Chapter Five
An equal mix of men and women cheered as the all-black Land Cruiser blazed down the desert, racing up and down to bash the first dune on its path. The men were there purely for the love of sport, all of them professional drivers, with ‘sand dune bashers’ as their official job title. The women, on the other hand, were also there purely for love – for the man behind the wheel.
The trail set for the day’s main event was filled with dangerous twists and turns, precipitous slopes, and narrow passageways, all of it strategically incorporated into the route to mimic the thrills of a roller coaster ride and provide paying tourists with an unforgettable desert experience.
Binoculars went up in unison as the crowd of onlookers eagerly followed the vehicle’s progress, and breaths were collectively drawn as the powerful 4x4 raged up the tallest of the dunes, a hundred-foot behemoth with the most vicious of angles, steeper than anything that could be found in Dubai’s own slice of the desert.
The crowd gasped as the off-road monster shot straight up in a burst of speed, and the crowd inhaled sharply as the vehicle practically flew straight down…down…down…
The vehicle landed sideways before immediately righting itself with an impressive maneuver of the wheel, and the crowd went wild with thunderous applause just as the 4x4 spun back to the main path. The force of its turn created a spectacular tsunami display of sand in its wake, and a wall of coral pink sand rose in the air like a rising ocean wave set against the desert’s crimson sunset.
There was a moment of stunned, awed silence – and then a moment of pure, delirious joy as the men roared their approval and the women screamed their hearts out. Such was their love and admiration for Tarif Al-Atassi, a man whom the world thought of merely as a carefree billionaire but was a hero in the eyes of his people.
Malik waited until the 4x4 slowed down to a safe cruising speed before reopening the communication channel between him and his older cousin. “Good work, brother.”
“Thanks.” Tarif’s tone was uncharacteristically brief and business-like, or at least it would have sounded so to most of the world, whose idea of the sheikh was that of a work-allergic playboy. “We both know, however, you’d have enjoyed this P.R. stunt more.”
“That’s true,” Malik acknowledged with a grin. Extreme sports such as this were more his element, and although evidence suggested the contrary, Tarif abhorred being in the limelight more than any of them did. “You know I’d have done this in your stead if you asked.”
“And have little Kyria biting my head off,” Tarif scoffed, “because I allowed the father of her future babe risk his life needlessly?”
Malik’s grin widened. Tarif’s words were also true, with pregnancy turning his normally gentle wife into an adorably spoiled, moody termagant. Of course, he also knew that he might be the only one who found the change adorable and so said by way of consolation, “Cheer up, brother. Fate has already delivered the reward for your good deed.”
“She’s here, then?”
Malik wasn’t fooled at all by his cousin’s indifferent tone. “Give it up, Tarif. We both know it’s been eating at you nonstop that she still hasn’t given in to you.”
Like the rest of the royal family, Malik had found himself somewhat divided by the noticeable change between Anisah and his cousin, which was as entertaining as it was disconcerting. One moment it had been Anisah acting like a schoolgirl trying desperately to hide her unwanted fascination with the school delinquent, and then the next moment, it was Tarif struggling to act cool and hide his interest like he was John Travolta to Anisah’s Olivia Newton-John.
“Truth be told, I never thought you the type to waste time pussyfooting,” Malik couldn’t help commenting bluntly.
Tarif didn’t bother to answer. It wasn’t as if Malik wasn’t speaking the truth – or at least something close to it. The fact of the matter was, it had been two weeks now since they had last talked, and his plan to have Anisah come to him first had disastrously backfired.
Two weeks had already passed, and he had yet to find a chance to talk to her, much less have Anisah back in his arms. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. He would still stake his life on that. But what he had not counted on was his harpy’s sheer pigheadedness, and her continued refusal to surrender had him alternately seething and brooding like some damn moody bastard aspiring be a modern-day Heathcliff.
Why would she just not give in to him, dammit?
Why insist on an utterly pointless struggle that only caused both of them unwanted suffering? He didn’t fucking like the way she seemed to grow thinner and paler every time he chanced upon her in the palace, didn’t fucking like the way the circles under her eyes seemed to grow darker, and most of all, he goddamn hated every time he heard of Anisah’s increasing trouble at work.
He fucking hated knowing that he was the cause behind all of it, fucking hated it because he knew it shouldn’t be so in the first place.
Malik almost smirked when he heard Tarif mutter an expletive.
Damn her.
And no doubt the other sheikh was referring to none other than Anisah.
In their years of growing up, Tarif had always been the one among them who had the most luck with women. His older brother Altair, Rayyan, even the king – all of them had at one point or another had experienced woman trouble. But Tarif had always been the exception to the rule.
Or at least he used to be…until now.
“If you want her, take her,” Malik said mildly. “Hasn’t it always been that simple?”
“It’s different this time.”
Malik was amused. “You do know that’s just your pride talking and you’re acting like an idiot---”
“Fuck off.”
A telltale click followed, and Malik grinned at the way the other sheikh had cut the communication line between them like some hormonal teenager unable to handle the truth. Tarif had always been the one to conceal his thoughts and emotions behind an air of laissez faire complacence.
