The Sheikh's Contract Fiancee (Almasi Sheikhs 1)

One step closer, even though the detention plan might seriously backfire. He could already feel her scathing confusion from miles away. But she’d forgive him—he hoped.

Just like he hoped the rest of his family would too.

Imaad dialed Omar, drawing one last deep breath. He hadn’t even thought to pack clothes for this impromptu journey. Annabelle had wiped every other thought from his mind.

“Brother. What are you up to?” Omar sounded lighthearted.

“Just getting into some serious trouble.” Imaad assessed the sleeve of his work suit. At least he’d have something nice for over in America. “You wanted me to buck our personal patriarchy, so here I am.”

“Oh, no. What is it?”

“I’m going to America with Annabelle. And I’m sorry, but you’ll have to field father’s ire for me while I’m gone. I’ll return as quickly as I can, I promise. But this is something I have to do.”

Omar let a long, ragged sigh. “This is my penance for giving you advice?”

Imaad grinned. “Something like that.”

“Fine. I’ll do my best. But please, just make sure this is worth it. Whatever you’re after, whatever the aim here is…”

Imaad swallowed a knot in his throat, nodding as he caught the dusky hues of sunset settling over Minarak. “It’s worth it. That’s the only thing I’m sure of.”

Annabelle was already tired when she reached gate A19 in the Minarak International Airport. Security always seemed to drain half of her life force; the emotional rollercoaster of wiggling out of her work arrangement here had drained the other half. Now she was left with fumes, barely able to carry her oversized purse on her shoulder…and somehow, bizarrely, already missing Imaad.

She collapsed into a chair at her gate, looking at the blend of faces waiting around her. Some American accents reached her. After a week in Parsabad, it felt like years since she’d heard another native English speaker. Imaad and his family were good, but their accents were so proper that she sometimes felt like she was communicating with a lesson book instead of a human.

Except for when they fucked. Imaad hadn’t been a lesson book there. He’d thrown the lesson book out, in fact, and written his own.

A shiver traveled through her and she fought another grin. What was there to be happy about? She was leaving that behind. Somewhere between her hotel and the airport, she’d made amends with the fact that she’d not only lost the deal, but lost her job. She had to consider herself unemployed now, to avoid any devastating emotional blowback. Hoping for the deal to go on and her father to be understanding was too dangerous.

She’d also allowed herself one concession: she’d find Imaad on Facebook once she got home. Just to check in on him, see how his life was going, find out how his business fared in the aftermath of her ruining everything. Maybe they could begin a correspondence. Chat a few times a week, even call each other on the phone. And then when he came to the US, they’d meet up and have an amazing dinner, followed by even more amazing sex. And then probably he could start coming to the US more often, and have a sort of home with her…

She blinked at the mauve swirls in the carpet. Was she imagining a future with Imaad?

Annabelle cleared her throat, reaching for her Kindle. It was time for some light reading. Anything to take her mind off the situation. And the man.

She checked her cell phone one more time—no new messages—and then settled into the funny

memoir she’d started three months ago but never finished.

Five minutes went by before a murmur on the overhead speaker informed her the gate agent was looking for her, that she needed to report to the desk. She waited for the lady to repeat the message before gathering up her things, brow creased severely, and hobbled over to the gate agent with her unprepared purse and laptop case.

“I’m Annabelle Thomas,” she said, trying to stuff the Kindle into its original slot. “Is there something wrong?” Fear snuck through the shadows of her mind—international travel always made her more tense than usual. Snafus could crop up anywhere, especially when visas were involved. Please don’t arrest me and throw me into Parsabad jail for a crime I didn’t commit.

“Miss, you’re going to need to follow these men.” The perfectly manicured gate agent gestured toward two brutish security guards behind her, both armed with rifles. Annabelle’s eyes widened. This had to be a joke. The equivalent of Parsabad Candid Camera.

“Um,” her voice stuck to her throat, “Why?”

The gate agent smiled apologetically. “There is an issue with your boarding pass. They will help you resolve it.”

Annabelle stared at the gate agent for a moment, her words rattling around inside her skull like the beans inside a maraca. There is no fucking way they are not letting me on that plane. “Will it take long? I need to be on this flight.”

The gate agent smiled again, her face devoid of real expression. “I can’t say, ma’am. You should follow them for now.”

Annabelle gripped the handles of her purse, looking back at the burly men. Two sets of steely eyes appraised her, and a shudder of indignation coursed through her.

“What if I say no?” She tried to say it politely, as if it were more of a hypothetical than a real option. She didn’t know much about Parsabad law when it came to defying airport officials.

“They’ll take you anyway,” she responded calmly.