Sheikh With Benefits (6 page)

Then she felt... Like she wanted something more. Like simply holding him wasn't enough. As if of their own free will, her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him farther inside. Her ankles crossed at the small of his back.

A shudder shook Javad's body. He seemed to struggle inside himself. She caressed his neck. "Did I do something wrong? Let me take off the shoes." She began to draw way from him.

"Leave them," he ordered, his voice a gritty baritone she'd never heard from him before.

She'd seen him check out women's feet when other men looked at their chests. Did he have a thing for shoes? Experimentally, she ran one heel lightly up his spine.

Her reward was watching his Adam's Apple bob painfully in his throat. She nearly laughed with feminine power. She knew something about His Highness Javad Shirin that no one else did. She would cling to the intimacy of it for the rest of her life.

Her triumph only lasted a moment. Until he grabbed one of her ankles and put it over his shoulder, making it very clear who was in charge in this bed. All her blood fled to her face. He planted a kiss on the inside of her knee. He was so deep into her... She felt so open and exposed... And incredibly sexy.

He pulled out of her and thrust back in with all the force of his body. Her throat went dry with the pleasure of it, of Javad so far inside, touching places no one had ever touched. His crotch touched her clit as he pushed in deep, claiming her.

"Lovely," came his throaty whisper.

She swallowed her response and concentrated on the stirring of her body. Oh, the friction of his chest hair on the back of her thigh. The scent of his arousal, of their mutual desire, was so incredibly earthy and sexy.

His grinding built an amazing pressure inside. Her frustrating position kept her from touching all the places of him that she wanted to. All she could do was wrap her leg tighter around his hips and feel the intensity of the sensation they made together. But she didn’t care about her own pleasure, or anything else. She only wanted Javad to be inside her, to touch her for as long as possible. Because when this ended, so would the best thing in her life.

"Arya," he gasped as he pulled out of her. "Don't hold back."

For an instant, she froze. Was he displeased with her?

"Do not stifle yourself," he said. "Give me your voice." And he plunged deep.

She opened lips she had kept shut tight and let herself cry out, a wordless howl of desire and pleasure. In her mind, that cry meant only one thing.
I love you.
With that passionate sound, she let herself go, and her body shattered. She dissolved in a firework shower of intense sparks, each one made of more pleasure than she had ever felt before tonight.

He shuddered and arched, every muscle tensing, and followed her in release before collapsing onto his back.

Moments later, his chest still heaving with exertion, he slipped his arm around her and dragged her to him.

"Arya," he said, as if assuring himself of who he had just slept with. He drew her hair from her nape and kissed her from behind. "Arya."

She closed her eyes and pretended that she never had to leave his bed. That every time he said her name in the future, he would say it with such praise and passion. Imagined that she hadn't just made the best decision of her life, and the worst mistake.

Chapter Six

Arya slipped through the side door to her father's house. News of her late night would be in her father's ear before noon, she suspected. She hadn't seen any of the servants, but that didn't mean anything. Right now, that was the least of her worries. She was so distracted by her thoughts that she jumped when a voice came out of the darkened courtyard, too loud over the quiet burbling of the fountain in the center of the garden.

"So," said a confident feminine voice, targeted to hit its mark.

Arya clutched at the bodice of her rumpled dress, trying to calm a heart rate that had jacked up to the point of pain. She gulped in a few noisy breaths and tried to zero in on where the voice had come from. It was one of her sisters, but which one? And what would she want in return for keeping this secret?

Except... Who cared? Her life was over anyway. She could see Javad's path forward clearly. Once, she might have worried about him using her and abandoning her. But the way he'd forced her to open up to him, to talk about her wanting him... He'd encouraged a dangerous emotional connection, at least connecting her to him. He would take that seriously. Him abandoning her? That would never happen. It might be better for her if he did.

In the meantime, she could deal with her sister. There, in the shadows. Daliya, the older sister who had always tormented her. Actually, she was curled up in the spot Arya thought of as her own. A soft light threw a glow on her face. Was that a Kindle?
Daliya read?
Books, not just Cosmo?

