Married for the Sheikh's Duty

by Tara Pammi

  “And maybe, I will conveniently forget to mention the fact that there was a fiancé mart going on over here.” She scrunched her face up, as if this was all a joke. “I don’t know. I can’t decide if it looks bad if I omit the fact and let them jump to all kinds of conclusions like I did or if it is worse that you are picking a wife from a list of eligible candidates.”

  “What conclusions did your devious mind jump to?”

  “That you were building your own personal harem.”

  Zayn hadn’t been shocked in a while, if ever. There were very few surprises in life for him. One extremely unpleasant one had been the exposé by Celebrity Spy! and the domino-like disasters it had started toppling in his life.

  This was the second time. Of all the things in the world, the slender, pale woman to threaten him... His anger came slowly even then, like a discordant note underneath the shock coursing through him. Slowly, that shock dissipated, too, and he was thinking rationally again.

  Only one course of action was suddenly visible to him.

  The woman looked like an angel—all innocent outrage and yet, she had the guts to go up against him for her brother. There was no doubt. Zayn had never met a woman like her before.

  “What you’re saying constitutes blackmail. And the man you’re blackmailing is the Sheikh of Khaleej, the most powerful man in the country. If you tangle with me, even your lofty connections in high places cannot protect you from the consequences. I could whisper a word and ruin your career prospects forever, if you do really have a career. I could make sure your father is never employed again by any university in Khaleej.”

  Her skin took on a pale cast, making her topaz eyes gleam like rare gems even more. “If I’m going down, I’ll take you with me. But I will not let my brother rot in jail while there is still something I could do about it. I will not leave him to your tender, inconsistent mercies.”

  Zayn couldn’t take the risk of this woman being out in the world, armed with the knowledge she had in her grip now.

  He had made a bluff and she had called him on it. And at the end of it all, Mirah’s wedding would be at stake, her future happiness at stake.

  And there was only one way he could see out of this. He didn’t like the decision one bit. He would have to put his plans on hold for a while. He would have to make do with this stubborn, irreverent, brassy woman, at least until things calmed down. Maybe even until Mirah’s wedding took place and the furor about his image and his allegedly scandalous private life calmed down.

  The woman had the balls to blackmail a sheikh. While she was still thoroughly unsuitable to be his mistress, much less his sheikha, she was at least equipped to carry out this pretense; she would survive in the fierce political wranglings of the palace.

  “There is only one solution I see for the situation you have created, Amalia.”

  “Oh, I’m Amalia again?”

  Now that he had come to a decision, her adversarial tone amused Zayn. He didn’t trust the cunning minx one bit but he had to admit she was an entertaining diversion after the recent publicity fiasco. “Seeing that we are going to be closely involved over the next few months, maybe even years, it seems only appropriate that I call you Amalia.” He took her stiff hands in his and pressed a kiss to the back of one hand. Her hand was cold and smooth against his lips, the tremor in her fingers going a long way to smooth his ire.

  She jerked her hand back as if burned. Her feet stumbled in her anxiety to get away from him and he caught her by the waist. A sudden, raw image of that indent of her waist bared naked to him came with such forceful mastery that he loosened his hold on her.

  The rough rush of her breath only heightened his awareness of her, the soft but unyielding femininity in his hands. “Now who’s talking crazy, Your Highness?”

  “I have to insist you call me Zayn. Or else it is going to look very suspicious. Whatever our differences in private, Amalia, we have to put on a good show for the public and the media. The chemistry I feel between us should help with that.”

  This time she pushed away from him again, and took several steps more. He laughed and she glared at him. “And I insist that you tell me what the hell is going on in your twisted mind right now.”

  He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “And here I thought your intelligence might become an insurmountable barrier in our relationship.”

  “What relationship? And for God’s sake, if you’re calling me stupid, then just do it in plain words.”

  “Noted for future. I am telling you that I have made my choice. You are going to be my future wife for—”

  She pulled her wrap around her like a weapon and headed for the door. If Zayn wasn’t blocking the door, he had a feeling she would have disappeared like the morning mist against a rising sun. If it stopped there, Zayn would have gladly let her go.

  But he knew, as surely as the fact that he was taking a huge risk with her, she would not simply give up on her brother because she was attracted to the sheikh. At least, keeping her close, he could mitigate the risk she presented to his plans.

  “Like hell I am.”

  “We will have to clean up your language, ya habibiti. Or no one will believe that it is a love match.”

  “I’m not your dear or darling. You think the world is foolish enough to assume Sheikh Zayn Al-Ghamdi is capable of falling in love?”

  “I like that you’re able to understand me so well already. Since it will be impossible to convince anyone that marrying you is advantageous to me in any way, we have to resort to the instant-love, must-marry approach.”

  She came toward him then. The anxiety and panic in her eyes went a long way toward pacifying Zayn. “I cannot marry you.”

  “I’m not offering the option to you.” He let his upper lip curl in distaste. “I stand by my word. You’re thoroughly unsuitable to be my wife. But you have very cunningly made yourself into a liability for me. A liability I have to take care of, at all costs.

