Assassin for the Sheikh_A Royal Billionaire Romance Novel Page 3

Benson had interrupted her. “That’s the thing. He doesn’t have sex with all ten women. He picks just one, and then he spends ten days alone with her.”

  “You’re kidding,” Kathryn had said as that chill rose up along her spine again, this time making her buttocks tingle as if she knew where this was leading. “Oh, God,” she’d said, almost under her breath. “That’s why you said that I’m the only one who can pull this off. You think I can hypnotize Sheikh Hyder into picking me out of the ten women.”

  Benson had stayed quiet, his eyes telling her she was right.

  “But . . . but hypnotism doesn’t work like that. There’s no guarantee of anything. So much depends on how receptive the subject is, how much time I have with him, the sounds and distractions of the external environment, the—” she’d started to say, stuttering her way through the sentence when she’d realized what she was being asked to do.

  Benson had nodded and then shrugged. “I understand. And I understand if you want to say no.”

  “What happens if I say no?” Kathryn had asked, that image of the Sheikh coming back to her. But this time those green eyes were looking into hers. Calling to her. This whole “long game” thing was Benson’s private idea, she was sure of it now. No way some higher-up in the CIA had come up with something so crazy. So if she said no, they’d have to go back to Plan A. Put a bullet between those mesmerizing green eyes of this man she’d never met. “What happens if I say no,” she asked again, softer this time.

  “Are you saying no?” Benson countered, his jaw going tight.

  Kathryn had stayed quiet for a long moment. It felt like her world was melting around her, reforming into something unrecognizable. This was so twisted she couldn’t keep it straight, and it hadn’t even begun yet!

  “So you want me to pretend to be a whore who isn’t really a whore,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Somehow hypnotize Sheikh Hyder into picking me from a lineup of ten women, all of whom I assume will be younger and hotter than me. Then I have ten days with him, during which time I need to . . . what, make him fall in love with me? Make him want to marry me? Am I in the CIA or the goddamn circus?”

  “Are you saying no, Krane?” Benson asked again, and Kathryn knew this conversation would be over after she answered the question, one way or the other.

  And so she’d answered. “No,” she’d said. “I’m not saying no.”

  Oh, shit, why the hell didn’t I just say no?! What am I doing here?!

  Her heart pounded as she watched Sheikh Hyder make his way down the line of ten beauties. Well, nine beauties and one thirty-year-old with wide hips and a big butt. What the hell am I, she wondered. A whore? A killer? A seductress? A spy?

  I am all of them, she told herself as she tried to shake off the shock of locking gazes with the Sheikh before she was ready. I am all of them.

  Now a steady calm came over Kathryn, and she took a deep breath and refocused. This was a job, she told herself. He was a job. And so she waited, and she watched.

  The Sheikh whispered something to the first woman, an Arabian beauty who tugged at her head-scarf and blushed so hard you could see the color flush dark red on her brown skin. He ran his fingers along the bare arm of the second woman, a Scandinavian model who immediately broke into goose-pimples at his erotic touch. He half-smiled and moved on, walking past the third woman without a second look. She looked like she was about to burst into tears, but a backwards glance from him made her break into a smile instead.

  This man plays games too, came the thought as Kathryn watched the Sheikh make his way down the line of women. Part of this seemed so old-world. It should have felt crude and disgusting, but there was a strange, almost regal air to the whole scenario. In the old days, kings were often presented with an array of women from which they would choose a bride. And this man was a king, no doubt.

  No doubt, she told herself as Sheikh Hyder came closer. And you can’t show any doubt You need to be confident and cool. Relaxed but engaging. Hold the eye contact but keep it casual. Lead him with your eyes. Lull him with your eyes.

  Kathryn had considered using a pendant to provide that rhythmic visual focal point so she could attempt to bring him under hypnosis, but the instructions were no jewelry whatsoever. Apparently the Sheikh had an intense distaste—or perhaps distrust—of any ornaments. Was he worried about listening devices? Cameras? Poison contained in a hollow ring? Who knew.

