by Marian Tee
Table of Contents
My Arabian King
About The Book
My Arabian King
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Author's Note
Malik
Tarif
Rayyan
My Controlling Sheikh
Note: This book was previously published as My Arabian Billionaire.
I was fifteen and a nobody. He was rich but illegitimate. Years later, I'm still a nobody while Khalil is a king...and he wants me to be his queen.
My father is a war hero in Khalil's kingdom. It's the only reason why our paths crossed, and I never let myself forget this.
The Emir Sheikh already has the whole world worshipping him at his feet. He doesn't need another American girl added to his endless list of fans and groupies.
And besides, I'm too ordinary and snarky for his taste. He might be in dire need for a queen, but I doubt he'd ever look my way. Right?
STEAMY CONTEMPORARY romance! NO CLIFFHANGERS! It's the perfect read if you're looking for a temporary escape from reality. Be a queen for a day, and have a gorgeous, dominant king and his equally handsome and powerful vassal sheikhs fight on horseback to defend your honor.
About The Book
“It is nice to see you again,” the kingdom’s highest-ranking general murmured.
“Umm, it’s nice to see you, too.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway—-”
Altair slowly shook his head. You know why I’m here.
Harper scowled. It doesn’t mean I should just give up without a fight.
Because they had just about the same conversation for so many years now, words no longer needed to be spoken.
When Harper opened her mouth to argue anew, Altair said gently, “The king wishes you to stay where you are.”
Harper glared. And if I don’t obey him?
“We have recently expanded the palace’s dungeons,” Altair said very politely. “Perhaps you’d be interested in a personal tour?”
He was going to have her locked behind bars, in other words.
Harper forced a smile between clenched teeth, saying, “Nope.”
“I thought so.”
And so she stayed, fidgeted, and cursed the sheikh to perdition.
Maybe if he weren’t single, she wouldn’t mind being around him so much, Harper thought moodily. Maybe if he found himself a queen, she’d stop being stupid. Maybe, just maybe, she’d finally accept the fact that Khalil Al-Atassi was untouchable, unreachable, and would always be, especially to girls like her.
It took over ten minutes before the sheikh finally found his way to her, having had to pause on his way twice, the first to speak with a French ambassador and later, to exchange a few words with a UN envoy.
His cousins spread out in what seemed like natural synchrony, affording them a circle of privacy, but Harper wasn’t fooled. These five guys were thick as thieves, and nothing they did was ever unplanned.
For a long time, the sheikh simply stared at her, stared and stared, making it seem like he had the hots for her. But they both knew he was just baiting her. Damn sheikh. He knew how much she hated being the center of attention, and that was exactly what he was making her to be.
Finally, his beautiful lips curved, and the sheikh said softly, “Marhava, qalifa.” Hello, little girl.
Harper almost scowled, almost glared, but then she caught sight of her father’s warning look from across the hall. Shit. And so she had to resign herself with a stony expression as she said, “Hello, sheikh.” Now go away.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Khalil Al-Atassi remained in front of her, his gaze patient and knowing.
Damn sheikh.
Don’t do it, Harper warned herself. You know he just likes seeing you mad for whatever reason. And the damn sheikh knew how much she hated it whenever he stared at her. She tried counting to ten, but when the sheikh seemed to be enjoying looking his fill of her, Harper’s quick temper eventually got the better of her.
“Stop that,” Harper grouched.
“Stop what?”
“You know what!”
“I truly do not know,” the sheikh said ever so solemnly that Harper wanted to strangle him. “Is it because I called you qalifa?”
Her teeth gnashed. “I am not a little girl.” Damn sheikh.
The sheikh appeared surprised. “You say it as if it is an insult, but it is not.”
“Ha!”
“It is an endearment, one I only use for special childhood friends such as you – dear qalifa.”
“Call me qalifa one more time, and you’ll see just how good this little girl is at trying to choke the hell out of you.” And who the hell was he trying to kid? Endearment? Ha! He only called her ‘little girl’ because he knew how much she hated her youthful looks. And really, childhood friend? Double ha! He was a sheikh, and she just happened to be the daughter of the American soldier who had saved his uncle’s life. Even if special circumstances had allowed them to see each other for one week every year, it still wasn’t enough to constitute a childhood friendship, and they both knew it.
“You are as feisty as ever,” the sheikh suddenly stated.
She only stared at him. You’re a pain in the ass...as always.
The sheikh laughed, the lovely, deep sound causing everyone to turn towards them, and Harper almost swore out loud. For the love of God! This man was the worst. He was often described as aloof but gentlemanly, but in her presence the damn sheikh would always make it a point to smile, laugh, do whatever that would make it seem like they were such good friends –
And all just so she could blow her top, Harper thought furiously, which the damn sheikh found so enjoyable to watch for some reason.
