The Sheikh's Contract Fiancee (Almasi Sheikhs 1)

Imaad took a moment to look her up and down, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“What?” She creased her brow.

“You look stunning.” He offered his hand. She took it, and he lifted the back of her hand to his lips. She couldn’t fight the smile.

“So do you.” Stunning was an understatement for that man. He could make women wilt on the street around him, like delicate blooms in the sun.

“Let’s go. Our reservation is waiting.” He pressed a hand to the small of her back, guiding her toward the entrance. Her breath hitched—his mere touch sent lightning through her. This reaction was bad news. Her heels clicked over the granite stones of the outside patio as he led her to the car. He held the door open for her, and she caught his gaze sliding down her chest.

“Now, now,” she tutted once he was in the car. “This is a business meeting.”

“What?” he feigned innocence.

“No looking down your business partner’s dress,” she said, unable to fight the grin. “That’s impolite.”

He cleared his throat, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. “You’ll have to excuse me. This business partner is exceptionally gorgeous. Perhaps you’ll understand.”

She stared out the window, trying to fight the urge to grin from ear to ear and the happiness buzzing inside her. A joke about ogling his future wife seemed exceptionally tacky, especially since she still wasn’t exactly pleased about the arrangement.

And as his future wife, she had plenty to bring up at tonight’s business meeting. All seduction aside, their pending marriage was only a heartbeat away. She clutched at her handbag, watching as the buildings of downtown Minarak flashed by, all steel and angles. She needed to be smart about the situation, however unsavory.

Which was why she’d spent the entire afternoon drawing up a prenuptial agreement. It was best to clarify these matters now, before she waded any further into the muck. Because who knew what might happen if she fell under Imaad’s spell?

She glanced over at him. His gaze was soft and pensive as he watched the world through the windshield. When he swung his head to look at her, butterflies assaulted her belly. Calm emanated from him, begging her to reach out for his hand, to anchor herself alongside him.

But she’d never do that. She turned back toward the window, squinting at the bright taxis in the flow of traffic, willing herself to forget the memory of his hands scorching their way up her bare hip.

The restaurant occupied the first level of a squat stucco building, the front sidewalk lit up with spotlights. Imaad led her to the front door with a protective hand on her lower back, something she would normally protest, but with him, she just couldn’t find it in her to say no. She liked the air of protectiveness that emanated from him—or maybe it was pride? Either way, they strutted up to the restaurant like royalty, curious eyes swinging to greet them from the sidewalks, passers-by slowing down to catch a glimpse.

Inside, Imaad gave his name and the host nodded, pulling out two menus. He said something to Imaad that made him laugh.

On their way to the tables, Annabelle tugged at his arm. “What was so funny?”

“He called us Mr. and Mrs. Almasi,” Imaad said, the husky heat of his cologne reaching her. She wobbled a bit and grabbed onto his wrist. As if on autopilot, her hand slid to find his.

“I told him ‘not yet,’” Imaad said, giving her hand a little squeeze, his dark gaze leaving her speechless.

The host led them to an intimate table near the back, a simple candelabra in the middle of the table. Annabelle paused before she sat down, hesitant to let go of his hand.

“This looks lovely,” she said, looking up at him.

“It’s quite lovely.” A small smile crossed his face, and he nodded toward her seat. “If it passes your test, would you like to sit?”

She blinked at him a few times, and then yanked her hand out of his grip. His skin was a drug, one that she didn’t respond well too. Or maybe she responded too well to it. Either way, the drug needed to be avoided. She spread the cloth napkin over her lap, hoping the low lighting of the place would mask her flush.

“This is a pretty fancy place for a business meeting,” Annabelle said, smoothing her dress, looking anywhere but at Imaad’s intensely attractive gaze. God, it would be impossible to think of anything other than those sultry eyes, eating her up from head to toe. It was one thing to be in the presence of a hottie like Imaad; it was entirely different when he didn’t hide how much he was into her, too.

“My business partner has standards,” Imaad responded coolly, shaking out his napkin before placing it over his lap. “As well as needs.”

She lifted a brow. Like sexual needs? Damn straight I do. “Well, thank you for anticipating them.” She cleared her throat, squinting out into the restaurant, willing a waiter to appear with drinks or a bottle of wine or a partition that they could fuck behind.

“This is a celebratory meal,” Imaad clarified, his umber gaze growing darker. “You did an amazing job today. And I think with the merger, both of our companies will survive the current economic conditions.”

Her heart raced, sensing a doorway. One she should race through, if she had any sense left in her. “Which reminds me of something I wanted to bring up.” She cleared her throat, trying to shake the last dregs of desire out of her head, and reached for her handbag. She revealed a paper she’d folded, smoothing it across the tabletop. The flicker of candlelit cast garish shadows overtop it.

“What’s this?” He leaned forward, another waft of his cologne reaching her. She let it wash over her before responding.

“It’s a prenup.” When he arched a brow, she added, “A prenuptial agreement. Obviously, since the smooth passage of this merger means we’ll be getting married soon, I thought it was wise to draw one up.”