The Sheikh’s Wife Arrangement (The Safar Sheikhs 1)

“Thank you,” he said a moment later. “For handling that conference better than I.”

She grinned over at him, pushing through the double front doors of the school. Up ahead, the royal car waited for them. “It was no problem. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

Fatim gripped the top of the car door as she slid into the back seat, his jaw flexing as he watched her. “Any way?”

And there it was—the hint of darkness in his tone. The same secret side of him that had asked her if she’d rather he fuck her mouth or her pussy.

And hell if she wasn’t relieved to see that window hadn’t entirely closed.

Fatim slammed the door shut in the back seat, trying to jostle some common sense into himself. Anything to keep him from traveling down the path his brain so desperately wanted to follow since getting that luscious, full-frontal view of Calla’s naked body that morning.

He was good at being frigid, at keeping his distance. But this woman was too tempting. Too present. And after that thoughtful display at the parent-teacher conference, hell if he wasn’t hard as a rock.

He’d been lying to himself this past week, telling himself that one-and-done would be fine. Romance was out of the question, but frequent sex could be just as bad. He had to keep his distance. Had to play it smart.

Even though Calla made him want to be very, very stupid.

Sitting next to her in the backseat of the car was a challenge, because every inch of him buzzed hot and wanting with thoughts of touching her. Brushing his lips against hers. Feeling that smooth, silken skin pressed up to his once more, like their legendary wedding night. Fatim sighed tersely, looking out the window, forcing himself to think about anything other than her.

The upcoming soldiers’ training. He frowned. The way the royal tents smelled after the camels were brought around. His frown deepened. A whiff of Calla’s perfume reached him, and then that silky hand touched his wrist. Screw it. He was fighting a losing battle.

He whipped around to face her, and she drew a sharp breath.

“Whatever you need me for,” she went on, “I’m here. We agreed.”

He clenched his jaw. She made this too hard. Or maybe it was just too easy. They shared a long look, and something flashed in her eyes that told Fatim she was feeling every ounce of this alongside him. He threw reason to the wind and leaned forward, capturing her lips in a soft kiss.

Calla made a small noise and returned the kiss with eagerness. She pressed herself against him, and Fatim tugged her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her small frame. Her ass settled right on top of his stiffening cock. Their kisses went deeper, hungrier. Time swirled on, until the car stopped at the palace and he was seconds from ripping her clothes off in the back seat.

“Sir,” the chauffer said.

Fatim ripped himself from Calla’s intoxicating lips and blinked a few times to orient himself. Her chest heaved, a heavenly distraction. He squeezed the tops of her hips as he struggled to bring himself back to earth.

“Well…” Calla began.

Fatim grunted. The driver got out, leaving them in a rapidly-warming car. He searched her face. Every inch of him wanted to take her up to her room and finish what they’d started. His cock pulsed hot beneath her ass. She shifted slightly—maybe even rocked her hips—and he sucked at his teeth, digging his fingers into her sides.

“Well what?” he asked, fire licking through his veins. They weren’t going anywhere. They’d do this right here.

Calla opened her mouth to respond just as the driver returned. Fatim couldn’t hide his irritation as the driver stuck his head inside the car.

“Sir, there’s an issue inside. The children seem to be sick.”

All echoes of sexiness completely disappeared. Calla’s face fell, and the two of them scrambled to exit the car.

“What’s the problem?” Fatim demanded as the driver hurried alongside him and Calla.

“Vomiting, apparently,” the driver said. “And maybe fever.”

Calla and Fatim sprinted past the driver and into the palace. Fatim arrived at the children’s room on Calla’s heels, where he quickly dismissed the palace employee who had been sitting with them while they were at the parent-teacher conference.

“Rashid? Nara?” Fatim pushed open the bedroom door where his two children shared a room. The palace had plenty of extra rooms, but his children liked to share ever since their mother had passed.

The sight wasn’t pretty. Both kids were sweating and curled up in their beds, looking listless and sad.

Calla’s stricken face seared through him.

“I’ve got this,” she said.