Valentine Vegas Gigolo Sheikh (5 page)

"Stop thinking," he ordered. "Just feel, Stacia. Feel how good it is to touch and be touched. You know what your body wants, Stacia. Simply listen to it."

When he flipped her onto her front, he stripped her of all her control. Every atom in her body began screaming to fight back, to get back in charge, to dominate the situation. She fought the feeling. Instead, she concentrated on her most wicked sensations. A thrum of pure pleasure. And the appreciative hands caressing her bottom.

"You do have the most magnificent ass," Zaq said, as he removed the rest of his clothing.

He pulled her to her hands and knees. Balancing on one hand became too difficult, so she lowered her face to a convenient pillow. He parted her knees. Cool air hit her sex and she tried not to think about the view her gigolo must be enjoying as he slipped on the condom, damn him.

She gulped as he filled her. Really filled her. He must be— he was—
Huge
.

And with him behind her—he hit a special spot inside her. The one that her other men had given up hunting for.

When he started to move, he dragged against it, massaging the place and creating mind-blowing sensations from the inside out. She closed her eyes to the outside world. In a moment, there was nothing but him to her. Zaq touching her breasts from behind. Zaq's moans of pleasure reaching her ears. Zaq's body looming over her. She forgot everything.

Then he drove himself inside her with force that made her cry out in shock. If it was meant to punish her, it failed. It just made her ravenous for more.

Zaq demanded more of her than any man ever had. Her other lovers had mostly wanted her to be on top, and she'd been happy to oblige. She preferred it, too. Colin had never been on top. His broken arm wouldn't let him.

But Zaq just took what he wanted. Embarrassing as it was to be on her knees in front of him, it also made her feel amazing. With her own touch and his rhythmic plunging, a sensation grew inside her. With each thrust, it built and swelled, as if she were climbing a ladder, and each step took her closer to her goal, and to triumph.

Then, another hand joined hers on her sex. Zaq's, reaching around her hips and touching her intimately.

"More," she demanded.

"As you wish."

He gave it to her, and she went over the edge. Her womb clenched and pulsed, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her.

He grasped her hips, holding her to him. She couldn't resist, and didn't try. She somehow found the strength to meet him, thrust for thrust. Each time he buried himself even deeper inside her. What he demanded, she gave.

With a guttural groan, he found his own release. She clenched him with sore muscles, squeezing the last drops out of him before they collapsed together.

Chapter four

Zaq studied the maid of honor's face as the last bridesmaid turned to take her place in the line on the bride's side of the room. He had been anticipating her reaction since he'd left her slumbering in her bed last night, with the most intense pleasure of his life. Well, perhaps not the most intense pleasure. Perhaps he had experienced that last night as he grasped her hips and she pulsed around him. And then after, in her grateful arms.

This ceremony was a far cry from the official diplomatic events he was used to. Only a hundred and fifty guests attended. The decorations were sparse and low-budget when set against the elegant, expensive affairs he usually attended. Though the last wedding he had been to was the union of the second prince of the republic of Ulai to a diplomat's daughter about to take up the post of ambassador to Canada. Yet the couple had acted as if they were the only two people in the massive, gold-encrusted room.

In a way, this ceremony reminded him of that one. Even though it was a certainly a public display, it also felt intimate. Small private tributes to the bride and groom stood out everywhere. Touches of plaid to represent the groom's Scottish heritage. Garlands of golden chrysanthemums to honor the Indian bride. If he wasn't mistaken, the incidental music had been Eastern-themed versions of modern rock tunes. The bride and groom's shared joke, no doubt.

The colorful saris made the bride's family easily distinguishable from the groom's. But the same expression of joy occupied everyone's face, no matter their affiliation. In his world, attending weddings was a social obligation. Here, it was a source of excitement.

