His lips twisted as he looked down at their entwined nakedness. “I think he was so right.”
“He was wrong then. That’s what counts. You never led me on, never hurt me. I owe most of what I am today to your friendship. I think I’m not as messed up as he feared I’d be.”
“You’re perfection itself, inside and out.”
“See? He was absolutely wrong. Ooh!” She punched a pillow. “And the rat even told me you said you stopped talking to us because we were ‘the help.’”
“What?” he shouted. “All right, now I am angry at him.”
“Makes two of us. Just wait until I get ahold of him. I’m going to have his overprotective hide!”
“I hope you didn’t believe him!”
She slid a leg between his, stroked his face, laying everything inside her wide-open for him to read, to drink deeply of. “Does it look like I did?”
“No, alhamdulel’lah, thank God.” He stroked her back in wonder. “You’re all I want. It’s all I want, to be with you.”
A grimace wiped away her loving expression. “Wanting it and being able to do it are polar opposites here.”
He threaded his fingers through her hair, cupped her head through its thickness, took her lips in a fierce kiss. “Things might be complicated now, but I will resolve everything—”
“Please, don’t. Don’t promise me anything. I don’t want you burdening yourself with what you can’t accomplish, or with the guilt when you fail to. I will take what I can have with you, and I’ll always be happy that I did. That I love you. That you love me.”
Before he could protest, she dragged him to her, drowned him in delirious passion, taking the reins this time.
In the aftermath of pleasure, she slept in his arms. He remained awake, watching her.
And he knew he couldn’t tell her. About the jewels, or about his plan. He couldn’t bring the ugliness of the outside world into their happiness now. He wouldn’t sully hers if at all possible.
It was up to him to make it so.
For the next two weeks, Johara spent a few hours every morning helping her father pack, resolve any standing issues and train his replacements before she slipped away to Shaheen’s villa to throw herself in his arms.
He told her again and again not to worry, that he was working on securing a way for them to be together.
She believed he’d fail. That her time with him was counting down. Again. On a slower scale than that night she’d thought would be all she’d have of him, but counting down still. And when their time ran out, it would break them both.
But she couldn’t think of that now. She was bound on filling every second they had left with wonder and happiness and pleasure. Maybe if they charged every cell they could with love and closeness and cherishing, they might be able to endure the desolation of a life without each other.
She opened the front door to his villa, knowing she’d find it empty. He wasn’t here. A message ten minutes ago had told her he’d been detained, but would be there soon. And that he adored her.
She sighed in anticipation, soaking up the masculine elegance surrounding her. Acres of polished marble the color of the awe-inspiring beaches just steps from the back porch, whitewashed walls, deep brown furniture the color of the palm trees that seemed to form a natural fortress wall around the villa, and accents in gradations of emerald like the breathtaking sea that greeted her from every window, spreading to the horizon.
“I was told, but I couldn’t believe it.”
For the moment it took the words to sink into her brain, she had the conviction that Shaheen’s voice was the one that caressed her ears and slid down every inch of her skin, his presence that reached out to envelop her.
But even before she spun around, she knew. It was almost Shaheen’s voice, almost his presence. But it wasn’t him.
This voice had the same beauty and depth and influence, but instead of warmth it held an arctic chill, instead of emotion there was a void. This presence wasn’t permeated by humor and gentleness and compassion, but by sarcasm and aggression and cruelty. She knew who it was before she saw him.
Amjad.
Shaheen’s oldest brother. The crown prince of Zohayd. One of the most unstoppable forces in the world of finance.
And the most feared man in the region.
Her jaw almost dropped as she watched him approach her with the languid, majestic prowl of a stalking tiger.
This must be what a fallen angel looked like. Impossible beauty, hair-raising aura. His luminescent emerald eyes were said to be the only of their kind in the Aal Shalaan family in five centuries, inherited directly from Ezzat Aal Shalaan, the founder of Zohayd. Many even said Amjad was his replica, with the same imposing physique, frightening intelligence and overwhelming charisma. Some believed he was Ezzat reincarnated.
It was also said their lives followed much the same lines. Ezzat’s first wife had also plotted to murder him.
But that was where their destinies diverged. Ezzat had found his true love only a year after aborting the plot against his life, had lived with her in harmony from the time he’d married her at thirty-one till the day he’d died at eighty-five.
Amjad had exposed his treacherous wife eight years ago, and there was no sign that he’d find someone to love. In fact, from what she’d heard, he seemed determined to wrestle destiny into submission, thwarting any of its attempts to bring him any measure of closeness again.
“Now I see that what I thought to be ridiculous hyperbole is actually pathetic understatement. You’ve become a goddess, Johara.”
Johara blinked at Amjad, stunned.
His smile would probably cause a meltdown were any of Zohayd’s female population within sight and earshot. But it shocked her to see that predatory sensuality on the face of the man she’d always considered her oldest brother.
Not knowing what to say to that, she said what she did feel. “It’s so good to see you, Amjad.”
His eyes crinkled, making them even more chilling. “Is it?”
She swallowed, suddenly feeling like a mouse about to be made a bored cat’s swatting toy. “Yes, of course. It’s been so many years. You’re looking well.”
“Just well?” Amjad’s spectacular lips turned down in a pout. “I usually get a more…enthusiastic response from the ladies.”
She cleared her throat. “You know how you look, Amjad. Surely the last thing a man of your caliber needs is an ego stroke.”