replace it.

He slid his fingers under the silken strap. She stopped mid-sip of her electric green drink, frozen in time. His knuckles brushed over the far, far too exposed skin of her collarbone. Her skin was as soft as any woman's he'd ever taken to his bed. A masculine thrill lit him up as he felt her shiver under his touch.

He was certain she had.

She resumed drinking, gulping down nearly half her alcohol in a single swipe as if she were a warrior fortifying herself for battle. Then she gave him an unexpected sultry grin over the rim.

He cursed himself. What was he doing? This was Arya he was thinking of. He had no interest in her. She was the only woman in the world who was his friend. Perhaps the only person, male or female. It was the dress having this effect on him. And those shoes. And the temptation of those toes.

"Arya, you are not yourself tonight. I must know why." Perhaps then he could answer why he did not feel like himself tonight either.

"Maybe I don't want to be myself anymore. It's not like it's gotten me anywhere." The DJ had replaced the thudding club beats with a slow dance. She looked out across the dance floor as if she wanted to join the couples moving to the music.

He was about to tell her that he preferred her as she was when she grabbed his arm.

The muscle of his bicep flexed of its own accord. She didn't seem to notice.

"I want you to ask your brother something for me." Her voice squeaked. He found that squeak reassuring. His mouse of a friend still hid somewhere underneath that dress.

Underneath that dress
... He wrenched his thoughts back before they wandered places he wasn't prepared to go. "Ask him yourself."

She exhaled a not-quite sigh. The small sound was familiar. This was more like the way things should be. The two of them together, in their standard roles. Talking like equals while around them people played diplomatic games, trying to outmaneuver each other. The two of them together might possess the one genuine friendship in the room.

"It's too embarrassing, Your Highness."

"You don't have to call me that, as I have told you."

She looked down, pouting uncharacteristically into her empty glass. At that moment, a waiter showed up, seemingly from nowhere. He had, on his tray, a single appletini. She accepted the drink with a glow in her eyes. "You've never said that."

Javad refrained from snarling at the waiter as the man glided away. "I am certain I have. And whatever is so embarrassing that you have to drink yourself stupid before asking my brother will be too embarrassing for me to ask as well."

"But you're more sophisticated about these things." Her tone was nearly a whine. It reminded him too much of her sisters for his liking.

"What things?" he asked, even as he began to suspect he did not want to know.

"I want you to ask him if he wants to sleep with me."

He waited for the punch line to the joke. For her to smile and say she teased him. Instead, she took another drink and looked twice as nervous.

She meant it. This explained everything. She wished to sleep with his brother. The dress was an attempt to catch Darius' eye. The shoes were meant for him. Her new persona was designed to attract the attention of his brother. All the pieces of the puzzle fit into place.

It was the puzzle itself that made him desire to grit his teeth. He swallowed to keep his voice from coming out in a growl. "Ask him yourself."

"I can't. I'm too shy. I think I'd die. But I thought maybe if he doesn't talk to me..."

"If you are too shy to ask him, then you are too shy to make love to him," he informed her. She should know him better than to think he would act the pimp for Darius. He had sacrificed so much to support his family, devoted his life to working in the shadows, dealing with things before they ever came to his brother's attention. To start procuring women for Darius? This would not happen. To offer him Arya? Impossible. "What is this all about?"

She stepped in front of him, turning her amber eyes wide. "Please help me. You're my friend, aren't you?"

Wasn't he? In the months since her return, her friendship had become as essential to him as breath. Now it seemed that whatever he did in this situation, the friendship he so valued would slip away as easily as the strap from her shoulder. "You do not need help. And you do not need to sleep with him."

She deflated, becoming a stick figure in her sexy dress. He'd come to care for this kind woman who sensed what he didn't want to show the world. Seeing her this way, this defeated... It made him want to do anything he could to make her feel better.

Anything except comply with her request, of course.

"Well, I need to sleep with someone," she stated, in the tone she might use to say she was out of bread and needed more. "I'm getting old."

"You are not getting old." The idea was ridiculous. She should stay single for a long time. His earlier thoughts of her marriage seemed ill-advised to him now.

"You don't have to be nice to me. I'm going to turn thirty in exactly one month. I'm getting old and dried up and I can't be shy anymore. If I keep doing what I'm doing, I'll end up alone."

He nearly smiled at the thought of her, in that dress, being 'dried up' like some kind of grandmotherly widow in a traditional black
chdar
that covered everything but her hands and face. As he was about to tell her so, something she'd said earlier clicked in.
I need to sleep with someone...

"Arya, are you telling me that you are—"

She cringed, as if the word caused her physical pain, and held up her drink-free hand in the universal motion to stop.

"Pul-eeze don't say that word," she begged. "I will never speak to you again if you do. I'm twenty-nine. It's vomitous. I need to be like everyone else."

I will not permit you to be like everyone else
, he thought. She would stay as she was. He would see to it somehow. She was far better in beige than in this dress that made men fantasize about peeling the clothes off her. Slowly. One inch at a time. Drawing out their own torture. Revealing naked flesh bit by bit.

The shoes could stay on. Of its own accord, his mind painted a compelling picture. Arya wearing nothing but those stiletto heels, her freckles, and a look of anticipation. On blue silken sheets, like the ones on his own bed.

He willed his unruly mind to concentrate. "Why my brother?"

This time, Arya did not blush. On this point, she had decided. "He's attractive and I've heard—" She paused for a beat. "That he'll do a good job."

A good job
, he was too well-trained to rage at her.
A good job
. Instead, he hid one hand in the pocket of his trousers. "So you want to pick your first lover by his efficiency?"

