Authors: Jessica Brooke
The Shiekh’s Virgin Mistress
(Khalil Sheikhs Book #1)
By: Jessica Brooke
Table of Contents:
All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2014 Jessica Brooke
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Anna: Sorry I’m missing the party. This wedding is pretty awesome though.
Julie: Maybe you’ll meet Mr. Right. Or even better, Mr. Right now?
Anna: Snort, as if. Not gonna happen. Don’t want.
Julie: You need a hobby. Too focused. No fun. Snore!
Anna: Degree first, fun later. Have a good one. A
Julie: Later beautiful. J
I tucked my phone back into my small bag and scanned the room. Ms. Pickett bustled towards me and I took a deep breath.
“Anna! Oh my! It’s been forever!”
“Ms. Pickett? You look wonderful. How long has it been?
“Oh darling, years and years. The last time I saw you was at high school graduation. Your speech at the ceremony was so beautiful. You know I still think about it from time to time.”
“Thank you Ms. Pickett. That is a meaningful compliment coming from someone as literary as you.”
“So Anna, how is law school going? What are you, three or four years in?”
“Actually, I only have one more year, then the BAR, then I can start full time for daddy. I’ll be learning some of the business this summer. I’m going to intern as his assistant.”
“It’s lovely you are going to work with your father. You are such a wonderful example of a good upbringing. So tell me dear, any prospective husbands in your future?”
I blanched at that question. Why in the world did all the older generation seem to think I was in such a hurry to find a husband? I didn’t even have a boyfriend. Actually never had. I might have been the oldest living virgin on the planet at the ripe old age of twenty three and a half. “No, not yet.” Hopefully that was non-committal enough; I wish I didn’t sound like a politician. I guess I do sound like an attorney. Getting there at least.
“Well that’s good dear. I’m looking forward to your wedding someday. So Kimie seems happy with her man. Have you two been able to talk much since you both went off in opposite directions?”
Kimie had been my best friend all my childhood years. We’d been raised next door to each other and our families had been socially active all of our lives. We’d even gone on mutual family vacations more than once. “She’s been busy with planning this shindig, but we Facebook often, and keep in touch that way.”
“That’s lovely dear. I’ve not gotten into the hang of the Facebook.”
“It’s really not that complicated. It was great seeing you again, I’m so sorry, but daddy is beckoning me. I’ll talk to you later at the reception if we can find each other.”
“Okay darling. You do look just wonderful. Such a beautiful grown woman. Your parents must be so proud of you.”
I felt like saying;
if daddy ever has time to look up, he might notice me
. Instead I politely leaned in and gave my high school English teacher a quick hug and darted off. To where, I wasn’t sure, just away. I really did hate making chit chat. It really wasn’t my thing. I needed a drink and went in search of a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes filled with the golden bubbly.
I tried to avoid making eye contact with anyone, if I could, although I knew almost everyone here, so bumping into another chatty acquaintance was inevitable. I stalled as I made my way towards the lobby entrance. There appeared to be some sort of commotion, and the gathered crowd was parting. I stood on my tip toes and again wished I wasn’t so freakin short. At only five foot two, I ended up missing almost everything. I had some great views of well-dressed backs, but whatever was happening, I was missing all of it.
Surprisingly, a girl I didn’t know, who was taller, was standing near me. She mumbled, “Oh he has an entourage. Oh, no, its body guards. Wow. Six of them?”
“Who is he?” I asked as I slid closer to the jolly green giant.
She grinned down at me, “I have no idea, but I think he is a pharaoh or something like that. He’s so pretty.”
Pretty? For a man?
“We don’t have pharaohs anymore.” I corrected her.
She shrugged, “Oh yeah! Duh. I don’t know what they call a high born Arab man.”
She pointed at me and smiled, “Yeah! That! What you said! Although he was dressed in a suit, not a bunch of sheets.”
I kept my eye roll on the inside, and turned in search of that bubbly social lubricant. I heard loud welcomes and hellos from whomever was greeting the sheik not dressed in sheets. I wasn’t even curious anymore. I just wanted to get this day over with so I could get back to my studies. My goal was to read the past ten years of records of all the major cases held in my home city of Boston, Massachusetts. I was on a roll and had just reached the late nineteen hundreds.
There was a faint chiming of a bell indicating it was time to take our places. I turned to head back to the bride’s side, and on my way found a waiter. Thank God! Champagne in hand, I found my seat and settled down. I scanned the crowd and saw my dad talking to a tall, dark haired man wearing the most stunning navy blue suit. It fit him as if it were made for him, or as if it loved him so much it couldn’t keep its self from embracing him continually.
Dad shook his hand and then headed my way, effectively causing the other man to turn. After they said a few more words, the man, the god, who in the world was that guy? He looked directly at me, and his deep amber brown eyes felt like laser beams burning a hole through my rather plain hazel eyes. I was rendered motionless until my dad broke our line of sight.
“Hey sweetheart. You look fabulous. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Hi daddy. Yeah, I’m having a great time.” I lifted my champagne as indication I was fully involved in the party.
“Excellent darling. I’ll be right back.”
