His blank stare prompted her to go on. “It’s totally standard. This is just a rough draft, actually—I wanted you to read it over first. See if you agree with everything. It’s just a way to protect our assets. That way, neither of us will have to deal with any blowback once we annul the marriage.”
Imaad blinked at the paper, then nodded slowly. “I see.”
Annabelle studied his face for a moment, trying to discern something from the cloudiness there. “Take it with you. And let me know if you have any questions.”
He gnawed at the inside of his lip for a moment. A waiter approached, and Imaad snatched the paper from the table, hiding it from view.
Annabelle could barely focus on the waiter as he introduced himself and the house wine in stilted English. After they settled on a red wine and two glasses of water, Imaad revealed the paper again.
“Why did you hide it?” She laughed a little. “It’s not like I scrawled bad words all over it.”
Imaad stiffened, sliding the paper back toward her. “You can keep it. We don’t do things like this in my country.”
Annabelle stared at the paper being shoved at her, too shocked to respond right away. “Well, that’s why I think we should actually get married in my country.”
A tense silence settled over the table and Annabelle’s belly tightened. She hadn’t expected this at all. “It would go over fine with your father, I’m sure. I mean, it’s the marriage he’s after. And of course you could play me off as a prissy bride. I’m sure I would be, if I ever get married for real.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think that’ll work.”
She gaped at him, unsure where to take it from here. “I thought you didn’t want to do this either. So what’s the big deal about a prenup?”
His jaw clenched and he stared at the paper, as if he was choosing his words carefully. After a moment, he folded the paper and shoved it into his pocket.
“I’ll take a look,” he said in a low voice, eyes on the waiter who returned with a bottle of red wine. He perked up, smiling slightly. “For now, let’s just enjoy dinner.”
Annabelle couldn’t shake the confusion but stuffed it into the recesses of her mind. She knew better than to pry right now. And Imaad was right—what was the harm in enjoying a delicious, decadent meal staring at one of the hottest men in the known universe?
Once the wine was poured, they clinked glasses. “Cheers.”
She’d take what she could get.
11
Just as Imaad let himself into his penthouse apartment that night, his brother Omar texted: On my way, some things to discuss.
His brother was notorious for disappearing and showing up based solely on his own agenda. Imaad couldn’t be mad about it—he loved Omar’s thought-provoking conversations over whiskey—but tonight, it could have been a close call.
Not that Annabelle would have come back with you…but she could have. In a perfect world.
; Their dinner had been jovial and tipsy, recovering entirely from the strange tension at the beginning surrounding that agreement. And while they talked plenty about business and even more about non-business, Annabelle made it clear she would be returning to her hotel room at the end of the night. Even though Imaad swore he saw a flicker of doubt cross her face—a split-second desire to take it further, maybe even right back to the dunes in the salt desert.
But not tonight. And maybe not ever again. Imaad headed for the low, black couches hugging an enormous square coffee table, reclining into the soft leather with a sigh. He tossed the agreement onto the table and loosened his tie. If only you could have brought her back here…
Thoughts like those wouldn’t help. Not when his blood turned hot whenever she was around, his palms itching to caress her. Thinking of her when he couldn’t have her would only drive him into the shower, and with his brother on the way, he didn’t have time to jack off before he arrived.
A few moments later, Omar let himself into the penthouse, shouting his greeting from the foyer. Imaad raised his hand to greet him, barely stirring from the couch.
“You’ve had a long day, I see.” Omar clapped his shoulder on his way to the bar along the back wall. “I’ll help remedy that.”
Imaad smirked, craning his head to watch his brother pour two tumblers of whiskey. Omar strode toward him, glasses in hand, and passed one to him. They clinked glasses and took a sip.
“So what brings you here?” Imaad toed his shoes off. They clunked onto the hardwood floor. “It’s pretty late for one of your house calls.”
“It’s only nine, brother. And it’s Friday, no less.” Omar shook his head, leaning against the back of the couch. “I’m on my way to the city center, to meet with a lady. Your house was perfectly on the way.”
“A lady.” Imaad chuckled. “There’s a new one every week.”