Annabelle scurried around her room to gather her purse. Getting ready for the dinner had taken doubly long, since she’d changed her dress three times trying to achieve the exact balance of “I don’t care about you” and “Sexier than fuck” for her business dinner with Imaad.

It would cause a stir, but she didn’t care. She wanted to make a little commotion. The black dress dipped dangerously low, and the slit up the side went similarly high. Teasing him seemed par for the course, though she wasn’t sure why. All she knew was that this was a game she sometimes liked to play…even though less than twelve hours ago, she’d been staunchly anti-game.

She flip-flopped. So sue me. She snapped her handbag shut and looked over the room one last time before heading down to the lobby, where Imaad surely had to be waiting if he was as punctual as usual.

When the elevator doors slid open on the lobby, she spotted him immediately. In a black suit and immaculate hair, he was just as done up as she. And maybe with the same intention—blending business meeting with provocation. She swallowed a knot in her throat, approaching him hesitantly. You’re gonna bone him again. You already know it.

“Hey.” She smiled, avoiding his gaze. She wouldn’t be weak this time. She was going to honor that boundary, once and for all. Besides, if she started sleeping with him regularly, she might develop feelings for him. Imaad seemed like the type of guy she could fall for. And then what? Her father would win.

Imaad took a moment to look her up and down, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“What?” She creased her brow.

“You look stunning.” He offered his hand. She took it, and he lifted the back of her hand to his lips. She couldn’t fight the smile.

“So do you.” Stunning was an understatement for that man. He could make women wilt on the street around him, like delicate blooms in the sun.

“Let’s go. Our reservation is waiting.” He pressed a hand to the small of her back, guiding her toward the entrance. Her breath hitched—his mere touch sent lightning through her. This reaction was bad news. Her heels clicked over the granite stones of the outside patio as he led her to the car. He held the door open for her, and she caught his gaze sliding down her chest.

“Now, now,” she tutted once he was in the car. “This is a business meeting.”

“What?” he feigned innocence.

“No looking down your business partner’s dress,” she said, unable to fight the grin. “That’s impolite.”

He cleared his throat, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. “You’ll have to excuse me. This business partner is exceptionally gorgeous. Perhaps you’ll understand.”

She stared out the window, trying to fight the urge to grin from ear to ear and the happiness buzzing inside her. A joke about ogling his future wife seemed exceptionally tacky, especially since she still wasn’t exactly pleased about the arrangement.

And as his future wife, she had plenty to bring up at tonight’s business meeting. All seduction aside, their pending marriage was only a heartbeat away. She clutched at her handbag, watching as the buildings of downtown Minarak flashed by, all steel and angles. She needed to be smart about the situation, however unsavory.

Which was why she’d spent the entire afternoon drawing up a prenuptial agreement. It was best to clarify these matters now, before she waded any further into the muck. Because who knew what might happen if she fell under Imaad’s spell?

She glanced over at him. His gaze was soft and pensive as he watched the world through the windshield. When he swung his head to look at her, butterflies assaulted her belly. Calm emanated from him, begging her to reach out for his hand, to anchor herself alongside him.

But she’d never do that. She turned back toward the window, squinting at the bright taxis in the flow of traffic, willing herself to forget the memory of his hands scorching their way up her bare hip.

The restaurant occupied the first level of a squat stucco building, the front sidewalk lit up with spotlights. Imaad led her to the front door with a protective hand on her lower back, something she would normally protest, but with him, she just couldn’t find it in her to say no. She liked the air of protectiveness that emanated from him—or maybe it was pride? Either way, they strutted up to the restaurant like royalty, curious eyes swinging to greet them from the sidewalks, passers-by slowing down to catch a glimpse.

Inside, Imaad gave his name and the host nodded, pulling out two menus. He said something to Imaad that made him laugh.

On their way to the tables, Annabelle tugged at his arm. “What was so funny?”

“He called us Mr. and Mrs. Almasi,” Imaad said, the husky heat of his cologne reaching her. She wobbled a bit and grabbed onto his wrist. As if on autopilot, her hand slid to find his.

“I told him ‘not yet,’” Imaad said, giving her hand a little squeeze, his dark gaze leaving her speechless.

