With control she didn't know she had, she didn't glance over her shoulder at him. It had been the most excruciating weekend of her life, full of dread, pleasure, and emotional upheaval. She'd remember it with... Well, did that combination of feelings even have a name?
At least it would be over soon. All she had to do now was go to the sheikh's room and collect her five hundred bucks.
Chapter eight
Stacia knocked at the sheikh's penthouse suite door again. Really, he'd been expecting her, so why make her wait this long?
If she was lucky, he'd just slide the envelope under the door. Oh, face it. There was no way she was that lucky.
She was right. As she lifted her fist to knock one more time, the door swung open. Zaqwan stood there, in all his glory. Clean, wet, and with a fluffy white hotel towel wrapped around his hips.
Her stomach clenched as she flashed back to last night. Total passion. Total loss of her inhibitions. His hands creating sensations she'd never felt before. A night she'd remember forever.
Then it came to her. Reminding her of last night really was the point, wasn't it? Only this time, instead of her coming out of the shower in a robe and him knocking on her hotel room door, their roles were reversed. Was that supposed to make her the whore?
Guess again, sheikh boy
, she shot at him mentally.
Still. He was wet and clean, and he had the best abs of any man she'd ever been with—not that she was
with
him.
He'd given her the only orgasm of her life. If he hadn't been such a dick about the whole thing, she would have already thrown herself into his arms. His naked arms with soft skin stretched over his significant muscles on one side, and dark hair on the other. Arms that had been around her last night.
"Please," he said. "Come in."
Casual and relaxed, with no signs of 'trying' anything. Well, that was good. It made things easy. In and out. She'd be in bed in half an hour.
Alone.
If she couldn't sleep, she could even try out some of the techniques he'd taught her last night. Maybe even accompanied by a mental snapshot of His Hotness in his towel...
She stepped inside, arming herself with irritation and bluster. If she trusted him to hand over her money in the hall, she wouldn't have gone in. But trusting a guy who'd lied to her so thoroughly was the dumbest plan ever. What made it even harder to stomach was that she actually
liked
him. He wasn't just hot, but observant, thoughtful, and a creative problem-solver. Every time she remembered how he'd sedated her ex and her boss, she giggled. A neat solution to a difficult problem.
"My money," she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, once he'd closed the door.
"You are not wearing your glasses," he informed her. "I had hoped you would take your contacts out before you came to me."
Right. He thought she looked better in glasses. And he thought she cared what he thought. She stopped herself from grinding her teeth. "I apologize for the severe disappointment. Money. Now."
"Are you in a hurry? Where I come from, we always do business over tea. But in this case, I thought you might be more interested in a more expensive option..." He indicated the mini-bar.
Oooooh, he was good. How could she turn up a chance to run up his hotel bill the way he'd done to her? And, she had to admit, she was enjoying the scenery. Except for him being half-naked, he wasn't being threatening, though that might be part of his trap.
Damn, but trying to out-think the man was exhausting, especially after the tension of today. She gave up. If he wanted something, she'd say no.
"Fine." She strode over to the fridge and glanced at the price list.
With a slight smile, he handed her the twenty-three dollar Macadamia nuts and the fifty-six dollar half-bottle of champagne, the most expensive items on the list. "You should enjoy yourself before your unemployment."
She didn't care that she would have to eat and drink the contents of a thousand Vegas mini bars before it affected a Middle Eastern prince's finances. Still felt good to take a piece out of him, however small. She plopped herself on his couch and toed off her pinching shoes, as she cracked open the nuts. She tossed one in the air and caught it in her mouth on the way down. Actually, she thought Macadamia nuts were overrated and preferred peanuts.
"Well," she declared, tossing the full can into the trash. "I'm stuffed."
Calmly, as if her sole purpose in life was to entertain him, he walked to the couch and removed the champagne from her hands. With one smooth twist, he removed the cork and offered it back to her. "I take it you do not require a glass."