  A pendant around her neck wouldn’t have worked, anyway. Not unless she’d been able to sway from side to side or shake her chest like a moron to get it to move. She’d have had to come up with something else. And considering she was going to be standing still, the only thing that could move would be her eyes.

  She closed her eyes and got ready. Again the Sheikh’s natural scent came to her as he approached. Kathryn was the eighth woman in the line, and Hyder was at number six already. She could hear his voice as he whispered to Number Six, a dark-skinned woman whose nipples were clearly stiffening under her tank top. All the women had been instructed to wear the same outfit—black top and red bottom—and only now did it occur to her that maybe the no-jewelry rule had nothing to do with being paranoid about cameras but was simply to eliminate any distractions while the king made his choice.

  The dark king passed Number Six and lingered at woman number seven, leaning in and muttering something in Arabic to her. His voice was deep and resonant, the vibrations of the words swirling around Kathryn as if they were living, breathing things.

  “I . . . I don’t understand Arabic,” Number Seven stammered. She was young and beautiful, with flowing golden hair that made Kathryn want to touch it just to see if it was real.

  “Communication between a man and a woman is not about the meanings of words but the sound of them,” the Sheikh whispered, touching her hair. “The shape of them. The vibrations. The dips and rises. The ebb and flow. The push and pull.” Suddenly he drew back his hand, his fingers catching her tresses and making her wince in pain, his face darkening as he spat out the next words. “And so if you are so concerned about understanding the words I speak, then you will never understand me.”

  What an asshole, Kathryn thought when she saw that the woman was doing her best to hold back her tears. She certainly doesn’t look Middle-Eastern, so clearly he must have known she wouldn’t understand him when he mumbled some shit in Arabic to her, right? Just let him try that bullcrap on me, and I’ll—

  But she caught herself just in time to stop the anger from breaking her concentration. This is a job. This is an assignment. This is a mission. You’re at work. Emotions have no part in this. If you’re getting hot and pissed off before you’ve even said a word to him, how are you going to be able to—

  And then suddenly he was there, right in front of her. Sheikh Hyder himself. In the flesh. And Kathryn knew it was time. It was go-time. She had one shot at this. At whatever the hell this was . . .

  5

  “How dare you disobey?” were the first words he said to her, and Kathryn tried her best not to blink.

  She’d started to slowly move her eyes side to side at a slow, rhythmic clip, holding his strong gaze while trying to act like . . . what was she supposed to act like, she wondered for one breathless moment.

  But the moment was gone when he spoke, and in an instant she knew the game was up. His high cheekbones gleamed under the golden light of the room as the Sheikh grimaced, and every woman turned towards them. Hell, it seemed like every one of those women even gasped at the same time.

  “You were told no jewelry,” Hyder said, his eyebrows raised, his voice stern.

  Kathryn was about to protest that he must be blind, because she didn’t have a single precious stone on her. No ear-rings, no necklaces, no nose-rings, finger-rings, or goddamn toe-rings. For a moment she was so annoyed that she was about to remark that he must have x-ray vision to see the diamond stud in her clit, but she managed
to hold the fire inside just long enough to see the sparkle in his green eyes.

  And then Kathryn remembered the way he’d whispered in Arabic to the woman who didn’t speak Arabic. This was some kind of weird test, wasn’t it. Some kind of riddle. What had he said to that woman? Communication between a man and woman is not about the meaning of the words . . .

  And suddenly she got it, and she smiled and held her gaze steady even though she knew that it would kill any chance she had of bringing him under hypnosis.

  “No jewelry? OK, I can close my eyes if you like,” she whispered back, keeping her eyes wide open and focused on him.

  The Sheikh stayed quiet for a moment, and for that long moment the two of them locked eye contact. Time slowed, and Kathryn felt like she was hyper-aware of the tiniest movement in the room: the swirl of the warm desert air around her bare ankles, the rustle of the silk curtains by the door, the whispers of the women in the room, the smooth in-and-out of her own breathing . . .

