She barged in on his explanation, panting now, almost raving. “But that is not a solution! That … this … is a catastrophe. You’re sacrificing everything that you are!”
“And I’m so relieved this is over. It’s not a sacrifice, by the way, just a tiny price to have you and our baby. But you don’t have to worry. I’ll rebuild my success and my fortune.”
“I’m not worried about that.” She stamped her foot, feeling her brain overheating, her body shaking apart. “I’m making more money all the time and I have enough for both of us, which you can use as capital to rebuild your empire. What I am is devastated at the enormity of the sacrifices you just offered—your name, your family, your country, everything you’ve worked for …”
And he dared chuckle. “So what? I have a wife who’ll support me.”
She gave a chagrined shriek. “You … you …” Words shriveled to ashes in her mouth. Only one hope remained. “They’ll say no.”
“Oh, no, they won’t. If we’d stayed one more minute, we’d have been flooded in the drool of their eagerness to grab my assets. I’m worth far more to them dead and gone, figuratively speaking, than alive and begetting children of their blood.”
And she grabbed him by the arms and shook him. “Go back right now and say you take it all back! You tell them that you—”
He hugged her off the ground, ending her tirade. Before she could twist out of his arms, he buried his face in her neck. “I’m not repeating my father’s mistakes, ya galbi. He gave up his only chance at love, married women he could barely tolerate for the sake of his kingdom and throne. But I’m giving away replaceable things, just giving the tribes what they want so I can be what I want to be. Yours. It doesn’t matter what else I am.” She squirmed in his arms, sobbed, and he only pressed her closer. “I’ll always remain who I am, in my heart, to my loved ones. As for my success, it might have been in part due to my status before, but now I am formidable in my own right with my knowledge and experience. Even if I never attain the same success or wealth again, what does it matter when I have the ultimate treasure—you and our baby?”
She at last made him put some distance between them, took his face in her trembling hands. “But you’ll always have us, no price needed. Divorce me, Shaheen, give them the marriage they want. Both I and our baby will be yours forever, no matter what.”
“Okay, Romeo and Juliet, move it.”
Johara jerked as a hand clamped her arm. It was Amjad. He was also holding Shaheen’s arm. Before either of them could say anything, he dragged them back into the council hall.
In the middle of the floor where they’d stood minutes ago, he stopped and stepped in front of them.
“All right, venerable lords, listen carefully.” The noise again dissipated at Amjad’s terrifying growl. “You always called me the Mad Prince, and now’s your chance to find out just how crazy I am. All you have to do is vote against Shaheen, and I’ll make each and every one of you and your spawn into the next five generations sorry to have ever been born.”
“I second that.” Harres came forward to stand beside Amjad.
Shaheen’s younger half brothers, Haidar and Jalal, joined the lineup, forming a barricade of towering manhood and power in front of her and Shaheen.
“Third and fourth, here,” Haidar said for both him and his twin. “You might be all-powerful tribal lords here, but let us remind you we are not just the king’s sons. Each of us packs more power in the world at large than you can probably imagine.”
“You don’t want to make enemies of us.” Jalal’s face was reminiscent of Amjad’s cruel handsomeness, a younger and even more reckless version of Amjad’s demon evidently incubating inside him.
Harres gave his younger brothers a look of approval. “So to sum up, if you vote to exile Shaheen, if you touch a cent of his assets, we will all be your enemies until the day you die.”
“But, if you free him and apologize for all you’ve put him through,” Haidar elaborated, “you’ll have our … gratitude.”
Amjad gave a loud, irreverent snort. “Yeah. And you do want to see me grateful, I assure you. You will love it.”
Harres nodded. “So either join us in the twenty-first century, forget the blood-mixing rituals and do business through more … lucrative means, or … piss us off. Your choice.”
With that, the brothers turned and started to walk out.
Shaheen pushed at them. “I won’t let you do this—”
Amjad grabbed Shaheen’s arm, dragged him along, hissing, “Ever heard of a strategic withdrawal, Romeo? Walk with me.”
Once outside, Amjad flicked a hand at the guards and they all scattered. Then he hooked his hands low on his powerful hips, twisting his lips at Shaheen. “What’s wrong with you? We were driving a bargain in there. You don’t outbid your team.”
Harres gave a harsh laugh. “And the greedy blowhards are having mini heart attacks in there, thinking of all they could milk out of our carte blanche.”
Shaheen shook his head, adamant. “I won’t let you do this. This is my responsibility.”
Amjad rolled his eyes. “Bored now.”
Harres turned to Haidar and Jalal, sent them back into the hall to find out the council’s verdict.
Once they left, Johara realized he’d sent his younger brothers away so that he could talk freely. “I only wish we could tell the council they actually owe you, and more so Johara, more than they could ever repay, for giving us the first solid leads to abort the conspiracy that would tear apart the kingdom they’re squabbling over pieces of.”
Haidar and Jalal came back almost as soon as they’d gone in, their faces spread with cynical smiles.
“That had to be the fastest decision in the history of the kingdom,” Jalal chuckled. “Money sure talks, and talks big.”
Amjad slapped him on the back. “Shut up and spit it out.”
