Sheikh's Virgin Love-Slave Page 7

  “And I love this,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I love you, and I love being an ‘us,’ but I’m not a big ‘events and galas’ girl. I’ve never even been to a formal dance since senior prom, and I didn’t have the best time there either. I’m nervous.”

  “Well, if you’re worried about attire, Kamala is picking out something for you to wear with the necklace. If you’re worried about the inanities of small talk, don’t be,” he said, leaning down and kissing her lips, teasing her mouth with his own. “I am a very possessive man, my swan, and I’ll keep you dancing all night just with me.”

  The fact that he did want to show her off when he never had done anything like this with any other woman, even an heiress or a movie star, appealed to her. Besides, it sounded like fun to get dressed up and dance the night away with the man she was beginning to care so deeply about.

  I promised myself stories for a lifetime, didn’t I? Besides, I’d hate to disappoint him.

  She nodded back and kissed him, letting her teeth nibble and tempt his lower lip. Bridget relished the low growl she got in response. “All right, but I’m not promising to know any waltzes. I do okay with the electric slide. I had that down at my cousin’s wedding last year.”

  He laughed, picked her up, and spun her around a couple times. “I’m sure that we can find a happy medium.”

  “You say that now but—” She stopped then and clamped her mouth shut as her stomach lurched. Bile worked its way up her throat, and she knew she was going to be sick. “Ravi, please put me down. I need to find a restroom. Now.”

  ***

  As far as how to act when receiving a gift, Ravi wasn’t sure that Bridget had a clue. Granted, the reason he cared about her so much was in part because she was different from every other woman he dated. It wasn’t just that their relationship had lasted the longest so far; it was more about why it had. She wasn’t the type to be a gold digger or ask for fancy things, or demand things as Sabella did with pouty lips or the occasional foot stomp. No; Bridget was modest and always seemed overwhelmed by what he offered her, as she had moments ago with the necklace. He appreciated that, but still, he loved lavishing her with gifts. There was no need for her to refuse. There was no way that he could ever feel taken advantage of by his swan.

  Now, though, he was worried. She’d been in the private staff bathroom for a while, and even though the faucet was running he could still overhear her retching. After a while longer, she turned off the water completely and opened the door. Her face was blotchy and her eyes watering a bit, but he knew that the sounds beyond the door had not been his imagination. His princess was sick.

  Reaching out, he brought the back of his hand to her forehead. “Are you all right?”

  Bridget nodded and wiped at her eyes. “I think that spinning around in your arms like a sheikh-tilt-a-whirl after I had the nachos at the refreshment stand was a bad idea. I’m fine now.” She took two steps before she stumbled, as if drunk, and then sagged into his waiting arms. “Okay, and a bit dizzy.”

  He frowned again. “You don’t feel warm.”

  “Like I said. I don’t think it’s a stomach bug. I probably ate something I shouldn’t have. Maybe the dates were a little off at breakfast.” She smiled serenely back at him. “Ravi, I’m going to be fine. I love the gift you gave me, and I’ll be ready to dance by Friday, I promise.”

  He helped steady her on her feet even as he pushed a strand of golden hair from her face. “All right, but if you feel sick again, you can always have Adil or Kamala summon the mansion doctor.”

  “You have a mansion doctor?”

  “More like a personal physician, but Dr. Hakmad is one of the best general practitioners in the world. If anything else happens, you must tell me,” he said, trying to push the worry away. She was probably right. He had warned her away from those nachos and their thick coating of pickled jalapenos. Yet, something else was bugging him, something that he couldn’t quite figure out.

  She nodded and leaned into his shoulder. “I promise, Ravi. If anything else comes up, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Chapter Nine

  His breath caught in his throat.

  Ravi had always found that to be a stupid, impossible expression. After all, there was no way just the sight of someone else could force the air from one’s lungs. Except that now, he realized he was wrong as he watched Bridget saunter into the gala with Kamala trailing behind her. The old servant had done well, and he was going to triple her pay for her skill in picking out Bridget’s outfit for the night. The sleek black silk sheath hugged her body in all the right places, but the best part was the full slit up the right side of her body that ended at her hip. It helped to highlight both the diamond-adorned broach gathering the fabric together on that side but, more than that, it helped to tease those sensual glimpses of her creamy, white thighs.

