Bought For One Night: The Sheikh's Offer
TEN
Amity arrived at Aziz’s living chambers dressed in a pair of jeans and a grey V-neck shirt, which gave a slight notion of her breasts, without divulging too much. She’d never tell him she’d tried on five outfits, all of them “casual,” before marching down to his rooms. She was mortified with herself, just from the memory of it. Professionalism had gone out the window.
Aziz was stationed in front of his extensive DVD collection, shifting his weight in a pair of dark jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt. Amity could sense the strong muscles beneath the cotton, how sturdy he was. She’d never seen him out of a suit—besides that morning when she’d caught him nearly naked—and it was remarkable how he’d transformed, switched from stern businessman to a man she’d love to cuddle up with on the couch.
He heard her footsteps at the entrance, and he stepped toward her, an unopened bottle of wine glinting in his hands. He gestured to it. “It’s an Al-Mabbar classic, bottled nearly forty years ago.”
“Forty years? Are you sure you want to waste that on me?” Amity laughed. She glided toward him and took the bottle in her hand, her eyes flocking over the Arabic description.
He made intense eye contact with her, nodding. “I am.”
Amity shivered. She chopped through the serious moment and handed the bottle back to him, directing her gaze to the collection on the wall. “I’ve never seen so many DVDs in one place,” she said, unsure if this was a compliment or not. Generally, she just stuck to Netflix, on the rare occasions that she offered herself time away from work. “Have you watched all of them?”
“Oh, not at all,” Aziz laughed. He grabbed two wine glasses from the side cabinet. Light from the sunset gleamed orange through them. “But I have it well-stocked. One of the maids here is up on her movies. She watches them while she cleans, but she doesn’t think I know.” He winked.
Amity grinned. She parsed through the collection, noting that the films were ordered by genre, many of them from Hollywood. She breathed a sigh of relief, happy she wouldn’t have to pretend to know even a glint about the Al-Mabbar movie industry. Did it even exist? She didn’t want to offend him with the question.
“The maid, Addy, she really likes Meg Ryan movies. You’ll see that, maybe,” Aziz said. He poured the wine with small glugs.
“Oh, yes. You’ve Got Mail. It’s a classic,” Amity teased. “I’m sure you watch it all the time.”
“Only when I’m getting over a break up.”
“And tons of action movies, I see. Mad Max: Fury Road. Kung Fury.” Amity shook her head, her brown hair swishing around her ears. “I don’t know how you manage to leave your house, with all these options.”
“Oh, it’s a struggle all right,” Aziz laughed. He handed her the glass of wine and they clinked, their eyes meeting for a moment. “To you, Amity. For helping me come to terms with staying in. And for aiding in The Great Aziz Image Problem.”
Amity nodded gratefully, sipping the wine, reminding herself it was nearly priceless. She felt the taste of it glide through her taste buds, to the back of her throat. “Mmm,” she murmured. “It doesn’t feel right to drink it.”
“Don’t things that feel wrong always end up feeling so right, anyway?” Aziz teased.
He sat on the couch, leaning back and lifting his foot to his opposite knee. He took up space, like a man should, Amity thought. She felt oddly intimidated by his air.
Finally, Amity’s fingers touched a movie she thought appropriate—a New Zealand comedy called What We Do in the Shadows, one he’d never heard of before.
“She likes her films, Addy does,” Aziz said, shaking his head. He tapped the empty space on the couch beside him, watching her movement as she slipped the DVD into the player and pressed Play.
“It’s rather silly,” Amity said, her eyes turning to him as she sat. “But I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
“You don’t think I’m silly enough?” he asked her.
“You are a sheikh. And royalty. And a billionaire,” Amity added. Her eyes flashed. She pressed herself not to drink the wine too quickly. “Just saying.”
“You don’t frequently hang out with the likes of me?”
“Not off the clock,” she said pointedly.
The pair leaned back in their seats, their eyes on the screen for mere moments before their conversation rolled once more. Although the comedy—a mockumentary about vampires in New Zealand—rollicked on, their focus was purely on each other.
“Then, who do you generally hang out with?” he asked her, turning his head. “I mean, you’ve seen the kind of people I fill my life with. The millionaires of this city, and their children,” he said, mocking himself. “And lions and tigers, of course. But you—I’m curious as to what your world looks like.”
“I’ve told you, in so many words,” Amity said quietly. “I’ve told you that I struggle to find time for my social life. Last night at the club—it was a world I’m not used to. At one time, maybe, I craved that kind of life. That kind of recklessness. But I couldn’t find it within me to enjoy it last night.”
