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Even knowing that the sheikh was only trying to get a rise out of her because he was just annoyingly insane like that, Anisah still ended up losing control. She moved unthinkingly to strike him, but the sheikh reacted so swiftly it was almost as if he had already read her mind before she even knew her own thoughts.
His fingers curled around her wrist the moment she lifted her hand—-
Curses!
With the sheikh’s strength easily overpowering hers, Anisah found her fingers forcibly twined with his, and an involuntary, irrepressible tremor racked her body. Curses! The sheikh’s touch was like having her skin torched, and even worse was the sickly realization that her stupidly aching body seemed to enjoy getting burned.
Dear heavens.
And to think she had convinced herself that their encounter at the ball had been a sensual anomaly!
A quick look around them had Anisah seething at the realization that the few civilians remaining in the area were now gazing at them like they were a secret couple caught holding hands. Oh, how blind could they get? Couldn’t they see that she was a reluctant captive of a smug, villainous lecher?
“Will you please let go, sheikh?” Anisah gritted out under her breath.
The sheikh smiled down at her, a sight that was as devastatingly beautiful as it was infuriatingly arrogant. “La, anisdi.” No, milady.
Her teeth gnashed. “This is not proper—-”
Tarif cut her off with a brief shake of his head. “Surely you know by now how little I care about what’s proper?”
Curse him. Deciding it was pointless to indulge in a verbal sparring that she was certain to lose, Anisah made another attempt to subtly but firmly yank her elbow out of his hold, but this only made the sheikh’s grip tighten. Anger mounting at being thwarted, she whispered waspishly, “If you don't let go of me this instant, sheikh, I swear I’ll scream—-”
“Go ahead,” Tarif drawled. “If you scream, I also swear to kiss you to silence.” A murderous look was his answer, followed by mutinous silence, but because he was the type to demand complete surrender, Tarif asked silkily, “Do I have your agreement then, anisdi? Shall we continue this conversation in private?”
Another moment of deeply resentful silence, and then, “Nem, alshaykh.” Yes, sheikh.
Quite the obedient response, Tarif thought, as long as one ignored the fact that Anisah had uttered the words like she had just agreed to spend time with the devil.
As they started to walk, her hand still imprisoned in his, he said smoothly, “I’m glad you see it my way, Tory.” The provocative words had its intended effect, and Tarif once again became the recipient of a visibly irate look.
“Shall I inform the palace doctor you’re having memory problems, sheikh?” Anisah questioned frostily. “I seem to distinctly recall reminding Your Highness several times that my name is not Tory—-”
“And as I also informed you,” he answered patiently, “you are Tory to me and me alone.”
They reached his intended destination before she could answer him, and the sheikh didn’t even give her time to draw another breath as he ushered her inside another 4x4, a white-and-gold Land Cruiser this time.
She yanked herself free from his touch the moment she fell on the plush leather of his car’s backseat, and as the sheikh followed her inside, Anisah quickly scooted to the opposite end, needing to place as much distance between them.
The chauffeur shut the passenger door, and feeling the wheels rolling under them gave Anisah the most surreal feeling of being abducted.
Silence thrummed between them, and when she felt the sheikh’s scorching gaze settle on her, Anisah immediately turned towards the windows, feigning fascination with the setting sun on the horizon even as she sought additional distraction by mentally reciting the family tree of Ramilian royalty.
Stupid.
Her body was stupid, stupider than she had ever given it credit for, so, so stupid to be this affected by a man like Tarif Al-Atassi.
Chapter Six
“Eat.”
The single-worded command was so unexpected it had Anisah turning towards the sheikh in confusion. “Excuse me?”
A side table unfolding at the push of a button was her answer while the sheikh reached to open a compartment that revealed a built-in mini-bar and a microwave oven. A few moments later, and the sheikh had placed on her table a tray bearing a fresh-off-the-oven beef shawarma and a bottle of cold-pressed juice.
Anisah couldn’t help but gape. “Do you always store this kind of food in all your cars?”
“No.” The sheikh’s voice was even. “I had these specially prepared for today. I knew there was a good chance you’d come looking for me.”