Arya's gaze flicked toward his crotch. It took all his self-will to keep control of the body part that seemed to interest her.

Or perhaps he was mistaken. When he'd asked her how she'd known about his headache at that reception, she'd explained about the tiny line between his eyes. It was possible that it was not the contents of his trousers that interested her, but the hand in his pocket. He always hid his fist that way when his anger threatened to show in public. She saw what no one else could, so perhaps she saw that as well.

She raised and lowered her shoulders in a shrug. "No one else is volunteering."

For an intelligent woman, she was quite stunningly clueless. Three-quarters of the males in the room were volunteering for anything she wished them to do. The only thing keeping them from pouncing on her like she was the last gazelle left in the herd was his presence. Without his protection, she would be some seducer's victim this very moment.

But he couldn't protect her from herself if she chose a one-night stand she would regret for the rest of her life. Perhaps someone who would not treat her as she deserved. Who would ruin her first experience. Or make her fall in love with him and then walk away from her.

Her heart would be broken. She would crawl back into her beige dresses and never come out. He had to admit he liked some things about this new Arya. The naked dress was too much, but it wouldn't hurt her to show off her lovely shape a little more. Just a little. And the shoes could stay.

This blossoming flower had to be handled with care, and his brother was not the man to do it. And this was not the night. However, if she drank any more, she would end up in some stranger's arms, to her regret. And his own.

"Your Highness?"

He realized he was looking at the inside of his eyelids. He'd attempted to shut out the world by closing his eyes. In public. He disliked showing so much emotion. It was beneath him.

"Fine," he told her.

"Fine?" The questioning way she said the word spoke of confusion. In her concern for him, she had forgotten the topic of conversation.

"Fine," he told her. "I will ask my brother if he wishes to sleep with you."

Chapter Two

Arya Mokri treated herself to a view of Javad's backside as the dancers grinding to a hot club remix parted way for him to stride uninterrupted across the floor to his brother, and sighed inside. She would never sigh out loud. Her father had trained her too well to show that much emotion in public.

Instead, her heart ached with every impossible dream she'd ever had, all bottled up inside, where no one would ever touch them. And there, walking away from her with purpose in his step, went the best dream in her heart, the one more impossible than the rest put together.

It had been so much better before they were friends. Then she could admire him from across the room. Maybe she could have gotten over her crush on him, but no, she'd had to interfere one night when that tiny line of pain appeared between his eyebrows. No one else noticed it, but it had blared like a foghorn to her.

After her mother's death, the job of taking care of her father, of playing hostess, had fallen to her. Her father didn't even have to tell her that every one of his needs should be not only met, but anticipated.

She didn't mind the tasks. They made her feel useful, especially next to her sparkling sisters. But she didn't want to feel
useful
to His Royal Highness Javad Shirin. She wanted him to look at her the way he looked at other women when he thought no one was watching. What she wanted from him was a big problem, since not only was the man out of her league, he was also her father all over again. No doubt he had emotions, but they were kept locked in a vault, in a secret room, guarded by vicious dogs who hadn't been fed in a week, that you could only enter with a retinal scan, and possibly crisscrossed with those green laser lights you saw in movies.

He wanted her to dance with him, was a bit obsessed with it. She never would. If she did, he'd be able to look into her eyes and see how she really felt about him. How she respected his intelligence in handling delicate negotiations, recognized the care he took of his brother from the shadows, and admired his hot ass.

In short, he'd see that she was in love with him. Every day that passed, with each event where she saw him, it got worse. Two weeks ago, after he'd consulted her for her opinion on a potential trade treaty with the North African country of Abbas, she'd begin to dream of him. Now even her sleep wasn't her own. She had to do something about it before she was beyond hope.

So, why offer herself to his brother? Darius was equally safe and dangerous. He had no long-term agreements with any woman. As ruler, if he were seen too many times with anyone, he would be obliged to offer her marriage to avoid offending her people. To other women, that made him dangerous, but as far as she was concerned, it made him safe. It meant she could have a fling with him and not worry about consequences. Her father would forgive her if he ever found out. After all, when your king propositions you, loyalty is more important than your virtue. You have an obligation, at least that's what her father would tell her.

The part that made Darius dangerous to her was his resemblance to Javad. When they slept together, she would close her eyes and think of the man who wasn't touching her.

Darius spent more time in the gym, while Javad was taller and leaner, less muscled. More like a real man, she felt. Not someone who worked out to make himself into something he wasn't. The brothers shared dark eyes so brown they appeared black in this light. Long lashes almost too pretty to belong on men. And Darius' jaw was shadowed nearly grey where his beard would grow if he permitted it. Javad's skin was the color of golden sand all over his face. Probably all over his body, too.

As for having Javad offer her to his own brother, that was a tiny bit of evil that had come from inside her. Her personal piece of bitterness. True, she would never be able to make the proposition on her own. She was too shy. It didn't have to be Javad doing the asking, though. She liked the cruelty of it, to both of them. Having him ask punished his lack of interest in her, and it twisted the knife inside herself. Maybe seeing him willing to offer her to someone else would finally prove to her stupid heart that he didn't care for her. Would never care for her.

It might cure her love for him.

Across the room, Darius clapped his brother on the back and laughed. At her? She felt herself turning crimson. Of course. Of course. Why would a man like that want her? Of course he would laugh. Javad's usual serious expression broke into the hint of a smile—for him, the equivalent of a belly laugh. He was probably just as amused by the rejection. Probably thought it was a great joke. Because it was. She'd reduced herself to a joke.