  He was glad he chose the robes of his people for the traditional gala. It was easier to hide the erection he was cultivating, and he could feel as the blood rushed rapidly from his brain to his groin. He want her, badly, but that was nothing new. Since he met Bridget, she was like a fever working her way through his system; so contagious that he couldn’t escape her influence—and he didn’t want to.

  She came to stand before him and looked nervously over her shoulder. “Is this okay?”

  He took her in one more time from the pearl necklace around her throat, to the long, lean legs of hers to the way her hair was piled up in golden curls atop of her head and kept there by jeweled combs. How could she even ask him that? She was more than ‘okay;’ Bridget was a vision, and the stirring in his loins agreed.

  He leaned forward and kissed both of her cheeks, mindful of the appropriate image for the crowd of dignitaries around them. Some of his colleagues and fellow Arabian leaders were more adherent, and there were strict rules about displays of affection, even if he was breaking one already by having an American in her own, preferred dress before them.

  “You’re amazing, my swan,” he said, holding out his hand. “Do you want to have this dance?”

  She grinned and took his offered palm. “I do.”

  He swept her up into his embrace and they both swayed in time to the delicate music throughout the Burj’s main ballroom. He settled on a mix of acts for the venue, both Eastern and Western. Currently, the DJ was playing a collection of golden hits from the 1940s in America. Old Blue Eyes himself, Frank Sinatra, crooned over the sound system as they swirled around the dance floor.

  They stayed like that, moving through floor as if they were the only two people in the room, as Sinatra transitioned Billie Holiday. He could have spent forever like this, hearing her light breath, smelling that seductive aroma of freesias and strawberries, and reveling in her warmth pressed up against him. Yet, Ravi had something he wanted her to see. Reluctantly, he pulled his head back to look at her.

  “My swan, I have something else I’d love to show you.”

  “I don’t need anything else, Ravi. Just you,” she said, the force of her tone surprising him.

  He placed two fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him, for her emerald eyes to catch his own. “You don’t have to be so adamant about gifts, my princess. I know you’re not trying to get me to buy favors for you. I would never do that anyway, and you know it.”

  “But I feel greedy. I’m serious. It’s enough just to be with you.”

  He nodded as he led her to his favorite corner of the ballroom, to where the heart of the new art exhibit was being shown off for the night before rejoining its proper place. The security around it was tight—six armed men—and after the scare Ravi had with it, that might still have been not enough.

  She gaped at the painting. “I’ve seen this. I had to take art history in college for some liberal arts credits. Is this a van Gogh?”

  He nodded. “It’s Starry Night. It recently came up for sale.”

  He didn’t mention that when he came up with the idea for this art exhibition, that
he contacted the curating body for the painting and offered a sum so large they couldn’t refuse. It was necessary. While his personal collection had so many French impressionist masterpieces, there was no exhibit without this linchpin. Ravi knew, however, that Bridget felt skittish around his money and influence. The less he said, the better.

  “It was my mother’s favorite. When she grew sick, we flew her to New York to see it as often as possible. It raised her spirits. Then, I bought a penthouse for her in Manhattan. The last few months, I spent the days with her and we’d get sun in Central Park and go to see this painting together. She never grew tired of it, and neither did I.”

  Bridget hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “You’re a van Gogh fan as well?” he said, trying to keep his tone light, even though he felt as if he were standing before her stark naked. In point of fact, Ravi would have preferred that over putting one of the most painful periods of his life on display before her. “I didn’t know that, my swan.”

  “He’s good. I like his sunflowers, but you know what I mean. You didn’t have to tell me this, to be that open. It means so much to me that you’ll tell me things that no one else has heard from you.”

