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Every step taking her away from him had him vibrating with dread that he’d just committed the biggest mistakes of his life. Letting her go, and before that, introducing the subject of heir and marriage so prematurely.
What if, in spite of the unstoppable desire that had exploded into existence between them, he’d come on too strong, and she’d run away thinking it the better fate to marry Hassan, a man she’d find far easier to handle?
Expending the last of what he’d previously thought was limitless willpower, he squashed the urge to stalk her, haul her back inside, lock every door and simply overpower her reluctance and misgivings. He might have decreed he’d take her tomorrow night, but everything in him was roaring for him to claim her right now.
But he’d already cornered himself, making it impossible to do anything but watch her go. Anything he did now to override her would only make things worse.
He didn’t recognize himself in this condition, as he’d never been almost out of control. He’d never been unable to project the consequences of his actions, had never acted on impulse or taken a step without premeditation. His brothers had always said he was the epitome of what it meant to be Machiavellian.
But everything he’d done since he’d seen Jenan hadn’t even been actions but reactions, all unpremeditated and uncalculated. He was suffering from something he’d never experienced. A form of insanity.
And it was because of her. Jenan. He was beginning to think she was truly her name. At least one meaning of it.
The meaning he was sure her parents had meant was the plural of jennah—garden, what the ancients called paradise. That meaning was apt, too. But it was the colloquial meaning of the word that was relevant to his condition, what he now suspected she could induce. Madness.
But even in his state, he wasn’t so far gone he didn’t realize she was returning to her Tribeca apartment in lower Manhattan alone. Whether by cab or her own car, it was still a fifteen-minute drive and it was now—he flicked a glance at his watch—2:00 a.m. Time had really flown with her.
But it would compound his self-sabotaging behavior to follow her now. To ensure her safety without further damages, he would have to settle for having her followed.
The moment she disappeared around the corner, he whipped out his phone, called Ameen, sent him a photo of her from the digital file he had on her, ordered him to tail her home then report to him.
Afterward, he stared at the photo. It superficially resembled the woman he’d spent the past six hours with. It was like a lookalike, the mask she presented to the world, hiding her true nature. The charisma that leaped in her eyes, the wit and whimsy that played on her lips and the sheer impact she’d had on his senses in reality were absent. Even so, heat spread inside him just looking at the photo, when before meeting her, he’d surveyed it with the utmost clinical coldness.
Finally closing the door, he went back inside, homing in on the spot where he’d almost made love to her.
Sitting down, he caressed the place where she’d sat, feeling her warmth, even when there was no way it was still detectable. But then her feel was imprinted on his hands, permeating his senses. Her breath still filled his lungs, and her taste still tingled on his tongue.
Jenan. Mind-twisting, will-warping madness.
He’d wanted to possess her every second of the hours he’d spent with her. But he’d managed to hold back, to do what he’d thought more vital—negotiate the terms of future, limitless intimacies. Then she’d revealed her convictions, so serious and unwavering as she lay soft and surrendering in his embrace. She’d exposed the indomitable realist who’d smashed cultural and gender restraints, who didn’t have a smidge of silliness or squeamishness in her expectations, who’d taken on the world and won.
Everything she was explained why she’d hit him that hard. The infallible instincts that had steered him throughout a nightmarish existence, had made him not only survive but triumph over everything and everyone, had recognized her. She had been made to understand him, to withstand him, to appreciate the monster inside him when it sent everyone else cowering.
Rationing his response had ceased to be an option.
He would have taken her, and she would have let him if not for the interruption. Now frustration ate through him. Not that having her would have quenched this blazing need. It would have only left him hungrier for her. He’d never known such ferocious desire existed, or that he of all people could be victim to it. But everything with her had been the most exhilarating thing that had ever happened to him. The attraction that had arced between them had been the most invigorating thing he’d ever experienced.
It was also the most dangerous.
It had messed up his fine-tuned conquering methods, pulverized his impregnable rules. It had reduced him to a reactive, starving man who didn’t follow plans and didn’t have brakes. He’d never once considered the possibility that he wouldn’t get everything he wanted. He’d always gotten his every planned result because he’d never cared what anyone thought of him. People had always been most welcome to hate or despise him as long as they bowed to him. How they bowed had never been a concern. In fact, he’d always preferred to force them to their knees.
But he couldn’t afford—no, couldn’t contemplate—that Jenan would feel any aversion, or even reluctance toward him. He had to have her early eagerness back. He had to have that total trust and admiration lighting up her face again.
He had to have her.
And to think he’d come tonight bent on systematically seducing Khalil Aal Ghamdi’s daughter to obtain his vital heir. But what he’d planned in cold blood had turned into a consuming need. Now instead of gritting his teeth and mating with a woman he’d been certain wouldn’t arouse his most basic urge, he would burn in the raging flames of his desire for Jenan. If their brief time of delirium was anything to go by, he was in for the untold pleasure he’d promised her. More. He was in for the first true pleasure of his life.
If only Antonio hadn’t called when he had. He would have been inside her now, taking her to the first peak of many. But it was a paramount rule of the Black Castle brotherhood, a rule he’d made, to immediately respond to any communication from a brother. With their lethal pasts and perilous presents, no one knew when it might be a matter of life or death.
But Antonio hadn’t been in danger. For some reason he didn’t give a damn about, he’d picked then of all times to recommend a few more hypnotherapy sessions for Numair.
Cursing vehemently, he reached for his phone, then paused. Though Antonio had called him barely half an hour ago, he could now be asleep.
Once their brotherhood’s field surgeon in their years as the slaves of The Organization, Antonio had become Black Castle Enterprise’s resident medical genius, the creator and director of their avant-garde and booming medical R&D business, and a surgeon who was one of the world’s most brilliant and unorthodox. He kept hours as extreme and unpredictable as everything about him. He was also known to sleep at will, to charge his batteries whenever possible for the grueling days he maintained in his lab, the OR and the boardroom. Numair had seen him fall asleep sitting up, in under thirty seconds. It was very possible he’d fallen asleep immediately after his fateful phone call.
But so what? He hoped Antonio was in deep, blissful sleep after months of severe deprivation, or on the verge of orgasm with a woman he’d been panting after for years. He’d love to return the favor.
He almost drove his finger through Antonio’s speed-dial number. By the third ring, Numair was ready to storm out, raid Antonio’s Fifth Avenue penthouse and punch him awake.
