Sheikh With Benefits (3 page)

Well, if she'd wanted to make herself fall out of love with him, seeing him enjoy her humiliation was a great start. In the future, when she needed to erect a barrier around her heart, all she had to do was think of this moment, with matching pairs of black eyes enjoying her mortification.

The wallflower part of her urged her to melt into the scenery.
Make yourself fade into the crowd,
it advised.
You can disappear.

And she could. She could disappear whenever she wanted to. But tonight, here, in this dress that had been made especially for her by her step-mother's designer, in front of
him
, she didn't want to. If neither of the self-important sheikh brothers wanted her, she would find someone else and rock his world. His universe, maybe.

"Another drink?" she heard, in a very male Australian accent.

She looked into eyes as green as the appletini the man offered. This one had a sugared rim and a cherry impaled on one of those little plastic swords. She glanced over the man's shoulder to see tiny lines at the corners of Javad's mouth. For him, that counted as a full-blown scowl. Probably the most emotion the man had ever shown.

What she wouldn't give to see him lose control in public. But he never would. He would always be as buttoned up as his three piece suits. Even if he wanted her, which he didn't, she could never live with a man who demanded everything and showed nothing.

Just like her father.

"Thank you," she said to the man with the green eyes and blue tie, taking the drink. She was going to need it.

He had nice hair. Blonde and spiky. It didn't look as soft as Javad's. But it would do. She tried to mimic the smile she'd seen her sisters use to devastating effect on dozens of men.

"Do you mind?" Without waiting for her answer, he took the plastic sword out of her drink and used his tongue to flick the cherry off it, into his mouth.

Arya felt the color of a maraschino pour into her cheeks. Her words dried up, leaving a squeak that she managed to swallow. She wanted someone who showed his emotions, not who broadcast them on every frequency.

But it was just for one night. What did it matter? Still, her stomach threatened to mutiny at the thought of taking her clothes off in front of this guy.

"Excuse me," said a male voice so familiar it stung. "I will speak to Arya. I will bring her back to you."

Javad. Thank God. Rescued. As he took her arm and lead her away from the Aussie, warm relief filled her to her hairline. Except for his promise to bring her back.

"I am not bringing you back," Javad said in her ear, an irritating edge to his voice.

That's right, she reminded herself. She was angry at him. She remembered now, and it came barreling back. He'd practically howled with laughter at the thought of her being the object of a man's seduction. He found the idea of it ridiculous.

Well, he would see how wrong he was.

She wrenched her arm out of his grip, only overcoming his strength because he wasn't expecting it. He reacted with surprise, for him, raising his right eyebrow half a millimeter, an expression no one would notice but her.

Just as she was about to spin away to return to her Aussie, he spoke. "Have you changed your mind, then?"

Changed her mind about what? Wait.
Wait, did he mean Darius?
Her nerves began to jitter wildly. "He agreed?"

Even she couldn't read his blank expression. He showed no outward clue to what he was thinking or feeling. He simply, with his usual decisive calm, moved to whisper in her ear.

"Come, I'll take you to the place."

His words made no sense. "What?"

"Is there some problem?" Looking away from her, as if they were discussing the weather, he scanned the room methodically. "We can stay here if you like."

"Tonight? You set it up for tonight?" How she managed to get the words out, she didn't know. Was this happening? And was it happening to her?

Javad twisted his wrist ever so slightly, making the watch he loved so much jingle. Usually this indicated some great emotion. Likely he'd been enjoying the party and wanted to stay. "Is there some point in waiting?"

His serious expression confirmed his words.
Now
really meant
now
. It seemed so soon. So immediate. So final.

The worst part was that he didn't care for her. This made it all real for her. He didn't care if she slept with his own brother, or anyone else. She suddenly felt like she had drunk too much to deal with this. Or not enough.

"I'm not ready." Not ready to sleep with Darius. Not ready to deal with the ultimate rejection from Javad. Twenty-nine years old, and not ready for anything that other people could do easily. The only thing keeping her from sinking to her knees was a lifetime of diplomatic training.

"Nonsense," he told her, and it took a moment for her to remember the topic of conversation. Right, it was her not being ready to sleep with Darius. "You look beautiful tonight. Any man would be lucky. I am tempted to take you for myself."

She had been looking at the floor between her feet, and now glanced up in surprise. But Javad wore his most guarded expression.

Don't say those things to me
, she wanted to beg.
Have some pity. You don't know what you do to me when you say that.

"Oh," she managed to squeak out.

"How attractive you are when you blush," he told her, as if saying something like that had no effect on her at all. "And you blush often."

He offered her his arm, and she automatically rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. She'd done this a million times with her father. But never before with Javad. The contact, even through the fine fabric of his jacket, seemed too intimate to bear. She wanted to slip her fingers up his arm and feel the strength of his muscle, while at the same time, she wanted to drop her hand and run.

"Try to look queasy," he instructed her. Only a second passed before he looked down into her face. Was that a tinge of amusement in his midnight eyes? "Excellent job."

She gave him a watery smile as he started maneuvering through the crowd. As they went, he managed to communicate to the people they passed that she was ill and he would escort her home. All without a word. She was certain that no one suspected him of helping her with a sleazy plan. No one even thought she was leaving
with
him. The prince and shy Arya? It would make them laugh. In fact, a certain energy magnate's trophy mistress went so far as to express a wish that she would get well soon.

Arya was pretty sure she'd gotten over her blushing and was now a nauseated green. As they climbed stairs decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars, Javad didn't relent. "I don't know how you managed to stay a vi—"

"Please," she begged, in a hissing whisper.

"Of course," he continued as they emerged onto the street. "I don't know how you managed to do that all these years. You are a stronger person than you believe. I think it takes much to resist physical urges until you meet the right person."