He was also filled with anticipation, but not to see the bride. He had been unable to sleep and had spent the remainder of the night, after he'd left Stacia Keating, imagining how she would react. With stunned horror. Then realization. Then rage, hidden behind a congenial mask. When she discovered who he was—that was when the fun would end.

Other women who came to his bed all acted in the same servile manner, but not this one. They came to the prince of Ittar, not Zaqwan el Behar. Stacia had not even done that. Stacia had bought him like he was some kind of servant. In return, he had put her in the most vulnerable position he could imagine and concentrated on her pleasure. The give-and-take of it had been the most exhilarating experience he had had in years.

She would certainly not repeat the performance once she understood that he was her social superior. She might start to treat him as others did, expecting him to solve her work problems by becoming his mistress, or by asking him to speak to her manager. If only he had some way of keeping her from discovering who he was... But that was not possible.

He would return the money she had paid for him. It was only right, since he had no need of it. He had already prepared the envelope, in fact. For now, he anticipated the expression on her face with pleasure. He only hoped they had an excellent argument before anyone told her who he was. Verbal sparring like he'd had with her was a new experience for him, and he found he enjoyed it.

The second-to-last bridesmaid took her place before the altar, leaving nothing between him and Stacia as she walked down the aisle before the bride. Everyone else looked behind her, toward the chapel door, waiting for the bride to make the entrance of her life. But he was laser-focused on the woman he had last seen naked and content, well-tumbled and satisfied.

She marched at the steady pace of Pachelbel's Canon. She did not wear her charming eye glasses, and far too much make-up coated her face. He much preferred her with her hair curly from the shower, instead of in this ruler-straight style. The brown satin dress with the golden yellow sash did suit her, though he preferred her naked.

Her eyes rested on her ex-boyfriend, the second groomsman, standing behind Zaq, but the smile on her face betrayed nothing of her feelings toward him at this moment. Then her gaze moved toward himself. After all his anticipation, he saw—

Nothing. Her smile did not change, did not flicker, not even for a fraction of a second. He could have been a stranger. Had she not recognized him?

The bridal music began and the attendees rose to salute the bride. But Zaq could not take his attention from Stacia, standing in her place to his right. He openly stared at her, willing her to turn to him, to face him and give him some reaction. Any reaction would show him that she knew who he was and what they'd shared. However, she remained steadfast in facing the bride, not even her eyes responding to his non-verbal commands.

This was unacceptable. There had been something between them last night. Blood began to thunder against his eardrums. She would notice him, he promised himself. She would acknowledge him. He would not permit—

That's when he noticed the slight tinge of color high on her painted cheekbones. She had noticed him, he realized. She had known exactly who he was from the second the other bridesmaid had turned aside. But she was so in control of herself that she would never allow any display of emotion in public. Not to mention that she had already been prepared to encounter her ex-boyfriend.

Once more, she'd surprised him. No one surprised him anymore. Not after so many years of dealing with people who wanted things from him, or required his help to solve their problems. Who saw him only as the heir to a kingdom, to be flattered, placated, and catered to. Who saw him as the means to an end, not as a man.

As the couple began to say their vows, the bride luminous, the groom exuding nervous satisfaction, Zaq decided that perhaps it would not be so easy for the luscious Stacia to get her $500 back.

Not easy at all.

Chapter five

Stacia's stomach coiled in serpentine rage as the recessional organ music played, filling the hotel's chapel with the triumphant spirit that always followed a wedding ceremony. Everyone else's tension had been replaced by excited relief. But every nerve in her body jangled, between Colin standing next at the front of the room, Super Bitch watching from the sidelines, and last night's one-night-stand turning out to be not a male escort at all, but the best man.

He had definitely been the best man last night between her sheets. That asshole.

She took his arm to follow the bride and groom out, grateful everyone's attention now fell on the happy couple.

"I do not believe we've been properly introduced," he had the nerve to say.

She had zero problem placing his accent now. Not just Middle East, but Middle East schooled with the best British education money could buy.

