Sheikhs of Hamari: The Complete Series

by Leslie North

  “I’m disappointed in you, Hannah. I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge.”

  Her heart stopped, seized, started again. Chakir stood behind her in the hallway.

  “You scared me. What are you wearing?” Coaching clothes? Right down to the silver whistle on a chain around his neck. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s time to break some rules. Especially if it means doing right by Ryan and the next generation of Hamari’s leaders.”

  Hannah could hardly breathe.

  “The thing is…” Chakir looked into her eyes, and just like the first time they’d met, the sight of that golden-brown hue made Hannah’s heart race and her breath come faster. “Traditions can be made modern, too. You taught me that. You’ve taught me a lot.” He stepped closer. “You taught me to find my voice. To step out of my box. To see the world in a whole new light.”

  “Chakir—”

  “I thought I was right, Hannah Fisher, but I was wrong. I was wrong not to embrace that way of thinking from the very start. I was wrong not to embrace you.”

  Hannah couldn’t stop herself. She threw her arms around his neck and held tight. Chakir lifted her chin with his fingertips and kissed her. Oh, it felt so right. It felt like perfection. It felt like home.

  “Mom,” Ryan said from behind them, and Hannah turned to find her son wrinkling his nose in disgust. “You guys are kissing so much.” He laughed.

  “Not always,” said Chakir. He looked into Hannah’s eyes, his grip around her waist tightening. “I love you, Hannah. I’ve fallen as hard for you as a man could ever fall for a woman. I want to be with you. I want to marry you.”

  “I like the idea of having you for a fiancé.” Hannah thought she might combust into a ball of pure joy and light. “But what about all your traditions? What about my…you know, habit of…”

  “Challenging everything I stand for?” Chakir laughed. “I hope you never stop. Not for a day. Not for a moment. Well…some moments. In all seriousness…” He pulled her as close as was humanly possible without being inappropriate in front of Ryan. “I want you as my partner. As my equal. I don’t want a silent, submissive wife, and I never should have insinuated that’s how you should behave.”

  “I can’t remember if you did or not,” said Hannah breezily. “But if you did, I forgive you. I love you too. I…well, I fell for you a long time ago. I was only denying it to myself in case you got sick of us and sent us back to the States.”

  “Hey!” Ryan shouted. “Chakir would never send us anywhere. He likes me too much.”

  Ryan ran up to the two of them then, throwing his arms around their legs. Chakir ruffled his hair. “That’s right, buddy. That’s absolutely right.”

  Epilogue

  Someone had convinced the tribal elders to come to the soccer match.

  Chakir saw them right away, huddled there at the edge of the stands, looking for all the world like they’d been forced there on pain of death. Qamar watched the field with a stony expression. Well, Chakir had his number. The man liked soccer. He could frown all he wanted, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the field.

  Small victories.

  Hannah and Kishon stood down a bit from the elders, his brother leaning to say something to Hannah. Both of them had their eyes glued to the field as well, and as Chakir watched, Hannah motioned with her hands. It looked like she was setting up a play. Chakir hadn’t realized until their arrival at the soccer field that Hannah and Kishon had gotten to know each other since the crowning ceremony. They’d launched into an easy conversation about the soccer match the moment Hannah got to the sidelines.

  It was almost as if Kishon was curious about what kind of woman had turned Chakir’s world upside down. And it was upside down. In the best way possible.

  Chakir felt like a whole new person. It was strange, because he hardly recognized himself when he looked in the mirror. Today, he felt like he could leave all the royal trappings behind and elope with Hannah. That was the strangest thought that had ever occurred to him. Eloping was not something the crown prince got to do. He didn’t get to shrug off traditions and customs and not let the entire country of Hamari participate in his wedding. Denying the country the excitement of a royal wedding was unthinkable.

  Their engagement was only a few hours old, but Chakir’s mind was already working overtime. The first item on the agenda was to find Hannah a ring. He wanted her to have an engagement ring that represented everything he felt about her, which was a tall order. Chakir couldn’t wait to begin the task. He’d considered having the royal jewelers meet him at the field, but no—no. That would be a bit much.