“I am glad you have not changed all this time.” The sheikh reached out to ruffle her hair, just like the ‘qalifa’ he thought her to be, and Harper was tempted to sink her teeth into it like a rabid dog. Oh, to hurt him just once, she thought wistfully.
“Why are you looking at me like you want to kill me?’
“Because I am.”
The sheikh laughed again.
She grimaced. She had wanted him to feel insulted, not amused.
“One day, some people may tell you to refrain from speaking your mind to me.”
Harper only stared. Where did that come from?
“When that happens – do not listen to them.”
“Umm. Okay.” The sheikh was sounding crazier and crazier by the second, but oh well. Maybe sheikhs simply applied a different kind of logic to life. Whatever.
The sheikh suddenly leaned forward, catching her by surprise, and when he lifted his hand to touch her cheek, Harper’s first instinct was to turn away from his touch—-
But again, her gaze once again collided with her father’s, his ferocious scowl perfectly summing up his one-word command. Behave!
And so she gnashed her teeth and forced herself to bear the sheikh’s touch.
I can do this, I can do this.
But with every millimeter of skin that his fingers brushed against blazing to life, flushed hot and ting
ling, it was so damn hard—-
His fingers finally fell away, and Harper almost expired in relief.
Oh, thank God.
“Enjoy the rest of the night, Harper.” His gaze dipped just as her fists clenched against her sides, and amusement once again gleamed in the sheikh’s dark gaze. “You are itching to wipe my touch away, nem?”
She smiled ever so sweetly up at him, saying, “Nem.” Yes. It was a lie – but she would rather cut her tongue off than let him know that. “How did you guess?” Harper was hoping the words would at least win a frown from the sheikh, but instead the damn man remained unflappable as ever.
“I will see you at dinner, qalifa.” And just before turning away, he said huskily, “It was lovely flirting with you.”
The sheikh left her gaping.
Flirting? FLIRTING? How dare he imply—-
CLICK!
Harper snapped her mouth shut, but it was too late. The official photographer had already taken her photo, and again the sheikh had managed to bait her into showing a God-awful face.
DAMN SHEIKH!
My Arabian King
A Sheikh Romance
By Marian Tee
(Please note this was previously published as My Arabian Billionaire)
Copyright 2020 by Streak Digital Publishing
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter One
A throng of well-dressed guests streamed inside the vast, opulent reception hall of the palace, all of them unable to help but marvel at the sheer magnificence of their surroundings. It didn’t matter that many of them weren’t visiting the palace for the first time. It was always an awe-inspiring sight, with its lavish use of gold and marble and the elaborate mosaic artwork embedded on the floors. Everything that could be gilded was gilded, everything that could be sewn with gold thread was sewn so. Majestic columns lined the imposing length of the hallway, and in between them, ancient tapestries alternated with ornately framed mirrors in adorning the walls.
Once in a while, most of the guests would pause before these mirrors, primping and taking selfies, with none of them bothering to check if their reflections were the result of a two-way mirror – which it was. A secret passageway running parallel to the hall afforded the Emir Sheikh and his most trusted vassals to study their guests at leisure, something they rarely cared to do...until tonight.
Time was running out for Khalil Al-Atassi, the newly crowned king of Ramil. If he didn’t find himself a bride tonight –
“At least a hundred eligible women must have walked past us already,” Malik remarked with a frown. “Has not one of them truly met your approval?” Tall, lean, and handsome like his cousins, he was the youngest of the Emir Sheikh’s vassals at twenty-nine but more than equal with them in experience.
“Ease up, Malik,” his older brother murmured. “The king is searching for our future queen, not just any woman.” A powerfully built man, Altair was made more dangerous looking because of the jagged scar on his face. It ran from below his left eyelid all the way down to the edge of his face, a constant reminder – and warning – that before being appointed as Ramil’s Commander of Armed Forces, he had once been the kingdom’s deadliest assassin.
Malik only shrugged. “I think it’s no different when buying a mare. You just look for someone with good lineage, the ability to breed, and how docile and trainable she is.”
“Not everyone enjoys the company of horses the way you do,” Tarif said in amusement. Of the five Al-Atassi sheikhs, only Tarif was of pure Ramil blood, and yet he was also the least bound to the kingdom’s ancient traditions. Instead, he was renowned for championing technological advancements in the kingdom and eliminating the cultural barriers that once isolated Ramil from the rest of the world. Despite all these, however, the media still insisted on portraying Tarif as nothing but a shallow playboy who only happened to be Ramil’s Minister of Foreign Affairs because he was one of the Emir Sheikh’s cousins.
“Considering the fact that our future queen is the only woman Khalil can have sex with for the rest of his life, I’d say he’s earned all the right to take his time in choosing.” There was a slight pause just before Tarif glanced at the Emir Sheikh with a wince. “I don’t envy you at all for that, by the way. The thought of having to fuck just one woman—-”
There was a pause, and then the other sheikhs winced as well.
