Sheikh's Scandalous Mistress (6 page)

She obliged, her body reacting now as higher thought had truly shut down in her brain. Wrapping her legs loosely around his waist, she let out a moan as his fingers caressed her most sensitive and secret lips. Her stomach flared with heat and her pearl pulsed even harder, so much so that she could barely concentrate enough to hold on to him. Then, when it felt she could no longer stand the teasing, Amir parted her petals and stretched his thumb to her rosebud, to that sensitive bundle of nerves that was waiting for him. His press was soft at first—circles that elicited a sizzle from her core, like a gentle thrum of electricity snaking out through her body. But, of course, her lover wasn’t going to stop there. His thumb’s pressure increased, tight and strong against her pleasure button, and then she was no longer just filled with hums of electricity.

It was like being caught in a thunderstorm, with bolts of lightning arching around her. The ambient electricity crackled around her, but had not yet surged through her completely. She was waiting for a strike.

Then Amir plunged two, thick fingers deep inside of her and his thumb moved into overdrive, pressing fast counterclockwise circles against her pearl. In and out, in and out, his fingers reached the depth of her core, until it was finally too much. She came then, the lightning finally striking her, lighting her whole body up in ecstasy.

When it was all over, she was left panting heavily before collapsing against his chest. Eventually, she came back to herself and looked up at him. “That was amazing.”

“That was only the beginning, Amanda,” he said, his low voice a promise and a threat at the same time. “I have to finish making the rounds for the next hour or so, but after that, I want to help you get away, to show you some of Abu Dhabi as I know it.” Grinning, he lowered the volume of his voice to a whisper. “I’m going to make you come so hard all weekend that you’ll forget your own name.”

“My sheikh, if you can make me feel like that every time, then I never cared that much about my name.”

She wasn’t sure what she was getting herself into. Amanda had agreed to some fun after she finished covering this story for Life and Style, but she didn’t even think Margery would understand how she’d gone from just kissing to letting a man she barely knew give her the most shattering orgasm she’d ever had in her life…and in public, no less. Granted, it was a secluded space, but it was still a space that wasn’t so far from prying eyes.

Now she was seated in the back seat of his limo, a few things thrown into her overnight bag for the weekend he was promising her. It seemed funny to be going away from a luxury resort, but she couldn’t help but enjoy that. Maybe he’d take her to the royal palace or a hidden getaway. Who knew? She just hadn’t wanted to be experiencing more first times with Amir in a place like Ali Babba’s. It was lovely and classy, but it was also impersonal and shared with hundreds of others. Amanda fervently hoped that wherever she was going, it would be some place special.

Of course, things had taken longer to coordinate than she’d thought. He finished out the night with all the requisite people he had to meet, and then promised her that there would be a limo waiting out front for her by two o’clock the next day. He apologized profusely and explained there were some last-minute financing details for one of the restaurants he had to take care of.

It was probably better that way. It gave her about twelve hours to take a cold shower and get her head screwed on more tightly. Still, a cold shower couldn’t really help. She had the whole world spinning. The crimes of Senator Jackson were weighing on her, but damn it, the sheikh was intoxicating. He proved to be a better distraction than alcohol ever managed to be. She could take a few days for herself, try and regroup and live her life too. And, after all, nothing about Amir appealed to her rational side. That man could make heat flare in her belly just by whispering in her ear.

What would he do with her at his mercy for an entire weekend?

“I…uh…wasn’t sure what to wear or what we’d be doing today,” she said, as he slid onto the seat beside her.

Amanda had chosen a plain mint-green linen dress, something that would be light in the desert heat but would allow Amir as much access as he needed. What they’d experienced last night was revelatory. If he wanted to tease her again that way, then she could die a happy woman.

“You do look ravishing, reporter,” he said, his voice that sultry purr that set her core alight. He emphasized his point by letting his fingers stray over her knee. “But first I think we’ll be going to have some lunch downtown. There’s a restaurant that both serves amazing local dishes and has an interesting lesson in its offing.”

