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Her heart skipped a beat, but it was for the very worst reasons. “Yup, there is,” Hyacinth managed to say. “You can ask Mrs. B. who her favorite student is and if she doesn’t say it’s me, she’s lying.”
The sound of her sister’s laughter trailed after Hyacinth as she left their apartment, but her smile disappeared the moment she was out of Anisah’s sight.
Shit, shit, shit.
Hyacinth checked her watch.
Six hours, she thought with a gulp.
She had been so busy mooning over Rayyan Al-Atassi she had forgotten about Mrs. B. possibly ratting her out during today’s PTA.
But...all hope was not lost.
Six hours, she reminded herself.
She still had six hours between now and later to figure out something that could get Mrs. B. off her back and keep her from unnecessarily worrying Anisah.
It’s doable. Right, H?
JEMIMA BLACK STRETCHED languorously over the satin covers, her naked body still humming in the aftermath of the sheikh’s torrid lovemaking. She had half a mind to plead for just one last round of sex before he left, but then self-preservation kicked in, and she wisely opted to keep her silence. The sheikh had never been the type to linger, and ever since he had finished with law school and taken on the mantle of leadership in managing the kingdom’s coffers, each and every minute of his day had become more precious than gold.
Jemima knew her worth, but she also knew her limits, and it was the latter more than anything else that allowed her to be who she was now.
Turning to her side, Jemima propped her head on one hand as she indulged herself with the sensuous sight of the sheikh dressing himself. As opulent as her suite was, none of its expensive trimmings could compare to the sheikh’s powerful, strapping figure. Sleek, hard muscles flexed with every moment, so fluid they appeared almost sinuous, and her mouth dried as she remembered how sensually skillful the sheikh was as a lover: the way he stared, the way he used his mouth, the way his fingers moved – oh, he knew exactly how to use every part of his body to make a woman forget her own name, and the way he could dwell for a tortuous eternity between her thighs, licking and sucking, never failed to reduce Jemima into a screaming mess.
Jemima had to bite back a sigh of regret as she watched the sheikh’s formidably muscular form disappear under the pristine-white cloth of his thobe, custom-designed as always by a local modiste. Those who didn’t know the sheikh would have assumed it was a choice based on sartorial preferences, but those who knew him better – and Jemima, in her vanity, liked to think she was one of them – would have known Rayyan Al-Atassi’s every decision was calculated.
Anything that was to the kingdom’s interest was met with favor – and vice versa. It was always that black and white with the sheikh, which was also why Jemima had long abandoned any silly dreams of becoming the sheikh’s wife. She might have the right lineage, the right looks, the right social skillset – but she was also a divorcée, and that would never do for a man whose every desire was intrinsically rooted in the kingdom’s progress.
When the sheikh faced her again, Jemima couldn’t help drawing her breath even as she hated herself just a little for it. Damn him for being so beautiful. He was the epitome of masculine perfection, and it did not help that the extraordinary tandem of his ash blond hair and piercing blue eyes was as rare a sight as snow in the desert kingdom.
She had been his lover for over five years now, but oh, even knowing what a cold, unfeeling bastard he was, it never made a difference. There were still many moments, just like now, that the sheer magnificence of his looks would catch her off guard, and her heart would skip a beat.
Which was quite mortifying, Jemima thought wryly, for a woman of her age and experience. At thirty-six, she was a good seven years older than her lover, and so she really should know better.
Rising reluctantly from the bed, Jemima wrapped the sheets around her body as the sheikh retrieved his watch from the bedside table.
“I’ll let you know when I’ve need of you again,” the sheikh murmured.
“You can just say ‘thank you’ and ‘good night’ for once, you know.” It was meant to be a joke, but she should’ve known better than to hope the sheikh would ever unbend with her. She had seen him with his guard lowered when among his family and the most trusted members of his staff, but with anyone else – and that included women who were welcomed only to his bed...
The moment the sheikh’s smoky blue eyes turned glacial, Jenna cursed herself silently, knowing she had been stupid for daring to cross the line.