  But once he’d found the ring, there was a bigger matter to attend to: finding his brother a wife.

  A cheer went up from the crowd, and Chakir realized he’d been staring at Hannah long enough to miss the action on the field. And from the looks of it, it had been excellent action—their team had scored a goal. Ryan had been on the assist, and now the boy ran up to his teammate to congratulate him on the score. Gracious as ever. Hannah had been right about that, too. Kindness should always go hand in hand with leadership.

  At the half, Kishon came across the field, a bright smile on his face, and enveloped Chakir in a hug that was far too tight.

  “Choking,” said Chakir, tapping on his brother’s shoulder. “Choking to death.”

  “Unbelievable. You work fast, brother of mine.” Kishon stepped back and pumped Chakir’s hand. “Engaged! We have to plan a celebration. Do you think Ryan will want to be included?”

  “I think Ryan will like it if we leave him alone to play soccer for the next several months. And I think you’re forgetting something.”

  “I forget nothing. My mind is a steel trap.”

  “There’s no point in having an engagement celebration if I can’t actually marry her.”

  Kishon cleared his throat. “About that.”

  “What?”

  “I’d…” The king looked over both shoulders to make sure there was no one untrustworthy in earshot. “I’d like your next project to be finding me a wife.” Kishon grabbed Chakir’s face. “Look at you. So happy. I want that kind of happiness. Help me find it, and you can have your wedding, too.”

  “Get back to your seat, King Kishon.”

  His brother stared. “What?”

  “I’ll find you a wife. But first we have to watch the rest of this game. Nobody wants to miss it, least of all me.”

  It was a group of five- and six-year-olds playing soccer, but Chakir felt like he was watching the World Cup. They all ran themselves ragged up and down the field, scoring one goal after another until it had come down to a tie.

  Chakir couldn’t believe it.

  A tie, and the end was up to Ryan.

  He had the last penalty shot.

  The crowd in the stands went quiet.

  Ryan hadn’t been playing soccer very long, and he hesitated just outside the penalty area. He turned around and found Chakir on the sidelines. Chakir gave him a huge thumbs-up.

  Ryan lined himself up, jogged forward, and kicked…

  GOAL!

  Chakir cheered louder than everyone else. He was sure of it. Ryan jumped into the air, then sprinted across the field to Chakir and leaped into his arms, screaming in delight. Hannah and Kishon tore across the field to meet them, all of them over the moon.

  And that was it.

  That was the moment Chakir realized how wonderful it was to have this family around him. This family, this love of his life, and all of it right here in his arms on a beautiful day.

  No tradition could have given him that. Traditions, he knew, had to be built by the people who loved them. And the people who loved each other.

  And it was not about—it had never been about—maintaining traditions so that one day Chakir might deserve love, and a wife, and a family. He already did deserve that.

  Chakir looked over Ryan’s head at his brother. “Soon,” he said.

  Kishon nod
ded, hope shining in his eyes.

  Tonight, they would celebrate. And tomorrow, Chakir would start on the newest and most important project of his life: finding love for his brother. Once Kishon was happily married, Chakir could finally take Hannah as his wife.

  He’d never been so thrilled to start a project in his life…or so determined to get it right.

  End of The Sheikh’s American Lover

  Blurb

  In Sheikh Kishon’s small kingdom, it’s tradition that older sons marry before the younger ones. Problem is, his younger brother desperately wants to get married—and marriage is the last thing Kishon desires. Lucky for him, artist Chloe Sanderson is intrigued by his offer of a marriage of convenience. He’s been flirting with the sexy American on his visits to the US for months, admiring her spunk and easy way with people. Knowing her desire to travel, he offers her a world tour if she’ll be his fake wife. To Kishon, it’s the perfect plan. Not only does his brother get to marry the woman he loves, but Kishon gets the elders off his back. He just has to make sure no one discovers he’s marrying for business, something that would put him in a bad light with the elders.

