The Sheikh’s Sham Engagement (The Safar Sheikhs 3)

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Oh, do they?” he asked, propping himself up on either side of her as he wiggled between her legs. “I’d love to know who ‘they’ are.”

She giggled as the heat of his pelvis met hers. Her legs splayed open, and he dipped down for a kiss, one melting into a second and a third. He kissed her hungrily, sloppily, all the frustration and adoration and emotion of the past few weeks pouring out of him. He got lost in her lips, her perfect sweet lips that could always lift him or ease his mind. Kissing her was like that—a drug, really, one that he’d forgotten how much he needed after two years apart.

Willow moaned through a kiss, clutching at his head with her hands. Nasser pushed himself between her legs, his cockhead seeking out that perfect heat, and then he eased himself inside. Damp silk met him, followed by fireworks and a long groan as he surged forward, claiming more and more of her. Willow tossed her head back, arching against him. Inviting him deeper. He pushed himself as deep as he could go, burying himself until there was no more space to claim, and then he stilled, his chest heaving as his body roiled with sensations.

“Fuck, Willow,” he said, tugging at her earlobe with his teeth. “You feel so amazing.”

“I know, babe,” she moaned, moving against him, urging the friction. He rocked into her, dipping his head, skating his lips over the swell of her breasts. He caught a nipple between his teeth, and she inhaled sharply. “God. Why is it so good?”

He smiled as he traced his tongue around the pebbled ridge of her nipple. “Because it’s us.”

He pulled out of her, gripping her by the hips, and then eased himself inside again, so, so slowly. She groaned, hooking her ankles behind his back.

It was true. The two of them always just felt better. He’d tested this theory extensively on his two-year hiatus from love and relationships. And even with all his wandering, all his seeking, he’d still managed to end up right back where he began. With Willow in his arms, between his legs, the only woman who had ever been able to conjure this crazy feeling zipping through his blood.

And that alone seemed to be the proof that they did have something special. Even with all the frustration and the overplanning and the long-standing tensions.

Right now, in this moment, none of that mattered. It was insignificant. All he could feel was this pulsing, true emotion. His love for Willow. He surged forward again, the last shred of his control dissolving as the orgasm crashed through his body.

Willow clawed at his back as his abs jerked and spasmed, the pleasure filling his limbs. He went leaden and heavy then, and he propped himself up before he collapsed on top of her.

“Holy shit,” he croaked.

Her eyes had the glossy sheen of satisfaction. He’d felt her pussy tighten around him. Sometimes just his pushing inside her was enough for her to come. He brushed his lips against hers and then rolled over to her side.

“That was perfect,” she said, eyelids drifting open and shut lazily. She ran her fingers over the smooth plane of his chest. Just as she always used to do. It felt like their secret handshake. The hundreds of tiny ways she told him she loved him. His chest tightened, and he reached for the covers, pulling the soft sheet over top of them.

“I’m gonna fall asleep now,” she warned, voice already distant.

“That’s okay, babe. You mind if I do some work before I go to bed?”

She mumbled something, nestling against the pillow. “My laptop is right there. You can use it.”

“Great. Night, babe.” He smoothed his lips against her forehead again and eased out of bed as she nuzzled into her spot. He couldn’t help but smile, watching her there, angelic and sated. There was no better feeling than this. Having Willow back in his bed, in his life. Her belly full of his growing child.

Sex smoothed things over for him. When he felt like his patience was being tried with her overexuberance about the damn calendar, making love reminded him why he’d fallen for her. And if that’s how the balance had to work—frustration, sex, frustration, sex—then he’d be fine with that. Seemed like as good an approach as any.

Nasser tugged on his briefs and then picked up Willow’s laptop, which was still sitting open on a table near the bed. He sat cross-legged on the couch in the corner of the room, quickly logging into her computer.

About a million windows were still open from the last time she’d used it. Total Willow style. Nasser started to minimize them all—he’d been stupid enough once to directly close them when they dated the first time around, which of course had prompted one of their biggest fights of all time. One of the screens caught his eye. A folder of what looked like bookmarks and other documents. The folder was labeled “ESCAPE.”

Nasser knit his brows together, wondering what escape meant for Willow. She and that word had long been negatively associated. The dark side of his curiosity urged him to probe a bit into this folder. Even though it was clearly hers—and clearly private—he wanted to know more.

Nasser clicked a few links at random. The first screen to pop up was a how-to article detailing the steps of applying for a European visa as a US citizen. The next link showcased some traveler’s year-long route through Asia. Yet another link was an article written in confessional style of a twenty-something’s irritations about living in Germany for two years at the time of the article.

He couldn’t help himself from clicking through the list, but once he realized he’d wasted a half hour by spying on her saved links, he knew he had to stop. Frustrations simmered inside him again, all the goodwill of their lovemaking completely erased.

Here they were again—right back to where they started. Where they had a good thing going but Willow was always ready to jump ship. It had been true back then, and it was true again. She’d apparently been planning for some sort of long-term move to Europe and hadn’t thought of mentioning it to him even once. What kind of bullshit was that? Especially now that she was carrying his child!

Nasser was steaming as he opened a browser and tried to focus on his email, but it was impossible. Any progress they’d made over the past few weeks had been reduced to rubble. Because apparently, no matter how much time went by, Willow was always on the verge of bolting.

And suddenly it made sense. She was only on board for the start of this school. She wasn’t contracted to see it through long-term or be part of the administration. They hadn’t talked about what her next step would be.

And Nasser had found out, whether she wanted him to or not.

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