Imaad came to a few hours later, blinking against the soft lighting of the bedroom. Annabelle rested in his arms, a small smile on her face. Maybe she was dreaming of that incredible sex. It would certainly haunt his dreams for a while.

His chest tightened as he watched her snooze. Something about her felt right, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Her spark and fire complemented his own. She was exactly the type of zest and brains that he’d been too scared to hope for in life. And that sex...it needed no explanation. Annabelle was the whole package.

He stroked her hairline as she slept, admiring the small details of her face. The tiny lines by her eyes, the sassy smirk that showed up even in sleep. The white blonde hair that framed her temples. Her eyes fluttered open, her icy blue eyes cloudy as she adjusted to the world again.

“Hey there.” He dragged his thumb over her forehead.

She nuzzled into his chest. “Well this is certainly nice to wake up to.”

“Nothing better.” He smoothed his lips over her hairline. “Did you rest well?”

“Like a perfectly sated baby.” She grinned. “How long were we out for?”

“A few hours.” He rolled over slightly to check the bedside clock. “It’s getting late—almost midnight.”

Her hands snaked around his waist. “That’s okay. You can stay here.”

He pulled her tightly into his arms. “But I can’t. It would be inappropriate, given the fact that we aren’t married.”

She snorted with laughter. “So, what was the sex we just had? Totally appropriate?”

Imaad squeezed one of her ass cheeks, like a delicious reprimand. “More than appropriate. But the hotel staff can’t see me leave tomorrow. It would make the news.”

She arched a brow, pulling back a bit to look at him. “Seriously?”

He nodded, dragging his thumb along the outline of her lips. They were so pouty he wanted to kiss them every second of every day. “Trust me, they noticed when I came up here with a bottle of wine. If I don’t leave tonight, we can expect negative speculation.”

She blinked. “Are you a celebrity?”

He shrugged. He’d been in the news since birth, practically, but never at Brad Pitt or Matt Damon levels. “Maybe to some.”

“Wow.” She smoothed her hands over his chest, tugging at the wiry hairs there. He usually didn’t like it when women obsessed over his chest hair, but with her, it was different. She could do almost anything and it would be just fine. “I had no idea my future husband was so important.”

Her words jarred something inside him, a mixture between sadness and anxiety. Was it so wrong to want to hear those words from her lips? Knowing that she meant it jokingly stung somehow, though it made no sense. Annabelle was the type of woman he would marry—by choice.

“You’ll show up in the papers,” he said, running a hand over the dip of her waist. “Give it time.”

“So now that we’ve screwed a couple of times, does this mean my dowry goes up?” She cocked a mischievous grin.

He laughed. “Your pretend dowry, sure. We can set it wherever you want.”

“I don’t get one?”

“It doesn’t work quite like that anymore. This country stopped the dowry practice ages ago.”

She frowned, tugging on a few single chest hairs. “Don’t you think the whole arranged marriage practice should be stopped? It’s pretty backwards in this day and age.”

“I agree—it’s quite outdated. But at the same time, it works for some people. I don’t know. Not everyone looks at marriages as love contracts. They weren’t always that way, at least. My uncle and aunt were arranged, and one of my cousins was also arranged with a man she originally hated. Now they’re inseparable.”

“Two anecdotes don’t make a strong case,” she pointed out.

“Not all of them turn out that way, of course. But I think most parents just want the best for their children.” He sighed. “I know that’s what my father wants with this marriage. For me to be happy.”

“I wish I could say the same about my dad. Unfortunately, it’s more about him than me.” She paused, dragging her fingers in a circle around his belly button. “And really, I’m not worried about being happy. It’s just that I didn’t have a choice. This wasn’t my choice. It’s so like him—to make me an offer and hide the strings.”

“How did he rope you into this one?”

Annabelle creased her brow. “He offered to pay for my mother’s medical bills if I would come close the deal here. Of course I couldn’t refuse. My mother’s bills are sky high.”

Imaad buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the soft fragrance there. “Has he done something like this before?”

She laughed bitterly. “Too many times to count.”

“So, you’ve been in other arranged marriages prior to this?” He grinned down at her.

She paused, as if the joke took a second to sink in. She relaxed in his arms. “I have to say this is my first. And definitely his worst secret scheme.”

Imaad wanted to add something, to tell her this might not be as bad as they thought, that with time—and probably not much of it—their marriage would be as happy as any love match. But that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She’d strike it down in a heartbeat.

“Interesting that our fathers are so similar. My father schemes for my best interests, but they’re so closely aligned to his own traditionalist values it sometimes feels like punishment.”

“So, being married to me will be a punishment?” Her eyes glittered with mischief.

“I think only time will tell that,” he responded, smoothing his lips over hers.

“I’ll be the best temporary wife you’ve ever had,” she said, hooking her arms around his neck. “And that won’t be hard, since you’ve never had one before.”

The word “temporary” seared through him, but he stilled himself before he could react. As she giggled, he nuzzled her neck, which elicited more giggles. They rolled around on the bed for a few minutes, kissing and laughing, until their romp brought him head-on with the bedside clock.

“Shit. I really should go.” He looked down at her, distracted by the lush slope of her breasts.

“Just stay,” she whined.

“I can’t.” He pressed his lips against hers and then rolled off her. “It hurts, but I have to leave.”