  For Chloe, marrying this sexy sheikh isn’t much of a sacrifice, especially since it’s all a farce. She’ll get to see the world and paint all the beautiful sites she’s always dreamed of. Sure, actually marrying Kishon is a bit surreal, but passion-filled nights and romantic days soon make her realize that nothing is fake about her feelings for Kishon, even though his feelings are pretty clear. No love. No future. Once his brother marries, her romance with the hard-headed sheikh will be over.

  But do either of them really want it to be?

  1

  The sheikh from Hamari had an exceptional ass.

  Chloe couldn’t take her eyes off it. His pants added something, too—they were tailored, hugging the tight, fit butt the way only custom-made pants could. Even someone without her eye for detail would have appreciated the way Kishon’s pants accentuated the toned muscles underneath, but Chloe especially did.

  It was a bummer that he was leaving.

  Chloe sighed as the door swung closed behind him, cutting off the exceptional view of his body in yet another of his custom suits. The bar nestled up to a luxury hotel, so it attracted lots of businessmen and ritzy wedding guests, but Kishon had been head and shoulders above all of them, sometimes literally. She’d never thought of herself as short, but more than once looking up at him from across the bar had taken her breath away. He had to be six three, at least.

  “Is your man gone?” Hailey, one of the waitresses and Chloe’s best friend on staff, swooped up to the bar with a tray balanced on her shoulder.

  Chloe plucked the slim check holder with Kishon’s receipt in it from the gleaming mahogany surface of the bar. “He’s not my man,” she said, for the hundredth time. Hailey had been teasing her about her easy connection with the sheikh since the first week he’d shown up at the Highball a little over six months ago. At first, he’d just been a good customer—friendly, personable, and drop-dead sexy. Then he’d been a good repeat customer, stopping in most evenings when he was in DC. “And yes, he’s gone.”

  “He’ll be back to see you tomorrow, I’m willing to bet.” Hailey’s eyes danced.

  “He won’t, because he’s flying out.” Chloe opened the check holder. There was his name in a big, masculine scrawl, beneath a big, masculine number on the tip line. “Back to Hamari.”

  “And you might never see him or his flawless man bun again.” Hailey fanned herself with her free hand. “How can you be so chill about it? You had a king fawning all over you, and you just let him walk out the door.”

  Chloe shot Hailey a look. “He’s not a king in here, and I don’t—”

  “—date customers,” Hailey finished for her. “I know. But you could have dated him, and nobody would have faulted you for it. A king. A king!”

  Chloe opened her mouth to argue, but now that Kishon was gone and his favorite seat at the bar empty, she felt strangely empty, too. He’d been in DC a lot over the past month or so—more than he’d ever been before. It was for something diplomatic that hadn’t seemed to matter much in comparison with all the flirting and banter they’d shared in the beginning. At first, Chloe had smiled and batted her eyelashes because a subtle flirt was the fastest way to an excellent tip, but he had been genuinely charming. And…honorable. Kishon had asked her to have dinner with him in the third week, and she’d turned him down. He hadn’t pushed or cajoled or leered, just taken her answer at face value.

  “Yeah,” she said, finally getting the word out. “I could have.”

  Hailey clicked her tongue and whirled away, shining ponytail flying behind her. “Mistakes,” she called over her shoulder. “We all make ‘em.”

  Chloe traced a finger over Kishon’s signature on the receipt. Maybe it had been a mistake to stick to her rules so stringently. It hadn’t just been flirting, teasing banter. There had been plenty of evenings when the bar was quiet. Kishon would lean up against the bar top, arms crossed in a way that put his carved biceps on display, and the two of them would settle into comfortable conversation. Like two people who knew each other.

  In a way, she did know him, at least a little. She knew about his brother, and his cousin, and the cousin they’d just discovered—a boy named Ryan. She knew that Kishon’s younger brother wanted to get married but couldn’t…not until Kishon got married.

