Possession of the Sheikh: (Interracial BWWM Erotica) (The Men of Sharjah Series Book 2) (7 page)

“This was why I didn’t want to sleep with you. This is why I never fuck virgins, but you threw yourself at me.” He shrugged. “What man turns down easy pussy?”

She gasped, and the tears he knew she’d been holding in check, now slipped down her cheeks.

“You promised me,” she whispered brokenly.  “You promised me you wouldn’t do this to me, that I meant something to you.”

“I lied,” His expression was remorseless. “That’s what men do, Sabeen, but you’re too spoiled and stupid to get that.  If you weren’t so self-centered, you’d see that the only person who thinks you’re a princess is your daddy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch. I paid extra for the room, so feel free to stay the night. It’s on me.”

He turned from her then and walked toward the door.  He was a coward, he knew that.  But to stand there and watch her crestfallen expression turn to anguish would have tortured him further.

“I hate you,” she shouted at his back.  “And I will never forgive you. Not ever.  You will come crawling back, but I will never make the mistake of loving you again.
Never.
”

With every step, her words haunted him, but he didn’t once stop or turn to look back. 

Present Day

“When mother told us that story of how it’s customary for American brides to be given something blue, I’m fairly certain she didn’t mean for you to take it so literally.”

My youngest sister, Jahaan, stood beside me, her face beaming as the wedding festivities continued all around us.  I shook my head at her as I fought to quell a smile because she was such a little liar and she knew it.  Although our mother had told the story to me,
I
was the one who’d told it to
her
of the American bridal tradition.  She’d been so young when our mom had been killed, so I’d shared with Jahaan every story and detail of the woman who’d given her life, so that she would know just how incredible our mother had been.  Memories of my mother, especially on today, would only sadden me more, so I distracted myself by glancing at the party that was now in full swing on the other side of the dais. 

The reception was now well underway, and thankfully they’d dimmed the lights as the guests took to the dance floor in earnest.  I was also thankful my new husband had taken to the dance floor with the rest of the guests—even now I watched as he twirled my great-aunt and charmed her with his trademark lethal grin.  It was a welcome reprieve to no longer be forced to stand beside him, sit beside him, smile adoringly at him, brush up against him, breathe in his scent—basically pretend that I didn’t despise every inch of him.  But my sister was right.  I had the blues, and if anyone took a second from their dancing and revelry they would easily see just how miserable I was because at this point my jaw was too sore to crack another fake smile.

But when my sister flopped down beside me, with her billowing skirts and radiant expression, I found it was effortless to form a
genuine
smile.  

“You look beautiful,” I said warmly.  Of the three of us, Jahaan was the one who had taken after our mother, Nyala, the most; and not just in appearance, but also like our mom, Jahaan radiated with an inner warmth and goodness that was infectious.  I prayed that she would never let anyone ever steal her inner joy, that she wouldn’t make the same mistakes I once had.

“And there you go again, frowning.  I was just about to say thank you, and tell you you’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen—“

“That’s because I’m the only bride you’ve ever seen.”

The expression my sister gave me, with her face all scrunched up, had its intended effect, and for the first time in weeks, I laughed. 

Jahaan grinned until my laughter subsided, and then she stared at me from dark tawny eyes that were far more wizened than I often gave her credit, but her next words told me I needed to more often.

“You need to forgive him.”

“Forgive who?” I asked as I reached for the flute of champagne beside me and took a long sip. 

“Sabeen—“

“What?  You want me to say I forgive him?  Because that will make you happy?  Because then you won’t have to worry about how miserable I am. Well I don’t forgive him and I never will, because forgiving him Jahaan is not going to make this all better, it’s not going to make what I feel go away. It just doesn’t work that way.”

She said my name again, but it was her pained expression that deflated me.   I knew I was wrong for snapping at her, but we’d had this conversation in the weeks leading up to this sham of a wedding, and she knew exactly how I felt.  No matter how mature she was, she just didn’t understand, and she wouldn’t, because she’d never had her heart broken.  There were times when I prayed she would never know that type of pain, but I knew that was something I couldn’t protect her from.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

She smiled, but it wasn’t the one filled with radiance that had the power to lighten even the foulest of moods, no this was the one that was filled with compassion and sympathy.  I hated that smile.