Khalil only shrugged. “It is what it is.” His kingdom meant the world to him, the only thing that had given him purpose. He was a king first, a hot-blooded man second. As he would unhesitatingly offer his life for Ramil, the need to marry and remain faithful to his future queen was of little consequence to him.
“Exactly what kind of woman are you looking for anyway?” Rayyan, the kingdom’s Minister of Finance, asked bluntly. With ash blond hair and blue-gray eyes, he was the most foreign-looking in the group, but like Tarif, Rayyan’s looks and mixed bloodline were completely deceiving. He was the quintessential Ramilian male, and women to him were either a form of personal property or tools for negotiation.
“I want someone the kingdom would need and be happy with,” the king said simply.
“That automatically rules out eighty percent of tonight’s female guests,” Malik said cynically.
That was true, Khalil thought, which was why he was even willing to search for his future queen outside the kingdom. “A pure Ramilian would have been ideal, but at this point, I’d be willing to settle for someone who at least understands and appreciates our ways.”
“What about fucking? Don’t you at least want someone you’d enjoy fucking?” When Khalil merely shrugged, Tarif’s eyebrow arched in surprise. “You are serious? You do not care about sexual compatibility at all?”
“Not all is as sex-crazed as you are,” Altair said with a shrug.
“Same goes for you, old boy,” Tarif responded lazily. “Not everyone can live like a monk like you do.”
Khalil started to speak when something – someone – caught his eye. Her head was bowed, her dark hair falling like a curtain that covered her face. She was showing her purse for inspection, and his gaze narrowed, the sheikh waiting for the woman to turn his way.
Finally, the woman stepped past the security sensor gates, and when she looked up—-
Ah.
Harper Griffiths.
It had been a year since the sheikh had last seen her, and she still looked just as he remembered. Raven-black hair that was long and silky straight, flashing green eyes, and a voluptuous body made more alluring by the type of dresses that she liked to wear: feminine, conservative, but just tight enough to make a man fantasize about what was underneath.
Unlike most women of his acquaintance, Harper had never tried to take advantage of her friendship with him. In fact, Harper would always strongly insist that he was not a friend at all, and in all the years she had visited the palace, not once had she granted an interview about him.
Harper Griffiths, the sheikh thought again.
And this time, an idea slowly took shape in his mind.
When he glanced up, he saw that all four of his cousins were gazing knowingly at him.
“So this is why you have been as picky as that girl from the fairytale,” Altair mocked.
“Goldilocks,” Tarif slotted in. “Do you seriously not know that?” And then to Khalil, he said with a sigh, “You could have saved us all the worry by telling us you were simply waiting for your favorite toy.”
“I agree with your choice.” Malik’s tone was approving.
“And since we all know how you prefer horses to women, I’d say that’s a huge compliment, coming from you.” Rayyan’s tone became musing. “It’s a pity she’s not even o
f noble blood, but still, I can see the advantages of marrying someone like her—-”
“Enough.” Khalil’s tone was exasperated. “I haven’t even said anything.”
The other sheikhs stared at him.
And then Altair said simply, “You didn’t have to.”
“We’re not blind,” Tarif said with a roll of his eyes.
Malik gestured to the woman who had just walked past them, her arm looped around her father’s. “And that’s her, isn’t it?”
“Harper Griffiths,” Rayyan murmured. “But the real question here is – do you think she will agree to marry you?”
“YOU’RE VAIN AS EVER, Dad.”
“And you’re too young to be a nag.”
Harper let out an unladylike grunt, the sound making her father frown, which she pretended not to notice. The truth was, she didn’t really think Howard was vain. Rather, he was an immensely proud man, and even though it had been almost a decade since he had left the army, he was still unable to fully accept having to limp for the rest of his life, much less make use of a walking stick.
And especially not now, Harper thought.
Usbue Min Al-Abtal or Heroes’ Week was one of the kingdom’s most important holidays. As Ramilians took pride in their dedication to history, the nation and its people always went all out in celebrating the lives of its heroes, both known and unsung. Her father, having saved the life of a beloved Ramilian general, was one of those heroes, and it was for this reason that one week each year, Harper and her father flew from their tiny, government-provided home in Syracuse, Nebraska to the kingdom of Ramil.
Peeking at Howard’s face, Harper saw her father’s slight grimace, and her lips pressed together in an effort to hold her tongue. Howard might be willing to use his walking stick back at home, but never here.
Not in the one place he could pretend he was what he used to be, and he was still able to do what he loved.
“Stop staring at me like you’re thinking I’m about to keel over.” The words came out in a low, grumbling tone even as Howard’s gaze remained straight ahead.