Chapter Four
The Noble House of the Sheikhs of Ramil, like the palace, was an architectural marvel of gold and white marble set against a stunning desert backdrop. It was also located, as with all lawmaking bodies of the kingdom, within a thirty-minute radius of the king’s royal residence. The first reason for this was security: traveling was considered a security risk for the Emir Sheikh, and so the less time spent on the road, the better. The second reason was pure strategy: with the legislative office so close to the palace, the king had the ability to readily make his royal presence – and power – felt if any of his enemies dared to undermine his command in the guise of subversive speeches presented in court.
Proposals concerning one or several specific sheikhdoms were tackled in any of the smaller halls of The Noble House while bills of national interest were presented in the Grand Chamber, a majestic hall in which crystal chandeliers hung from a steeply vaulted stone ceiling. Even the thousands of seats making up the public gallery were richly adorned with velvet cushions and mahogany frames.
The court held three sessions a week in the Grand Chamber, and there was not one such session that the king or members of his cabinet did not attend. Today wasn’t any different, and the entrance of the two Al-Atassi sheikhs, presented last as accorded by their rank in court, was greeted with enthusiastic applause coming from the gallery.
“You seem to have acquired a new fan, brother.” Rayyan Al-Atassi made his observation sotto voce following the closing of the first half of the first session and an announcement of a fifty-minute break.
Tarif subjected his silver-haired cousin to a puzzled look. “A new fan?”
When the other sheikh cocked his head slightly to the side, indicating the private gallery reserved for those employed by the palace, Tarif caught sight of a familiar figure, her poise undiminished even with her slender form shrouded in a hideously serviceable-looking abaya.
Anisah.
Even with her back to him, Tarif had not a single doubt about it. That was his luscious harpy indeed, and his lips curved. A week had passed since the night of the ball. He had not made a single move on her since then, and he knew it was driving her crazy – the way he meant it to.
Her present obsession for him was clear as the light of day, something so painstakingly obvious the whole palace couldn’t help but notice it – and she didn’t even know it, just like how he had also been the only one in the palace unaware of her dislike for him.
Now, Anisah wasn’t able to stop searching for him, unable to resist following him with her eyes, unable to help drawing her breath every time they passed each other by in the palace. Now, with her drawn to him like a moth to a flame, she was forced to see things she had probably never thought or cared to search for in the past.
Now, she would want him more and more, enough to have her body shiver at the mere sight of him, enough to make her cry at night, wishing for a man she had started out hating and now desired beyond reason.
Anisah might not know it yet, but everything between them now was but a game as old as time, and it was a game he had years of experiencing playing, a game she had absolutely no hopes of winning. Their every encounter was meant to seduce her, enthrall, and draw her in like a master would with a puppet that wasn’t even aware of its strings.
And soon – God, it had better be fucking soon – the game would come to its lustful end; his mouth would finally have the kiss it craved to taste, his fingers would cease to itch upon feeling the silky texture of her skin, and most importantly of all, his cock would finally stop aching the moment it sheathed itself in her warm, moist, virginal pussy.
A mild frown marred Rayyan’s forehead at the way Tarif’s dark gaze followed Anisah’s retreating back until she disappeared into one of the gallery’s exits. He had never interfered in his cousin’s affairs – never thought, cared, or had a reason to – but this was different.
And so for the first time in so many years, the sheikh found himself breaking one of his most-prized rules: never go on a limb for anyone outside the family.
“Anisah is not the kind of woman one should toy with, brother.”
Tarif’s face became expressionless at the slight edge in the other man’s words. “Whether that’s the case or not - why the interest in her?”
“She is almost like a sister to me,” Rayyan answered evasively. “I would not want to see her hurt unnecessarily.”
“If you want her as well---”
Rayyan frowned. “What the hell are you talking about? I have never been interested in her that way.”
Tarif’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like the way he suddenly found himself doubting his cousin’s words, and that he would care about Rayyan lying in the first place was something he liked even less. There had been numerous women in the past that he and Rayyan both had been attracted to, and in those instances, competing against each other had always been more a friendly challenge than anything. Jealousy had never reared its ugly head in those days…unlike the way it did now.
