Page 13 of Sheikh's Virgin Love-Slave

“You look lovely,” Ravi said as she slid into the limo beside him.

She wasn’t sure if those were the right words to describe how she looked. There were things about her body that tended to depress Bridget. She knew she was gangly, that she was built somewhat like a coat rack, as her dad would snarl when he was especially drunk and yelling at her. Her modest curves always made her feel intimidated in the dating world. So she wasn’t sure what the hell Kamala had been thinking when she draped a sky-blue, gauzy, see-through kaftan over a matching gem-studded bra and harem pants. It wasn’t exactly indecent, but it was easy enough to see through the kaftan’s thin material and gaze at her stomach and navel.

To see plainly that she’d never be as curvy or beautiful as Sabella—or as a lot of women.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly as the car started off from the Palms and to the heart of the city.

“You don’t sound comfortable. Are you regretting what we did this morning?”

She shook her head and stared into those jade eyes, knowing how easy it would be to lose herself in them. “It’s the one thing I’m mostly sure of.”

“Then was your call home upsetting?”

“No, but I just… I appreciate that tonight you want to show me Dubai and that must include some of the traditional entertainment and dining, but I don’t exactly feel like Princess Jasmine over here.”

Ravi’s face scrunched up as if he’d eaten a particularly sour lemon. “I’ve always loathed that film.”

She blinked back at him. “Really?”

“I spent time traveling in France and most of Europe as a teenager at Mother’s insistence. So often the media makes us the bad guys or gets it completely wrong. I found so many aspects of Aladdin completely ridiculous. Besides, the tale is originally Chinese.”

“I didn’t know that.” She frowned, considering his words. “You mentioned your mother again, but you haven’t said much about your dad.”

Ravi’s jaw tensed. “Mother was wonderful. She died about ten years ago. She was hit by a car while traveling, nothing political. Some drunk local when she was exploring D.C. and then Mother was gone.”

“And your dad?”

“I became sheikh about five years ago,” he said stiffly.

She nodded, knowing the only way that could have come to pass. “I hate my dad, too.”

“I didn’t say that I hated him.” He grinned at her and took her hand in his. “At least not in so many words.”

“Trust me. I know that look. I’ve seen it enough times in the mirror. My dad is always running some scam. When I was younger, I used to hate that he was never there. Then, after my mom died, I hoped he’d become more stable. I still had this crazy delusion that he could change, be the kind of good father like yo see on TV. Then, I just was glad when he went radio silent. I should have known he was getting into bigger trouble.”

Ravi nodded. “You’re in no trouble. I meant my words. You can leave after dinner if you choose to, and I’ll understand. I wish I had had your problem growing up. I confess the idea of a father who was never around appeals. Mine was always about duty. I love my people, but Father only saw his role as training me to be the next sheikh. He never…” Ravi broke off and looked back out the window of the limo, although he didn’t drop her hand from his grasp.

“What?”

“Sometimes I think he forgot that his duty was also to be a father and not to merely train a successor. Pity he never figured out the difference.”

She reached into the mini-fridge with her free hand and pulled out two bottles of water in quick succession. Opening and raising hers with both hands, she waited for Ravi to do the same. “To fathers,” Bridget exclaimed. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”

“Hear, hear.”

***

They finished dinner when the entertainment came to the floor at the traditional Emirati restaurant that he selected. Ravi had been delighted to see the joy and adventurous spirit Bridget had exhibited. She sampled every delicacy from lamb to roast camel to shawarma and swallowed it all. Granted, she hadn’t asked for a second bite of camel, but she was polite enough to try the delicacies of his culture, and he had to love her for that.

Wait, love?

No, that was nuts. He was captivated by her, wanted her. He sought her out, but he didn’t yet have feelings that deep for her. On the other hand, he knew that after the day they spent together, it was no longer just infatuation that was pulling on his heart strings. There were layers to his swan, and he wanted to spend years at least getting to peel back and understand every one of them.

How wounded she was, yet resilient. He admired that, wished he had some of that spunk for himself. She seemed to have divorced herself more successfully from her father’s long shadow than Ravi had, and that was an awe-inspiring feat. Yes, Ms. Callahan had so much to draw him to her, and he wanted to explore all of it.

Now that the belly dancers had come out, Bridget watched them with rapt attention. He wasn’t even sure if she realized that she was moving her arms in rhythm with their own undulations and waves. Eventually, two of the dancers saw what she was doing and pulled her up. Bridget looked over her shoulder and saw the crowd before her and froze. Her body went rigid and she shook her head frantically before leaning forward to whisper frantically into the lead dancer’s ear.

Worried for her, Ravi stood and asked was about to ask what was wrong, when Bridget turned to him and smiled broadly. Then she tugged lightly on his arm and away from the lead stage. The main dancer took a minute of intermission from the affairs behind her to lead them both to a private corner of the restaurant. She bowed low for Ravi and then pulled back the bangle-encrusted curtain. Behind it was a private room with a single divan in the middle and sumptuous red silk hanging from the ceiling.

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