Jalal smirked at him. “They release Shaheen of his vows, demand no punishment. And to ‘give peace a chance,’ they’re ‘willing’ to negotiate a ‘suitable’ compensation.”
Johara shook with relief and confusion, still unsure what this meant for all of them, what kind of losses they’d sustain so she and Shaheen could remain together.
“That’s it?” She heard her voice trembling on the question. “They want … money? Why didn’t they just ask for it in the first place?”
Shaheen put a finger below her chin, raised her face to his, his eyes adoring. “You would have ransomed me, ya joharti?”
She gave a vigorous nod. “I certainly would have. I will pay all I have now as part of this compensation.”
Shaheen hugged her closer, delighted, defusing her turmoil. “They wouldn’t have taken anything in settlement without reaching this point of crisis. The ways of tradition are too demanding, and people in our region have entered grueling and needless wars to keep a vow or save face.” He turned to his brothers. “I know they wouldn’t have agreed no matter how much they had to gain if you hadn’t stood together and scared them off. You have my and Johara’s gratitude, but now that they’ve given up the macho posturing, I’ll be the one to negotiate with them. Money, as Jalal said, and massive favors are more potent than magic.”
“And let you give up your right as the ‘middle’ child to always cause us the most trouble?” Jalal winked at him.
“It is more cost effective to give those vultures bites of each of us rather than help you rebuild your empire.” Haidar grabbed Jalal and turned back to the hall. “Now excuse us as we get to the nitty gritty on the bite sizes expected.”
Shaheen called out after them, “If I’d let those vultures pick apart said empire, I wouldn’t have needed your help. I have a standing offer from my princess to bail me out of anything.”
Johara heard their laughter until they disappeared.
Then Shaheen turned to Amjad and Harres. “Before they come back again, let’s get this out of the way. Now, I’ll take care of our so-called allies, while you root out our hidden
enemies.”
Amjad patted him on the back, all condescension. “Yeah, you two run along now and leave this to the grown-ups.”
Shaheen grinned at him, then turned to exchange some last details with Harres.
Johara put her hand on Amjad’s arm. “You helped Shaheen and I stay together, at a great price to yourself. Is that your way of ‘atoning’? Of saying you’re taking back everything you said about me?”
Amjad’s eyes looked even more ruthless for their mock chagrin. “How can I possibly do that? You’re a woman, aren’t you?”
“Your mother was a woman.”
Amjad cracked a guffaw. “And you’ve just made my case.”
“What about your aunt? Your sister and cousin?”
Amjad made a simulation of being deep in thought. “There might be some anomalies in the species.”
“Any hope I fall into the same anomalous category?”
“Could be.” Amjad’s eyes grew pondering, penetrating. “I’ll reserve my final verdict. For a couple of … decades.”
“Don’t listen to this doomsayer, Johara.” Harres put his arm around her shoulder. “You’re our Johara and we all love you.”
Amjad gave him an abrasive look. “And some of us would not only die for you, they were about to delete themselves from existence for you, too.” His gaze moved to Shaheen. “Idiot.”
Shaheen threw his head back on an exhilarated laugh. “And I can’t wait for the day a woman comes along and makes you wish to delete yourself for her.”
“She already came along. And almost did the job herself.”
Johara’s heart convulsed. The sarcasm in Amjad’s voice only made her see how deep the scar went. All the way through him. She was mortified to remember how she’d accused him of being unable to love. What if this wasn’t only betrayal and anger, but mortally wounded love, too?
Then Amjad opened his mouth and snuffed any compassion. “So we’re off to see about our enemies, and you sleep lightly next to your bride. Now that you’re all hers with a cherry on top, she might kill you—with too much love.”
Harres guffawed. “One day, Amjad, a woman will make you beg her to kill you the same way. She’s out there for you.”
Amjad gave him one of those demolishing looks she was sure would disintegrate others. “Says the man who’s gone through every unattached woman in the northern hemisphere from the age of twenty-five to forty and hasn’t found ‘the one’ for him yet.”
“I’ll leave you to debate the existence of women for either of you. I’m taking the one I was born to love—” Shaheen paused for Amjad to oblige him with a snort “—to have our honeymoon, away from all snorters and conspirators.”
With one last thankful glance at them, one she shared, he swept her up in his arms.
Ecstatic, overcome, she buried her face in his neck, her heart too full to do anything but murmur her love over and over.
A long time later, entangled in the luxury of their intimacy with the sea breeze caressing their cooling bodies, Shaheen rose on his elbow beside her.
He ran his hand lovingly over her still flat belly. “You know, I’m only sorry my plan didn’t work. If they’d exiled me, I would have proved to you that you are far more precious than everything I am or have, than life itself. But I have the rest of my life to prove this to you.”
“You already did. You do, with every breath.” She caressed his beloved face, bliss running down her cheeks. “And I’ll spend my life proving to you that you are as precious to me.”
He hugged her to him. “You already did, the day you let go and trusted me to catch you. How many times have you trusted me since? With your heart, your body, your happiness, your future? And your helping us expose the conspiracy when you know whoever is plotting it will do anything to keep it hushed, putting yourself on the line with us.”
