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“Funnily enough, I saw it more as a bid for survival.”
“You make it sound as if I have attacked or harassed you.”
“Maybe that’s what I should do to put an end to this. Sue you for sexual harassment—-”
“You may,” Tarif conceded pleasantly, “but you won’t.”
Her hackles rose. “If that’s a threat—-”
“Of course not, anisdi. Why bother when I know you won’t push through with any kind of lawsuit?”
And now the infernal man was implying she was both a coward and a liar, Anisah fumed. “Don’t speak of me as if you know me—-”
“And yet I do,” Tarif drawled, “and more than you give me credit for.” His tone turned mockingly gentle. “Have you forgotten what I told you before, my sweet? I have been observing you for over two months.”
“An exaggeration—-”
“I beg to differ, anisdi, but that is more your way than mine.”
“What reason could you possibly have for observing me?” she demanded.
“A very good reason, actually, and it all boils down to the first time I saw you – really saw you as more than one of the countless faces that I see every day at the palace.”
And that happened two months ago, she wondered dubiously. How could that be when she couldn’t even recall doing anything particularly interesting two months ago?
“You doubt my words,” Tarif noted.
“Because it doesn’t make sense,” she answered simply. “So you’re either lying or you have me mistaken for someone—-”
The sheikh’s laugh cut her off. “Believe me, my beautiful puritan, after what I’ve seen you do, there’s no fucking way I can mistake you for someone else.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked sharply.
“Two months ago, we were able to acquire missing footage of the attack on the queen—-”
Anisah jerked.
“And one of those defending her was a woman whose face was covered by a silver niqab.”
Anisah didn’t answer. Two years had already passed since the attack, and although she no longer found herself waking up in the middle of the night, shaking, sweating, and nearly throwing up at the remembered scent of blood and violence, it was still something she’d rather not let her mind dwell on.
“The niqab you wore was a good disguise, but unfortunately—-”
The sheikh made his move, too fast for her to stop him, and by the time she realized what he was reaching for, it was too late. She instinctively tried to kick him, but he was already running his hand down the length of her leg.
“What are you—-” She broke off when the sheikh suddenly let her go, and as she fell back against the seat, she saw him pull away with her family dagger in his hand. She could feel herself paling even more, and she cried out, “Give that back!”
“I will, anisdi – but first I wish to show you something.”
Anisah sucked her breath in when she saw the sheikh flip the blade and run his thumb over the hilt’s engraved surface. That was her family’s coat of arms – something she had never thought to cover up because not once had she ever thought there’d be a reason to.
Obviously, she was wrong.
Returning the dagger to her, the sheikh murmured, “You are not pleased I know this part of you, nem?”
Instead of answering him, she turned away from him as she responded to his question with one of hers. “What else did you see, Your Highness?”
The gruffness of her voice and the way she deliberately avoided his gaze reminded Tarif of how children tended to awkwardly handle their most embarrassing moments, and he almost smiled. How wonderfully, terrifyingly innocent she was. It almost changed his mind about making her his woman. Almost.