The mere thought of Rayyan and Anisah flirting had him on edge, and his mood only worsened when he thought of how things might change if he were not so aggressive in seducing Anisah. After all, Rayyan was his complete opposite. Unlike Tarif, Rayyan did everything by the book and was known to live for his work. No doubt in Anisah’s eyes, then and even now, Rayyan was the better man.
Even his own mother had thought so, so why wouldn’t Anisah as well?
The thought made his expression harden, and Tarif heard himself say, “Actually, forget I said anything.” He had already made a fool of himself one too many times in his desperate need to seek his mother’s approval. He would not let his history repeat itself again. “How you think about Anisah Kahveci has nothing to do with me.”
Ah, fuck. Knowing that things could only get worse if he allowed Tarif to draw the wrong conclusion, Rayyan said tautly, “You misunderstand.”
Tarif’s lip curled. “Did I?”
“I wouldn’t lie about something like this, brother.”
“And yet you treat her differently from the rest---”
“Because she’s Hyacinth’s sister,” Rayyan admitted heavily.
It took more than a moment for Tarif to get past his incredulity. “Hyacinth? This is all because of Anisah’s sister?”
“Yes,” Rayyan bit out. “So do you get it now?”
This time, the truth in Rayyan’s words was unquestionable, and tension slackened its grip on Tarif’s powerful form. Shaking his head, he muttered testily, “You should have simply said so in the first place.”
“Easy for you to say,” Rayyan snarled under his breath. “You weren’t the one being hounded by a seventeen-year-old---”
Tarif was stunned. “That long?” As vast as the palace was, it also operated no different from a small town in the sense that everyone knew everyone’s business. He couldn’t even begin to think of the things that Rayyan and Hyacinth Kahveci had to do in order to keep their involvement a secret for years.
When Tarif looked back at his cousin, Rayyan said, “Back at you, brother.”
“Eafi?” Pardon?
Rayyan’s lips twisted. “I’m saying I’d rather you forget I said anything as well.”
The two sheikhs stared at each other, their faces yielding nothing beyond their expressionless masks.
“How much does Hyacinth Kahveci matter to you?”
“Probably as much as her sister means to you.”
“If I agree to keeping your secret, do I also have your word that you will refrain from interfering in my business?”
Rayyan’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “I cannot make such a promise – you know that.”
The utter ruthlessness in which Tarif pursued Anisah had not escaped him or the other sheikhs, and the knowledge had left them struggling to determine the right thing to do. As innocent as Anisah was, she was also an adult, and while Tarif’s tactics were not in any way criminal, the other sheikh wasn’t exactly being fair either.
“Do you not think you are taking things too far?” Rayyan asked finally. As much as he wanted to interfere, he knew he would only do so as a last resort, and now wasn’t the right time for it.
“Maybe.” Tarif’s broad shoulders moved in a shrug. “But there’s nothing else I can do now. I want her.”
“That has become obvious enough,” the other sheikh said carefully, “but in all honesty, Tarif – you have me and the others surprised. We thought your interest in her would have long waned by now. After all, she is not exactly your taste, is she?”
Tarif’s expression turned brooding. “No. She’s not.” And when he saw the look in the other sheikh’s eyes, he knew that Rayyan was thinking the same thing he did.
Anisah was too opinionated, excessively proper, and as politically invested as a natural-born martyr.
She was too much like his mother, in short, and God knew how much Tarif detested the woman who gave birth to him.
****
“Ramil malaka!” Ramil forever!
The session came to a close when the sheikhs, together with everyone inside the Grand Chamber, pounded their chests as they affirmed their oath of loyalty to the kingdom. A cheer followed, and as some of the sheikhs moved toward the gallery to speak with the people, Anisah’s gaze remained on Tarif Al-Atassi.
It was one of those rare days he had on the kingdom’s traditional robe, and its loose fit only served to accentuate the impressive breadth of his shoulders and his intimidating height. As required by The Noble House, the sheikh had also donned a formal headdress, but while this made some of the men look weak and frail, it only served to emphasize the classical perfection of the sheikh’s features.
With the way she was practically drooling over the sheikh’s good looks, Anisah knew she was acting no better than the female students in her class, all of whom had dreamily declared their undying love for the Al-Atassi sheikhs.
Oh, if only that was just it.