“A lesson?”

“Oh yes, you’ll see, Amanda, or maybe you’ll just soak that lesson right up.”

***

I can’t believe he’s done that
.

She felt like her cheeks were on fire. The food had been delicious, a mix of milk and dates as a sumptuous and decadent appetizer, a roasted lamb filled with nuts and aromatic spices, a white fish pepped up with onions, and, of course, a dessert that was already leaving her adjusting the belt around her waist. Umm Ali
was a dessert so creamy that it seemed to put the average crème brûlée to shame, and it was littered with crunchy and meaty pine and pistachio nuts. Overall, the lunch had been amazing, both filled with food and some wine (okay, a lot of wine) as well as sparkling conversations. Amir shared mostly funny stories about his brothers and his nieces and nephews.

But now?

Now she knew exactly why he’d brought her out to Al Arish. The restaurant was amazing, sure, but it also had something else to offer and it had nothing to do with culinary lessons or a tour of the chef’s kitchen like she first assumed. Oh no. They had belly dancers. There was a ring of girls around the rug where they were sitting, and each of them was as beautiful as any model. They were lithe and thin with olive-hued skin and dark, cascading hair pulled into thick plaits down their backs. Each one wore the traditional harem-style pants in bright pastel colors, as well as thin bandoliers that barely covered everything appropriate on their chest. Their outfits were bedecked with bangles, and on their waists were jangly belts of coins and other metals that jingled every time they shimmied their undulating hips.

They were leaning over Amanda now, chittering back and forth in what she assumed had to be Arabic. One of the girls, who was dressed all in red and even had a veil on the lower half of her face, turned directly to Amir and spoke quickly with him. For a split second, Amanda tried to follow it, but then she realized that no matter how hard she tried to tune her ears into the conversation, she wasn’t going to understand.

Of course, based on his wicked smirk and the gesture of his hand toward her, she had a great idea exactly what he was saying.

Yeah right, buddy
.

It was one thing to give into passion with him privately or even to have dinner with him, but there was something else about being here, at the front of the restaurant. Granted, there wasn’t a huge crowd for the lunch rush, but she knew who she was—and what she was—and more importantly, she knew who she wasn’t. She was the slightly rotund girl, the one who spent her time in the stacks of the library at college and was always hunched over her desk and researching a lead. She wasn’t like these women who were muscular and fit from years of dancing. She wasn’t some siren who could seduce men with a twist of her hips. There was no way she could dance and still appeal to Amir. Hell, the spell would be broken and he’d see her for the curvy reporter she actually was, not the irresistible woman he claimed she was to him.

But the dancers were nodding wildly after Amir finished speaking with them. The three dancers descended on Amanda like the furies, reaching out and gripping her arms tightly. Amanda tried to decline, to beg them off, but they were strong and determined and she found herself on her feet. The rest of the restaurant clapped, and one man with a thick beard far away wolf whistled to her. That made the blush spread even faster over her skin and her cheeks, making her feel like a flashing neon sign in front of everyone.

The women stood and started speaking to her, their accents thick in their English. The girl in red seemed to lead. She held up her hands and waved them delicately in front of her. Just doing that basic movement first. Finally, with all eyes on her, Amanda felt she had no choice but to start moving as well. At the beginning, she waved her hands halfheartedly, but then the raucous cheers kept echoing from around her. Looking away, she saw Amir’s amber eyes, smoldering with intensity, and she felt that heat in her belly again. She couldn’t help but fall into the power of that gaze.

He wanted to see her dance for him, and that called to something deep and primal within her. Amanda wanted to show him what a woman she was, how deeply motivated she was to explore more with him. As she began to move her arms more sensuously, she gave into the music playing throughout the restaurant and the cheers from the crowd. Then the girl in red nodded her approval and started making semicircles with her hips, and Amanda imitated her, thankful that her dress was demur and no one would see her slight paunch up close and personal. Yet, if these skinnier girls thought they knew how to move their hips, then she could show them something better.

