The Sheikh’s Sham Engagement: The Safar Sheikhs Series Book Three Read online

  “Speak for yourself,” Willow teased. “I had excellent scores, but this one…not so much.”

  “Can you blame me?” Nasser asked in a quieter voice. “I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

  Willow felt heat reach her cheeks. That comment had been pure. Nothing they’d said or done tonight had been for show, even though it felt like it should be somehow.

  If this engagement wasn’t because they both wanted to get married, then it seemed like the only logical conclusion was that they’d be performing.

  But that’s not how it was with them. Not at all. This was easier than anything she’d ever done before. And part of her wondered if it wasn’t because she and Nasser were just meant to be.

  Her stomach tightened at the thought, and she forced herself not to think about it. She pressed her hand to Nasser’s chest, batting her eyes up at him.

  “Well, now you have me to look at for the rest of your life.” Oops. So much for not thinking about the whole meant to be thing. The flutters in her belly increased. Nasser’s grin only widened.

  “That’s what we signed up for.”

  Ursi cooed as they kissed, and more people circulated over to offer congratulations and learn more about their story. It was just after midnight when she shared a glance with Nasser that told her he was thinking exactly what she was: time to get out of here.

  “Do you want to…?” Willow began.

  Nasser glanced around the party. “Let’s go.”

  The two of them hurried toward the palace hand in hand, Willow giggling as if they might be caught somehow. The party was really just starting to warm up—music had turned more traditional now that dinner was out of the way and drinks were pouring nonstop. Shouts and laughter echoed through the garden and down the halls of the palace as they raced toward Nasser’s bedroom. It wasn’t like anyone would care that they left—but still, it felt somehow illegal.

  They arrived at Nasser’s bedroom door in a fit of laughter. Willow leaned against the wall and fought to catch her breath as Nasser unlocked his door.

  “I don’t think anyone noticed us,” Nasser said, pushing the door open. He hooked her by the waist and led her inside, lips finding the sensitive part behind her ear. “Now I’ve got you all to myself.”

  They shared a heavy look before the kissing began. Fervent and sloppy and heated, they kissed like it was the first and last time all wrapped up in one. Willow gripped his cheeks, small noises escaping her as she needed more, more, more. She’d never felt so hungry for him. So positively starving.

  Nasser swept her up into his arms, and she shrieked, hanging onto his neck. He carried her toward the bed, a lopsided grin on his face.

  “Sorry, should have done this through the doorway, right?” He grunted as he tossed her onto the bed, and she bounced gently. “Or does that only happen on the wedding night? I’m not well versed in your traditions.”

  “No, it’s fine,” she said, giggles escaping her as he pushed the sparkly skirt of her dress up toward her hips. “Carrying me through the bedroom can be our version. Maybe carrying the fiancée over the threshold is bad luck here. Whatever, we make the rules.”

  “Yeah, we make the rules,” Nasser said, his voice muffled since his head had disappeared beneath the bunched fabric of her dress. A moment later he tugged her panties down, and then the soft heat of his tongue found her. He moaned from between her legs a moment later, and she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at how perfect this night was.

  Instead, she tossed her head back and fisted the comforter of Nasser’s bed, determined to enjoy every last second of this. Whatever this was—the strange lull between reality and future, the delicate deception they had everyone fooled with, including themselves. Even now, in the throes of pleasure, Willow’s rational mind reminded her that she and Nasser had unexorcised demons.

  But to hell with it. Nasser’s tongue pushed inside her, and a strange grunt escaped her. For one night, she just wanted to go with it. Get lost in the fantasy.

  Enjoy this time as a fiancée and bride-to-be without thinking about the future.

  Nasser slurped and poked at her clit with his tongue until her whole body went rigid. Her orgasm threaded through her in jerky waves. When his head appeared from beneath the hem of her dress a moment later, his mouth shiny, he declared, “That’s another wedding tradition.”

  Her chest heaved, and she couldn’t say anything.

