The Sheikh's Unexpected Wife (Zahkim Sheikhs 3)

Ginni snuggled into Nasim's side. They'd barely gotten out of his office in Al Resab. On the terrace, she'd straightened her clothes. He'd reclaimed his jacket and led her back inside. But then he'd given her one smoldering look, had muttered something about her lack of anything under that dress—no way had she wanted panty lines—and then he'd knelt before her, pushed up her dress, and had licked from the inside of her thigh upwards. She'd gasped, had spread her legs for him, and just about collapsed back on a couch. He'd gone down on her, had used that mouth of his, his beard and mustache tickling, and made the world disappear. It'd been nothing but shocks tingling through her, smaller than the one she'd had with her back against the wall, but he'd left her just about purring.

When she finally couldn't take another minute of it without coming apart, she'd put a hand on his head and stroked his hair. He'd kissed the inside of her thigh, stood, and fetched damp towels for both of them.

"There's a shower if you wish," he'd said.

She'd muttered something about not being able to stand, so he'd swept her up, carried her to the elevator and then into the limo, and they'd necked like teenagers all the way back to the palace. He'd kept one hand on her breast, stroking small circles that drove her crazy.

They'd barely made it inside, up the stairs, and past his bedroom door before she was dragging off his clothes and he had his hands up under her skirt and on her bare ass. They'd fallen into that great big bed of his, had made love yet again, and what had happened to that plan for a deal and a divorce? Or a divorce and a deal? Heavens, but she hadn't done anything to prevent a pregnancy, and she was falling for this guy. Hard.

Get real—already fell.

A little sore now—but not in a bad way—too wound up still to sleep, she put a hand on his chest to feel his heart beat and the rise and fall of his breathing. Should she stay or go?

Last time she'd ended up in bed with him, she'd dressed and had slipped out before he'd woken. Somehow, she'd had the idea that acting like that meant they weren't really married. Well, that idea sure had been shot tonight and put in a deep grave.

She'd had her honeymoon night with him—boy, had she ever. I'm married. She still couldn't quite take it in, but she felt married now. And not just that—she felt like she'd bonded with this guy, heart and soul. Maybe she could just bring him home, have another wedding there, and…

Oh, who was she kidding? This was going to blow up in her face, and she couldn't run from that idea. Once her daddy found out about this stunt she'd pulled of taking Jasmine's place in a Middle Eastern wedding, that'd be the end of any hope of ever running Leeland Enterprises. It wouldn't matter that she'd been helping out a friend. It wouldn't matter that she hadn't intended to get herself hitched. Daddy would just see it as her being too quick to act. Again.

Unless, of co

urse, she could find a way to spin this getting married to a sheikh of Zahkim as all part of her plan, which meant she'd have to head home ready to tell her family she was staying married.

Her stomach tightened, and her heart rate sped up.

Was staying Nasim's wife even possible?

She'd been so focused on getting the deal—and getting a divorce—she hadn't looked at what it might be like to stay married to him. A tingle slipped through her, warming her skin. She sure as anything could get used to having him in her bed. But it took more than great sex to make a marriage work. Was she fooling herself that maybe he felt something for her other than lust?

Thoughts still whirling, she tried to figure it all out. Instead, she ended up falling asleep in Nasim's arms.

The heat woke her.

Sun slanted across her body, warmer than Nasim had been. She reached out, patting the bed, but didn't find him there. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up. No Nasim. Grabbing her phone, she found a text from him.

Duty calls.

With a crooked smile, she padded into the bathroom to take care of business and put herself back together. A not-unpleasant soreness between her legs reminded her of the night before. How many times had they done it? There was the time he'd had her on her knees and had come in from behind…and at the office building, of course. And wasn't there one more in there, in the middle of the night when she'd found him hard again and had thrown a leg over him and had him slip into her just like he belonged?

Well, at least she'd lost her virginity with a bang, and to a guy who knew how to treat a lady right. She let out a sigh. It really was too bad this wasn't the marriage—or the wedding—she'd had in her head.

She took longer with her shower than usual, dried herself off, slipped on her evening dress—a little torn at the shoulders—and padded back to her room, carrying her shoes. Feeling like she was sixteen and back in high school after slipping out from a dance to neck in the parking lot behind the Big D ice cream parlor, she got into her room and changed into clean undies, skinny jeans, a long-sleeve shirt in a bright red, and sandals.

She headed for the room where breakfast usually got set out, wondering if she was late for that. Her cell phone's display was saying it was well past ten already. Getting a little turned around, she found herself walking down one of the hallways, looking for someone she could ask for directions—she needed a map of the place—when she heard Nasim's voice.

Her heart did a funny little jump.

She turned, looking for where he might be, tracked his voice down to one white-painted door. She was just lifting her hand to knock when he raised his voice and said, quite clearly, "Will this mean war?"

Ginni froze.

Chapter Ten

Will this mean war? I thought we'd sorted this with that bloody ambassador?" Nasim looked up from the document Arif had handed him. Irritation at having been pulled from Ginni's arms itched under his skin. Neither of the other three ministers in the room would meet his stare, and even Arif was pulling on his beard and smoothing it again in a gesture that spoke of frustration.

Arif lifted a hand. "I thought everything smoothed over as well. But despite our apologies, despite this wedding fiasco being the making of Sheikh Ahmad's own daughter, Ahmad is insisting Dijobuli has had its honor insulted."

"And he wants reparations…or else?" Nasim threw the stack of papers onto the table. They scattered onto the floor. "I'm not paying him bloody anything."