Read Online Sheikh With Benefits by Teresa Morgan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Teresa Morgan
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
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progressive."
"Hmm." He faked thoughtfulness as he gave her a dramatic twirl. "I would like to progress with you."
At the idea of him one, flirting with her, and two, wanting to progress anywhere with her, a laugh escaped her.
She felt her father's censure from across the room, like the sights of a rifle centered right on her. It killed any amusement she felt. You're embarrassing the family, it said. Shut your mouth, it said.
Her first reaction was to stiffen, to collapse in on herself. But then she saw Javad's scowl directed straight at her father. What was that supposed to mean? And was Javad actually frowning? In public? It seemed too insane to think of.
Well, she felt a bit insane herself. She put steel into her resolve and pressed her body closer to Darius.
"Did you know that the first foreign visit by any U.S. President is always to Ottawa? When Obama came, he bought maple leaf shaped cookies for his daughters. The bakery still has a big picture of him out front. Imagine what they would do if a real-life king visited?"
Darius chuckled. "Canada might be pleased, but it is possible my brother might castrate me."
"I don't know what you mean," she said, as smoothly as he turned her in the dance.
"Arya, your father is inscrutable. It is impossible to know what he thinks or feels. Do not start following his example, or you and my brother will dance around each other for the rest of your lives, and never dance together," he told her. "Unless, of course, you did a tango last night."
Her cheeks turned into an inferno. She clamped her teeth shut. One word, any word, from her, would betray everything she felt and thought.
"Speaking of the man who may assault me for dancing with you," Darius said, his voice full of good-natured humor. "He approaches now."
Panic exploded in her chest. She realized the song was ending. He would wait subtly at his brother's elbow until the music stopped, then she would be in his arms. It was much easier to resist him when he wasn't holding her, smelling clean and male, and reminding her of last night. One look into her eyes on the dance floor and he'd know she loved him. It might be impossible to resist him then.
The steps of the dance brought her around, so she could see Javad. She stopped in place, flash-frozen by what she saw. Darius did an unkingly double-take.
Javad moved toward them with anger in his stride, with an adamantine look on his normally cultured features. He moved with purpose, focus, and determination across a dance floor where everyone else glided with grace. He looked like a man going to battle. Others must have thought so, too, by the way they parted to let him pass. Arya swore he rammed the shoulder of a man who didn't get out of the way quickly enough.
All she could do was blink at him. With every other blink of her eyes, she thought she saw him in traditional salwar pants and jameh tunic, a wickedly curved dagger stuck into a wide kamarband sash. In the illusion, his hair streamed back in the desert wind. There were possibly some horses involved.
"That is Javad, correct?" his brother asked.
It was. Her panic turned to anticipation. Pure glee rose inside her, bubbling up until her heart fizzed with a little girl's joy. It was Javad, coming to claim her. She fought the growing smile on her face. He wanted her and he didn't care who knew. No. He loved her and he wanted people to know.
When he was only a step away, she became aware she should probably release herself from Darius' arms, but it was too late.
"Javad," Darius said, his light tone practically singing his brother's name. "You look thunderous. What has gotten into you tonight?"
Javad reached out and placed one big hand on Darius—the king's—chest. And shoved.
She watched in delighted horror as Darius stumbled back a step. When the king recovered and raised his eyes to his brother, they flashed with rage.
Javad had just insulted his king in front of a crowd of diplomats, for her. She tried to
"Hmm." He faked thoughtfulness as he gave her a dramatic twirl. "I would like to progress with you."
At the idea of him one, flirting with her, and two, wanting to progress anywhere with her, a laugh escaped her.
She felt her father's censure from across the room, like the sights of a rifle centered right on her. It killed any amusement she felt. You're embarrassing the family, it said. Shut your mouth, it said.
Her first reaction was to stiffen, to collapse in on herself. But then she saw Javad's scowl directed straight at her father. What was that supposed to mean? And was Javad actually frowning? In public? It seemed too insane to think of.
Well, she felt a bit insane herself. She put steel into her resolve and pressed her body closer to Darius.
"Did you know that the first foreign visit by any U.S. President is always to Ottawa? When Obama came, he bought maple leaf shaped cookies for his daughters. The bakery still has a big picture of him out front. Imagine what they would do if a real-life king visited?"
Darius chuckled. "Canada might be pleased, but it is possible my brother might castrate me."
"I don't know what you mean," she said, as smoothly as he turned her in the dance.
"Arya, your father is inscrutable. It is impossible to know what he thinks or feels. Do not start following his example, or you and my brother will dance around each other for the rest of your lives, and never dance together," he told her. "Unless, of course, you did a tango last night."
Her cheeks turned into an inferno. She clamped her teeth shut. One word, any word, from her, would betray everything she felt and thought.
"Speaking of the man who may assault me for dancing with you," Darius said, his voice full of good-natured humor. "He approaches now."
Panic exploded in her chest. She realized the song was ending. He would wait subtly at his brother's elbow until the music stopped, then she would be in his arms. It was much easier to resist him when he wasn't holding her, smelling clean and male, and reminding her of last night. One look into her eyes on the dance floor and he'd know she loved him. It might be impossible to resist him then.
The steps of the dance brought her around, so she could see Javad. She stopped in place, flash-frozen by what she saw. Darius did an unkingly double-take.
Javad moved toward them with anger in his stride, with an adamantine look on his normally cultured features. He moved with purpose, focus, and determination across a dance floor where everyone else glided with grace. He looked like a man going to battle. Others must have thought so, too, by the way they parted to let him pass. Arya swore he rammed the shoulder of a man who didn't get out of the way quickly enough.
All she could do was blink at him. With every other blink of her eyes, she thought she saw him in traditional salwar pants and jameh tunic, a wickedly curved dagger stuck into a wide kamarband sash. In the illusion, his hair streamed back in the desert wind. There were possibly some horses involved.
"That is Javad, correct?" his brother asked.
It was. Her panic turned to anticipation. Pure glee rose inside her, bubbling up until her heart fizzed with a little girl's joy. It was Javad, coming to claim her. She fought the growing smile on her face. He wanted her and he didn't care who knew. No. He loved her and he wanted people to know.
When he was only a step away, she became aware she should probably release herself from Darius' arms, but it was too late.
"Javad," Darius said, his light tone practically singing his brother's name. "You look thunderous. What has gotten into you tonight?"
Javad reached out and placed one big hand on Darius—the king's—chest. And shoved.
She watched in delighted horror as Darius stumbled back a step. When the king recovered and raised his eyes to his brother, they flashed with rage.
Javad had just insulted his king in front of a crowd of diplomats, for her. She tried to
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