“Khalil loves you.  It’s almost heartbreaking to watch you two—so deeply in love but you so filled with bitterness and him, so filled with guilt.  No matter where he is or what he’s doing, his eyes always find their way to you, even now, he watches you with longing, hoping for just one second you will meet his gaze, but you never do, because you’re too busy festering in your misery.  The truth is he spent years maintaining a playboy image so that you wouldn’t figure out that he never got over losing you, but you’re too stubborn to see that.” Jahaan stood then, billowing skirts and all.  “So typical, you think you have it all figured out, but for someone so smart, I can’t believe how dense you’re being.  Khalil’s not a man to be forced into anything.  He’s also not a man who has ever been known to lack female attention, so if he never loved you, if he wasn’t
still
in love with you, then he never would have married you.” She grabbed my drink in one hand and lifted her skirt with the other.  “You can sit up here with resting bitch face all night if you want, but there’s a party going on and I plan to enjoy it.” With that, my sister literally swept off the dais, and joined our other sister Nishaan, who in my opinion was getting way too up close and personal with Amir’s youngest brother, Rahim, in a dance that belonged more in a Hip Hop video than at my wedding. I looked for our father, who should have been supervising, but he was nowhere to be found, especially with the throng of people crowding the dance floor.
Typical. 
My younger sisters had always gotten away with murder. 

As I sat on the dais, watching all of the people who had come from all over the world—many of them family members and loved ones—I let Jahaan’s words sink in.  In many ways she was right, by not forgiving him, I was the one who suffered, I was the one who remained locked in my prison of bitterness.  And yet, I couldn’t find the strength to just let everything go.  The day Khalil had walked out on me, that hadn’t been the end of it.  Even after my father had told me of the betrothal contract, and that I was engaged to Amir, I hadn’t given up on us.  I’d tried contacting him, but my calls and emails had gone unanswered. I should have taken that as a sign, but I’d been young and dumb.

Three months later, I’d decided to try and visit him at his university.  The connection we’d shared, I’d
felt
it, and I was certain he’d felt it too.  I even convinced myself that he was just afraid of what he was feeling, and just needed reassurance. 
Reassurance my ass. 
My trip to DC to
reassure
him had ended in more tears and humiliation when he’d answered the door to his apartment half naked.  He’d been so shocked to see me that he’d stood there speechless, but words hadn’t been necessary, because his guest had said them all for him when she’d called for him to come back to bed.

I’d been stunned, heartbroken, and humiliated, but nothing had sent me fleeing his doorstep more strongly than my bitter anger.  He’d called my name, but I would always remember that he never did come after me.  My love for Khalil had died that day, and every time I saw a tabloid or heard a story or was misfortunate enough to attend an event where he would be, and saw yet another nameless, faceless woman draped all over him, a part of me would die all over again until I was convinced the feelings I’d once had for him were dead and buried. 

I wished that could have been enough, that my feelings for him were forever gone, but it wasn’t.  For years, I’d remained angry, in an indignant sort of way at his total hypocrisy. He’d accused me of being a stupid, shallow, superficial, and self-centered socialite, and yet, every woman I’d ever seen him with had been the very epitome of what he’d labeled me.   Brainless, shallow women who spent more time on a surgeon’s table than in a library—and there were
many
of them.  Eventually his womanizing became so bad that he’d been shipped off to the military almost as soon as he’d graduated from Howard.  While I on the other hand, threw myself into my work and studies as a way to move past my anger and heartbreak, and eventually decided since I
was
engaged, that I should focus
all
of my romantic attention on Amir. 

Amir didn’t love me anymore than I loved him, and he wanted to be engaged to me about as much as I wanted to be engaged to him, so my obnoxious pursuit of him had been intentional, and eventually I’d obtained the desired outcome—well mostly.  I may not have succeeded in ending my engagement, but constantly throwing myself at Amir hadn’t turned out to be a complete waste of effort.  I took great pleasure in noting how much my dogged pursuit of Amir always seemed to rankle Khalil, although I was pretty surprised he even noticed, given the steady stream of women that always seemed in pursuit of him.