“I struggle to like it, as well,” Aziz said. He scratched at his five o’ clock shadow and Amity felt her insides squirm. She wondered, inwardly, what it would be like to kiss him, what it would feel like to have his tongue slip against hers.
“Of course, I often wonder if I’m allowing my twenties to pass me by. Unlike Flora,” Amity said, trying to lighten the mood. “She’s such a mad girl. Just before we left, she had some kind of break up with a guy in the office. I couldn’t keep track of what was going on.”
Aziz tossed his head back. Amity couldn’t believe that he cared enough about her story to laugh with her—didn’t he have a million things on his mind?
“I remember once, I tried to work in an office that wasn’t my own. I wanted to get out there on my own, to prove myself,” he began. “But the minute I got there, I started an office romance with my boss. And from then on, I knew I wouldn’t get a single thing done, not as long as I was sleeping with her.”
“You slept with your boss?” Amity gasped, actually shocked. “And you weren’t even trying to work yourself up to the top of the company?” she teased.
“I know. It was rather foolish. I think when I was younger, I was just spinning, in chaos. Partying nonstop, making friends with people who were only interested in the lifestyle I could provide. Donating to charities out of this sense of love for the world, not realizing that, deep down, I also wished that the world loved me, in return.”
Amity nodded. She felt her pulse quicken as he spoke. She’d always been such a logical person, always following the next, precise step to reach her goal. She’d been told by many people that she wasn’t a “dreamer,” and she’d always assumed this was a good thing. But the dreamer before her looked pretty good, really. He saw the world through less cynical eyes.
The movie ended and Amity chose another, pouring each of them another glassful from a second bottle of wine. She felt tipsy at this point, leaning heavy to one side before finding her balance. She heard the warm, honey notes of Aziz’s voice as he launched into another story, and she felt her laughter belt from her. Had she ever met anyone funnier?
She leaned back on the couch beside him, no longer listening to his words, instead assessing the way his facial muscles moved, the way his lips swept into a smile. And, before she could think another moment more, she placed her wine glass to the coffee table and pressed her own lips over his in a wide, singular kiss.
No sooner had she realized what she was doing, her eyes opened wide and she sprang back, shaking her head. The Sheikh had stopped speaking, and he looked at her with wide, cartoonish eyes. Beyond them, the TV was screeching with a mad racecar scene. Amity began to stutter, then, unsure of what to say. She felt like a schoolgirl.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “I’m—I’m so sorry, Aziz. Oh my God.” She drew her fingers to her forehead and began to pat it lightly, feeling the sweat as it glossed on her skin. “I’m not
normally like this. Oh God.” She was breathing heavily, her mind racing. She needed to get out of there. But the pulse, the attraction from the man before her kept her glued to her seat.
Without words, Aziz brought his fingers behind her neck and pulled her toward him gently, easily, and their lips connected once more. Amity breathed a sigh, easing her arms around the Sheikh’s neck, and allowing the kiss to stretch out between them. Their passion felt like electricity, fizzing from his lips down her neck to her breasts. She longed for him to touch her, to feel her. And she no longer had thoughts about that professional line she’d been toeing—no, dancing—ever since she arrived in Al-Mabbar. She’d snapped the line; she’d destroyed it. And here she was on the other side, in the Sheikh’s arms. And she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
The Sheikh brought her over him and their kisses became more serious, more insistent. They weren’t messing around anymore. No longer could Amity sense where the line of her body ended and his began. She swept her fingers beneath his black shirt and yanked it up, feeling the pulse of his muscles as he revealed his naked torso to her. She felt a rush as his hands flew over her shirt and flung it across the room, unhooking her bra in the process.
Their kisses turned to so much more—such erotic movements, mixed with sweet kisses and sighs. They made love on the couch almost as if they’d craved each other for months, instead of only days. The music on the television screen was no distraction; the revving Al-Mabbar City outside the windows held no merit for them. They were simply entranced with each other’s body, wholly and completely, without remorse.
When it was over, Amity stretched her body over his and swept her hair across her back. She felt his sweat gleaming on his shoulder, and she leaned her body into him. Her eyelashes swatted against her cheeks, and she drifted off to sleep easily, listening to the rise and fall of the Sheikh’s breath beside her. She felt peaceful, deeply thankful for the moment—knowing, perhaps abstractly, that this bliss would be gone as soon as she awoke.
TO BE CONTINUED
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ONE
Beth