The crowd cheered as she started to undulate her hips even faster and wave her hands. In her imagination, she daydreamed of dancing before her sheikh centuries ago, as if she were entertainment for the court, perhaps a different type of Scheherazade for his amusement. She caught his gaze again, that heat simmering in those amber depths and it called to her. Parting from the other women, she sauntered over to him and kept waggling her hips. Amanda moved her arms deliberately, beckoning to Amir.

He seemed to understand her message.

The sheikh pushed away a bit from the table but stayed seated on the rug. Amir grinned back at her and beckoned to her with a nod of his head, as if to tell her
game on
. She was ready, emboldened by the crowd’s cheers and reveling in the allure of her own curves for the first time in years. She started by dancing around him, letting her hands trail over his shoulders, delicately caressing him and promising him everything with her body.

She came to stand in front of him, and then shimmied against his body, against his strong chest that felt as immovable as iron in its strength. Perhaps she was drunk on too much wine or the good food, or maybe it was the energy from the cheering of the crowd egging her on, but she felt compelled to get even closer to Amir. She sat down on his lap and began a different type of dance. By now the girls were dancing their way to another table and the eyes of the crowd shifted with them.

Good. I want this corner all to myself
.

She eased down over him and began to grind down, her body fitting easily on his lap. As she moved, her hips flexed with the power and strength she’d always had but never drawn on before. His erection was pressing through his robes and against her core. She was glad that both of them had worn things so loose. Through the billowing fabric, she could feel the heat of him, the way his member strained against his robes as she grinded more fiercely.

She suddenly wished they were alone so they could go all the way, but there was only so far they could progress before they needed a change. Or would be thrown out.

Amanda slowed her rhythm, loving the power she felt as he groaned in frustration. Then she kissed his lips and leaned over, nibbling on his ears and the left side of his throat.

“Later, Amir.”

He chuckled and whispered in her ear, his voice that sultry purr that made her womb clench. “I wouldn’t mind doing everything here. I can’t get arrested.”

Chuckling, she slipped back off his lap and slapped his shoulder. “No way, Amir, try again.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

***

On the way to the palace, Amir noted that his reporter was leaning up against him. There was so much to her, so many layers that he didn’t yet understand. There was that chip on her shoulder, the way she’d been at first. Something had got her sent to Abu Dhabi, had left her alone on the Life and Style beat. She certainly treated questions for it like the Spanish Inquisition. Then there was the amorous side, the passion he’d felt at both the gallery and the restaurant. And yet, underneath all of it was a hesitance, a fear he could see in her eyes. When the girls had begun urging her to dance, she’d hesitated. He was watching her closely enough to see the glance she’d given her hips, the way she’d pinched a bit at her thigh.

His goddess legitimately didn’t know how fucking gorgeous she was. Granted, he’d often had his appetites run to the thinner girls, to those models before, but it had been so long since he’d had his hands on real (and not silicon-inspired) curves, that he had forgotten so much about what he’d been missing. Just gripping her at the gallery had been a revelation. Thinking about it again made him hard, and Amir shifted the fabric of his traditional robes to conceal that fact from her.

Not that she wouldn’t already be aware of how much she affected him. Her lap dance had been more than enthusiastic, and it had caused his excitement to come through. Again, that boldness in her attitude was creeping in. She was already a tiger at the press conference, but he could see even a slight change in how she carried herself, in the way her fingers intertwined with his and the way her thigh was pressed close to his own. There was a confidence that had sprung from her dance, from letting go, and he couldn’t wait to enjoy that at home.

Mafir pulled the limo up to the tall domes and spiraling minarets of the palace, the pale stone walls of the ancestral home. Excited for the evening he had planned for her, Amir slipped out of the car and walked to the other side to open the door for Amanda.