  “If I let you loose in the world, I have no idea what that tart mouth of yours will do. If I keep you, a strange, unmarried female in the palace, there will be talk about it. So, this is the only solution that is acceptable.

  “You will be my fiancée, for all intents and purposes, until I say otherwise. And you will do so with grace and sophistication, and you will do the Al-Ghamdi family and Khaleej proud. When I deem it wise to release you on the world again, you will leave Sintar and Khaleej.”

  “I refuse to participate in this charade.”

  “The other option is to imprison you, too. Maybe I can have a special cell built for you by your twin’s side. Believe me, Amalia, that idea fills me with immense pleasure.”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “Quid pro quo.”

  “I...no one will believe that you chose me. I might choke before the first week is up. And how do you know I won’t still go to the media, that I will trust you to do the right thing?”

  “You won’t jeopardize his chances of release.” He still could not believe that his cousin would let an innocent man take the fall like this. “I know how strong the need to ensure your sibling’s happiness could be, especially if you are the stronger one.”

  “Aslam is not weak. He...just, he never recovered from our parents’ split.”

  “You were just as young.”

  “I learned to manage.”

  He laughed again. “Can respond with calm and reason in extreme situations,” he said, mimicking her earlier tone. “Think of it as a challenge in your job.”

  “Fine, but only if you promise that you will look into Aslam’s matter. And not after months or years, but immediately. Order your cousin home. Have my brother put in a minimum-care facility.”

  His face hardened. “If he is guilty, Amalia, I warn you now, nothing you do will make me help him.”


  “I know that he is not guilty.”

  Stubbornness could have been defined with this woman in mind. “Fine. I will look into it. But remember, one toe out of line in public or in front of anyone else, one small glimpse of that irreverent attitude toward me in front of anyone else, and I will make sure Aslam never sees sunlight again.

  “No one should suspect that this is a farce that came about because you had the gall to blackmail the sheikh.”

  Eyes wide in her expressive face, she nodded. Irritated beyond measure, Zayn left the office. Before he was tempted to either kiss or kill the woman.

  Neither impulse was one he could give in to, at least in the near future.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS Sheikh Zayn Al-Ghamdi commands your presence for dinner in his private garden...”

  Amalia barely swallowed her gasp as the guard delivered his message with a straight face and left her standing in the sitting lounge of the suite she’d been shown to two evenings ago.

  She hadn’t been allowed to go back to her hotel to collect her things. No, she’d been marched straight here, to this wing of the palace, and her things had been brought to her so quickly that she’d barely even missed them.

  And then she’d been left to stew in her doubts and anxiety for two whole days, while guards stood outside her suite. Finally, forty-eight hours later, he was deigning to see her.

  Commands, not requests...not even invites... No, commands. How she wished to throw the sheikh’s imperious command in his face and march out of the palace and straight out of Khaleej. How had she let herself be embroiled in such a crazy scheme that was worthy of... Aslam?

  No, not even Aslam, she was sure, would have resorted to blackmailing the sheikh, of all men in the world. A twisting knot in her stomach gave her pause.

  No, this crazy, out-of-control impulsive behavior was more like her mother. Every time Amalia had brought up the issue of her visiting Aslam in Khaleej, her mother had gone into one of her tantrums.

  To give in to that urge and kiss him like that, to tangle recklessly with a man like the sheikh even in the most harmless way, this was a side of herself she’d never known.

  Not her. Never trustworthy, reliable, calm in the storm Amalia.

  But given that she’d learned what a hard man the sheikh was, she had taken the best option available to her, even though blackmail firmly put her on the other side of the law. If she had walked out at that moment, not that he’d been willing to let her go, she had no doubt that he wouldn’t have wasted another minute on her or Aslam’s case.

  When it came to being his fiancée, she decided, looking through her meager collection of clothes, it was best to take a pragmatic, Amalia-esque approach to that, too. She would consider it the most difficult job she’d ever worked and he the most aggravating boss ever. That would define the boundaries, put all the checks in line. She had never put a toe out of line with a colleague or a boss ever, and if she thought of the sheikh that way, too, she’d be able to keep a professional distance.

  She’d never done anything to jeopardize her career. Even when there had been a chance to build something. This had to be the same.

  A professional fiancée, yep, that was what she had to be. Give a good grade performance and expect a raise. Well, in this case, a release.

  Feeling a little more in control of herself, she did a few squats and lunges to get blood flowing. Being cooped up inside, even if she was being treated like a special guest, didn’t suit her.

  She finished her shower and dressed in another long-sleeved, navy blue Henley top and a long skirt, wrapped a thick colorful scarf she had bought in one of the street markets around her neck and chest and touched her mouth with lip gloss. Since the dark blue top and black pencil skirt made her look far too monochromatic, she pulled out the gold-plated jangling bracelets that Massi had given her for Christmas and wore them on her right hand. Her gold-plated watch went perfectly well with the bracelets.

  A consummate professional with just a little personal flair, she felt sufficiently armored.

