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Although all Al-Atassi sheikhs were gorgeous beyond belief, most people agreed that Tarif was the most seductive one among his cousins, with the way his six-foot-plus frame of pure, sinewy muscles pulsated with a blatantly sexual aura – it was as if every inch of him was designed to arouse, and the simplest contact from the sheikh could make a woman come.
The silky texture of his ebony hair that begged to have a woman’s fingers rake through it, the dark eyes that could make a woman come with one scorching-hot look, the hard, perfect lines of a face so achingly beautiful it could make one ache just by looking at him—-
“Anisdi?” My lady?
Anisah’s face flushed with color when she realized she had been practically staring at the sheikh like an infatuated little fool. Curses! This was one of the reasons she had worked hard to perfect the art of being invisible when this particular sheikh was around. And for so many years now, her trick of acting submissive and boring to avoid drawing his attention had always worked.
Always.
Until now, that was.
Clearing her throat, she managed to answer in a steady voice, “Nem, alshaykh.” Yes, sheikh. “That is my name.” And hopefully that would be the end of it, and the sheikh would soon go his merry way to wherever his next rendezvous was.
Unfortunately, the sheikh seemed in a mood to prove her wrong every instance.
“It’s a pleasure to finally have a chance to speak with you.”
The words had Anisah at wit’s end, and she couldn’t help lowering her gaze as she muttered, “The honor and privilege is mine, Your Highness.” There was nothing she despised more than dishonesty, and yet here she was, forced to speak falsehoods. But then again, what choice did she have?
Despite being much younger compared to other scholars, Anisah was already considered as one of the kingdom’s leading authorities on Ramilian history and etiquette. Was she supposed to forget everything she stood for just so she could tell Tarif Al-Atassi to his face she—-
“I wonder if you truly mean that, anisdi.”
The sheikh’s tone remained lazy, but even so Anisah couldn’t keep her gaze from narrowing suspiciously at the sheikh. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought that the sheikh was actually mocking her.
But that wouldn’t make sense, Anisah thought with a frown. Her ability to conceal her dislike towards the sheikh was something she took great pride in, and she couldn’t think of a single incident that she had let her true feelings slip.
Deciding she was being merely fanciful, she said finally, “I sincerely apologize if I have behaved in a manner that suggests otherwise—-”
“Not at all,” the sheikh interrupted her. “I have been observing you for the past two months—-”
Her eyebrows shot up. For what possible reason could the sheikh have been observing her for two long months?
“And your self-control has been nothing but remarkable.”
It was?
“But I digress.” The sheikh’s lips curved in a smile then, and Anisah stiffened. No. It could not be. It could not. And so she rubbed her eyes hard, but when she peered fearfully up at the sheikh one more time, the cursed smile was still there—-
Allah save her!
She had seen that smile a thousand times, and she had always thanked Allah that such a smile had never been directed at her because it was an omen from hell. In the fifteen years she had lived in the palace, she had seen that smile directed at the women the sheikh had intended to bed – and he had always succeeded in doing so – as well as breaking their hearts in the process.
Did that mean she was next?
Her heart came to a screeching halt at the thought, but when she saw the sheikh’s lips start to move, her heart came pumping back in full force, its every hard and heavy thud telling her that she had no time to lose.
“Maehdina, alshaykh.” I’m sorry, sheikh. “I just remembered that there is an urgent errand the queen has tasked me with. I beg your forgiveness, but please excuse me, Your Highness.” She bowed without meeting his gaze and turned away without letting the sheikh speak another word.
Yes, she knew she was being abominably rude, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
As she rushed away, she felt the sheikh’s eyes follow her, and she almost tripped over her feet at the smoldering heat of his gaze.
Oh curse the man, but it was as if his gaze was actually laying a claim on her body, letting her know that it was only a matter of time before she, too, came to his bed willingly and offered her virginity—-
NO.
NO, NO, NO!
