Page 24 of The Geek and the Sheikh

“I don't know what you mean,” she replied.

“Your sister broke the arm of a potential VP for the US, and I know she’s done a lot worse—including killing a few people. Have you?”

She gave him a sharp, reproving glare. “Midnight never hurt anyone who didn’t try to hurt her or an innocent person. People like Oliver Quest don’t deserve any sympathy.”

He lifted his hands and shook his head. “I’m not giving the guy any sympathy. I just want to know if I'm going to end up flat on my back with a knife between my ribs when I ask permission to kiss you,” he explained with what he hoped was a charming grin.

She stared at him for several seconds before she shook her head.

“You are just as weird in person as you are online,” she finally replied.

He wasn’t sure how he expected her to respond, but being called weird was not even on the top ten list. He didn’t know anyone who would have the nerve to call him weird—except his own family. The idea of being weird tohermade him feel—

“Is that weird in a good way or a bad way?” he asked.

She looked over her shoulder, raised a delicate eyebrow, and perused him from head to toe. Then she smiled and turned away. A low growl of frustrated amusement slipped from him. It was impossible to take offense when she had that damn sparkle in her eyes.

“Did you know that Allison worked for MI6?” she asked as she continued her explorations.

“No, though she did say that she worked for the government," he confessed. "I haven’t talked to her in a while. I never expected her to be working for someone like Bronislav. I guess I should have known. It's a classic lesson," he sighed. "A tiger can’t change its stripes.”

“Hmph.”

He walked up behind her and touched her arm. She turned to face him. Once again, he found himself struck dumb by her beauty. Her almond-shaped eyes were a very light blue, framed by thick, black lashes that emphasized the shape and color of them. Her gaze didn't stay on his face for long, but he got the feeling she didn’t miss anything.

He lifted his hand to touch the wavy strawberry-blonde hair that fell over her shoulder. She watched him curiously as he twirled a silky lock around his fingers. Even in the dim lighting of the library, he could tell the color must be natural. It took a moment for him to realize that she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

There's nothing fake or pretentious about her.

The thought hit him hard. He wondered when he had last come across a woman who wasn’t adorned in expensive makeup and coated in the latest perfume on the market? Hell, he wasn’t sure he even knew any women who didn’t wear makeup. Even his mom was artistically made up before he saw her each day.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Makeup… You aren’t wearing any,” he said.

She scowled at him. “I don’t need it.”

Her response made him laugh. “No… you don’t.”

“Weird,” she accused him fondly, turning away from him.

“But in a good way,” he responded.

She glanced at him before giving a sharp nod. “Yes. I think in a good way.”

He was beaming as she walked away. He also felt a strange, unexpected desire to chase her, throw her over his shoulder, and carry her off.

Whoa! Where did this crazy feeling come from?

He wasn’t some kind of caveman. Hell, he was all for supporting women’s rights. His mom had made sure that all four of her sons grew up knowing that if not for a woman, none of them would be here. It had been hilarious when Junayd tried to point out that a man had been necessary too, because after a few medical videos on women giving birth, information about the severe discomfort and health risks during the ten months of pregnancy—which she had done three times to complete their family, making it a total of two and a half years that she endured—plus a visit to the local university, and averyeffective threat to make him wear a belt every month that would shock him occasionally to simulate menstrual cramps, they had all been cured of any doubt that women were strong, resilient, and intelligent.

But even so, as Jameel followed Bugs up the stairs to the second level, he couldn't help imagining lifting her off her feet and making her fall into his bed, spreading her out beneath him, listening to her gasps of shock and pleasure, and feeling how soft her skin was. He cleared his throat and clenched his hand. She glanced at him, their eyes locking for a moment before she turned away.

They walked in silence, examining each room. Junebug had a knack for discovering Idella’s hidden stashes. He had seen this same deductive reasoning when she was playing one of their online games or writing code.

“You are really good at this,” he said when she popped open another hidden compartment.

“Once you understand a person’s habits, it isn’t hard to understand how they think. It's like writing code. If you want to do this, then these are the possible outcomes. Each change creates a slightly different variant to the patterns. In this case, each room is different, but the core of the coding is the same… how would Idella think, what would she need, and what would be the most likely and convenient place to hide the weapons she would require if there was an attack. We do that all the time in our games,” she explained.

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