And yet – to paraphrase what Tarif had said – things were different now.
Malik’s gaze turned to where Anisah was, waiting by the finish line at the edge of the crowd. She looked her usual poised and composed self, not a single strand peeking out of her hijab, and the soft flow of her abaya uninterrupted by a single crease.
Prim. Neat. Proper.
These were the words that perfectly described the court tutor, but those were also the type of words that hadn’t attracted his cousin. So Anisah was different, but did Tarif understand why that was?
Tarif’s own thoughts were not far from his cousin’s as he scanned the crowd until he found what he was looking for. She stood next to another 4x4, black glasses perched on her nose, and her nearly colorless lips pursed in seeming annoyance.
He noticed the way the men in the crowd appeared to veer away from her like students not wanting to draw the attention of a terrifying professor, and a humorless smile touched the sheikh’s lips.
Even now, it was a galling thing to swallow that he had once been as oblivious as them. Once, all she had been was a nondescript figure in court, a name that occasionally cropped up in conversation because of her work, a face that never registered in his consciousness because she had known exactly how to jerk his strings –
But things were different now.
And you cannot keep pretending it is not so, my sweet.
****
Anisah couldn’t keep her lips from tightening at the way the crowd surged towards Tarif Al-Atassi like pagans starved for their god’s affection. Both men and women actually jostled against each other to have a chance of nabbing a selfie with the kingdom’s playboy sheikh, and his female fans practically swooned when he took his aviators off.
Oh heavens, save me from the incurably blind. The man had only taken his sunglasses off, for Allah’s sake, and they were acting like he had done something worthy of winning the Nobel---
Anisah quickly put a brake on her thoughts the moment she realized how horribly unfair she was acting. Hate him as she did, she mustn’t let old (and not to mention bad) habits get the better of her. She mustn’t allow herself to forget that she knew the truth about him now.
Yes, he was a playboy, but he was also one of the kingdom’s most loyal and hardworking sheikhs. She had to at least give him that.
With this new commitment in mind, Anisah fought hard to keep her face expressionless as she watched the fans fawn over the sheikh for another five minutes. Sheikh Malik joined him a minute later, and the crowd’s excitement grew frenzied at the sight of the two men.
With them standing shoulder to shoulder, the similarities and differences between the two sheikhs were impossible not to notice. Although both were tall, dark, and handsome, their resemblance ended there. Malik, dressed in the kingdom’s white robes and his dark hair covered in a red headdress, was the picture of formality, the ideal figure of traditional authority. Tarif, on the other hand, had ‘bad boy’ written all over him, the classic rebel without a cause, with his lethal form encased in leather and denim.
The two sheikhs presented a united front as they delighted the crowd with a brief but entertaining banter and afterwards thanking the people for supporting the launch of the kingdom’s latest tourist offering. The ceremonies closed with a prayer, and as the crowd reluctantly dispersed, the sheikhs clasped each other’s arms in an ancient form of greeting founded in Ramilian history.
The two sheikhs parted ways after, and she closed her eyes as she sought to brace herself for the incoming storm. You can do this, Anisah. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, but as soon as she lifted her head, the wind was immediately knocked out of her sails.
Tarif Al-Atassi already stood in front of her, tall, dark, and handsome, and his earthy masculinity so infernally potent it had Anisah digging her fingers into her palms.
Curses.
It had been so long since she had been this close to the sheikh. She had completely forgotten how the sheer presence of him was so intensely sexual, and it took everything in her to keep her body from trembling.
What a cursed life she led.
If only that stupid tabloid hadn’t printed the blind item about her, she would never have to seek the attention of the very man she had been determined to avoid for the rest of her life.
If only…
A thousand curses never tore a shirt, she reminded herself, and it was time to show the sheikh her mettle. “Yam jamil, alshaykh,” she said politely. The way the corner of his lips lifted told her he knew exactly what she was trying to do, but Anisah didn’t care. It was her right to be as close or as distant with whomever she wanted, and where this sheikh was concerned, she wanted to make it very clear that she saw him as her liege’s trusted vassal and nothing else.
“Marhava, Tory.”
Oh, curse him. There he went again using his own private nickname for her like she was his concubine to name as he pleased.
“Malik also says hello, by the way.”
Her brows furrowed. Why couldn’t have Sheikh Malik told her himself?
As if reading the question in her eyes, the sheikh said silkily, “I asked that he allow us a moment of privacy.” He paused. “I have a feeling your presence here has something to do with the blind item in today’s gossip columns?”
Her lips pressed together. “You’ve read it then?” Every word of it had been horrible, with the gossip writer using the most salacious terms to paint the most disgustingly lewd picture.
Apparently, the reporter who had caught them together at last week’s ball had been quite the Peeping Tom. Having seen Anisah also go down on her knees, the reporter had pretended to accidentally enter the room in hopes of gaining clues to her identity.
What those clues could be, Anisah had no idea, but somehow the reporter had managed to put one and one together, enough to deduce that the sheikh’s anonymous companion was someone employed at the palace.
“I cannot risk having the reporter discover who I am, Your Highness.”
“And so you desire my help to clear your name?”
