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When the girls realized he indeed meant it, and what it meant for someone of his power to help open closed doors or level road bumps for them wherever they needed, Fayza and Zeena again buried him in delight and gratitude.
Intervening this time, Jen began to interact with the trio more instead of only watching them and contributing to their exchange at key points. Then over an exquisite lunch, the conversation and banter flowed more fluently with every passing second.
The girls of course kept trying to get to the truth of why Numair was helping Jen, and by association, them, what was in it for him and what exactly had happened in the past four days. Numair deflected their persistence, gave them answers that were at once true, yet said absolutely nothing of the truth. It was uncanny.
But what most delighted Jen was how Numair, for all his widely known misanthropy and his initial reluctance to have her sisters on board, treated them much like she did, with care and indulgence, albeit with his own version of overwhelming authority and firmness. He acted as she’d always imagined a magnificent older brother would be with them. She knew she was getting way ahead of herself, but she’d stopped worrying about anything that would happen down the road. She’d just enjoy the incredible present.
With that in mind, she threw herself into being with the three people she loved being with most in the world...and hoped her sisters would go to sleep soon.
* * *
Numair stood at the top of the stairs of his jet and looked over the land he hadn’t set foot on since he was a child. Zafrana. Half of his heritage.
Suddenly, all his senses revved, and he turned to t
he one who had total dominion over them now. Jenan looked even more breathtaking than ever as she approached him. Together they’d step onto the land she’d relinquished by choice and he’d lost by treachery. He would now reclaim it for himself, and make it a place where she could be happy and fulfilled, a home that deserved her.
Her eyes were full of all the wonders they’d experienced together. But for appearances’ sake, so they wouldn’t invite people’s interference into their new and vital bond, she kept to herself the hands that had sent him mad with desire and ecstasy for four straight days.
He luxuriated in how refreshed and satiated she looked. For the girls had slept. They’d woken up only during descent. He’d had Jenan in his arms, under him, all around him, for ten straight hours. Half of the time had been consuming pleasure, and the rest rejuvenating slumber.
When her two sisters stepped out behind them, he turned to look at them. It had surprised him to find himself liking them, needing to please and defend them, and not only because they were her family. They smiled at him with that growing fondness and admiration that so affected him as they all descended the stairs to the limo waiting to take them to the VIP arrivals lounge.
As they entered the lounge, the girls rushed to their friends, who’d come to inspect Numair’s jet for the promised in-the-air party. He was exchanging an amused intimate smile with Jenan when a deep voice boomed behind them.
“Jenan.”
As they swung around, a man, almost as tall and big as him, was striding toward them, his face tinged with an anxious, angry fire. Numair recognized him at once.
Najeeb Aal Ghaanem. Saraya’s crown prince. His cousin and the oldest son of his murderous uncle.
Then Numair’s head almost exploded with aggression. Najeeb had reached for Jenan, took her by the shoulders in an urgent grip.
“I cut short my tour as soon as I heard. I went to New York last night but couldn’t find you or anyone, couldn’t get any reliable account of what happened. I called King Khalil, who told me you were returning home, so I flew here to wait for you.” His teeth gritted. “My father has crossed every line this time. I can’t apologize enough to you, but you don’t need to worry. I’ll put a stop to this.”
Unable to bear it anymore, Numair clamped his hand around Jenan’s arm and pulled her into his side. “I’ll put a stop to this.”
Najeeb blinked, as if it was the first time he’d realized Jenan wasn’t alone.
As he made eye contact with him, Numair barely held back from knocking him out. From doing far more. He’d killed many men with one blow when he’d felt none of the blind rage he felt now.
The damn man was not only handsome, he also looked noble, sophisticated, his highborn nature oozing from every pore. And he had this...warmth about him, this heroic vibe to boot.
Everything about him was the very opposite of his own savagery and rawness and coldness. Their radically different lives, what Najeeb’s father had been responsible for, were written all over them. And he hated him for it.
But he didn’t contemplate killing him for that. It was for daring to lay a hand on her, for calling her Jenan. But most of all, for existing and for suiting her far more than he ever could.
Najeeb’s surprise abated, righteous anger flooding over his face in its place. “Who the hell are you?”
Though he knew everything about Najeeb, he growled back, “I ask the questions here. Who the hell are you?”
As Najeeb bared his teeth and Numair took a step forward to meet his confrontation head-on, suddenly Jenan stepped between them.
Placing one flat palm on each of their chests, she calmly gave each a firm shove. The action itself, more than the power of it, made each of them stumble a step back, severing the chain reaction of aggression.
Looking from Numair to Najeeb, she smiled with mock demure sweetness. “Let this little, helpless, has-no-say woman make the introductions. Numair, meet Najeeb Aal Ghaanem, Saraya’s crown prince and my fiancé’s oldest son. Najeeb, meet Numair Al Aswad, mega intelligence and counterterrorism mogul...and my lover.”
Seven
