Page 8 of The Billionaire's Timed Wife

He’s my blood by accident of birth. Beyond that genetic link, we have nothing in common. I’d never admit it out loud, since he’ll be our sheikh in a few hours, but I despise him. I just pray that his selfish mind will find enough clarity to rule with at least some compassion.

“Your Highness, Her Highness Princess Jazmina sent word that the performance will begin in ten minutes.”

“Let’s take our seats, my sons. Your sister’s been preparing this surprise for months, and I don’t want to disappoint her.”

Chapter 4

I only greeted my brother briefly, but as much as it displeases me, I know I’ll have to congratulate him later.

I plan to stay in Rheadur only long enough not to hurt my father’s feelings, then return to the world I belong to.

The lights dim, giving the palace’s main hall an air of mystery.

It’s not the first time I’ve watched a performance of our women’s traditional dance, but I’ve never had to witness one in which my sister was among the dancers.

I glance around, and all twelve men present look uncomfortable. Even Naim, who under any other circumstance would be eager to see a woman’s body dressed in so little, keeps a stern face, probably because the woman in question is our sister.

Despite myself, I have to suppress a smile. Jazmina has always known how to get her way with our father. The girl’s a born manipulator. Pity the man who ends up marrying her.

When I asked Father why he’d agreed to such madness, he said he didn’t know how many birthdays he still had left andthat seeing her smile, granting her wish, was worth the risk of offending the elders of our country, who are far stricter about customs than the sheikh himself.

The first notes begin, and unexpectedly, joy fills my chest. The rhythm seeps into my veins.

The truth is, no matter how long I stay away, my roots are in Rheadur.

The tempo quickens, announcing the entrance of the dancer, or rather, dancers, I correct myself, since I’ve been told Jazmina will perform with a friend. In the end, the bold one isn’t that brave after all.

My thoughts scatter the instant the woman behind my sister moves her hips for the first time, sensually, setting the performance in motion.

Her arms are raised above her head, each hand holding a corner of a yellow silk veil.

She spins several times, but with the fabric draped around her and the mass of dark hair falling forward, I still can’t see her face.

I forget all about my irritation over watching Jazmina perform, mostly because, to be fair, their costumes aren’t typical—they’re far more modest than what a belly dancer would normally wear.

I can’t take my eyes off the sensual sway of the siren in gold and yellow. My mind, completely untethered, follows the meaning of her undulating movements, resembling the sinuous rhythm of a serpent.

This kind of dance was originally a sacred rite to prepare women for motherhood, and that alone—associating a woman with fertility—should cool me down. But the opposite happens.

Watching her, all I can think about is what it would feel like to have that glorious, supple body beneath mine.

The girl seems to master every motion: the roll of her hips, the arch of her torso, keeping me captive.

My pulse races, and desire takes over. The hunter in me awakens.

I could watch her for hours. In fact, I’d like to clear this hall and have a private performance.

Her belly isn’t bare, and her top only hints at the curve of her breasts. In the world I live in, she’s overdressed, and yet she manages to hold my gaze with every twist of her body.

I’m anxious to see the face of this sensual woman, even though, being my sister’s friend, she should,in theory, be off-limits.

I look around, and the men are mesmerized. My father is smiling, clapping along, clearly delighted by his daughter and her friend’s skill, but the others are fixated on my golden temptress.

There’s a physical difference between the two dancers. While my sister still has the delicate frame of a girl, the other is all woman, exuberant, every inch an invitation to sin.

The veil slips from her hands, fluttering to the floor, while her arms stay raised above her head, her face still tilted downward.

Her slender thighs are covered by sheer silk, revealing little yet suggesting everything. Even so, my body reacts violently, a primal, carnal instinct demanding that I take her.