She watched him dress, the sheets bunched around her on the bed, a tiny pout on her face. Once he’d slipped his shoes on, he came over to her for a final kiss.

“I swear. I don’t want to go.” He caught her mouth in a kiss and one turned into another. When they parted for air, her lips were kiss-swollen and red.

“I won’t tell the paparazzi if you stay,” she whispered.

He grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll be dreaming of you.”

“Same here.” She flopped back onto the bed. “And maybe touching myself.”

He paused in the doorway, turning back toward her. “You have to make this harder for me, don’t you?”

Her evil nod was the only confirmation he needed.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised, blowing a kiss through the air. “And we’ll pick up where we left off.”

She mimed catching the kiss in the air, and Imaad tore himself away from her warm and welcoming gaze, hurrying out the door before he could think better of it.

* * *

Annabelle awoke slowly in the morning, alternating between yawns and body stretches as she acclimated to the bright sunlight in her bedroom. What a great sleep. No, what a fantastic sleep. As if she’d been in the womb again. She rolled over, seeing the rumpled sheets at the side, and caught a whiff of Imaad’s cologne.

Disappointment crashed through her. Why hadn’t he stayed? She pouted in no particular direction, letting herself whine internally about it for a little bit. She wasn’t one to want men to spend the night too often, but guys like Imaad were different. Hell, she’d never taken anyone like Imaad home before. Which made it even more devastating that she didn’t have his strong arms to crawl into or that dark sweep of his gaze to push her stomach into a free-fall.

Are you falling for him? The thought appeared, stealthy and taboo, in the recesses of her mind like the flash of a lightning bug. It couldn’t be. He was her arranged marriage, the literal embodiment of having no say in the matter. There was no possible way she could fall for him.

She pushed out of bed, resolved to steady her mind and start the day out on the right foot. She headed for the kitchenette to start a pot of coffee and thumbed through the room-service menu for an appealing breakfast. Thoughts of Imaad clouded her head at every turn. Bacon and egg wrap. Would Imaad eat that? What’s his favorite food? Hummus and pita platter. Mmm. Reminds me of the dunes. Scrambled eggs with toast. Seems like a metaphor for my insides after the way he fucked me last night.

She sighed, pushing the menu aside. So maybe she was a little into him. Picking up the phone, she nibbled on her lip while it rang the reception desk. She placed an order for scrambled eggs and toast—the breakfast kind only, not the metaphorical kind—and then went to her desk to resume looking over the merger documents.

Every few lines, her mind wandered to Imaad. Imagining a quip about the paperwork in his baritone voice, or pausing to remember the feel of his hands on her arms. When a knock sounded on the door, she jumped. Ten minutes had passed, and she was still only three lines in.

Annabelle graciously received her breakfast, tipping the bellhop, and then set the covered plate on the desk beside the papers. If her entire morning would be spent absorbing legalese about merging bylaws and shareholder details, she’d need a full belly.

And maybe another interruption from Imaad.

She shivered, unable to fight the grin overtaking her face. The bottle of wine sat unopened in the kitchenette, and she smiled over at it for a few minutes, recalling fragments of their night together.

Focus. She turned back to the papers, rereading the same paragraph for the fifth time. She tried to pair eating her eggs with reaching paragraph milestones. She couldn’t have another bite until she’d successfully digested a new paragraph—the only way she might be able to force herself to stay on task.

But her mind invariably wandered again. And after ten minutes, almost the entire plate remained, and her hand played between her legs while she imagined Imaad thrusting into her.

Her phone rang, and her heart leapt into her throat. She scrambled to pick it up, hoping that it might be Imaad. Just calling to check on her. Say a few cute things for the morning. Tell her he missed her.

“Hello?”

“Annabelle.” It was Marian. “I’m not calling too early, am I?”

“No, of course not.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to calm her racing heart. “What’s up, girl? Everything okay?”

“Well…no. Not exactly.” The tone in her friend’s voice made Annabelle’s stomach sink. She sat up in her chair.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your mom was taken to the hospital last night. She couldn’t breathe. She’s in critical care right now as they try to figure some things out. But they were considering surgery last I checked.”

Annabelle’s vision closed in and she slumped back into the chair. She gripped the armrest with a free hand, trying to calm the swirl of panic in her chest. “Oh my God.” Her worst fear had come to life. Her mom needed her while she was thousands of miles away.

“I know, girl. I wanted you to know as soon as I found out.”

“And I’m so close to being able to take care of her,” Annabelle said, her voice cracking with emotion. She swallowed a knot in her throat. Would her father still agree to take care of her mother’s expenses if she annulled the marriage down the road? Maybe she’d have to postpone the divorce until her mother got better. And when would that be? Maybe never.

Annabelle’s gaze slid to the mountain of papers in front of her. Panic flared up like a dust storm. “Be honest, Marian. How bad is it?”

Marian hesitated. “It sounds really serious. And I’m not sure, but it sounds like her medical history might pose a problem. Like her billing history. With so many unpaid bills, they’re hesitant to move forward.”

A heavy silence settled between them. Annabelle wiped away a few tears that had spilled out.

“I need to come home,” she whispered.

“I think you should. Even if it’s only for a few days,” Marian said.

Annabelle sniffed hard, trying to compose herself. Enough to form a game plan, at least. “I don’t have a few days. But I’ll see what I can do.”