  That thought made jealousy twist behind her ribs, which was ridiculous. She punched in Kishon’s tip, put the receipt in the register, and added the check folder to the neat pile on the counter. Kishon was a rich, sexy king. He’d have no trouble finding a wife, once he set his mind to it. And that woman would be very, very lucky.

  It could have been you, a voice in the back of her mind whispered, and she shut that down like the nonsense that it was. Chloe didn’t date customers. Or kings. And even if she did, he was on his way back to Hamari. She would never see him again.

  “Hey! Hey, Bartender! We’re thirsty. Come on over and serve us.”

  The call came from a red-faced businessman at a round table in the corner. He sat with six of his nearest and dearest with their matching leers and ill-fitting suits. Gross.

  Hailey was on break, so Chloe pasted on her best fake smile and headed over. At a high-end bar like the Highball, she couldn’t shoot them a surly look and tell them to screw off. Plus, every tip made a difference. Rent and bills came first, but if she wanted to take a trip around the world—and she did, more than anything—she needed to save up. Keep smiling, she ordered herself. This table full of assholes gets you one step closer to Paris.

  That was the dream. Painting en plein air by the Eiffel Tower. Anywhere in Europe, really, as long as she could set up her easel and her paints and feel the wind in her hair and the sun on her face…

  She’d make it happen. It would happen faster if she won the lottery, but for now, she depended on businessmen—and the occasional dreamy sheikh—and their tips.

  “Hi, guys. What can I get for you?” A quick scan of the table told her that they didn’t need more to drink. Hailey hadn’t swept away the latest buildup of glasses and beers. The water pitcher in the center of the table was still half full.

  “We could use something…” The man who called her over licked his lips. Sick. “Sweet.”

  Chloe bit back the urge to tell him that he could use a swift kick in the balls. “We have several cocktails you might like,” she said brightly.

  “Like this one?” One of the other men lifted a martini glass with the dregs of something red at the bottom of the glass. “The cute waitress brought this earlier, but it wasn’t quite—” He fumbled the glass. “Shit.” The curse came at the same moment the glass slipped from his fingers. It shattered on the floor.

  Chloe sprang into action. “No problem. Let me just get—”

  The cleaning closet wasn’t far, and she was back with a broom and a dustpan in a matter of seconds. The last thing she
needed was one of those clowns cutting himself on broken glass. She bent over, looking for stray pieces that might have gone under the table.

  “Now that’s sweet,” said the man closest to her, and then his hand was on her ass, gripping it like he was testing a piece of fruit. Hard. Chloe yelped, standing up fast. What the hell? Who did he think he was? She rounded on him, brandishing the dustpan…only to see him lifted bodily out of his seat by his jacket.

  At first, Chloe only saw the hands bunched around the cloth, but she quickly followed the attached arms to a face. Kishon. Her heart bucked wildly in her chest. What was he doing back in the bar? Oh, thank God he was back in the bar.

  “Hey. Hey. Hey, buddy, what do you think you’re doing?”

  What he was doing was dragging the man toward the door of the bar, saying something low in his ear. By the set of his jaw, Chloe couldn’t imagine it was pleasant. One of his buddies kept shouting at them as he leaped across the floor, going right for Kishon, hands locking around Kishon’s bicep.

  It was chaos.

  She dropped the broom and dustpan with a clatter she could barely hear over the shouting and ran after them. Chloe had to separate them, calm them down—

  Kishon had a hand on the second businessman’s chest when she got there, two more of their friends hot on her heels. All of them shouting, posturing, chests puffed—drunk.

  “Let’s all take a minute,” she said in her best I’m-in-charge voice. “Guys. Let’s take a breather—”

  The second businessman spat a curse in her face.

  Chloe threw a punch.

  He lunged at her.

  Kishon wasn’t there, and then he was, pulling the man back by the collar without letting go of the first guy. He was so strong. He didn’t flinch in the face of the yelling circle of buzzed businessmen.