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Kyria.
The moment her name formed in his mind, Malik saw her own head jerk up as if she had felt his burning claim on her soul, and her gaze clashed with his. His glimpse of her last week had been too quick for it to matter, and seeing her in the crowd earlier wasn’t any better. This time, however, he had every opportunity to study her and he did so thoroughly, possessively.
Her headdress had fallen back, revealing the dark tresses of her hair. It was much shorter now, a messy, hand-combed bob that made her look even younger than her actual years, and she had on a white kimono-styled abaya with loose and flowing sleeves, its sides parted to reveal her black empire-styled dress. It was hell of a lot more conservative compared to what the other women in the club were wearing, but even so Malik felt like shrugging out of his jacket and covering up every inch of her. He didn't like the way the dress followed the curve of her breasts, didn’t like the way its cut emphasized her trim waist. But what he disliked most at all was how unreasonable he was being.
This wasnotthe fucking way a brother should think of his sister.
In one final stride, the sheikh reached her. She came to her feet, an unsure smile still playing on her lips. “-“M-Marhava, Malik.”Her voice was a soft, breathy stammer, but it was still too damn sexy for his sake. It was like a kick in the guts, and his entire body clenched with lust.
This was...bad.
Fucking bad.
But because they were in public, they had to continue with the charade.
“Marhava, Kyria.” However they felt about each other, one thing Malik was certain they’d always be in agreement on was to never do anything that could cause talk about the royal family. And because he could feel everyone staring at them—-
The sheikh’s head bent, and she raised her cheek. His lips brushed against her skin, and his scent wrapped around her. The contact was fleeting, but it was enough to have his fists clench and her eyes close, both of them for one tantalizingly forbidden moment succumbing to the temptation of imagining where else his lips could go, what else she would yield, and oh, how exquisitely good it would feel to just...let go.
The moment passed, reality returned once again, and they pulled away. Their gazes met anew, his handsome face expressionless and her elegant features composed.
“Shall we sit?” He waited until she was seated on the couch before taking up space next to her. This close, her body was even a greater temptation, her scent an intoxicating drug. He saw her start wringing her hands on her lap, and to ease her nervousness, he said gruffly, “I didn’t know you frequent places like this.”
“Actually, I d-don’t. I was talking to Harper earlier, and she mentioned that you were still in St. Valentine because of tonight’s club opening.”
“I see.” His tone was polite.
Her eyes widened. “You do?”
“That our queen is big-mouthed as ever?” He let his own eyes widen slightly. “Absolutely.”
She burst into laughter, and when she looked at him, her eyes were bright and shining with gratitude. It was just how she used to look at him when she was young, and he had to rescue her from this or that kind of trouble.
That look used to make him feel protective.
Now it just made him want to take her to bed.
His eyes closed.
I’m fucked for the rest of my life.
“Malik?”
Her concerned tone made him look at her, and just like that, he knew.
“Is...everything okay?”
Uncertainty still lurked in her eyes, and this made his mind up for him. Having her next to him might mean that he’d be fucked for the rest of his life...but he was fine with that. Anything was fine as long as he kept Kyria in his life.
Forcing himself to relax, he ignored all the things his instincts were clamoring for—-
Kiss her. Touch her. Fuck her.
-—and instead ruffled her hair, just like a damn brother would.
“Nothing to worry about, I promise.”
She bit her lip. “But there are things we should talk about, shouldn’t we?”