  Ravi nodded and pulled her close to him, kissing her temple. “Your father must have been incredibly desperate. This is what he tried to steal from me. I just needed you to understand why it was so special to me, why…”

  She turned to him, her green eyes brimming with earnestness. “There had to be a price.”

  “Yes. Even though I regret how we met,” he started, threading his fingers through hers, “I’m glad we did. I meant what I said. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and I’m so honored to have you as my date tonight, to be able to show all of the Emirates the woman who has captured my heart.”

  “Ravi!” she said, her eyes shiny.

  He kissed her lips. “I mean it. In fact—” He groaned when his phone buzzed. “I apologize. I think this is a business contact, and I need to talk about some sensitive oil sales to Japan or else I’d have it off. Damn these time zones,” he broke away from her, watching as she rushed across the hall and rejoined Kamala.

  Then his stomach churned. He recognized the number—Sabella.

  Practically growling, he pressed his phone on. “What do you want? You were explicitly not invited.”

  “Look behind you.”

  He did and glared at her since she now snuck behind him. Her dress was too short and too tight for such a gathering, and it looked cheap on her. So much looked cheap on her, and he didn’t know how he never noticed that before. Maybe it was because he never had Bridget’s easy style and grace to compare Sabella to. Well, he did now.

  “I did not ask you to come here.”

  “No,” she said, grinning like a cat that caught a canary. “But the nephew of the sheikh of Abu Dhabi needed an escort.”

  “I’m sure you’re good at those services.”

  She reached out and traced a finger down his front. “How quickly we forget good times, Ravi.”

  “You forget your place, Sabella. You’re not my equal.”

  “I’m a servant, right? Just the woman you need when it’s convenient.” She shook her head and glared back at Bridget who was animatedly talking with Adil and Kamala both. “I want to talk with you. I’m better than that American giraffe over there, and I deserve more than a brush-off after all we’ve been through together.”

  “I owe you nothing.”

  She narrowed cold, black eyes at him. “You may not think so, but I’ll make a scene right here, Ravi. Ruin the opening day of your mother’s exhibit.”

  His jaw clenched and he led her out to the hallway. When they were in a private corner of the hall, he glared back at her. “You’re low. Did you know that?”

  “But I get my way,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. “I want you to remember something.”

  “What?” he asked, his stomach still churning with bile.

  She kissed him so suddenly that he barely had time to process any of it. Then she draped her leg over his waist, pressing up against him fully. In his shock, he let the moment pass and then collected himself to force her off of him.

  “No,” he said, straightening his robes. “We are never doing this again. It’s over, Sabella.”

  She laughed at him, as if only she were privy to a secret joke. “No, my so-called sheikh. It’s only just begun.”

  ***

  Bridget was enjoying the stories both Kamala and Adil were telling her about a certain precocious, curly-haired boy who eventually grew to become Ravi. The old man had just finished telling her about how a frog ended up as part of the former sheikh’s entrée at a dinner years ago thanks to Ravi’s mischief, and she was bent over laughing at the thought. Yes, Ravi was adventurous in so many ways now, but she wanted to know more about that carefree boy, the one who set a live frog down on his dad’s dinner plate when Heads of State were coming; the one who had laughed so easily.

  The one who didn’t seem so haunted by the loss of his parents in very different ways.

  “That’s nothing. I have a far better one about Sheikh Shamon and the chicken pox,” Kamala started.

  “Oh please, I’m all ears,” she said. Then Bridget frowned when her phone dinged. She had a text. “Sorry, let me take this,” she said, pulling it from her clutch. It was Ravi. He’d stepped out of the ballroom for his business call, and she was glad it was over. Or at least that it hopefully was.

  Meet me in the lobby.

  She rolled her eyes and hoped that it wouldn’t be another piece of jewelry. The pearls around her neck were more than enough. Bridget meant it earlier when she proclaimed that he was all she wanted. Frankly, after the few crappy boyfriends she had, he was the ultimate precious stone for her. Still, she was missing him desperately. Excusing herself from Adil and Kamala, Bridget made her way out of the ballroom and then turned her head.

