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“If you sigh one more time, I’ll have you sacked.”
“The thought hasn’t even crossed my mind, Your Highness.”
“She obviously doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” he stressed coldly.
“We are all entitled to think what we wish,” the older man answered politely.
“I’m not ignoring her calls to punish her.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“That would be juvenile.”
“Undoubtedly.” And the older man’s gaze bored through the sheikh, saying without words it was exactly what he thought of Malik.
The sheikh stalked inside the hotel lobby.Damn old man. He loathed how talking to Emmanuel always made him feel like he was a pathetic seventeen-year-old again. The man had been with Malik since he was seventeen, had seen the sheikh grow up, and as difficult as it was to admit, Malik also had a feeling Emmanuel knewexactlyhow he felt about his so-called sister.
As they took the elevator to the topmost floor, the sheikh noticed his bodyguard glancing at him again, and his temper flared. “Just say what you have to say, damn you.”
To the sheikh’s surprise, Emmanuel actually did. “Punishment is when the one doing the punishing can extract pleasure from the process. But when the one doing the punishing feels the same pain as the one being punished, then the exercise turns into unnecessary torture.”
Malik’s face turned expressionless. “A philosopher, are you now, Emmanuel?”
“All I’m suggesting is that you hear the lady out, Your Highness.”
“You make it sound like my life revolves around her,” the sheikh snapped.
As it does,Emmanuel thought, but he was saved from replying as the elevator doors opened to the hotel’s exclusive rooftop club. A quiet but palpable frenzy took over the crowd at the sight of the all-too-eligible sheikh, and Emmanuel had to temporarily set aside his meddling to act as the sheikh’s bodyguard. With the establishment’s in-house security clearing the way for them, Emmanuel and the sheikh were able to reach the VIP area without incident. The club’s owner, young Farica de Konigh, grinned and gave Malik a quick hug as soon as he reached her. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered feelingly. The club’s opening was extremely important to her. Tonight was make-or-break for her, and she needed all the help she could get to make sure its opening was a success.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered back, “but we both know I’m not doing this for free.”
“I do know,” Farica said laughingly, “But I’m thankful all the same.” She gestured to the stage. “Ready to make your speech?”
The crowd stirred as Malik stepped up to the podium.“Marhava.”The sheikh’s voice, deep and strong, was enough to have the women swooning, but combined as well with his foreign accent, devastatingly sexy smile, and urbane manners, none of them stood any chance at all. They became his slaves in an instant, hanging on to every word from the sheikh.
His speech was meant to be charmingly quick and to the point, the usual spiel that he did for thanking the guests who had paid an exorbitant amount of money simply for the right to say that they were able to “party” with Malik Al-Atassi.
That was the plan, but then he spotted a certain woman at the back of the crowd, her hair covered by a headdress and looking straight at him with an uncertain smile wobbling on her lips—-
Kyria.
Emmanuel coughed loudly behind the sheikh, and Malik recovered from his shock. Dark color stained the sheikh’s sharply defined cheeks when he saw the way the crowd was staring at him, all of them no doubt wondering why he had suddenly stopped talking. Clearing his throat, Malik swiftly concluded the rest of his speech and as soon as Farica stepped in to take over, his head turned immediately towards Emmanuel. “Did you see her?” he demanded under his breath.
“Did I see who, Your Highness?”
“You know who I’m talking about.” He cast his bodyguard an impatient glance, knowing he was being baited. And unable to help it, he looked at the crowd again, and his heart slammed against his chest when he saw her still standing there.Aira. Fuck.He was a full-grown man, and here he was acting like a besotted fool.
Looking back at Emmanuel, he said tersely, “Get Kyria to my table.”
“To be clear, Your Highness – is this the same Kyria whom you say wishes to have nothing to do with you—-”
“Emmanuel.” The bodyguard’s name came out in a warning growl.
The older man allowed himself a small smile. “Right away, Your Highness.”
Although it only took Farica less than a minute to end her own speech, Malik still had to struggle in curbing his impatience, and the moment his duties as the club’s VIP guest were completed, it was all he could do not to run people over in his desire to get to his table as swiftly as possible.
Heads turned wherever he went, but Malik didn’t even glance at any of the women blatantly inviting his attention. Despite the rather cool evening wind, most of them wore outfits that barely covered their bodies: tops that were either transparent or cropped, skirts and dresses that exposed the entire length of their legs and the under curve of their bottoms. A live DJ had started spinning music from one corner, its mix of fast-paced beat and alluring melody inducing the crowd to shed their inhibitions and obey the rising heat of their blood. Bodies began to twist and gyrate on the dance floor, skin against skin, butt against crotch. It was an intensely erotic scene, but it did nothing for Malik. He only had eyes for one woman—-
