by Tara Pammi
A drop of sweat ran down her back. The intense appraisal from his eyes, the hard glint of amusement, she wished she could make her gaze inscrutable as he did. “No air-conditioning? It must be hot as a furnace in the summer, then.”
“The house was designed to take full advantage of the prevailing winds in Sintar, which flow from the north and the west, to keep the air stream circulating throughout the entire house most of the year. That and the pool together, I do not miss air-conditioning.”
“And if you do, it’s a short walk to the palace you own. It’s not like you don’t have options.”
He smiled, showing his teeth. The man even had perfect teeth. “Yes, something like that. What do you think of the house? You’re my first official guest. Well, other than Mirah.”
Instantly, an image of a gorgeous, golden-skinned beauty coiled tight around Amalia’s throat. “Mirah?”
“My sister. But she prefers all the amenities and little luxuries that electricity provides so she was not impressed. She complains that her hair gets frizzy without a hair straightener every time I ask her to sleep here.”
Amalia smiled, liking the sound of his sister. Good to know there was someone who wasn’t bowled over by everything the sheikh did. Well, other than her. Most of the time, at least. “It’s gorgeous, so light and airy. Nothing like I’ve ever seen in Khaleej, and yet, taking advantage of all its natural elements.”
Something in his satisfied smile made Amalia look around the house again. He knew far too much about a house. Granted, he could be one of those particularly odd and grumpy sort of billionaires who needed everything just so and constantly micromanaged the people who worked for him. “Who’s the architect?”
By this time, Amalia had walked around the pool. She stopped a couple of feet from him, still not prepared for that overwhelming awareness of him to flood her. He cocked his head, as if her question had taken him by surprise. “I designed the house.”
Her mouth dropped open. But she’d known at some instinctive level. There was contentment, a sort of joy in him here. “You studied architecture?”
“And international finance.”
“That’s...wow. This open plan, and not using electricity, it seems you still have the Bedouin inside you.”
Shock flared in his eyes. “I keep forgetting, encouraged by your looks and your attitude of course, that you’re half Arab. Maybe it is the Bedouin inside me. I can’t stand being walled up so much that you lose touch with nature.”
“You clearly have good taste, Sheikh.” She filled her words with exaggerated disbelief and had the reward of seeing him chuckle. “Have you designed anything else? You’re also obviously very talented if my humble opinion amounts to anything.”
A shadow flitted across his face, wiping the easy smile away. “I have no time for it. Even seeing this project to completion took me five years.”
“Then why did you study it when you knew you wouldn’t have time?”
“That is a very practical question, Amalia.”
“I’m a very practical woman, notwithstanding my behavior the evening that I met you. But then I was desperate and it called for desperate measures.”
“Now you sound just like my father.” That hardness she’d sensed in him was in full force when he spoke of his father. Amalia wondered if he was aware of it. Probably not, for he seemed like a man who didn’t betray himself—whether anger or any other vulnerability at all.
“You must have always known what your future was going to be.”
“Since I could fathom the world around me, yes. But I have always been interested in architecture. Sintar has some extraordinary buildings, so full of stories and anecdotes. So I made a deal with my father. If he let me study architecture along with finance, I would not grumble about my duties and be a good sheikh to the people.”
Amalia forced herself to smile when he glanced at her but she heard the thread of melancholy in his voice. From the moment she’d seen him, she had only seen what the world saw. A man born to extraordinary riches and incredible power, a man who enjoyed everything it entailed, and yet, that he had studied architecture knowing he would never be able to actually pursue his dream seemed like a very hard fact to digest.
A complete contradiction to the ruthless man who had cheerfully threatened to imprison her alongside her brother. Amalia wished she hadn’t asked about the house. Wished she could somehow blind and mute herself and her senses to seeing him as anything but.
“Well, you have a very good career alternative to fall back on if you fail at this one.” She didn’t dare look into his eyes. “It seems like that exposé did a number on your...what do they call it, your job performance rating among your cabinet and your countrymen, yes? It’s a sad fact of having such a public career, I guess.”
The amusement in his eyes didn’t hide the level look he sent her way. “My people, my country, Amalia?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitating. “This has not been my home for a long time.”
“And yet, here you are, fighting tooth and nail for your brother’s release. How many times have you seen him in the last decade?”
“That is neither here nor there. All that matters is he needs my help.”
He poured mint tea from a silver dallah and Amalia took a hasty sip. Refusing to look at him, she walked ahead. “What are we eating?”
“Lamb stew, chicken kebabs and wild pulao, with bread pudding for dessert.”
Her mouth watering at the mention of an old favorite, she whirled around. “Oh, please God, don’t tell me you’re a fantastic cook, too, Sheikh?”
He stood before her, as if he was aware of her trick to keep a distance between them. “No, the chef just delivered it. What about you?”
“What about me?”