But it was not.
The problem with an obsession like hers, when combined with a mind trained to analyze and dissect, was how it forced Anisah to also see beyond the sheikh’s good looks. In the past, all she had known of the sheikh was what she saw of him in passing and what she learned of him from the news. He was an unabashed playboy, a charming ne’er do well, a selfish sybarite, the beloved subject of many a society columnist.
To be fair to the sheikh, however, Anisah was also aware of the times his name made it to the front pages every time he scored one win or another in foreign affairs. She had read all of those articles as well, but she had always thought of those achievements the result of his department’s hard work as a whole rather than a personal feat of the sheikh’s.
Her inexplicable, ill-advised obsession with him had proved her wrong about this, though.
Foreign affairs had always been one of the more treacherous arenas in politics, with a single misstep more than enough to wage the costliest of wars and cause the deaths of millions in the worst-case scenarios. Egos in this field were no different from landmines in battle-ravaged nations, and it had only taken Anisah a little over a day to come to the grudging realization that everything she and the whole world knew about the sheikh was naught but a product of a strategically constructed image.
The way Tarif Al-Atassi blatantly courted trouble and flagrantly eschewed tradition – all of it was but a cover-up meant to encourage other governments to underestimate the sheikh, and all of them had fallen for the sheikh’s trap hook, line, and sinker.
Just like she had.
The realization chafed at her still, and Anisah stared cantankerously at the ongoing commotion before her. Most of the audience had rushed forward in hopes of having a photo taken with Tarif Al-Atassi and this, too, she supposed was another good thing about the sheikh. He might be arrogance personified, but she had never heard a story of the sheikh turning a local away no matter how busy he was.
So, yes, all in all, he was not as bad as she had thought, Anisah thought moodily.
But it still didn’t mean she was completely wrong about him. He had still slept with all of those women, and they had all still ended up heartbroken by the time the sheikh had left them.
And like it or not, you’re no different from them, Anisah told herself. So! Keep! Your! Distance!
Anisah came clumsily to her feet, suddenly feeling the need to put as much distance as possible between her and the sheikh. But just as she started to turn away, the sheikh lifted his dark head, and with him towering over everyone else around him, his ebony eyes immediately and unerringly swiveled into a collision course with Anisah’s gaze.
Oh…stars…above…
Everyone seemed so engrossed at being able to get so close to the sheikh that none of them appeared to notice his gaze wasn’t on any of the phones they had trained on him. Instead, his burning gaze was fully focused on Anisah, and her teeth gnashed at the lust that glittered so shamelessly in his eyes.
After practically ignoring her the entire week, acting like he had completely forgotten her existence, and his desire for her was but a figment of Anisah’s imagination -
She glowered at the sheikh. The gall of you, to look at me so after the way you had treated me!
But the sheikh’s eyes only smirked at her. Is that your way of saying you missed me?
Her hands flew to her mouth just in time to keep herself from gasping. Cursed, pompous man!
His lips moved, the sheikh mouthing his words, and despite her better judgment, Anisah found herself working hard to discern what he was saying.
Don’t…worry…I…missed…you…too!
Wait.
What?
No!
Argh!
“Tarif? Are you coming?” Rayyan called out impatiently to his cousin from the other end of the floor.
Tarif cast one last amused look at the direction in which Anisah had stomped away before turning around to follow his cousin out of the hall.
Anisah was still shaking in a mixture of embarrassment and outrage even by the time she slid into the backseat of a cab. She wrapped her arms around herself, hoping it would help calm her down, but instead it only made her excruciatingly aware of the lingering impact of the sheikh’s words. Her breasts still felt heavy and swollen against the cups of her bra, her nipples were painfully erect, and her hot, moist core was aching and begging for another taste of his hardness.
She squeezed her eyes shut in a futile attempt to block the memories out, but it was impossible. They came back to her in a flash, vividly erotic, and the triangle between her legs became wetter and wetter – oh dear heavens, but her panties were wet beyond redemption now.
Tarif Al-Atassi was not the kind of man she should want, and yet –
Anisah slowly placed a trembling hand against her chest, and the terrifying truth of her reality readily made itself known, her heart drumming hard and fast in its wild clamor for something she dared not name.