As per normal operating procedure, dad and I can’t seem to carry on a real conversation. A couple sentences and then he is dashing off to shake someone else’s hand. I give him a fake smile and he yells, “Bill! Hold up!” And then he is gone. Mom isn’t coming. She hates to travel and since this wedding is in New York, and not at home in Boston, she said no way. As far as I know, as she’s gotten older, she’s gotten worse about leaving our small old neighborhood and our brownstone. I’m not even sure my father cares, or notices.
I sigh and sip my bubbly. I scan the area and everyone is starting to sit. Mr. beautiful is staring at me. Again our eyes lock and it takes all I have, to tear mine away. I really shouldn’t look in that direction ever again. More champagne, need something stronger. The jolly green giant was right, he is pretty. Stunning maybe a better word, and I see why she said Pharaoh. He looks entirely royal and most definitely high born. Don’t know why, but it’s very evident in people from that part of the world. He’s probably not Egyptian though. Although, I’m not sure. All I know, he is beyond handsome, intriguing, mysterious, captivating. I want to look again. Do I dare?
More people are filing in so I dash a quick look and dammit, his eyes are still glued to me. Me? Why in the world would he be interested in a plain, rather frumpy, Harvard school girl? I might have a great mind, but I’m nothing to look at.
The ceremony finally begins and as Kimie is parading past, I catch his eye yet one more time. Man is he single minded, and kinda powerful. I’ve never been around a truly charismatic man like him, one that knows he is, and can back up that cockiness. My cheeks are burning now. This time, I totally missed Kim’s grand procession. I was too busy being consumed by the emperor, the king, the sheik.
“Hey sweetheart.” Dad’s back. Dad’s a big guy too, tall and broad and now if I want to see the beautiful dark skinned god, I’d have to lean. I refuse to be that curious about a man. I settle and make nicey, nicey with dad.
“You’re Highness. May I serve you?” Asked the tall, man servant to Sheikh Omar-Al Khalil.
Omar waved him out of the way and shook his head, indicating he wanted nothing. Nothing that was, apart from looking at the petite female sitting next to one of his business partners, Richard Potts. He wonders if she were Richard’s wife or girlfriend. He is beyond intrigued with the tiny female and cannot stop staring.
She is stunning! Such a simple female. It seems there is much boiling under the surface. I must find a way to meet her.
The ceremony is lovely and everyone claps. Omar has grown bored with the traditions of Caucasian marriage and rises to leave his seat. He waves down all of his guards and orders them, “Sit, stay. All of you. I wish to be alone.” They do as commanded.
He leaves the ceremony area and notices that the auburn haired beauty is no longer sitting next to Richard.
I wonder where she went. I shall search for her, I must know what she sounds like, smells like; tastes like.
Omar grins to himself at his thoughts. He loves having a conquest and this little female seems ideal. He’s not had a pale skinned girl in eons.
The second the ceremony is over, I jump up and flee. I must find a stronger drink, so I head towards the ball room and where I know the reception will be. On my way past, I grab another flute of champagne and walk as quickly as I can. I don’t know why I feel as if I am suffocating around all those people, but I am. They are all my friends, all people I would have said I liked. Maybe it’s the whole marriage thing? Maybe it’s that smothering permanency of marriage. Maybe it’s just the symbolism of it all?
Then of course, there is the dark skinned god that continued to bore holes through me with the intensity of his stare. I felt him as if he were touching me, even through the protective barrier of my dad. I need to get out of here as fast as possible. I wonder if they would notice if I left now.
“Oh crap! Oh shit! I am so sorry!” I just crashed into someone very tall, very well dressed –oh shit! Shoot me now. “Just kill me now. I’m so sorry –did I say that out loud. Shit! I mean. Oh god. Excuse me.”
“Ahhh, this is excellent. Now you owe me princess. You’ve ruined this very expensive suit.”
Why won’t my vocal chords work? How did I manage to bump into him? Of all the people at this gathering and I run into him? I am such an idiot. Fucking klutz
. “My father can pay for it. I am really sorry.”
“No-No, that is fine. I can have another made. I do enjoy this hue. I’d rather you repay me with a date?”
Oh my god!
There is no way this guy wants to date me. And why do my legs feel like cooked noodles? And why am I trembling, and what the fuck is wrong with me? “A date? Me? With me?”
There ya go Anna, that’s the way to articulate.
His chin nod indicates he’s come up with a plan, and the extended elbow seems an invitation. “Now, right this moment, you will be my date.” His tone indicated there was not even a millimeters space for argument or refusal.
Why do I sound as if someone is strangling me?
“Yes, right this second. You cannot tell me no.”
Wow, he is a cocky asshole. I wish my body didn’t feel quite this magnetized to him. Maybe if I walk with him now, that will be all the cure I need? Maybe he’s such an arrogant prick, I’ll turn off. I don’t like feeling this way. I think the term might be, puddle. I think I need to change my panties. “Um, I need a drink.”
“Ahhh, yes you do. Now that I am wearing your last one.” There is that elbow again.
Do I dare touch him? The god? Is that even permitted?
“Your name please?”