The Sheikh's Contract Fiancee (Almasi Sheikhs 1)

“Yes. It’s my father’s company.” His voice was humorless. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. So this was the Imaad her father had said she’d get along with. Even after so few words, she had an inkling that the only thing she’d come to appreciate about him was his looks. He held something tight around him—dourness, or maybe a touch of xenophobia. Whatever it was, it left a bad taste in her mouth.

They blinked at each other for a moment. This is getting awkward.

She sniffed, clutching her purse tighter. “Where will we be going from here?”

“To your accommodations.” He looked away, like he was bored already. Inside, she groaned. Why did the hot ones have to be the biggest assholes? This guy didn’t deserve that face. Not with that attitude.

“Great.” She clucked her tongue. A little more information would be nice, but that’ll have to do. Some welcoming committee. She shrugged her carry-on bag more firmly onto her shoulder and tilted her suitcase onto its wheels. “Ready to go.”

Imaad made no move to acknowledge her load or offer to assist, but simply nodded. “Follow me. You should stay behind me as we go. You’re not in America anymore. Men are expected to lead.”

Her mouth parted with indignation, but before she could think of a retort, he’d started on his way. She struggled to keep up with him, the big bulky bag rolling behind her. She caught up, and began a purposeful stride alongside him. She cast him a glare. Let him try to control her like that.

Imaad didn’t look amused. They walked through the sliding doors into a heat wave. Annabelle’s voice withered in her throat. “Fuck.”

He sent her a pointed look. “This way.” Imaad led them to a car in a long row of waiting sedans. He nodded toward a driver, who approached to take her luggage. While the driver shoved her suitcase in the trunk of the car, Imaad opened the back door, gesturing for her to enter.

She eyed him for a moment, contemplating a snarky response, and then slid into the backseat. Imaad joined her a moment later.

“Why are you sitting back here with me?”

“It’s customary to sit in the back seat of a chauffeured vehicle,” he said, avoiding her gaze.

“Don’t men have to be in front of women?” She spat it out as caustically as she could, then crossed her arms, looking out the window, while the driver pulled into traffic. Imaad rustled around in the middle console, then brought out a silky length of fabric. “Here. You should at least cover yourself.”

Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “Cover myself?”

“It’s so you don’t appear indecent any longer.”

His words fell like bricks in the air between them. Anger swarmed her, made her forearms prickle cold and hot at the same time. She snatched it out of his grip and wrapped it around her ponytail, tying it into an exaggerated knot.

“There.” She grinned up at him. “Is that what you mean?”

“No.” His voice came out flat.

“I definitely don’t want to appear indecent.” She yanked down the front of her shirt, making it bare much more cleavage than normal. The man was being a pig. Parsabad was known for its tolerant stance on regular, stylish women’s clothing, something she intentionally researched before arriving. “Here, does this help?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

The driver glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. Imaad held her gaze, his dark eyes brooding. If only he weren’t such a distasteful asshole, she might find that gaze titillating.

Imaad’s tense silence was all the victory she needed. She relaxed into her seat, letting her gaze drift out the window. No matter what his deal was, it wouldn’t last for long. She’d sign this contract and be on her way back to the USA.

Because no matter what her father thought about her and Imaad hitting it off, he was dead wrong. There was no way she was staying on the same continent as this prick once the papers were signed.

4

Imaad stared at the distorted reflections of Annabelle and himself in the shiny elevator walls. He’d given her attitude at every turn, but he had to fight to keep up the brutish persona. If she were anyone else, he’d have her halfway to his bedroom by now.

But this beauty was hands-off. No matter how hard those blue eyes begged him to treat her entirely differently.

The door slid open, and she strutted out of the elevator car, her luggage in tow. He balled his fists, willing himself again not to offer to take the suitcase. She had to be the one to call off the marriage—not him. It became a mantra in his head.

She stuck a key card into the door for room 301 and the green light flashed twice. She pushed the door open.

“We should discuss some matters for tomorrow,” he said, holding the door open with his palm. He stepped inside without waiting for her to invite him.

“Then come on in, I guess.” Her voice was flat. She rolled her luggage over the sparkling tiled entryway, into a small living room that lay just outside the main bedroom. A potted palm tree rose spiky and green by the glass sliding door overlooking the balcony.

“I hope your accommodations are to your liking,” he said, noting the immaculate carpeting of the suite, the elegant furniture lining the walls.