He took her elbow and guided her toward one of those comfortably cozy nooks. The press of her thigh against his sent her heart slamming in her rib cage. “You have a habit of getting defensive every time I ask you a personal question.” He waited till she settled onto the knee-high seating and then lowered his wide frame right next to her. When Amalia tried to move to her right, he stilled her with his mouth at her ear. “Makes one wonder what big, dirty secret you’re hiding.”
She made the mistake of tipping her chin up, forgetting that he was right next to her. This close, she could see the golden flecks in his pupils, breathe in the scent of sandalwood that drifted from his freshly shaved cheeks. “I’m not hiding anything,” she said in a croaky whisper. “I just don’t think my life’s been that interesting, say, compared to an illustrious person like you.”
“And yet, I think you’re an interesting contradiction at best.”
His voice was even more potent than his words, the deep, velvety tone pulling her in. “At the worst?” she goaded him, desperate to break the spell.
“A cunning criminal, with the face of an angel,” he said. He smiled when she glared at him. “You did ask.”
He spread a napkin on her lap since clearly she was acting like she was incapable of doing anything else for herself. “Eat.”
Amalia picked up her fork and dutifully forked some wild pilaf into her mouth. The richly flavored rice and the nuts and raisins in it restored her balance. Without further prompting from him, she dug into the lamb. It was succulent and only then she realized how hungry she was.
A strained silence descended as they both concentrated on the delicious food. When she had finished the last morsel, she wiped her mouth and leaned back in her seat with a contented sigh.
He did the same. His gaze persistent on hers, Amalia was forced to meet it. “If I eat like that every day,” she said, searching for something, anything, even if it was inane chatter, “I will need a new wardrobe.”
“Speaking of wardrobes—” his gaze did a quick sweep over her body “—how many black
pencil skirts and plain, long-sleeved T-shirts do you own?”
“As many as it takes to present a professional picture,” she said, annoyed beyond measure. Did he have to find fault with everything related to her?
“I have a feeling you’re not dressed so primly just because you were visiting your father’s conservative homeland after over a decade. I think you always dress like this—all buttoned up and neatly covered away.”
Amalia got up from the seat. Looking up at her from his sprawling position, he still didn’t seem to be at a disadvantage. He looked like a pasha surveying gifts brought to him and disapproving them. Blasted man! “How is my wardrobe—?”
“You will choose a new one, of course.” She stood there while he finished his drink. The open collar of his shirt showed a glimpse of golden-hued skin, stretched tight over lean muscles. She had a feeling her throat was always going to feel parched around him. “A stylist will meet you tomorrow. Take my advice, and let her dress you. We’re going to be celebrating our engagement, not hiding from the world. My fiancée will have to be stylish, sophisticated. Not a woman who flaunts her femininity, nor one who hides it.”
“I don’t hide anything. I...”
In answer, he sent his gaze sweeping over her in such a thorough appraisal that every inch of her skin tingled.
“I’m dressed perfectly enough to be your fiancée or anyone else’s.”
“But I’m not any man. No one will believe that I would fall for a woman like you...”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that. And I disagree. Maybe there should be a difference between the type of women you...bedded all these years and your adorable fiancée, yes? Maybe it is my rough edges that made me irresistible to your jaded palate?”
“It won’t be your tart tongue. How sensually you kiss when your words are anything but.” He handed out that little tidbit as if it were a survey he was filling out while even the memory of it scorched her. “Now, tell me, are there any skeletons in your closet I should know about?”
“Is Aslam a skeleton?” she quipped.
He didn’t smile. “Jealous ex-lovers? Ex-fiancés? Brokenhearted boyfriends who might decide to make a sudden appearance?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You will become the focus of a media frenzy within hours of appearing with me, Amalia. Either you tell me what I need to know or my advisers will find out. And believe me, reading about your current lover’s unsavory past or nefarious motives is unpalatable in the extreme.”
“You have the women you sleep with investigated?”
“Not if there is nothing to hide. My reputation, this charade we’re beginning, is not a joke. I will not let you risk it.”
“Is there anything left to besmirch?”
“What about Massimiliano Ricci?”
Amalia gritted her teeth to swallow her ire. “What about Massi?”
“You call him Massi?”
“I call him whatever the hell I want, Sheikh. My work, my life, they are not yours to dissect or to dictate.”
“From now on, they are.” Arrogance dripped from every pore. “That he placed such a call for you using his connections even after two months of not working says something about your relationship.”
Jumping to conclusions about her seemed to be a habit of his. Or maybe that was what he did to women who didn’t jump to do his bidding immediately.
The passing thought made Amalia’s spine stiffer. She wished she could tell a convincing lie, wished she could feed the hateful man what he was asking for. But she had always been honest to a fault. The little white lie she had told him two days ago had to be the biggest lie she had ever told in her entire life.
