Not ever.
“Let me go,” I bite out.
“I don’t think so.” Instead, he closes the last bit of distance between us, shifting his grip from my chin to the base of my neck, his arm around my back pressing me firmly against him.
Oh my god.
He’s so much bigger than he seems from a distance. Not massive like so many of the meatheads my father employs for security. Jafar possesses a lean strength that his expensive suits have hidden up to this point.
And his cock …
He wants me.
A hysterical laugh flies free. “Not so cold and proper now, are you?” I roll my hips against him. I can’t help it. It’s like some fiery demon has taken possession of my body. Or maybe it’s my inevitable fate bearing down on me that makes me fearless in this moment.
Will my buyer want me if I’m tarnished goods?
The thought spurs me on. I roll my body again, an invitation I can’t quite put into words. I may be dancing on the edge of daring, but that’s too bold, even for me.
He stills me with his hand on my hip, holding me a breath of distance away, his fingers digging roughly into my flesh. “Your father is gone.”
I blink. “What?”
“The territory is mine.” His grip doesn’t tighten, exactly, but it becomes almost possessive. “You’re mine, Jasmine.”
That isn’t an answer, but I am helpless to focus on anything but his last sentence. “Over my dead body.” I am not some trophy to be passed to the victor in whatever power plays they insist on acting out.
Except …
That’s exactly what I am.
“Earlier you said Rajah. You know what that word means to us.”
Us. There never was an us, not in any way that could be quantified. Barbed words exchanged time and time again, each of us seeking to dig deeper, to incite a response, to push past the icy surface layer and bring forth irritation, anger, frustration. Something.
Words. It was only ever words.
Tonight is the first time Jafar has ever touched me.
I shiver at the thought. “It means you stop.” I’m not even sure where that truth originates. I’ve only had cause to use it once, the only time Jafar’s cutting remarks strayed too close to causing me harm. A single word and he immediately retreated; his dark eyes grave. We never spoke of it again.
“It means I stop,” he agrees.
There it is again, the softest touch of his thumb sliding down the side of my neck. So faint I might have imagined it. I lick my lips, and I swear I can actually feel his attention sharpening on my mouth.
He shakes his head. “Everything that was your father’s is now mine. Everything, Jasmine.”
“Including me,” I say the words, hating them. Hating him in this moment for reminding me of my role in all this. Not an active participant. Never that.
“Including you,” he says softly. Again, I hear more than see his smile. “However, I’m feeling remarkably charitable tonight. This is your chance at that freedom you claim to want so badly. Say the word and walk out the door. None of my men will touch you. No one will chase you down. You’ll never hear from me or mine again.”
My breath stalls in my lungs. Freedom. It’s a trap. It must be a trap. I am Jasmine Sarraf, and I am as close to royalty as there comes in this city. I have an inheritance waiting for my thirtieth birthday—or my marriage—that would make kings weep with envy.
My inheritance.
The door of the trap springs shut behind me with a click I can almost hear. “If I leave, you’ll take my money.”
“On the contrary. It’s my money now.”
“Thief.”
“I can hardly steal what I won by might. Your father made his choices. They were the wrong ones, and he’s lost everything as a result.” He leans closer, bringing with him the scent of his spicy aftershave. “Choose, Jasmine.”
As if there is a real choice. I am a twenty-five-year-old woman who’s never left my father’s extensive grounds. My only real-world experience centers around throwing parties and playing to expectations, allowing people to see my pretty face without concerning themselves with my mind, my ambitions, me. I’ve never had a job. I have a diploma, but I let my father put off my arguments for attending college. Just like I let him shout down my ambitions and plans to carve out a space for my plans to make our organization stronger. Every single connection I have will turn their back on me if I can no longer wield the money and power the Sarraf name means.
Or used to mean.
Jafar’s coup will ensure my father’s allies turn their backs on me even if I have access to my trust fund.
It takes every bit of courage I have to lift my chin, to banish any quiver from my tone. “Give me my money, Jafar. I won’t challenge you. I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.”