  Then the Sheikh smiled, and he leaned forward, narrowing his gaze as he made a show of looking into her eyes. “Golden brown, and precious,” he said after a moment. “Topaz. That is the jewel-stone of your eyes.” Hyder gently tapped the side of his head and nodded. “You read between the lines. You can see the meaning behind the meaning. The shadows formed by the words.” A quick pause and then he snapped his fingers. “I will have her,” he said loudly, and as if they’d been waiting and listening, several veiled women of the brothel stepped into the room and escorted the other nine women out.

  A moment later it was just the two of them, and Kathryn realized she was scared out of her mind. Because with all that focus on getting him to choose her, Kathryn hadn’t really thought about what would happen if he did choose her.

  6

  Ya Allah, her eyes truly are like jewels, Hyder thought as he looked over the woman he’d chosen. Last year he’d chosen a Mediterranean woman, slim and tanned, with tight little nipples that had kept his cock hard for weeks after his ten-day indulgence. He’d taken her in every room of the private chambers, made her scream a hundred times as he took what he wanted and gave her what she needed.

  But then her time was up, and now Hyder could barely remember that woman’s face, let alone her name. She’d told it to him, of course. She’d told him of her life, her hopes and dreams, her favorite color, her turn-ons and turn-offs. He did not give a damn, and he’d told her that.

  “Do not mistake my hard cock for anything more than the need of an animal,” he’d whispered, holding her hair tight and looking her up and down. “And do not think that your orgasms mean that I give a damn about you.”

  She’d spat at him, her dark eyes burning with hurt. She’d showed some promise until the eighth day, but then it had happened again, just like it had with so many women in the past: She started to believe that this would be her fairy-tale, that she was indeed the princess that Grandma had told her she was, that Hyder was the prince that every goddamn Disney movie promised would come and sweep the princess off her feet. That one, like all the others, just wanted the fairy-tale without understanding what it would mean. Without understanding him.

  Hyder had smiled as he wiped her saliva from his face. Then he’d flipped her over and spanked her until she cried for Grandma, his cock hardening as her ass turned red from the fury of his slaps. He’d finished all over her brown buttocks, smacking her one last time and leaving her moaning and whimpering, wet and unsatisfied.

  “No,” he’d commanded when she turned over and looked up at him, touching herself and pursing her lips. “You are forbidden. Do not touch yourself.” He’d smiled when he saw her pout and move her hands away from her shaved crotch. Yet another disappointment. Yet another woman who, after being told she should stop dreaming about being his princess, was happy to simply be his whore.

  When will that special one appear, Hyder had wondered for years now. The one woman who will sleep with me but yet refuses to be turned into a whore. The one woman who can read between the lines, see the meaning behind the meaning, glimpse the light behind the shadows. When will she appear? The one who can see why I play this game year after year, the one who will understand why I do what I do, why I am what I am.

  The one who will understand me.

  He looked into Kathryn's brown eyes as he thought all this, and a shiver went through his hard body when he saw the way she was looking back at him. She’d understood that he was talking about her eyes when he mentioned jewelry. She’d responded with wit and fire when she’d offered to close them for him. But then she’d kept those eyes wide open and focused, refusing to submit, sending a signal—whether she knew it or not—that she wouldn’t become his whore that easily.

  We shall see, he thought as he circled her. We shall see, my lady.

  7

  “You have received your payment, I trust?” the Sheikh asked her.

  Kathryn blinked and nodded. She hadn’t been told of any payment, but of course she figured there would be. It would go to the CIA’s slush fund, she supposed. Though it was strange that he was already talking about payment. He’d only just chosen her. Then it dawned on her: Every woman in that room had already been paid. And something told her they’d all been paid the same before he ever laid eyes on them. Did the other women all know that? They must have. After all, if they each got a fat check or a silver briefcase stacked with crisp currency, they must have figured that everyone had been paid beforehand. So why were so many of the women so nervous around him? Why were some of them close to tears when it was clear he wasn’t going to pick them? They were getting paid anyway, weren’t they? Did they want more? Did they want it all?