“We’re in this together, all of it, for better or for worse.” She kissed him with all the fierceness of her love, the profundity of her pledge. “Thank you, ya habibi, for saving me, for loving me, for existing and being everything to me.”
He drowned her in another kiss before he pulled back.
“And I have one more thing I haven’t thanked you for yet.”
She gazed up at him, awash in love and ecstasy, waited for him to tell her one more thing that would hone the perfection.
And he did. “Thank you for never forgetting me, for seeking me out again, and giving me my life’s reason. You, and our baby.”
Sheikh Protector
Dana Marton
DANA MARTON is the author of over a dozen fast-paced, action-adventure romantic suspense novels and a winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence. She loves writing books of international intrigue, filled with dangerous plots that try her tough-as-nails heroes and the special women they fall in love with. Her books have been published in seven languages in eleven countries around the world. When not writing or reading she loves to browse antique shops and enjoys working in her sizable flower garden where she searches for “bad” bugs with the skills of a superspy and vanquishes them with the agility of a commando soldier. Every day in her garden is a thriller.
To find more information on her books, please visit www.danamarton.com. She would love to hear from her readers and can be reached via e-mail at [email protected].
With many thanks to Denise Zaza, Allison Lyons, Maggie Scillia and Cindy Whitesel
Chapter One
“Car’s rigged,” Karim said to the empty passenger seat next to him. His gaze darted around as he considered his options for escape, trying to determine the location of the bomb.
He wished he could see under his seat. He wished he hadn’t just tossed his briefcase, which held his cell phone, to the back, now out of reach. But most of all, he wished he hadn’t gotten into the damned car.
Unfortunately, he had no magic lamp and no genie to grant his three wishes.
He sat completely still, sweat beading on his forehead. The first step was to figure out the trigger. Would the charge blow if he turned the key in the ignition, or if he got out and lifted his weight off the driver’s seat? Maybe the trigger was in the door. He hadn’t closed it behind him yet. Or could be he had no control at all. Maybe whoever wanted him dead was watching from one of the hundred windows that overlooked the executive parking lot. Watching with the remote in hand.
“I was getting too close to the truth.” He glanced up at those windows, but couldn’t see much from his position and he didn’t dare shift his weight.
Anger flared. If he had to die, so be it—Insha’Allah. But by all that was holy, he wanted to bring his twin brother’s murderer to justice first.
“I’m sorry, Aziz.”
If he couldn’t find the killer, nobody would. His other brother, Tariq, thought that Aziz’s presence at the well at the time of the explosion had been a coincidence. Tariq was predisposed to see the world as a better place than it really was—he hadn’t seen as much of the dark side as Karim—and was currently too busy being crazy in love with his new wife.
Which one of them was crazier remained to be seen. Karim’s thoughts turned grim. He wasn’t exactly a pillar of sanity, either. He regularly talked to his dead twin brother. For the last month, from time to time, he felt Aziz’s presence so strongly, he not only talked to him, but also half expected an answer.
Aziz was gone. Killed. In some regard, losing his twin was like losing half his sight two decades ago, but much, much worse. With Aziz, he had lost half of his soul. And he knew he wasn’t going to find that, even if he found the killer or killers—he wasn’t going to bring Aziz back. Still, he could not let the bastards go free, not even if tracking them down cost him his own life.
A bomb.
“Should have seen it coming.” Except that his mind had been on the restitutions he was making to the families of the men who’d died at the well along with his brother.
If he hadn’t been so preoccupied when he’d walked out of MMPOIL�
�s headquarters in Tihrin—Beharrain’s quickly growing capital—he would have noted that the security guard wasn’t at his post. He hadn’t been aware of danger until he’d gotten into the car and spotted the millimeter-size chunk of blue plastic wire coating on the mat.
Another person might not have realized the significance. But people had been trying to kill him from the moment he’d been born, nearly succeeding on a number of occasions. He’d developed a keen sense for detecting death’s approaching footsteps.
He glanced out at the street, at the cars passing no more than a hundred feet from him. Nobody was turning to enter the company gate where the other security guard sat in his booth, his back to Karim.
He had to do something now, while he was alone in the parking lot. He didn’t want to take anyone out with him.
“Here we go.” His mind sharply focused, he reached down to feel around the seat, aware that he could accidentally move a wire and set off the charge if it was there.
He felt nothing out of place as far as he could reach, but he couldn’t stretch all the way. Next item. He leaned forward carefully, and spent precious seconds inspecting the bottom of the dashboard.
“Mr. Abdullah?” The voice was richly melodic and completely feminine, utterly out of place in the charged tension of the moment. “Excuse me, Mr. Abdullah—”
He drew his attention from what he was doing to watch, with dismay, the foreign beauty who strode toward him, full of purpose.
Since she’d spoken English, he responded in the same language. “Go back inside.”
“They told me I could find you here.” She flashed a nervous smile and proceeded without pause, although the blood did drain from her face as she came closer and got a better look at him. “Look, I’ve come a long way. You wouldn’t believe the plane ride. Forget the plane. You wouldn’t believe the food,” she babbled on. “I know you must be busy, but—”
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