Page 87 of The Billionaire's Timed Wife

Somehow, she managed to persuade my trusted man to join in her plan. I have no doubt my assistant—now officially my public relations officer—had to orchestrate a full-scale military operation to pull off whatever Adeela, surely with Jazmina’s help, arranged.

When the car stops and I see a tent pitched ahead, one that could easily pass for a house in size, I smile inwardly.

She went to the trouble of preparing something special for our first night together. She’s stepping into this not as a contracted wife, as I once feared because of the terms she demanded, but truly as my woman.

I step out of the car and motion for the guards to stay back. They know they’ll be waiting all night. I assume Amin organized them into shifts.

To call what stands before me a tent would be an understatement. My wife has arranged a full royal camp, like the ones I used to join with my father when I was a boy.

There must be a power generator, and I’m certain there’s air conditioning inside.

A massive Persian carpet stretches like a pathway to the entrance, with torches lining each side. The firelight gives everything an air of intimacy.

With every step I take, my pulse quickens, because I know who’s waiting for me inside.

When I finally enter, candles flicker everywhere, set in glass holders, but there is no sign of Adeela.

The space is large, at least two adjoining rooms. Just as I consider going to look for her, her voice stops me.

“Sit down, my sheikh.”

I smile.

Who would’ve thought my shy wife could turn into such a temptress?

Then I remember the night she danced at my father’s party, when she danced forme,and every nerve in my body ignites with raw desire.

As if the memory itself has echoed into reality, music begins to play.

I still can’t see her, but now I can already imagine what’s about to happen.

My wife.

My own private odalisque.

So powerful in her sensuality that the image of her body moving to the rhythm has been seared into my memory, no matter how hard I tried to go back to the life I had before.

I tried to escape her, and the hunger she awakened in me, for almost two years. But now I know for certain that, whether I became sheikh or not, it was always destined.

From the very first time we met, it was written: Adeela would be mine.

Chapter 41

Given my not-so-confident nature, I should be embarrassed.

But as I take one last look in the mirror of the anteroom beside the bedroom I had prepared for us in the middle of the desert, I feel powerful.

Unlike the last time, this outfit, custom-made, is daring. White silk chiffon, both the skirt and the bodice adorned with crystal appliqués. Thin pearl chains are interwoven in a delicate pattern.

My abdomen is bare—completely exposed, really, since the skirt sits low on my hips.

Along with the henna designs, I’m wearing a jewel on my navel. It was an impulsive act that earned applause from my sister-in-law: a diamond drop-shaped piercing.

I’m barefoot, the sheer veils of my skirt grazing the floor. My hair flows loose, and the only jewelry I wear besides my wedding ring is a pair of chandelier earrings, one of the gifts from my mahr chest.

It’s not only my attire that’s bolder tonight; the dance will be too. Our performance at former Sheikh Kamran’s birthday was modest, but for tonight I hired a professional to teach me some sensual choreography, one where the seven veils of my skirt will be removed, one by one, until I stand naked for my man.

Each veil[39] represents a chakra[40], an energy point in the body, and with every veil released, a chakra is revealed. The last veil to fall is the kundalini, a chakra located at the base of the spine, near the sexual organs. For that reason, the Dance of the Seven Veils should only ever be performed for one’s husband. When the last veil falls, the dancer binds herself to the man watching her.