“You will not understand our relationship with each other. And I will not deign to put a label on it for you.” Maybe she wasn’t good at telling lies, but she was getting good at hiding the truth. Some instinct inside her refused to answer what the infuriating man was asking, refused to admit that she’d never felt anything for Massi even when she’d wanted to.
His fingers loosened around her arm, thick lashes falling to hide his expression. “All I need to know is if he will create any sort of problem over the next few months, especially when he hears of our engagement.”
Months in close quarters with the sheikh—battling wits with him and with her own willpower... Her heart sank to the soles of her feet. Massi’s reaction to all this was the least of her worries. “Few months?”
“As long as it takes for Mirah’s wedding to happen.”
She frowned. “You’re doing all this for your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Why? What does your fiancée have to do with her wedding?”
“Her fiancé’s family is very conservative. They did not like the lurid details that Celebrity Spy! made up about my love life. My mother heard talk of them canceling the wedding because they do not want to be connected to a family like mine.”
Amalia would’ve enjoyed the pressure he was feeling if it didn’t directly relate to her own fate. “So they dared to cut off an alliance with the ruling sheikh?”
“Her fiancé’s family is old money. They care more about perception than they do about the truth.”
“Then maybe Mirah is better off not marrying into such a family.”
His smile dug grooves in his cheeks. “I would think the same if I didn’t know that Farid’s heart is true. He loves Mirah unconditionally.”
“Your father has to have some power over all this, right? Why couldn’t he persuade them that Mirah is not at fault for your escapades? It’s not some kind of genetic defect that she might have.”
“If it were up to my father, he would cut off the alliance completely. He thinks this...matter of Mirah’s love is causing far too much inconvenience to me.”
“Because a son ranks higher than a daughter?” she said bitterly.
“No, a sheikh’s duty ranks much higher than love.” The setting sun played shadows on his face, making him look harsher. “Love has no place in any of our lives.”
“But you’re going to all these lengths for her?”
“Yes, because I want Mirah to have this happiness. My life should not adversely affect hers.”
“I don’t understand this.” He called her a contradiction and here he was. His eyes softened every time he talked about his sister. “You were looking over women that this mysterious Ms. Young sent you as if you were picking up vegetables at a bazaar. And yet, you want your sister to marry for love? Something does not add up.”
“My sister’s life and mine are different, Amalia. They always have been.”
“So all this was damage control.”
“I intended to marry, yes. The exposé brought the time forward, is all. All jokes aside, you will dress the part of my fiancée. I have a two-week trip to Europe, which should work very well for our first public appearance together. You will look besotted and beautiful and convince the world that you’re absolutely in love with me.”
“That might be a tall order now that I know what a hard-ass you are.”
“Then remember the fervor with which you were moaning when we kissed. If you want a repeat, I’m happy to oblige.”
“Why can’t we just announce to her family that we’re engaged? Why does all this have to take months?”
“We will let ourselves be seen together. The ring on your finger and your adoring looks should prove to the world that I’ve fallen for your charms.”
Suddenly, he produced a sheaf of documents from somewhere. “What is it?”
“It’s an NDA agreement. Better late than never.”
Stunned, Amalia took the documents from him. “What will you do if I break it? Sue me? I have nothing but pencil skirts and a savings account that’s dwindling by the hour.”
“I will tie you to a court case in Khaleej for the rest of your lifetime.”
“Then I’ll tell the—”
“You seem to think we’re on an even keel with each other. This meeting was about setting the rules. Just because I answered your questions and laugh at your quips does not mean I will lose sight of our objective. Do not threaten me again, Amalia.
“I have more power. I will always have more power in this relationship. Please me with your performance these next few months and I will see your brother released if he’s innocent.”
“You’re a bully, Sheikh.”
“If that’s what you need to call me to understand the situation, so be it.” If looks could kill, Zayn had a feeling he would be ashes now. “Did you contact your father?”
A different kind of tension filled her body, her mouth flattening into a thin line. “No.”
“You do not think you should let him know some version of the truth before he sees it plastered across some social media site? You are, after all, his daughter.”
“He won’t care.”
“I am sure he will—”
“I won’t be told what to do in this, Sheikh. I don’t care if you throw me in jail for the rest of my life. I’m not answerable to him. And I’m answerable to you only as long as Aslam is in jail.
“And speaking of whom, I have to see him before I leave.”
“Not possible. I will not risk you leaking everything I’m trying to hold intact in an emotional moment with your brother. Believe me, Amalia, Aslam is barely suffering where he is. In fact, this might be a good lesson in growing up for your brother.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
“It will be precisely I who decides if your performance is not up to the mark.” He tugged until she fell against him with a throaty gasp. “You should start practicing calling me Zayn. I do demand respect from my future wife. But I do not want the world to think she’s terrified of me.”
Outrage flashed in her eyes and her mouth curved into a snarl. “I hate you, Zayn. How does that sound?”