I felt a small tingle creep along my spine and I stiffened.  I’d been so deep in thought that I’d almost missed the telltale sign that Khalil was near.  I glanced up at the same time I felt his shadow cover me, as he extended his hand, with his palm facing up.

“It’s time for us to leave.”

I glanced at the now packed dance floor.  “Already?  The party’s just starting.”

“I’m surprised you noticed.” My gaze snapped to him.  With the exception of his classic grin, his eyes were neutral, but there was no mistaking the sarcasm in his voice.

“What about our guests?” 

“Beside the fact they’re drunk and dancing and could care less about when we leave, I said our formal farewells to both our families.” He nodded for me to take his hand.  “So now it is time for us to leave.  I’ve made preparations for our honeymoon, and I think you will be pleased with them.”

Honeymoon.
 

That one word did something to me, and I had been fighting the stirrings all day, but especially as it had grown closer to nighttime.  There was still plenty of light outside—so with a curious mixture of panic, but also something else, something that was closer to need—I had become anxious thinking about what would take place later on tonight.

I wanted to bat his hand aside, and use my acerbic tongue to tell him he could go shove his honeymoon preparations where the sun didn’t shine, but I was still mindful of our guests, and all the eyes that I didn’t see, but that I knew still watched us.  So just like I’d done since that morning, I plastered on a fake smile, graciously took his hand, and allowed him to escort me from the reception and into the black stretch limo that awaited us.

“Would you like something to drink?” Khalil gestured toward the minibar. 

Sabeen barely glanced his way as she nodded curtly and murmured, “Sure.”

Despite his frustration, he held back the sigh of weariness, and silently poured her a glass of wine.  Handing it to her, he deliberately brushed her fingers with his.  As he expected she reacted instantly with a sharp intake of breath, her body tensing.  For one charged, silent moment he held her wide-eyed gaze, just long enough to slip beneath her icy veneer and stroke her with his smoldering stare that blazed with the hunger of his desire.  With his eyes, he made promises that his body intended to keep, and he did not miss the very second she trembled. Almost immediately she realized what she’d done and looked away but not before shooting him a sharp, murderous glare that made promises of its own. 

This time he did sigh, but instead of retreating to his side of the limo as she’d done, he continued to watch her.  His stare was almost blatant, and he knew she felt his gaze upon her, just as he knew she would pretend for as long as she could that he didn’t sit just a few inches away from her, that  he wasn’t now her husband, and that he didn’t have every intention of making love to her tonight.

She was frustrating in her denial of the inevitable, but he’d expected nothing less.  In the weeks leading up to their wedding, she’d been indifferent in the planning of it, to the point that he’d finally given into her demands and hadn’t forced her to be involved. Khalil had no doubt that it had been better that way, because from the wedding planner, to the florist, to the cake designer, Sabeen’s chilly demeanor had made it obvious to everyone that theirs was far from a love match.  The irony; however, was that they were wrong.  He knew the depths of his feelings for her, just as he knew Sabeen wouldn’t be so determined to keep him at a distance if she didn’t still feel
something
for him. 

The morning they’d been together in her boardroom had proven what he’d suspected all along—if given the opportunity her body would betray her heart.  And now as her husband, he would have
many
opportunities to bridge the chasm she’d put between them.

As he slid his gaze over her, drinking in her beauty that was only rivaled by the enmity that poured off of her, Khalil admitted that he did not fault her for her behavior these past weeks, or the ill feelings she still harbored, because he deserved her hatred.  After all he’d eventually come to hate himself for what he’d done. 

He’d never forgotten the words she’d hurled at him as he’d turned his back on her and the love she’d offered—she’d certainly never forgiven him, and whatever love she still had for him, it was buried so deep, that had it not been for what had happened in her boardroom, he would have been convinced that indeed she would never love him again.  Her final words had haunted him, and locked within his own prison of misery, almost as soon as he’d returned to college after leaving her, he’d spiraled.  His grades had slipped, and it was still a miracle that he’d managed to pass his classes just enough to graduate with honors. 

