Sheikh's Fake Fiancee by Jessica Brooke, Ella Brooke

herself today. Yesterday, Bahan had basically thrown the true gauntlet down, made no secret of his feelings. He would stay married to her forever if she asked, and Jennifer had no doubts about that now. He’d promised her the protection and security both her father and Dustin had denied her, but it all went against every instinct she’d ever had. In her twenty-seven years thus far, she’d learned that the only person you could really rely on was yourself. You had to be self-reliant. Everything else could be yanked out from under you like a cheap bit of carpet. He’d been kind enough not to press since then. Hell, as they’d done more tourist things today, he’d almost acted as if he’d never said it at all.
    Part of her hoped that she hadn’t hurt him, dug fresh scars into his heart. She wasn’t exactly going to say no, but she wasn’t sure she was going to agree either. All Jennifer did know was that deciding to become the sheikha of a country she’d never even been to forever was a massive step, and she had to think about it, evaluate every angle logically. And she assuredly couldn’t agree until Sydney was healthy.
    But that offer was still hanging over both of them, coloring their interactions throughout the weekend.
    And yet, right now, she had a feeling that they were going to play.
    The presidential suite that he’d secured for her had a massive bathroom. The tub before them barely fit the moniker. It was four feet wide and seven feet long. There were detailed instructions on the wall in several languages about how long you had to let it run to essentially fill up the wading pool before you could get in it or start the jets. But he’d done it all for her, set up the hot bath, the rose petals on the floor and sinks, as well as the candles laid out on the counter’s surfaces. Bahan had even secured some kind of bath bomb or gel so that the Jacuzzi was now a deep, hearty violet.
    “Will I come out of this looking like Barney?” she quipped, trying again for levity.
    “No, my wild one. The dye is far from permanent and shouldn’t stain your skin,” he said, slipping off his silk bathrobe and standing there before her.
    God, she couldn’t help but adore his physique. She licked her lips as she eyed him and the one bead of sweat dripping down his chest, curling over his abdomen, and then running down that infamous happy trail and to his hips. She wanted to run her body over him. Hell, a cheekier part of her wanted to test that old expression and see if she could do laundry over his abs. She figured that with his eight pack, one so rigidly cut to boot, that she definitely could.
    He seemed to know the power that his body had over her, since he paused longer than he had to before getting into the water. Now it was her turn, and despite their budding relationship, she hesitated. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she slipped off her own robe and felt far more than just naked when she stood before him.
    It was like being flayed open before him.
    He was like a damn Greek or Persian god come to life, and she was still a bit too heavy, with hips she loathed and a body that didn’t always match to the latest fashion. How could he look at her and want her as much as she wanted him? Craved him?
    Blushing, she looked down at her feet, and vowed to hop as fast as she could into the bath.
    “Wait!” he said, his voice ringing out loudly between them.
    “What?” she asked.
    “Stand there.”
    “I…why?” she asked, covering her breasts with one hand and her soft thatch of pubic hair with the other. “You know what I look like.”
    “Somewhat, but you want to hide with the lights off so often.”
    “I don’t.”
    “You do, but you shouldn’t. You have a woman’s body, all soft curves that I can’t help but want to touch.”
    “Sure, lay it on thick,” she said, her voice a bit more of a growl than she wanted it to be.
    “No, that’s not a line,” he said, reaching down and stroking his