She had to laugh. She'd watched both her sisters sneak in exactly this way while she worked on her iPad. The role reversal was pure comedy.

"So," she answered, when she'd recovered.

Daliya looked at her, dark eyes flashing in amusement. "I guess the dress worked. Was he all you'd hoped?"

Arya swallowed. It was too bad. She wanted to talk to someone so badly, but Daliya was not safe. It hit her hard, then. She had no one in this place she could talk to about him. The few friends in her life were back in Ottawa. At least with the time difference, she could call someone right now without waking them up. Still, she wanted someone here to put arms around her, to console her for the wreck she'd made.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She lifted her chin and headed toward her room, and someone in another time zone.

"I'm not an idiot." She practically heard Daliya roll her eyes in the darkness. "I didn't think you had it in you. I mean, I suspected our stepmother was maneuvering to get you out of the house when she got those dresses made for you. I just didn't think you'd follow through."

Her throat closed. Daliya was right. She didn't have it in her. She never would have slept with Darius, she admitted to herself now. She had belonged to Javad for months, and after tonight, always would. Body and soul and poor, broken heart.

Her stepmother, Saminah, had been very encouraging about the two dresses she'd practically insisted Arya have made, even lending Arya her French designer. When Arya had pulled them out of the tissue, in the privacy of her own room, this one had been inches lower at the top, and inches higher at the bottom, than she'd discussed with Maxime. But actually wearing the dress, and on a night her father wouldn't be around to say anything, had been her own plan.

Her own dumb plan. That had worked, had backfired, and would now ruin her life.

"Hey." There was actual concern in Daliya's voice as she got up and came over, looking confident and elegant in turquoise satin pajamas with black lace trim.

Arya let herself be led to the rattan love seat where Daliya had been sitting alone. Her sister pushed down on her shoulders and Arya's knees gave way.

"Are you alright?"

It was only when Daliya handed her a tissue that she realized there were tears on her face. Was she alright? Probably not.

"Hey," Daliya said, as if reassuring a little girl who had fallen down. "I'm sure you'll see him again."

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose and decided she was done crying. "I know," she told Daliya, holding her head up to face the future that she hated. "He'll ask me to marry him tomorrow. That's the problem."

Daliya shrugged. "Well, if you don't love him, say no. If he tells Dad about tonight, say you were with me. I'll back you up."

Arya stared at her. Daliya would back her up? The idea gave her a jolt of pure happiness. She'd always wanted a good relationship with her sisters, but Daliya had always hated her, and Komal had no time for her. They both thought she sucked up to Dad.

Maybe things were different now they were back in Ulai. "I love him," she admitted.

"Oh, I get it," Daliya said. "He doesn't love you."

Javad had been silent as a star in the desert sky as he drove her home, and as distant. Not purposely, she knew. He'd been catching up to the new reality of their relationship. She'd left him to his mental calculations as terrible fears ripped through her. A silent and thoughtful Javad meant a
planning
Javad. And huge problems barreling down the train tracks.

If only he'd explained to her that their encounter was one night only and they would go back to being friends now.

"I think he does," she said, all misery. "To the extent that he's capable of actual emotion."

"Okay, you love him and he loves you and him asking to marry you is making you cry. You avoided guys until now, but you're somehow making up for lost time. This is some crazy angst." Daliya had genuine confusion in her voice. "Help me out here."

She had to admit it didn't make much sense. She treated the dark to an ironic smile. What a nightmare this was all going to be. There was nothing to do now but follow through. "He's going to ask me to marry him, and I will say yes, and then I'll be the perfect diplomat's wife, and that's it."

The light bulb seemed to click on above Daliya's head. "Not much of a romance."

"Not much of a romance," she agreed. "But more than that, he's just like Dad. All tight inside. Locked up. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with a guy who hides all his emotions."

Daliya straightened in her seat, beautiful features solidified into defiance. "No, you're not."