From the clubbing to the drinking to the endless women—he’d tried to distract himself and when that didn’t work he’d tried numbing his pain, until eventually he’d settled for whatever escape he could find in the arms of other women.  At first he’d found comfort with women that reminded him of her, until the day she’d shown up at his apartment.  The anguish in her eyes, the raw pain across her face, the memory of how she’d looked that day was worse than her final words. If he’d been haunted by what she’d said, every time he recalled the moment the light in her eyes had flickered and then disappeared, was akin to a slow death.  Even now, he recognized the distinct burning in his chest.  After that day, he’d avoided any woman who looked like her, sounded like her, who even smelled like her or wore a similar perfume.  His relationships, if one could even call them that, had been empty, so empty in fact that he’d long ago stopped finding any satisfaction in sleeping with women who only pretended to care for him because he was rich.  The times when he needed to dominate his lovers, he sought out the discreet underground establishments that catered to his urges, but eventually, even those places, and the submissives who were so eager to please could not bring him any pleasure. 

Fifteen years had passed.  Time should have tempered his desire for her, but instead it had only fed it. And his yearnings had only worsened each and every time he’d been forced to witness her throwing herself at Amir every chance she seemed to get.  She, nor Amir, would ever know the lengths he’d gone to maintain a semblance of restraint, along with his sanity.  That he’d never attacked his cousin over her, spoke volumes.  But it had done things to him, things he’d never wish on his worst enemy, to watch the woman he loved throw herself at another man, while pretending that he didn’t so much as exist.  And knowing there was nothing he could do because she rightfully belonged to that man, the same man who was like a brother to him, who he would give his life for rather than harm. 

Khalil had long ago given up torturing himself by letting his thoughts take him to that dark place where he was forced to accept that Sabeen would one day marry Amir, and Amir would touch her, make love to her.  That Amir would give her the children that he’d once believed
he
would give her. Amir would be the one to do all of the things that he’d once done to her, and it would be his cousin’s right, because she would belong to Amir, and not to him.

“Where are we going?”

Khalil was grateful for the interruption, because despite that he was now married to Sabeen, that his worst nightmare had not come to pass, it would still take some time for the hell his subconscious mind had lived in for so many years to come to terms with his reality.

He realized she still awaited his answer, and that’s when he noticed the limo had come to a stop.  He glanced out the window, a grin spreading across his face as he took in the golden sands that stretched for miles before him, seemingly without end. 

Khalil looked at Sabeen from over his shoulder and winked.

“We’re going to my home.”

*

His home?

I looked at him, then back out the window, then back at him, but before I could question him further he was climbing out of the car at the same time my own door opened.  Our driver stood there with his palm outstretched.  I hesitated a moment before finally taking his hand and allowing him to help me out of the limo. 

It was only late afternoon so I could still see, but the sun had begun to approach the horizon, giving the desert sands an amber glow.  With nothing but the unending desert before me, my gaze immediately landed on the most startling sight of this entire day. After all it would have been
impossible
to miss.

Glancing over my shoulder, I tried to capture Khalil’s attention, but he was too busy speaking with the limo driver.  So I had no choice but to try and sort through the mountain of questions piling up inside my head.  I’d expected we would stay at a hotel in the city for the night and then fly somewhere exotic and romantic for our month long honeymoon, somewhere like the Caribbean or the south of France.  I certainly had
not
expected to be faced with a camel carrying an elaborate
hawdaj
of gold with pearl accents and draped in translucent curtains of silk.

The sound of the limo driving away caught my attention, but instead of watching the car disappear down the empty road, all I saw was Khalil.  I didn’t think I’d been staring at the
hawdaj
and its camel for that long, but apparently so because gone was the black tuxedo he’d worn throughout the day.  In its place was a flowing white
serwal
and matching
thoab
which he’d left untied, revealing the wide expanse of his well-muscled chest.  His hair was now covered by the traditional
keffiyeh,
but instead of securing it with
agal
rope, he wore it twisted around his head in the way of his mother’s people, a testament to his Bedouin heritage.