The host led them to an intimate table near the back, a simple candelabra in the middle of the table. Annabelle paused before she sat down, hesitant to let go of his hand.

“This looks lovely,” she said, looking up at him.

“It’s quite lovely.” A small smile crossed his face, and he nodded toward her seat. “If it passes your test, would you like to sit?”

She blinked at him a few times, and then yanked her hand out of his grip. His skin was a drug, one that she didn’t respond well too. Or maybe she responded too well to it. Either way, the drug needed to be avoided. She spread the cloth napkin over her lap, hoping the low lighting of the place would mask her flush.

“This is a pretty fancy place for a business meeting,” Annabelle said, smoothing her dress, looking anywhere but at Imaad’s intensely attractive gaze. God, it would be impossible to think of anything other than those sultry eyes, eating her up from head to toe. It was one thing to be in the presence of a hottie like Imaad; it was entirely different when he didn’t hide how much he was into her, too.

“My business partner has standards,” Imaad responded coolly, shaking out his napkin before placing it over his lap. “As well as needs.”

She lifted a brow. Like sexual needs? Damn straight I do. “Well, thank you for anticipating them.” She cleared her throat, squinting out into the restaurant, willing a waiter to appear with drinks or a bottle of wine or a partition that they could fuck behind.

“This is a celebratory meal,” Imaad clarified, his umber gaze growing darker. “You did an amazing job today. And I think with the merger, both of our companies will survive the current economic conditions.”

Her heart raced, sensing a doorway. One she should race through, if she had any sense left in her. “Which reminds me of something I wanted to bring up.” She cleared her throat, trying to shake the last dregs of desire out of her head, and reached for her handbag. She revealed a paper she’d folded, smoothing it across the tabletop. The flicker of candlelit cast garish shadows overtop it.

“What’s this?” He leaned forward, another waft of his cologne reaching her. She let it wash over her before responding.

“It’s a prenup.” When he arched a brow, she added, “A prenuptial agreement. Obviously, since the smooth passage of this merger means we’ll be getting married soon, I thought it was wise to draw one up.”

His blank stare prompted her to go on. “It’s totally standard. This is just a rough draft, actually—I wanted you to read it over first. See if you agree with everything. It’s just a way to protect our assets. That way, neither of us will have to deal with any blowback once we annul the marriage.”

Imaad blinked at the paper, then nodded slowly. “I see.”

Annabelle studied his face for a moment, trying to discern something from the cloudiness there. “Take it with you. And let me know if you have any questions.”

He gnawed at the inside of his lip for a moment. A waiter approached, and Imaad snatched the paper from the table, hiding it from view.

Annabelle could barely focus on the waiter as he introduced himself and the house wine in stilted English. After they settled on a red wine and two glasses of water, Imaad revealed the paper again.

“Why did you hide it?” She laughed a little. “It’s not like I scrawled bad words all over it.”

Imaad stiffened, sliding the paper back toward her. “You can keep it. We don’t do things like this in my country.”

Annabelle stared at the paper being shoved at her, too shocked to respond right away. “Well, that’s why I think we should actually get married in my country.”

A tense silence settled over the table and Annabelle’s belly tightened. She hadn’t expected this at all. “It would go over fine with your father, I’m sure. I mean, it’s the marriage he’s after. And of course you could play me off as a prissy bride. I’m sure I would be, if I ever get married for real.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think that’ll work.”

She gaped at him, unsure where to take it from here. “I thought you didn’t want to do this either. So what’s the big deal about a prenup?”

His jaw clenched and he stared at the paper, as if he was choosing his words carefully. After a moment, he folded the paper and shoved it into his pocket.

“I’ll take a look,” he said in a low voice, eyes on the waiter who returned with a bottle of red wine. He perked up, smiling slightly. “For now, let’s just enjoy dinner.”

Annabelle couldn’t shake the confusion but stuffed it into the recesses of her mind. She knew better than to pry right now. And Imaad was right—what was the harm in enjoying a delicious, decadent meal staring at one of the hottest men in the known universe?

Once the wine was poured, they clinked glasses. “Cheers.”

She’d take what she could get.