His, ahem, towel, was right at her eye level. And he placed the bottle strategically in front of himself. Her entire body turned hot, from her toes to the tips of her ears. Last night he'd given her something no other man ever had, and she didn't seem to be able to forget it.
She grabbed the neck of the bottle from his hand and upended it into her mouth.
Unconcerned, maybe even a bit amused, he fixed himself a rum and Coke.
"Of all the things you could drink, that's what you get?" she asked. "I would have pegged you for a 40-year-old scotch guy."
"I rarely drink at all. But when I come to America, I drink rye and ginger ale. It reminds me of my university days." He shrugged and dropped an ice cube into the tumbler. "My girlfriend at the time was an Australian. She drank rye and ginger, though her father owned half of Brisbane. Where she acquired the habit, I do not know. You had neither in your bar, so I substituted. I find myself enjoying this drink as well."
"Where is she now?"
"After her modeling career ended, I assisted her in getting a position as a securities trader. I tutored her in Mathematics 204. Now the ASX is... What is the phrase? Her bitch."
"I suppose that's the Australian stock exchange." She didn't let him confirm or deny. "And you helped your father with his cash flow problem. You took what little oil money your island produced and turned the place into a haven for the idle rich. Expensive entertainment. Posh hotels. Generating badly needed income. From what I understand."
His reaction was instant, and rewarding. He shot her a suspicious look. "Who told you about that?"
She shrugged, hiding her satisfaction that she'd managed to put him off-guard for once. "Internet."
"The internet is down at this hotel."
"But the café across the street has great access." She swigged some more champagne. "Before you get cocky, yes, I did check you out on the web. Kind of a
know-your-enemy
thing."
"Of course it would be for no other reason. I would expect nothing less for you." His dark silk voice made the compliment shiver-worthy. "But I am not your enemy. At least I don't care to be. I thought we made an excellent team today, in fact."
She had to admit, he'd been great today. She'd seen him quietly deal with the caterer's failure to bring the right number of plates for the dinner service by greasing the hotel manager's palm with an outrageous amount of cash. With a nod of his head toward the bartender, who she could only guess was an employee of his, several guests who were close to drunk had been given different drinks than they'd requested.
The shy 12-year-old flower girl had been mostly sitting in a corner by herself until he'd asked her to the dance floor. Then she'd been the happiest kid on the planet, a huge smile on her freckled face.
"Thank you for dancing with Kaelyn." For the rest of her life, she'd remember that a prince picked her out of the crowd.
"I thought she might be the only female in the room I might dance with without rousing your ire."
"Why would you care about that?" she asked. "We're never going to see each other again. Besides, you don't rouse my ire or anything else."
"Too bad. You are quite beautiful when angry."
She opened her mouth to blast him for his response.
"Your prohibition against flirting was only for the duration of the wedding. Which is now over," he reminded her.
"Lots of things are over. I'll take my money back now," she told him, irritation turning her neck hot.
"Certainly," he agreed.
Okay, she thought. That was easy. Maybe he's going to be reasonable.
He rose from his chair and moved toward the bed. Did the man keep his money under his mattress or something?
When he lay down on the bed, on his back and staring at her with expectant, lust-filled eyes her senses went on full alert. Damn, stretched out, muscled chest flexed, white towel dangerously loose, he was sex incarnate. So different than the guys she'd dated before. Unpredictable and unsafe.
"
Sokar
," he said. "Do you want the money or not?"
Something was going on here that she didn't quite understand. "You said you'd give it to me."
"I don't believe I did." He crooked one arm behind his head with casual grace. He must have known how it would flex his bicep muscle. He raised the other hand to her in invitation. "I expect you to earn it back, the way I did last night."
She stood up from the couch, the better to stare him down. What the hell was he talking about? Earn her own money? This was... He couldn’t mean...
"Tonight," he began, "while you were dancing for me—"
"That was for the bride. My best friend," she said quickly. "She loves Bollywood. I rehearsed that for weeks before I met you."