  “Pre-wedding orgasm.”

  “Oh.” She propped herself up on her elbows, still struggling to catch her breath. “Yeah. I agree. Let’s put it in the contract.”

  Her dress swished as he bunched it up at her waist. Then he reached for his nightstand. He rummaged in the drawer for a moment then pulled out a condom. Nasser tore off his formal mahogany-colored kaftan, followed by his pants and briefs.

  Willow’s mouth parted as she watched him roll the condom onto his stiff cock. The man had always been physically fit and well-trained—she’d often found him boxing with Amad and Fatim in the palace gym—but now he looked somehow even more drool-worthy. The slight patina of time, the ways he’d aged in their two years apart. Bulkier biceps, thicker forearms, and well-defined abs that hadn’t quite popped as much when they were together.

  And that didn’t even cover his confidence. Nasser seemed like he had direction in life now, which was the sexiest part of his older, more mature self. This, right here—this had been the man she’d been dying to spend forever with before their breakup.

  Her thoughts dissolved as Nasser eased himself between her legs, gripping her by the hips as he pushed the tip of his cock inside her. She moaned, digging her fingernails into his forearms as he sank down painfully slowly.

  “This is another tradition,” he murmured, stilling himself before his cock was even halfway buried.

  She grunted, arching herself toward him, desperate to get even another inch of him. “What?”

  “Ceremonial dress sex,” he said, and then thrust himself down, down, down. She squeaked at the sudden pleasure, locking her ankles around his back so that he couldn’t go anywhere. Nasser rocked against her, starting a jerking, desperate rhythm. One that brought her right back up to the precipice in no time. She clung to him, a strangled cry escaping her as she bucked and rocked with him.

  Her entire body was tense and expectant as he drilled into her. A few wisps of his hair had escaped his expert style, curling over his forehead while his dark eyes locked on her. Heat surged through her—the heat of his attention, the heat of their movement. The heat of knowing that right now, she was the only thing that mattered to him.

  Just as she had been before.

  Her orgasm crested and spilled over the edge, and she unraveled for a second time, crying out and scraping at his chest as she came over and over again. Nasser stilled, buried to the hilt, and then he crumpled on top of her in a satisfied heap. They lay breathing heavily in unison for a long time before Nasser propped himself up on his elbows to look her in the eye.

  He didn’t say anything, simply brushed his lips against hers in a sweet kiss that perfectly concluded what they’d just shared.

  He rolled over and then pulled her into his arms. Willow curled up into his chest, relishing the heat and tang of sweat she found there, unsurprised to find that after a while, it wasn’t just happiness coursing through her.

  Tears had joined the mix as well.

  9

  The next morning, Willow awoke to the scent of coffee and Nasser’s smiling face. Perched on the side of the bed, he rubbed her back while she slowly came to consciousness.

  “Mrrghhh,” Willow said, rubbing at her eyes.

  “Good morning to you too. Not to wake you early or anything, but you need to wake up early today.”

  She laughed groggily. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I know. I forgot to tell you last night that you have a meeting today.”

  “I have a meeting?” she asked.

  “Now that you’re officially e
ngaged to a sheikh, you have access to the Women’s Tribal Council. And they have a meeting this morning.” Nasser checked his phone. “In one hour. And today’s topic is education, so I knew you’d want to be there.”

  She grunted, pushing to sitting. She blinked at him for a few moments before replying. “Do they know I’m coming?”

  “I told Vanessa and Calla you’d be there.” He jerked his head toward the steaming plates of breakfast at the small round table by the window overlooking the garden where they’d had their party last night.

  “Why do they meet on Saturday mornings?”

  He shrugged. “Tribal reasons.”

  She sighed, rubbing her face. “Okay. That’s fine. I don’t have a hangover. I’m not in a sex coma. I can do this.” She stood, and her legs went out from under her. Nasser bolted up to steady her.

  “Easy there, princess.”

  “See? I told you I was fine.”