I hadn’t seen Khalil dressed in traditional clothing since we were in our teens, so I was ill-prepared for the striking effect his appearance had on me.  As he drew nearer, I couldn’t deny that his presence overwhelmed me; and it wasn’t just the way in which his eyes stalked my every movement.  His aura was potent, as if he drew strength from the desert sands all around him.  Not since the day I’d learned that we were to marry, had I felt this powerless and vulnerable.  I wanted to run, to hide even, but where would I go? We literally stood on the side of a deserted road that was one of three interstate highways that ran through Sharjah.  This one connected the al-Sayeef river in the north to the Gulf in the south.  While the al-Hajar mountain range rose as a natural border to the west, with the al-Dahna desert to the east.  Even if I managed to survive the journey across our natural boundaries, our friendly neighbors and allies in Qatar and Bahrain would very hospitably greet me and then just as happily send me back to my husband.

I corrected myself then.  The desert sheikh before me was not the man I’d married.  That man was civilized and cultured.  This one was rugged and untamed—a version of Khalil I’d never encountered before. 

I remained silent, following his lead as I allowed him to usher me toward the waiting camel driven
hawdaj
.  Accepting his assistance to help me inside, I gasped the moment I crawled into the small space.  It was everything out of a fairy tale plucked straight from Scheherazade’s one thousand and one nights.  Four ornate lanterns illuminated the space, and although I could tell they were modern conventions with light bulbs and batteries the detail was so precise I could have easily mistaken them for antiques had I not looked closer. 

Fragrant whorls of smoke swirled all around me from incense sticks resting atop a burner.  I felt as if I had entered an ancient harem and despite my earlier wariness, I found myself relaxing into the overstuffed, brightly colored Ottoman pillows that were feather soft. 

A long forgotten memory chose that moment to surface, as I recalled one night while we’d been together, neither of us could sleep so we’d talked about all kinds of random things.  I’d shared with him how I wished for a desert wedding where I would be carried off like a real Arabian princess.  It had been silly and we’d laughed because he’d known I’d only been half serious.  Or so I’d believed. 

I forcefully shut my eyes against the moisture I felt gathering there, all the while reminding myself of all the pain he’d caused.  Khalil didn’t deserve a second chance with me.  No matter how thoughtful and patient he’d been these past few weeks.  No matter how he always seemed overly concerned about my well-being. It didn’t matter what we were doing, or who was around, if I appeared exhausted or upset, whatever he was doing was momentarily set aside, to see to me.  At the time I’d chalked it up to more charades for the tabloids and our families, but now I was starting to wonder, and with it I began to worry. 

I could easily wage a war of attrition with the Khalil who was a callous asshole, but this Khalil, the man I’d fallen in love with, this Khalil I had no defense against. 

*

The stress of the long day must have finally caught up with Sabeen because by the time Khalil brought the camel to a stop after the nearly two-hour, ten mile trek, and he looked inside the
hawdaj
, she was fast asleep.  And she didn’t waken for some time, not even after he’d carried her inside of his tent, and undressed her down to her lingerie. 

As she lay stretched out across the raised bed where he slept, all wanton temptation with her hair strewn about her face, wearing nothing but a satin white bra and matching lace thong, he felt himself harden and swell to proportions he hadn’t experienced in a long time.  She still wore her garter, and Khalil had to fight to stifle the groan of desire that rose up inside of him.  He almost couldn’t breathe, his longing for her was so strong.  He hadn’t seen her like this in fifteen years, and while she’d been beautiful then, he could not deny an eighteen-year-old girl could never hope to rival that of a grown woman’s curves. Her hips flared enticingly and her breasts were fuller, all of her was fuller, lusher, and he ached to touch her, to part her silken thighs and bury himself deep inside her softness.

He needed to get out of there, and now, before he took her with all the savage yearnings that pulsed so strongly inside of him.  Deciding to busy himself until she either woke up or he exhausted himself enough to fall sleep, Khalil removed the
hawdaj
, and attended to his camel.  He was just finishing up when he heard rustling behind him.  Seconds later she appeared within the entryway of his tent with her hair mussed, and sleep still clinging to her eyes.  He’d removed his
thoab
when the heat had caused it to cling to his torso, and she now wore it instead of the lingerie he’d left her in, presenting the most erotic picture he’d ever seen.  On bare feet she treaded softly toward him, the desert wind giving her the appearance of a wayward angel as it whipped through her hair and ruffled his
thoab
until it molded her every curve.

“I thought you were kidding.”

It took Khalil several seconds to find his voice because not only was the white material of his garment still clinging to her, but it was also completely see through beneath the moonlight and soft rays from the lamps.