The Sheikh's Illicit Affair Read Online Free PDF

in.”
     
    ***

Megan went into the small bathroom and looked in the duffle bag in her closet. She’d come to the studio wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. There was no way could she go to a bar in that. There were a few costume pieces in the closet in the back of the studio, however. Maybe something in there would work.
     
    She thought quickly, trying to recall what was there. None of the dresses would work; they were all made for dancing and included sheer skirts. The top of her leotard under her jeans would be slightly better than her T-shirt, but the shoes? She had an idea, and hurried back into the studio.
     
    “Just a minute,” she said as she rushed past Zaakir and went to the closet in the waiting room. At the bottom she found what she was looking for: a pair of black jazz shoes. Those would be much better than sneakers. She dug through the hangers, seeing what else was there, and stumbled upon a red dress. This had been an outfit for a lyrical number, and the skirt was the same stretchy fabric as the bodice. She’d forgotten all about it. It had a low, asymmetrical cut that hung at her knees. The back was wide open and scooped low—too low—except that her black satin crop jacket from a hip hop number was there as well.
     
    Megan took the items back to the bathroom and changed. It still wasn’t anything like the simple black dress hanging in her closet at home that she would have worn had she known she was going out, but it was better than jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt. She touched up her makeup using the compact from her purse and shook out her long, wavy hair, running her fingers through it to get out any tangles.
     
    She walked down the hall to the waiting room. Zaakir stood as she approached, his eyes widening as he saw what she was wearing.
     
    “This is what you travel to work in?” he asked, bemused.
     
    “No. This is what I had in the costume closet.”
     
    “You look fabulous.”
     
    The heat in his gaze brought warmth to her cheeks and chest. She managed a “Thank you,” then walked through the door as he held it open for her.
     
    The black car was there, waiting for them at the curb. Zaakir opened the door and waited as Megan locked up, then took her hand to help her in when she reached him.
     
    They’d been traveling for a few minutes by the time Megan asked, “Where are we going?” A clear panel separated them from the driver, but she could see the streets and buildings flying by. They were still in Manhattan and there were plenty of upscale bars in the area, but they didn’t seem to be slowing down.
     
    “Just a little place I like to take friends sometimes,” he said.
     
    A few minutes later, the limo came to a stop in front of a building with no name over it. Zaakir opened the car door, took Megan’s hand again to help her out, and led to her a plain silver door. In normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have even noticed it, or known it was any sort of establishment. Zaakir held the door open for her and Megan walked into a small, unremarkable room where a portly, middle-aged man was standing in front of another door.
     
    “Good evening, Sheikh Al-Hosseini,” the man said, nodding his head slightly. He opened the second door and Zaakir motioned for Megan to walk through first.
     
    The space Megan then found herself in was unlike any bar she had ever been in before. There was a long, lighted bar where an attractive blonde stood, mixing drinks, and immaculately-dressed waiters and waitresses were carrying plates of food out to the tables. The space glittered in silver, gold and white. It looked pristine, and prestigious—like it must be frequented only by the rich and famous, and those in the know. In that moment, Megan felt very, very glad she hadn’t just worn jeans and sneakers.
     
    A woman with silvery blonde hair approached. “Good evening, Sheikh Al-Hosseini. Would you like your usual table?”
     
    “Yes, please, if it’s available.”
     
    Megan