"So you say, but I saw you watching me. Your movements were designed to provoke me." He didn't say it with triumph, just confidence. The confidence of knowing he was right.
She fought a blush. It was true. Though she had actually wanted to make him regret what he would be missing tonight. It might have worked too well.
"I realized that I made a tactical error last night," he continued. "I was fixated on solving your problem. But that was a mistake. I should have brought you to completion myself. At the time I had no idea how much I would desire you in my bed again."
"You wish you'd given me a fish instead of teaching me to fish? Sucks to be you." She crossed her arms over her chest, making her lace bra rubbed against her nipples. It was unfair that he could make her body so sensitive with just a few words. No man had ever talked to her this way, plainly told her how much he wanted her. "I'm not sleeping with you for money. I'm no whore. Not like you, I guess."
He didn't go for her verbal bait. "Then I will keep your five hundred. I imagine you will miss it when you are unemployed."
"But that's—" What was it? She didn't have the words, or maybe she had too many words.
Insane
didn't cover it and
unfair
didn't matter. He had her money, so she had no choice. She could get into a yelling match with him, but if he didn't want to give it back, he didn't have to.
Mixed in with everything else were other feelings she didn't want to acknowledge, but forced herself to face. Not only did he turn her on more than any guy she'd ever known, he was kind and thoughtful in his twisted way. He'd lied to her and turned her weekend upside down, but it had been amazing. If she left aside the money and the lying, he'd brought only good things into their time together. He'd opened her up, made her laugh, and made her feel more pleasure than she had in a long time.
She could have that again, right now. Plus her money back. Five hundred would cover her expenses for weeks, if she was careful. It was just the humiliation of being held hostage that bugged her. She'd probably forget her pride when she was back in Chicago. Unemployed.
Last night, he'd turned the tables on her—she'd hired him, but he'd ended up in control. How... appealing. He'd end up being the one humiliated, and she'd end up with her money.
She turned on the sultry, trailing a finger down her neck toward her breasts, showing him what the path he could take later if he played his cards right. In a voice that dripped sex, she said, "I give up. I can't resist you, and I don't want to. Let me repay you for what you did for me last night. Tonight, I'm yours."
Knowing what a great picture she presented, she turned her back to him and reached for the tab of her zipper. She pulled it down slowly, revealing the flesh of her back crossed by the lace of her bra, a scarlet red that outshone the brown bridesmaid dress by a mile.
When she reached the top of her butt, she heard an appreciative masculine exhale, and she knew spending the extra few dollars on the garter set instead of just going for plain old pantyhose had been worth it.
With her eyelids lowered, she looked over her shoulder, mimicking a strip tease queen, and shimmied the dress down over lace-decorated hips and butt cheeks left naked by her thong. The lust in Zaqwan's eyes was all the encouragement she needed to drop the garment on the floor and step out of it.
"Come here," he ordered.
That's what she'd been planning on, but she had to stop herself from demanding he come to her instead. As dutifully as she could, she crawled onto the bed on all fours—hopefully reminding him of their encounter last night—starting at his naked feet and working her way up.
When she got to his crotch, she stopped and put a hand to the bulge in his towel.
"I remember this," she said. "I couldn't stop thinking about it all day."
Making her first quick move, she opened the towel and freed his cock before he could protest. Though why he resisted, she didn't know. None of the men she'd slept with had ever resisted this.
He was fully, and impressively, erect. She wasn't a connoisseur of male cocks, but she'd never seen one she liked better. She could just get one hand around its thickness, while she reached beneath to cup his ball sac. Both were hot under the touch of her cool fingers.
"Get up here," he said, his voice cracking. "You don't have to—"
"You've forgotten your formal speech patterns," she pointed out. "I wonder what you'll forget if I do this."
She moistened her tongue and licked the sensitive spot on his penis, just where the head met the shaft. Fresh from the shower, he tasted earthy, with a tinge of soap. He groaned, a sound not of pain, but of tormented pleasure.