  The welcoming table as she entered her suite with a gold-tinted tissue box, a hairbrush with a detailed design on the frame and a gleaming bronze hand mirror that looked like it was at least a hundred years old, had hit Amalia with a sudden bout of nostalgia.

  It was an old Khaleej custom. A memory of her mother maintaining a table like that in her bedroom for years after they had left Khaleej came rushing at Amalia. Any doubts she had faced the last two days about contacting her father and telling him her whereabouts cleared away. Her mother had grieved over him and her love for so long, never being whole again.

  And he hadn’t even asked after her since Amalia had been here.

  Hardening her heart, Amalia walked out into the corridor. Instantly, the guard followed her.

  They walked away from the main palace and the administrative wing, through an open courtyard and a tiled path amidst a beautifully manicured garden. And with each step they took away from the palace, Amalia saw the shift in the architecture, the subtle differences even in the surroundings.

  The abode they came to finally seemed to spring out of the ground.

  There were no pretentious gold-plated carvings, or heavy, outdated pieces of furniture here. It was as if she walked from an older Sintar to a new Sintar.

  Now, as the guard led her toward where the sheikh waited, Amalia felt that same feeling again. Stained glass and arches, the typical elements of Khaleejian architecture, were all there but used with a modern, almost whimsical touch.

  As if the architect had wanted to free himself from the constraints of tradition and yet found himself integrating them in his design anyway. What it ended up being was a flawless blend of tradition and modernity, married by impeccable design and taste.

  They rounded a bend and came toward a huge, beautiful aqua-blue tiled indoor swimming pool, the bottom of which was a mosaic tile pattern that looked like a Persian rug. Moroccan-style lamps dotted the perimeter of the pool.

  With a sense of wonder, Amalia realized the pool was the heart of this building, or the home.

  The inner courtyard was surrounded by richly carved wood on multiple levels and hanging plants. There were cozy nooks and crannies everywhere, with built-in seating areas comfortably accessorized with pillows, carpets and planters.

  The blues of the water and the greens of the plants created a beautiful slice of paradise, a private paradise, she realized with a sudden dismay.

  This was the sheikh’s personal space. The contrast between the hard man she’d met the other day and the cozy atmosphere of this space, made it difficult to marry the two. But she’d be willing to bet that she was the only woman who had ever been allowed in here.

  The guard slipped away.

  It took all of her determination to see Aslam released to put one foot in front of the other and continue toward where the man himself waited.

  He was wearing a full-sleeved, collarless shirt in a rich brown, which made his skin gleam like burnished gold. Dark blue jeans hugged his lean hips in an entirely too sexy way. Dressed down like that, he should have passed for an average man, an approachable man. But as she had already realized, the clothes or his position didn’t make the man.

  On the contrary, the simple clothes only accentuated the power radiating from him. Seeing him after two days, in which she had concocted a hundred different theories, all of which reduced the potent masculinity of the man to a thousandth degree, Amalia felt a fresh surge of amazement at her own daring. She must have been truly crazy to have tangled with this man and to have kissed him, to have pressed her body against the rock-hard contours of his...

  He looked up and their eyes met.

  Her gaze went straight to his mouth, her mind instantly supplying the taste and heat of his kiss. He had a soft mouth, th
e lower lip skating between hardness and passion. Both aspects controlled his life, Amalia decided with a perceptive leap.

  Wasn’t that what had shocked Khaleej and the world over? That the sheikh, who was supposed to rule his political life and his administration with ruthless control had such a wild, uninhibited, almost salacious private life.

  Why had he kissed her like that? The question was beating a little drum inside her head. Had it been a case of proving a point, like he’d said? Or because she’d been conveniently present and men like that couldn’t resist?

  One kiss that lasted maybe a few minutes and she already felt as if he owned a little part of her. As though all he needed to do was look at her and she’d be reduced to a mass of sensations and feelings.

  The way her lips were trembling, she knew he was looking at her mouth. And remembering the kiss, too.

  Forcing herself to raise her gaze to his, she willed her body to cool down. There was not simply desire in his gaze, if it was present at all.

  No, there was something more. A calculating assessment, as if he was taking her measure again. Of course, the man didn’t lose his head over one kiss, like she’d been doing for two days. He probably hadn’t even given her a thought considering what a busy man he was. For him, it had been a power play in that moment, a tactic to bring her into line. And she’d fallen into that kiss as if it was a lifeline.

  Hands fisted by her sides, she didn’t know how long she waited like that, staring at him across the pool that separated them.

  “If you are thinking of jumping in the pool to cool down, I warn you, the water is very cold.”

  She looked to the calm blue surface jealously. “You have an indoor pool and it’s not heated?”

  He shrugged, raising those powerful shoulders. “This wing is not connected to any power line. It runs on a solar generator. The pool is not heated because I like a cool dip at the end of a hot day.”

  The wet gleam of his raven-dark hair told Amalia he’d done just that. Suddenly, the images of his leanly honed body stroking through the blue water, powerful thighs eating away the laps, made heat flush through her.