Read Online Sheikh With Benefits by Teresa Morgan - Free Book Online
Authors: Teresa Morgan
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
Ads: Link
was nonsense, had always been nonsense.
It had simply taken that naked dress to put his body in tune with his heart, where she had been the only woman for months now.
After, he would speak to her father, who would delight at a closer alliance with the royal family. She would be the perfect diplomat's wife. Hadn't her father trained her for just such a thing, as his own father had trained him to serve the Crown?
It all made so much sense. Flawless, perfect sense. A mosaic with tiles that fit together snugly, each piece contributing its own flash of color to a cohesive whole. Similar to the floor on which he stood, which depicted the famed battle of Ulai that had won the country's freedom from the juggernaut of the Persian Empire.
Yet the sharbat tasted like vinegar to him. The music rang off-key in his ears. There was nothing wrong with any part of his plan, and it would make every person involved happy. However, something about it irritated him immeasurably. He simply could not identify what it was.
She and his brother twirled past him. She pretended not to notice him watching her, but he knew she was as aware of him as he was of her. Yet she spoke to his brother intently. Yesterday she had barely been able to look the king in the eye. Now it was almost as if she was in deep negotiations with him.
What could she have to discuss with his brother after last night? She should be concentrating on their new-born relationship.
Unless. If she regretted being with him—which wasn't possible—she would be making arrangements to leave Ulai. Her father would never permit that, and no one could overrule her father.
Except Darius . The king could assign her to, say, the Ottawa Embassy. In that case, her father could say nothing. Arya currently danced with the person who could solve her dilemma.
Javad inhaled sharply before he realized he was doing it. He had not considered this. He loved her. She loved him. Despite that, he might lose her.
Over the noise of the band, the conversations of the other attendees, the swish of luxurious fabrics swirling across the dance floor, he heard her laugh. Not loudly. In fact, she nearly swallowed the sound. But he had heard it. Darius had made her laugh. Had she laughed when they were together last night? Not at anything he'd said, at least.
He watched her face over Darius' shoulder as her smile fell, her features once more becoming sober and restrained. She'd seen something that made her stop. He tracked where she'd been looking. Straight at her father, whose eyes burned hot lasers in her direction. Remember who you dance with, his pointed gaze said. Don't embarrass me, it warned.
Sudden, unfamiliar rage thundered in his ears. That attitude had made Arya into little more than her father's servant, had praised her silence, and put her in beige dresses for nearly thirty years. Placed her in the background while her sisters rebelled. Perhaps even kept him from noticing her, and so kept them apart for far too long.
And he, just yesterday, had thought exactly like her father, of matching her with old Sheikh Zakharias. The idea enraged him now, both the possibility of her union with the man, and that he had thought of it. For her. For Arya, of all people. She was—would always be—the most important person in his life, and he had felt she deserved no better than an old man in a wheelchair.
Fuck that. The words shot thought his mind, leaving Javad shocked at his own mental swearing. And he knew then what was wrong, why he was so disturbed by the idea of quietly arranging their marriage.
Fuck her father, he thought, for once relishing the way the foul word unleashed his emotions. Fuck everyone in the room, and what they thought. Fuck quiet and restrained, and fuck anyone who made Arya stop laughing ever again. Fuck them all.
"I beg your pardon?" Javad's mental rant was interrupted by a small, aged voice at his elbow. A white-haired woman in a rust-colored dress looked up at him with a flash
It had simply taken that naked dress to put his body in tune with his heart, where she had been the only woman for months now.
After, he would speak to her father, who would delight at a closer alliance with the royal family. She would be the perfect diplomat's wife. Hadn't her father trained her for just such a thing, as his own father had trained him to serve the Crown?
It all made so much sense. Flawless, perfect sense. A mosaic with tiles that fit together snugly, each piece contributing its own flash of color to a cohesive whole. Similar to the floor on which he stood, which depicted the famed battle of Ulai that had won the country's freedom from the juggernaut of the Persian Empire.
Yet the sharbat tasted like vinegar to him. The music rang off-key in his ears. There was nothing wrong with any part of his plan, and it would make every person involved happy. However, something about it irritated him immeasurably. He simply could not identify what it was.
She and his brother twirled past him. She pretended not to notice him watching her, but he knew she was as aware of him as he was of her. Yet she spoke to his brother intently. Yesterday she had barely been able to look the king in the eye. Now it was almost as if she was in deep negotiations with him.
What could she have to discuss with his brother after last night? She should be concentrating on their new-born relationship.
Unless. If she regretted being with him—which wasn't possible—she would be making arrangements to leave Ulai. Her father would never permit that, and no one could overrule her father.
Except Darius . The king could assign her to, say, the Ottawa Embassy. In that case, her father could say nothing. Arya currently danced with the person who could solve her dilemma.
Javad inhaled sharply before he realized he was doing it. He had not considered this. He loved her. She loved him. Despite that, he might lose her.
Over the noise of the band, the conversations of the other attendees, the swish of luxurious fabrics swirling across the dance floor, he heard her laugh. Not loudly. In fact, she nearly swallowed the sound. But he had heard it. Darius had made her laugh. Had she laughed when they were together last night? Not at anything he'd said, at least.
He watched her face over Darius' shoulder as her smile fell, her features once more becoming sober and restrained. She'd seen something that made her stop. He tracked where she'd been looking. Straight at her father, whose eyes burned hot lasers in her direction. Remember who you dance with, his pointed gaze said. Don't embarrass me, it warned.
Sudden, unfamiliar rage thundered in his ears. That attitude had made Arya into little more than her father's servant, had praised her silence, and put her in beige dresses for nearly thirty years. Placed her in the background while her sisters rebelled. Perhaps even kept him from noticing her, and so kept them apart for far too long.
And he, just yesterday, had thought exactly like her father, of matching her with old Sheikh Zakharias. The idea enraged him now, both the possibility of her union with the man, and that he had thought of it. For her. For Arya, of all people. She was—would always be—the most important person in his life, and he had felt she deserved no better than an old man in a wheelchair.
Fuck that. The words shot thought his mind, leaving Javad shocked at his own mental swearing. And he knew then what was wrong, why he was so disturbed by the idea of quietly arranging their marriage.
Fuck her father, he thought, for once relishing the way the foul word unleashed his emotions. Fuck everyone in the room, and what they thought. Fuck quiet and restrained, and fuck anyone who made Arya stop laughing ever again. Fuck them all.
"I beg your pardon?" Javad's mental rant was interrupted by a small, aged voice at his elbow. A white-haired woman in a rust-colored dress looked up at him with a flash
Similar Books