  Her heart shattered. It just crumbled in her chest.

  There was Ravi making out with Sabella, and that witch had her leg wrapped around his waist.

  Pain burned through her and the nausea was back as it had been every day since the aquarium. Bridget just hadn’t had the heart to tell Ravi, to worry him. What a waste of kindness that had been. He clearly didn’t give a damn about her. Chewing back her nausea, she rushed for the nearest ladies’ room, even as tears fell down her cheeks. Rushing in through the door, she slammed it behind her and lunged for a toilet. Her retching was familiar after a week, but the new ache in her heart and, seemingly deep down to her soul, was so very new.

  She thought she was crushed when Kevin cheated on her, but that was a mosquito prick compared to the bite of a giant bear. Everything about her was tearing apart, and after she took cool mouthfuls of water from the sink, her mouth tasted of ash.

  “I knew this was coming,” she said, as she splashed more cool water on her face. Her tears wouldn’t stop, and she had no interest in seeing Ravi again. She was glad she came separately with Kamala. Hopefully the servant woman could get her back to the mansion without her having to interact with that jerk ever again. If she saw him, she would weep so hard that it would never stop. That much Bridget knew was true. “But why?”

  The door swung open and Sabella sauntered into the room, moving like pure sex. She sold it everywhere she walked, didn’t she? No wonder Ravi had fallen back into her arms.

  “I know why.” The other woman purred, proud of her victory.

  “You know I saw?”

  “I always catch mice scurrying out of my way,” she said, her tone blithe. “You understand now, don’t you?”

  She spun around to face Sabella and crossed her arms over her chest. “I understand what?”

  “That he was never yours to have. Ravi was never going to be yours, American. He needs to stick with his own kind.”

  “A Muslim?”

  “No, with someone beautiful and well-versed in the traditions of the wealthy, n
ot some thief’s daughter from nowhere. You’re trash, Bridget, and you know it. How do you think the rest of the sheikhs gathered here would feel or act if they knew how he really met you? That your father is nothing more than a common criminal? That you were his ‘get out of jail free’ card?”

  Her throat tensed and ran dry. It took a few seconds for Bridget to be able to speak. “My father isn’t me. I don’t have a thing to do with him.”

  “You carry his name, Bridget Callahan, and you pay for his mistakes. What’s the expression you American’s have? ‘Gutter trash,’ is it?” Bridget’s hand slapped against Sabella’s face before she knew what was happening. For a moment, the other girl looked stunned but then just rubbed her face and laughed. “Oh, the little mouse has claws! American, I’ll make you a deal. I have a car waiting and airplane ticket just for you, an open-ended flight home to Maryland I’ve had since you got here.”

  “What?”

  “I knew he’d come back to me, and you did too. Now just get outside, take the car, and leave Dubai. Otherwise, how many people—how many reporters here to cover the gala—will get a front row seat to your delicious humiliation?” To emphasize her point, Sabella yanked the ticket from her own clutch. “Get out of here, Bridget. You’ve been beaten.”

  Tears streaming down her face, Bridget did as she was told and rushed out into the night, her heart far too broken to do anything else.

  Chapter Ten

  Two Months Later…

  “We need to talk,” Cindi said, her frown clear on her face.

  Bridget looked back over the trash can she’d just ruined by vomiting into it. Damn, and I usually make it. In the two months since she fled Dubai, her life had gone to hell. She was able to get a job working as a receptionist for a psychologist associate of Cindi’s. However, she wasn’t sleeping—at least not well. When she dreamed, she was always back in the Middle East and at the mansion. In her good dreams, which were few and far between, she was back in Ravi’s arms. In her nightmares, she always seemed to stumble on Ravi and Sabella locked in an embrace or something even worse. Her physical health was even worse. She vomited every morning at about ten a.m., no matter what she ate the night before, but she was ravenous by six p.m. She developed the weirdest taste for putting sweet pickle chips on pizza, and she might have gained about ten pounds. Soon she’d have to take her paltry life savings and buy a new wardrobe.