  “You are fine,” he said, that sultry edge to his voice telling her he meant it in a different way. He helped her to the overstuffed arm chair, where she collapsed and received his proffered cup of coffee. She sipped at it until clarity started creeping across her mind.

  “So I can join the tribal council now, huh?” she said.

  “Pretty high honor,” Nasser said, cutting into a thick omelet. “Honestly, you’ll probably just be a fly on the wall at this one. I don’t imagine they’ll pester you too much.”

  I don’t imagine they’ll pester you too much.

  Nasser’s words reverberated through her head two hours later when the extremely formal and extremely serious Women’s Tribal Council attention turned toward Willow. He’d been right that she’d existed as a fly on the wall. For the start of the meeting. But once the agenda turned to the future of Amatbahn education and a very special project taking place on the outskirts of Al Ghuman, Willow knew that they’d called her number.

  “We do have our special educational representative here with us today,” Calla said, one of the few women who frequently showered the room with smiles. Willow had quickly caught on to the rhythm of the meeting. Lots of passionate women with conflicting opinions talking about very important issues. If Willow’s turn in the spotlight went the same as any of the other women preceding her, then she didn’t have to worry about being pestered.

  Instead, she’d be slaughtered.

  “We need to see an increase in overall literacy,” one woman proclaimed, slamming her fist on the table.

  “Al Ghuman has been waiting for an international school,” someone else cried out.

  “When does enrollment begin?” The lady at her side asked in a quiet voice, touching Willow’s wrist. “I want to be first on the list.”

  “Ladies, let’s hear what Willow has to say,” Calla called out.

  “I’m interested in the curriculum,” someone declared.

  Everyone’s thoughts and opinions bore down on Willow. She felt like a deer in headlights. Still, she had to perform. She needed to give the women what they were looking for.

  “The international school,” Willow began softly, which caused a few women to demand that she speak louder. “The international school is going to be a prestigious center of learning.”

  “Well, I’d hope so.” Other comments rippled across the table, and Willow’s pulse quickened.

  “There will be a robust—” she paused, searching for the word that escaped her. All she could think of was hangover—“scholarship package available to needy children.” She paused, trying to sidestep the thoughts that told her this was a train wreck already. She wasn’t prepared to give a speech, or even a well-thought-out elevator pitch. Not after her engagement party. Not with this hangover. Not with her pelvis this sore after so much sex.

  And right now, she outright hated Nasser for springing this on her in a state like this.

  “But what will set apart your curriculum?” Vanessa asked.

  Willow swallowed. “We’ll allow for individualized educational plans, which is still not the norm in Amatbah.”

  “But what if my child is advanced?” a lady asked.

  “Furthermore, we’ll—” she paused, wondering how deep into the rabbit hole she should go. Wondering if she could even go as deep as the topic demanded, with her mental state like it was. “We’ll be able to tailor things, absolutely. If you’re looking for a certain type of educational experience for your child, we can provide that. It won’t be an issue. You’ll just need to confer with an educational counselor prior to your child beginning classes.”

  A flurry of discussion erupted then, and Willow was only able to catch some of the feedback.

  “We just want what’s best for our kids,” a lady named Zamara said a few seats down from her. “Isn’t that what we hired you for?”

  The we she referred to was, of course, Amatbah. And the crushing implications of her poor performance suddenly bore down on her.

  “I don’t want to misrepresent what we’re doing—” she began.

  “Ladies, we need to move on.” Calla checked her phone and then the agenda in front of her. Some of the conversation died down, and the meeting moved along to the next point of interest. Willow basically had whiplash and kept her mouth shut until the meeting was over.

  Calla found her while the women were dispersing. She looked apologetic as she wound her way toward Willow’s chair.

  “Did I put you on the spot?”

  Willow laughed, but not because what she’d said was funny. “Yeah, a little.”