"But I love him, and I can be with him." She accepted her defeat. She'd gotten exactly what she wanted, and exactly what she was afraid of. She should have stayed in her cocoon, clinging to her work and her books. Trying for the bigger pleasures in life had just cost her everything else.

"Leave." Daliya grabbed both her hands, a little too tightly. "You have to leave. Get away from him. It's the only way to get over him. Listen, you can't settle for a life like that."

"But Father needs—"

"Damn right Dad needs you," Daliya said. "But you don't need him. You've done his job from the background since you were nineteen, and done it so smoothly that no one would notice."

"But you noticed?" Daliya's concern threw her off. Her sister had ignored her for years. Or so she'd thought.

Maybe she shouldn't trust Daliya. Then again, why the hell not? Even if she reported everything they talked about to their father, which didn't seem likely considering the epic fights the two of them had, why would it matter? This time of living with her family was over. In a few short months, she'd be Javad's wife. His unhappy, depressed wife, taken for granted just the way her father took her for granted.

On the other hand, if she left, she'd be alone and in misery. None of this was going the way it was supposed to. "I have to marry him. If I don't, I'll be—"

"Miserable." Daliya cut her off. "For a few years. Would you prefer being miserable for the rest of your life with him?"

She was right, Arya realized. It would feel like dying in the moment, but leaving would give her some hope in the future. Far, far in the future.

Her sister's unfocused eyes looked vaguely in the direction of the tinkling courtyard fountain. But she also seemed to be looking far away. Perhaps even into the past. "I watched Dad make you take care of him, and I was too young to do anything about it. And to be honest, I was jealous of you."

"Of me?" She didn't trust her ears. "You're kidding."

Daliya nodded. When she spoke again, her tone was desert-dry. "You had your mom. Mine left me. I was so awful back then that I was happy your mom died because it meant you had to feel what I did. Except I doubt Dad ever told you what a whore she was after she was gone.

"Oh, Daliya." Her heart burned with the pain of a little girl abandoned by the person in the world who was supposed to love her the most. If only she'd known back then. They could have been wretched together.

Her sister seemed to come back into the present, her beautiful face hardened to stone. "You can't live with that again. I won't let you, even if I have to abduct you or something."

"Maybe you're right about leaving."

"Will he try to force you into marriage?"

She waved a hand in dismissal. "Javad isn't like that."

Daliya froze in place for an instant, and it hit Arya what she'd just said. His name.
Shit
.

"Javad? As in His Highness Javad Shirin? The King's brother? Three piece suit? Tie about to strangle him?"

She nodded after every question. What else could she do? Everyone had seen her talking to Javad these last few months. It wasn't much of a leap.

Daliya had a sparkle and a newfound respect in her eyes. "The effing
prince
. Seriously? Boy, you really go for it, don't you?"

She couldn't help but smile back a bit. She'd had the second highest ranked man in the land between her thighs, and she was about to turn down his proposal—if she could find the strength. She felt a little badass. It was kind of a great feeling. If she didn't think about how she was about to leave and never see him again.

"Go back to Ottawa," Daliya urged. "The king will send you if you ask. Make yourself busy, and eventually you'll meet someone else. One of us might as well be free from this place."

Arya looked at the home that didn't feel like hers. She'd felt far more comfortable at Javad's house, with its Western-style art and furniture, and that big, fluffy, dirty-thought-inducing bed. She wouldn't miss this place's hand-knotted silk carpets, the bronze-topped tables, or the mosaic floor tiles. Until a few minutes ago, she would have gladly left anything in Ulai but Javad. Now there was something else she wouldn't leave behind her.

She smiled at her sister. "You're right. So come with me."

Daliya's perfectly plucked eyebrows drew together. "Really?"

For the first time Arya had ever seen, Daliya looked unsure of herself. Her normally confident expression was gone as she searched Arya's face.

"Yes, really. You can't stay here with Dad." She locked her sister's hand in her own and gave it a supportive squeeze.