  Oh God, that’s it. All these women came here thinking—hoping—that this would turn into something more, that this would turn into their fairy-tales, their “Pretty Woman” ending where the whore becomes the princess, the harlot becomes the queen.

  Fair enough, Kathryn thought, because that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Kinda, at least.

  That chill came rushing back, and Kathryn tried to gather herself, swallowing hard and looking straight at the Sheikh as he stood before her. He was taller than her by almost a foot, his shoulders so broad she didn’t think she’d be able to get her arms around him if she tried. Those high cheekbones were a vision, his green eyes like searchlights boring through her.

  “Your name,” he said dispassionately, like this was an interview.

  “Kathryn,” she said. She’d had so many “real” names over the years it didn’t matter. Kathryn Krane was no one. If he’d had her vetted beforehand—which certainly he must have—they’d have learned that Kathryn Krane was a mildly successful real estate agent from Birmingham, Alabama. Never married. No children. A medical school dropout. End of story.

  “What do you think is going to happen here over the next ten days, Kathryn?” the Sheikh asked, his voice softening, that coldness melting, a warmth coming in that was somehow disconcerting.

  Kathryn swallowed. It had been a while since she’d done anything meaningful with a man. Hell, the closest she’d come to sex in the past year was teasing Yuri Gorka with her breasts. And even he'd said he couldn't cheat on his wife.

  “Who cares,” she said without thinking. “I got paid, and that’s why I’m here.”

  The Sheikh cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. But it wasn’t anger in those green eyes. It was surprise. Perhaps something else. “Ah, so it was just the money? But surely you must have known that the payment would be the same whether you were chosen or not. Every other woman knew that.” He stepped back and rubbed his chin. “Let us see now. Numbers Two, Four, and Five had no interest in being selected. Once they realized they would be paid regardless, they were content to take the money and run.” He casually flicked his wrist, glancing at his gold-plated watch and then back at Kathryn. “Common whores,” he said quietly. “They might believe otherwise, because they did not do anyt
hing with me. But whether they know it or not, they proved themselves to be common whores.”

  Kathryn stared at the Sheikh dumbstruck. Immediately she knew he was right. She could picture the faces of the second, fourth, and fifth women. Shit, he was right. Kathryn could read people, and although she wasn’t looking for it when she’d scanned the other women, she’d seen it too. Those women weren’t interested in being chosen. Once they realized they were getting paid anyway, they were outta there. Just like he said. So in a way they were all about the cash. Common whores, just like he’d said.

  “And the others?” she asked, blinking and doing her best to keep her gaze steady. A part of her wanted to see if her eye-movement trick would work and bring him under a mild hypnosis, but she held back. She might need that trick later. Hell, she might need all her tricks later.

  The Sheikh smiled. Perfectly aligned teeth, white and gleaming like polished ivory. He shook his head and rubbed his heavy jawline again. “No, Miss Kathryn. You tell me about the others. Start with the first.” He paused, his eyes narrowing, that smile disappearing. “And end with you.”

  What the hell was this? Did he suspect something? Or was this another one of his riddles? Who the hell was this guy? Should she back off before she got too far into it to get out? Should she say no thank you, Your Highness. I’ll take my cash and head back to Alabama, thank you very much?

  And that would prove I’m a common whore, wouldn’t it? So he’s trapped me already. If I leave now, I’m a common whore. So what am I if I stay?

  “The others,” Kathryn said, her eyelids fluttering as she ran through the images of the other women. The sharp, analytical part of her kicked in, the part of her that had made her a top student in her psychology program, a top recruit in her CIA class, a top agent in her work. “Well,” she said, authority in her voice as she touched her hair and started to pace. “Numbers One and Seven wanted validation, more than anything. Numbers Three, Six, and Eight . . . well, they wanted more.” She stopped and glanced at him. “They wanted you.”