The Sheikh's Pretend Fiancée (The Sharif Sheikhs 1)

To hide from you. “What does it matter what I wear?” she asked without looking up. “No one is here but you.”

“You don’t wish to please me?”

Please him? A jolt of indignation ran through her, and she lay the book across her abdomen. “I don’t believe there was a dress code involved when I agreed to this. In public, I’ll wear whatever you want, but here, in this suite, I’ll dress as I like. Besides, it’s not like you’re ever really here to see me, anyway.”

“Do you miss me, Liyah?” His voice was now silky smooth, and just like that, the atmosphere changed between them.

She despised his hot-and-cold nature, but he was hot, and it was enough to set her body on fire.

“I think, perhaps, you and I need to come to some sort of understanding,” he murmured seductively. “I grow weary of silent dinners with you. Tell me, do you wish it was Rashid at the table, instead of me?”

“Rashid? What are you talking about? The only reason our dinners are silent is because you won’t talk to me!” She sat up just as he seated himself on the cushion next to her, and his face was inches from hers. She couldn’t back down without looking weak, but she also couldn’t help the dull flush that started on her chest and slowly crept up her neck.

“Isn’t that where you were for the rest of his party? I could not find either of you.” His accusation was as cold as his eyes, and she stiffened.

“I agreed to come and pretend to be your betrothed, but I will not be a pawn between the two of you,” she hissed. “No, I was not with Rashid. I did not see him until I finally retired. I spent the rest of the evening with Amira and Khalid because—unlike you and your brother—they actually seem to enjoy my company because of who I am, not whose I might be.”

She tried to move her legs around him and stand, but he rested his arm on her, trapping her on the couch. “Do you think that I do not enjoy your company?” he whispered as he bent his head toward her face. “You have no idea the thoughts, the fantasies, running through my head. I stay away from you because it is safer that way.”

Asad wasn’t staying away now, and she felt a strange sense of defiance and courage as she stared at him. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

She turned her head and closed her eyes as he skimmed his lips lightly along her neck. It wasn’t a kiss so much as it was a promise of just what he could do to her body. The briefest contact, and she was already wet and aching for him.

“You’ll join me for dinner tonight, and we’ll set a few things straight.”

She was just about to ask what that meant, but he was gone, striding out of the apartment, and he didn’t look back.

She didn’t dress for dinner. In an act of rebellion, she wore her oldest pair of jeans and the baggiest t-shirt she could find. She knew it drove him to distraction, especially considering that he’d ordered her not to bring her clothes, but in the privacy of his suite, she wasn’t engaged to a sheikh.

She was still just plain old Liyah, book lover and introvert.

Though the food was hot, the atmosphere at dinner was just as cold as before, and she felt a weak thrill of triumph. Her ploy had apparently dampened his desire for her.

She also felt a little disappointed. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she was looking forward to some fireworks.

After dinner had been served, he dismissed the servants.

She rose to return to her room.

“Stay.” A single word, but it was filled with all the heat that had been missing from dinner.

Confused, she looked over her shoulder and saw fire in his eyes. Now that they were alone, it would seem that Asad had come out to play.

She was still pissed that he would think she’d entice his brother, and she wasn’t ready to surrender. Folding her arms over her chest, she glared at him. “What? Was the dinner not hot enough for you?”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he stood and crooked his finger. He obviously expected her to follow him, and she wanted desperately to deny him, but her body was responding almost too eagerly as she followed him to the parlor. It was a gorgeous room with a large, golden-framed window that showed a gorgeous view of the city—but she’d never felt comfortable here. The obvious display of luxury always served to remind her that none of this was real, and she didn’t belong.

Nestled on the table were three glittery boxes ornately dressed with satin bows. He sat on the couch, leaned back and spread his legs, and watched her.

“Open them,” he said, a glint in his eyes.

She wanted to deny the demand, but her curiosity got the best of her. She tried to ignore the amused smile on his face as he sat back and watched her.

Opening the lavish boxes, she found three of the most gorgeous dresses she’d ever seen. Bold colors that she’d never felt confident enough to wear, shimmery fabrics that should glide over her skin, and a scandalous cut that dipped daringly low and teased mercilessly high.

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