“Nem, alshaykh.” Anisah practically choked on the words, but she had no choice. The blind item had more or less labeled her as the palace’s Jezebel, and if the article was ever linked to her, it could very well place her expected tenure in jeopardy.
And she couldn’t afford to let that happen.
Growing edgy at the sheikh’s continuing silence, she lifted her frowning gaze to him, asking, “Are you not concerned about this, Your Highness?”
“Should I be?”
“Did you even read the article?” she demanded. “The writer described you as having desecrated the palace by turning it into your sex den,” Anisah pointed out. “Does this not offend you, Your Highness?”
“Normally, I would say yes, but – these circumstances are special.”
Anisah frowned at the way the sheikh’s voice remained irritatingly complacent. “Do you really not care a whit about this, Your Highness?”
“I do, of course,” the sheikh acknowledged, “but probably not in the way you are envisioning.”
Her arms swung, and she was about to absently plant her hands on her hips when she realized what she was doing, and her teeth gnashed as she clasped her hands behind her back instead.
It would not do to seem as if she was berating the kingdom’s beloved sheikh – even if that was exactly what she wanted to do.
“You act as if you are pleased with this,” Anisah muttered.
“I am.”
Anisah choked.
A grim smile touched the sheikh’s lips. “I told you, did I not?”
“Told me what?”
“What we have is inevitable.”
Oh.
OH!
And Anisah started rubbing the sides of her temple, which had now started to ache. “What exactly are you saying?” And please let it not be---
“My cooperation comes with a price.”
Curse the man, but it was exactly what she feared.
“How low can you get?” she hissed in outrage.
“As low as you need me to,” Tarif answered idly, “but in my experience, eye-level with a woman’s pussy usually does the trick.”
That did it!
Even knowing that the sheikh was only trying to get a rise out of her because he was just annoyingly insane like that, Anisah still ended up losing control. She moved unthinkingly to strike him, but the sheikh reacted so swiftly it was almost as if he had already read her mind before she even knew her own thoughts.
His fingers curled around her wrist the moment she lifted her hand---
Curses!
With the sheikh’s strength easily overpowering hers, Anisah found her fingers forcibly twined with his, and an involuntary, irrepressible tremor racked her body. Curses! The sheikh’s touch was like having her skin torched, and even worse was the sickly realization that her stupidly aching body seemed to enjoy getting burned.
Dear heavens.
And to think she had convinced herself that their encounter at the ball had been a sensual anomaly!
A quick look around them had Anisah seething at the realization that the few civilians remaining in the area were now gazing at them like they were a secret couple caught holding hands. Oh, how blind could they get? Couldn’t they see that she was a reluctant captive of a smug, villainous lecher?
“Will you please let go, sheikh?” Anisah gritted out under her breath.
The sheikh smiled down at her, a sight that was as devastatingly beautiful as it was infuriatingly arrogant. “La, anisdi.” No, milady.
Her teeth gnashed. “This is not proper---”
Tarif cut her off with a brief shake of his head. “Surely you know by now how little I care about what’s proper?”
Curse him. Deciding it was pointless to indulge in a verbal sparring that she was certain to lose, Anisah made another attempt to subtly but firmly yank her elbow out of his hold, but this only made the sheikh’s grip tighten. Anger mounting at being thwarted, she whispered waspishly, “If you don't let go of me this instant, sheikh, I swear I’ll scream---”
“Go ahead,” Tarif drawled. “If you scream, I also swear to kiss you to silence.” A murderous look was his answer, followed by mutinous silence, but because he was the type to demand complete surrender, Tarif asked silkily, “Do I have your agreement then, anisdi? Shall we continue this conversation in private?”
Another moment of deeply resentful silence, and then, “Nem, alshaykh.” Yes, sheikh.
Quite the obedient response, Tarif thought, as long as one ignored the fact that Anisah had uttered the words like she had just agreed to spend time with the devil.
As they started to walk, her hand still imprisoned in his, he said smoothly, “I’m glad you see it my way, Tory.” The provocative words had its intended effect, and Tarif once again became the recipient of a visibly irate look.
“Shall I inform the palace doctor you’re having memory problems, sheikh?” Anisah questioned frostily. “I seem to distinctly recall reminding Your Highness several times that my name is not Tory---”
“And as I also informed you,” he answered patiently, “you are Tory to me and me alone.”
They reached his intended destination before she could answer him, and the sheikh didn’t even give her time to draw another breath as he ushered her inside another 4x4, a white-and-gold Land Cruiser this time.
She yanked herself free from his touch the moment she fell on the plush leather of his car’s backseat, and as the sheikh followed her inside, Anisah quickly scooted to the opposite end, needing to place as much distance between them.
The chauffeur shut the passenger door, and feeling the wheels rolling under them gave Anisah the most surreal feeling of being abducted.
Silence thrummed between them, and when she felt the sheikh’s scorching gaze settle on her, Anisah immediately turned towards the windows, feigning fascination with the setting sun on the horizon even as she sought additional distraction by mentally reciting the family tree of Ramilian royalty.
Stupid.
Her body was stupid, stupider than she had ever given it credit for, so, so stupid to be this affected by a man like Tarif Al-Atassi.