Certainly he could say so, she thought. He was a few years older than her, but she just knew he had plenty of sexual experience. He'd simply been discreet about it. No one had ever connected his name with any of his liaisons.

As he handed her into the waiting limo, that suddenly seemed irrevocably sad to her. To have to hide your feelings for someone you liked enough to sleep with. To never be able to show you cared for someone you'd done the most intimate things with, or even to appear with them in public. She had always known that Javad wore a mask, like his brother, but maybe it was only now that she truly appreciated how difficult that was for him.

She'd thought it was easy for him to say he admired her for waiting because he didn't know what it was like. But maybe he truly regretted the life he had to lead.

He entered the limo by the other door and slid into the seat beside her. His expression was as careful as usual.

Chapter Three

Javad slid his eyes over Arya's body as she gazed out the limo's window at the street scene sweeping by. The main street of the capital was flanked by buildings of pink granite, balconies curving out from every large window. Three storey tall palms hung heavy with yellow dates ripening on long hanging stalks. Street lamps illuminated the night with glowing light.

It was no doubt romantic to someone like her, who had grown up in frigid Ottawa. He had visited the embassy there once, in the autumn, when the trees were the color of fire, their branches lit with crimson and gold leaves. He had been sixteen or seventeen at the time. Arya's father had escorted him to a park called 'Gatineau,' where Javad had longed to collect some of the unusual leaves, press them between the book he was reading, and bring them back with him. But Arya had lifted a glowing orange one from the ground and her father had berated her for touching garbage. She'd dropped it, dutifully, and not even looked down with regret.

She'd been skinny and plain then. Perhaps fourteen. Saminah, her stepmother, had taken little notice of her except to praise her for being quiet and taking care of her boisterous younger sister, who ran around as she pleased. Javad had brought an expensive scarf for the ambassador's wife as a present, and had nearly given it to Arya instead. But he'd known that to do so would be inappropriate. So he hadn't. He had barely acknowledged her existence.

He regretted that now. They'd become such good friends. He could have used a friend like her then. She might have understood what it was to grow up in the camera's eye while being told to stay out of focus. His brother was everything. His brother
was
Ulai. He was the back-up.

His gaze turned to her mouth, looking soft and full in profile. He double-checked the privacy glass. It was rolled to the top. The limo driver could not hear them.

"Do you know how to kiss?" They were his own words, but they left him shocked. Where had they come from? How had he let them escape?

She stiffened, pretty lips thinning into a straight line. "Of course."

He restrained his laughter. The way she made an effort to look him in the eye told him she had little experience there, too. Well, she would get none from his brother tonight. Naturally he had not asked his brother anything. He would take her to his home away from the palace, lead her to believe Darius would arrive later, and let her sober up. No doubt she would come to her sensible self before he ever had to reveal his brother was not coming.

It was an elegant diplomatic solution. After, everything could go back to normal between them.

He faked a sort of brotherly concern. "But do you know how to kiss the way Darius will expect you to?"

"Are you trying to terrify me? To talk me out of this?" she asked, in a flash of anger.

He liked the heat of her emotion. It was good to see her lose her restraint—if she did it here, she would do it in bed... He waved the thought from his mind.

"I merely attempt to prepare you," he assured her.

"By saying things that will make me nervous? If you want to get me to change my mind, I won't. I'm totally losing my vuh— vuh—"

"Virginity?" he offered.

"Yes, that," she said. "And I'm doing it tonight."

"Good. So kiss me."

"Kiss you?" Her jaw dropped.

He couldn't blame her. His words surprised him as well. But now that they had come out of him, he saw their logic. Either she would be unable to go through with it, or he would get an innocent little kiss from her. Though he knew he was playing with fire—specifically that he could douse the fire of their friendship—the idea of kissing that shapely little mouth definitely appealed.

"Yes," he confirmed, enjoying her shocked expression. "Kiss me. If you wish to be naked with my brother tonight, you should at least be comfortable kissing. You should want to practice."

She clamped her mouth tight, nearly squirming with discomfort in her seat.

He couldn't help but tease her. "Or do you not find me attractive? Do you not think I will do a good job?"

Arya couldn't believe that he'd proposed that she kiss him. She wanted to squeeze the words from her mind, to wring it out like damp laundry.

Do you not find me attractive?
If he only knew.
Do you not think I will do a good job?
Too good a job. If she kissed him, would she want to sleep with another man?

He was teasing her, she knew. These words didn't matter to him. She should feel flattered. He didn't talk to any other woman this way. She made him feel safe enough to open up.

Speaking of safe, she leaned over in her seat, stretching across the empty space between them, and delivered a peck on his smooth cheek.

"There." Perhaps that would keep him happy. Make him stop treating her like a joke.

He leaned back and leisurely pulled his BlackBerry from his vest pocket. He made a show of dialing a series of digits without letting her see what number it actually was.

"Darius," he said, too loudly. Really, he might as well have been on stage. "Don't bother following us. She's not ready for this."

As he mimed pressing the off button, she noticed her arms had crossed over her chest. Irritating male.

"Your brother," she informed him, "is speed dial number one on your phone. So don't think you fool me."

He shrugged. "I can phone that number just as easily."

She fought to keep her teeth from grinding. He didn't care for her, but he schemed to keep her from being with anyone else. He wanted her encased in amber like a trapped fly, something to bring out and marvel at every once in a while.

Before she changed her mind, she undid her seat belt. They were both seat belt kind of people. Cautious. Guarded. Well, she'd lost her bid for him anyway. So why not toy with danger?

She hiked up her skirt and moved to his side of the limo. Lifting her leg over his thighs, she straddled him, putting them face to face for what might be the first time. He was so tall and she so short—had they ever truly looked each other in the eye?