"We have been very improperly introduced," she said, all smiles for the flashing cameras.

He had the nerve to smile as if something amused him. If this had happened on a sitcom, she might have agreed that it was hilarious, but she wouldn't have believed it could actually happen in real life.

"We must talk," he informed her.

"I totally disagree," she said. "Nothing to talk about."

But before she knew it, he was steering her into a private room off the church foyer. She couldn't fight the firm pressure on the small of her back without making a scene in front of everyone who was following them down the aisle.

The man might be used to getting his own way, she decided, but now he was up against her. He was going to have to take a lesson.

Speaking of lessons, they were clearly in a Sunday school room. Oh lord. Great, just what she needed; to be alone with the guy who'd been between her legs last night while surrounded by crayon drawings of Bible stories. It made a girl wish that Jonah's whale would swallow her up right there.

"Do you not wish to say something to me?"

She crossed her arms over the bodice of her chocolate brown satin dress. Not bad for a bridesmaid's dress, actually. Brides always thought you could wear the dress again. You never could, though. "Do you have your speech for the reception ready?"

His full mouth flattened for a moment, then relaxed. "You do not wish to discuss last night?"

Loudly and at length...
She shook her head. She'd freaked out at bit when she'd realized who he was and what he'd done. But what was the point of talking about it now? They were never going to see each other again. And the odds of getting an apology out of the guy? He was more likely to throw the fact he'd given her very first orgasm ever back in her face. "Nope. Just forget it."

"You are a very surprising woman."

A woman who was in danger of getting a headache. She put one set of fingernails, newly manicured in 'Makes Men Blush,' to her temple. "I'm losing faith in the British public school system," she said casually. "Because if a guy can go through it and not even learn how to use contractions, it can't be as good as its reputation. Unless maybe they go easy on royalty."

The quotation mark divots appeared between his eyebrows, betraying his confusion. "You know who I am."

Casual, she remind herself. Nonchalant. It was so hard to stay cool with him openly staring, reassessing every inch of her. She felt his gaze as viscerally as his touch only hours ago.

"It wasn't even difficult." She moved over to pretend to examine a poster of Noah's Ark on the wall. As if she could see anything with his exotic scent filling her senses. "When Prita told me that the best man finally arrived and that his name was Zaqwan, and that he turned out to be a prince..." She shrugged dramatically, hoping that he would buy her act. "Then the groom asked me if we'd talked last night, since he'd sent you to my room. You don't have to be Mensa to figure that one out."

"Ah," he said.

"You know, I do have a great ass. Too bad it's not the biggest one in the room." She glanced over her shoulder pointedly.

"Regarding last night—"

"No. No. No," she said. A sudden dose of anger shoved all embarrassment out of her. She launched herself across the room, finger pointed straight in his face. Damn, he was a tall guy. Not many men were taller that her. It gave her an odd, off-kilter sensation.

"You listen to me. This is my friend's wedding day. The best man didn't bother showing up until the ceremony and then he turned out to be royalty who expects everyone to cater to his every whim. The bride is probably worried about me being in the same room as my ex. The company bitch showed up. There is already too much crap going on. So you and I—" Here she waggled her still pointing finger between the two of them. "—are not doing this. We are not going to take their special day and add more drama and make it about us. So here's what's going to happen. We're going out there and we're going to smile pretty for the photos. You are not going to touch my ass or make double-entendres or do anything,
anything
, that pulls focus from Prita and Rick. I am going to play nice with Super Bitch and pretend you didn't seduce me under false pretenses and shirk your best man responsibilities. You might think it's funny to play some trick on me or whatever, but there is a very real possibility that something will happen to ruin my best friend's wedding day. Before I let that happen, there will be an assassination, do you understand?"

He hesitated a moment, as if he'd never considered that maybe he wasn't the most important person here. Then again, he was likely used to being exactly that. "Excellent point," he conceded. "We'll talk after this is over."