Just as Imaad let himself into his penthouse apartment that night, his brother Omar texted: On my way, some things to discuss.

His brother was notorious for disappearing and showing up based solely on his own agenda. Imaad couldn’t be mad about it—he loved Omar’s thought-provoking conversations over whiskey—but tonight, it could have been a close call.

Not that Annabelle would have come back with you…but she could have. In a perfect world.

Their dinner had been jovial and tipsy, recovering entirely from the strange tension at the beginning surrounding that agreement. And while they talked plenty about business and even more about non-business, Annabelle made it clear she would be returning to her hotel room at the end of the night. Even though Imaad swore he saw a flicker of doubt cross her face—a split-second desire to take it further, maybe even right back to the dunes in the salt desert.

But not tonight. And maybe not ever again. Imaad headed for the low, black couches hugging an enormous square coffee table, reclining into the soft leather with a sigh. He tossed the agreement onto the table and loosened his tie. If only you could have brought her back here…

Thoughts like those wouldn’t help. Not when his blood turned hot whenever she was around, his palms itching to caress her. Thinking of her when he couldn’t have her would only drive him into the shower, and with his brother on the way, he didn’t have time to jack off before he arrived.

A few moments later, Omar let himself into the penthouse, shouting his greeting from the foyer. Imaad raised his hand to greet him, barely stirring from the couch.

“You’ve had a long day, I see.” Omar clapped his shoulder on his way to the bar along the back wall. “I’ll help remedy that.”

Imaad smirked, craning his head to watch his brother pour two tumblers of whiskey. Omar strode toward him, glasses in hand, and passed one to him. They clinked glasses and took a sip.

“So what brings you here?” Imaad toed his shoes off. They clunked onto the hardwood floor. “It’s pretty late for one of your house calls.”

“It’s only nine, brother. And it’s Friday, no less.” Omar shook his head, leaning against the back of the couch. “I’m on my way to the city center, to meet with a lady. Your house was perfectly on the way.”

“A lady.” Imaad chuckled. “There’s a new one every week.”

“Not so.” He paused. “Every month, maybe.”

“Close enough.”

“That brings me to my point—your lady,” Omar said, wiggling his eyebrows. “You lucked out in the arranged-marriage department. I don’t think Zahir or I will fare so well.” He took another sip of his drink. “I’ve caught on to some of the whispers of the board members. And there’s some rumors going around that she’s not going to uphold her end of the deal.”

Imaad creased a brow. “That’s ludicrous.”

“I thought you should know. This way, you can address it with her directly, to nip this problem in the bud.” Omar’s problem-solving skills were renowned in the family. As the eldest brother, he’d engineered his way out of trouble during their childhood too many times to count…often at Imaad’s expense. It served him well in the business world. “They don’t trust her. And I think they are ready to latch onto any convenient story.”

“Hm.” Imaad sipped at his whiskey thoughtfully. “Thank you. This is important to know.” He set his tumbler down, an idea occurring to him. “I’ll be right back. Let me get my laptop.” He pushed up from the couch, feet padding quietly on the wood floors as he headed for his bedroom to find his computer. When he came back out into the living room, Omar was in his spot on the couch, squinting at a paper.

“What is this?” Omar held the paper up to him as Imaad approached. His belly knotted. Annabelle’s pre-nuptial agreement.

“It’s…uh…” Words evaporated in his mouth. “Why do you ask?”

Omar turned to look at him fully, eyebrows knit together. “Has anyone else seen this?”

“Of course not.” Imaad set his laptop down on the coffee table. The agreement was practically a buzzer screaming “sham marriage.” Annabelle had written their pending divorce into the mix as well. “It’s something we think would be best.”

“Then you came up with this?” Omar looked over the document again, eyebrows forming a hardline. “Surely she couldn’t have. She has no assets to speak of.”

“It was her idea. And while I find it a bit…off-putting, it probably is a wise idea.” Imaad snatched the paper from his hands, looking it over again. The only word that stood out to him was divorce. How much had Omar seen?

“Wise idea to call off the marriage six months after the merger is complete?” Omar laughed bitterly. “You might as well call it off now.”

Imaad crumpled onto the couch beside him. “This was our idea—together. Not the prenup, I mean, but the…ruse.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We don’t want to get married, but we desperately want this merger. We figured if we got married and played along, we could quietly divorce somewhere down the road without too much issue.” He glanced nervously at his brother, trying to tease a reaction from his stony face.

Omar was eerily silent as he stared at the leather couch, jaw flexing. “I think this could ruin the merger. Father wouldn’t care if Annabelle’s father had never offered her hand—but he will care very much about reneging on a promise. You know him. He would rather sell off the business or fire more people than do business with someone who can’t keep his word.”

Imaad buried his face in his hands. His brother was right. No matter how desperately he wished it otherwise. He’d been a fool to get caught up in Annabelle’s wispy escape plan.

“Aren’t you always telling me to stand up to father, to not ask him ‘how high’ when he tells me to jump?” Imaad shook his head. “And what makes it worse,” he groaned through his fingers, “Is that I think I actually want to be with her.”

Omar guffawed with laughter, slapping him on the back. “Well that’s the dream, isn’t it? You should be happy.”

“No. She’ll never be able to see past the fact that her father arranged it in secret.”

“Well, that’s a little different,” Omar mused.

“And I’m crazy about her.”

“Crazy enough to marry her?”

Imaad sighed, leaning back into the couch. “I don’t know. Who can ever know these things?”

“At any rate, you cannot tell Father,” Omar said, his voice growing stern. He drained the rest of his whiskey. “Our companies are riding on this merger, you’re right. But the ruse is still a bad idea, though I sympathize with her, now that I know the facts. If I were you, I’d find another solution. And quickly.”

Imaad flexed his jaw, staring at the creases of the paper in his hands. The easiest solution would be to make sure Annabelle knew exactly how he felt…and how far he was willing to take it.

Omar squeezed his shoulder, speaking the words in his head. “Perhaps that solution begins with accelerating the situation with Annabelle, don’t you think? Spur that horse forward.”

Imaad flashed a grin, not allowing himself the indulgence of imagining her smooth skin under his palm or the silkiness of her hair in his fist. Not while Omar was around.

But those memories wouldn’t stay squashed for long. They, more than anything else, would lead him right back to the intoxicating quagmire of their current situation.