  “I didn’t mean to. And maybe this meeting was too last minute.” She nibbled on her lip, drumming her fingers against the table as the room cleared out. Vanessa lingered near the door, clutching folders to her chest as she conferred with someone. “But here’s the thing. You weren’t being drilled or anything. These women are serious. This tribe is serious. I wanted you to get a taste of what you’re coming into.”

  “Yeah, well…I think I can say I got my taste.” She rubbed at her forehead. The weak hangover headache she’d woken up with had now upgraded to a Level Ten Throbber. She needed aspirin and shitty television, stat.

  “Don’t be discouraged.” Calla squeezed her wrist. “Just be prepared for the next meeting. Come back with concrete options of what you think is best and why. The women won’t have a hard time choosing then.”

  Willow nodded. Calla wasn’t being mean, but even so, failure pulsed inside her.

  If this was what tribal life was going to be like, maybe she’d made a mistake.

  Was it too late to turn back now?

  10

  Willow didn’t have much time to question things around her. The wedding train was a well-oiled machine, and it seemed like the forward motion was exquisitely controlled by forces beyond her.

  But when Calla called Willow to her design studio the next day for an impromptu wedding dress fitting, Willow was starting to realize that Calla was the true hopeless romantic at the wheel here.

  “I think it’s time we start thinking about your dress,” Calla said, pulling pins out of her mouth as she rushed around her studio between bolts of fabric. “I’ve been studying you, you know? And I think I know exactly the dress. But I need your input, of course.”

  Willow could only gape. Calla was so involved in every aspect of the tribe. It was a little overwhelming to think that she might need to live up to this status. Willow couldn’t bring a whole new business to the tribe. She couldn’t dress newcomers in personalized high fashion. She couldn’t be like Calla.

  “You are so lovely,” Willow began, “But I just don’t know if I’m cut out for one of your dresses.”

  Calla stopped, brows drawing together. “I don’t understand. You wore my dress last weekend.”

  “One of your original designs,” Willow clarified. “Not a custom piece. The dress I wore for the engagement party was amazing, don’t get me wrong. But I’m so simple. I mean, my wardrobe consists basically of three different tunic dresses and two cardigans. I’m a boring schoo
lteacher at heart.”

  Calla snorted, swatting away her words. “Every woman is cut out for her own originally designed wedding dress. Trust me. You deserve this.”

  Willow swallowed a knot in her throat, looking down at the ground. “But you and I both know this wedding isn’t real.”

  Calla tutted, breezing over to Willow. She lifted her chin with an index finger, forcing Willow to meet her serious gaze.

  “This wedding will be the realest thing I’ve ever witnessed,” she said in a low but stern voice. “My husband and I didn’t have even half the appreciation for each other on the day we were married that I see in you and Nasser. Talk to Vanessa and Amad. You’ll hear the same thing.”

  Willow frowned. “But you know what I mean.”

  Calla offered a breezy smile. “When I look at you and Nasser, I see two people who are terribly in love but can’t even say it.”

  Her words thudded through the tents, and Willow was left speechless. Calla had a point. It was just too hard to admit it.

  “Which is why you deserve your own handcrafted wedding dress,” Calla said. “I’m kind of a pro at designing wedding dresses by now. This will be fun for me. Let’s get your measurements. I mean, honestly, if you don’t like it or even want it, I won’t be offended. I just like the process of designing a new wedding dress.” Calla invited Willow up onto a pedestal framed by spotlights. Calla hummed as she measured Willow’s bust, waist, and hips.

  “Talk about hourglass,” Calla murmured as she scribbled some notes on a pad of paper. “I’ve got some ideas. I’m thinking something kind of like the engagement dress we put you in, but much grander. Scoop neck, form-fitting, with a train that sparkles for a mile behind you.”

  Willow bit at her bottom lip. “Isn’t that a little extrava—“

  Calla raised a hand. “We’re in Luxury World here, honey. And I am going all out.” She sauntered closer to Willow and in a conspiratorial whisper added, “Besides, I promised Nasser I would. His request.”