She looked down at their hands, then up into his eyes. “My father shows one face to the world, then another face to his people. And yet another face to his family. It would be one thing if those images meshed in some way, but in too many ways, he contradicts himself. That means that, for two of his three faces, he’s lying. Maybe all of the time. I don’t know and, because he’s so autocratic, he doesn’t allow anyone to really get to know him.”
“All leaders have to adjust the truth a bit. Politics is a messy business and there are too many opinions in our worlds to be completely honest. And sometimes, the truth is a bit more ambiguous than we’d like.”
“That’s probably true, but when the lies are outright fabrications, I can’t abide by it.”
“Ah. You’d like your lies to be obfuscated.”
She blinked. “No!” she snapped. “I don’t want any lies.”
“That’s simply not possible. The world doesn’t work in a nice, orderly fashion.”
She huffed a bit. “He lies to his family! He tells us things, then never follows through! And these are stupid lies!”
“Such as?”
She watched him, trying to determine if he really cared. “Well, one day, I saw him on television announcing that a new school was going to be built for a village that desperately needed it. The village had 30 kids or so. Only a small school was needed, one that wouldn’t cost a great deal of money to build and maintain. At the time, the kids had to travel an hour both ways to attend the school in the next village.” She couldn’t read his expression, his eyes were carefully blank. Attentive, but they didn’t reveal anything more than curiosity. So she continued.
“He announced it on television and answered a lot of questions from the news reporters. He even expounded on the need for the school for these kids.”
“Sounds like a good plan. Where was the lie?” Jurid asked.
“He didn’t know that I was standing outside of the press briefing room at the time, so he didn’t temper his words. But as he left the briefing area, he told his aide to have the contractors schedule the road construction crews.”
His hand tightened on her fingers before he slowly relaxed his grip. “Tamara, it’s sometimes difficult to get construction materials to remote villages and towns. He may have needed to build the road in order for the trucks to get there more efficiently.”
She shook her head and Jurid noticed the way her dark hair drifted softly over her shoulders.
“That isn’t what happened. He demolished the village. One day, he told the press that he was going to build a school, something he didn’t need to promise. Six months later, the construction crews plowed over the homes. All of the homes. Thankfully, he gave the villagers time to get out, but their farmland and homes were demolished in order to make room for a factory.”
“Perhaps…”
“No. I heard him talking to his aide about it as he left that initial press briefing. Seconds after promising to build the school, he was already talking about demolishing the village. He had no intention of building that school. After the villagers were moved out, they were forced into the next village. He claimed a victory that the kids that needed an education were closer to their schools and the resources that they needed.”
Tamara watched as his eyebrows drew together. Anger! Finally, something other than bland curiosity. “So, you can understand why I’m not overly interested in aligning myself with another ruler. And you are ten times more powerful than my father. So what sorts of lies do you offer your people?” she asked, aware of the challenge in her tone, but unable to stop her anger from manifesting.
He laughed and she liked the sound, even though she was serious.
“I don’t lie to my people, my dear,” he said, taking her hand and leading her out onto the penthouse patio. There were trees and flowers lining the edges of the wide expanse of patio with comfortable chairs that looked out over the beautiful city. “I might not always tell them the whole truth, but I never lie.”
She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t know him well enough, nor did she know the inner workings of his political agenda. So she couldn’t point out instances where he lied.
“I’m sure that you are the most honest leader in the world,” she said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in her voice.
His eyes narrowed briefly, then his face cleared and he looked…almost amused. She thought he might challenge her, but instead, he changed the subject. “The hotel staff brought your clothes from your room,” he told her.
She frowned. “Why would they do that?”
“Because I suspected that you wouldn’t want to have dinner with me in that dress, although it is lovely. Perhaps you’d like to change into something more comfortable?”
She huffed a bit. “Yes, that would be great. But that doesn’t mean I want you invading my privacy. Nor do I want you assuming that I’m having dinner with you.”
“My apologies,” he told her, bowing slightly. “I didn’t give the order though. My security team heard some disturbing rumors.”
Her heart plunged through the floor. Security was always an issue in their world. “About me?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, my dear. But the chatter is all new. There is a threat, but they aren’t sure about the veracity of the threats or at whom they are directed. So they worked with the hotel staff in an abundance of caution.” He led her back into the suite and down a long hallway to a closed door. “Why don’t you change and we’ll have dinner?” As she took a breath to argue, he lifted a. “I don’t expect anything beyond friendly conversation and a dinner companion. You will be perfectly safe here with me tonight.”
Tamara closed her mouth, stumped by his assurance. With that, Jurid dropped her hand, bowed slightly and, with a teasing glance, left her alone in the doorway of the beautifully decorated bedroom.
Smothering her amusement at his bow, Tamara stepped into the room and found her luggage on the bed. No one had unpacked it for her, which for some odd reason, was comforting. Especially since she was a bit of a slob and her clothes had been scattered around her hotel room.
When she opened her suitcase, she sighed at the perfectly folded clothes. Some were even wrapped in tissue paper! “Good grief,” she muttered as she lifted some of the shirts and jeans. “They cleaned my clothes!”
Which was nice, and yet, weird. She knew that hotel staff did that for their more illustrious guests. And yeah, she knew that when her father traveled, he demanded that kind of service. But she’d been on her own for several years now and she didn’t like other people touching her clothes. It was just…creepy. She’d gone off to boarding school in high school and had learned to take care of herself. There had been no maids to do her laundry in high school or college. If Tamara didn’t toss her clothes into the washer and dryer herself, she didn’t have clean clothes. Simple and straightforward.
Admittedly, the clothes she kept in Nadir were expensive designer clothing and they were all cleaned by the palace staff and re-hung in her closets. But since she rarely went home now, it wasn’t something she was used to.
“Get over it,” she muttered to herself, then pulled out a pair of leggings and a big, comfy tee-shirt. Pulling them on, she immediately felt more comfortable. “Oh yes!” she sighed as she slipped her feet into a pair of soft sneakers. She hadn’t realized how much her feet ached from those lavender shoes. They were pretty, but there was nothing quite like a pair of soft, well-worn sneakers.
Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she knew that her clothes most likely weren’t what Jurid might be expecting. But if he really wanted to get to know her, he needed to know the real person. She wasn’t a “dressing-up” kind of gal. While working, she generally wore jeans and a tee shirt or, on days when she needed to spiff up a bit, dress slacks, boots, and a sweater. She had to be ready to tackle any issue that came up with one of their properties. If a heating system died, she needed to rush over to the property to meet the heating technician. If a t
oilet backed up, she raced over with a plunger to fix the problem – or waited for a plumber to fix it if the issue was beyond her knowledge. But since she and Mike had renovated several of their properties themselves, Tamara had become pretty good at fixing a wide variety of home repair problems. Not just that, she took a great deal of pride in fixing as many issues as she could in order to keep the expenses down and the profit margins high. Mike was equally adept at fixing problems, and the team they’d hired to manage the various properties were learning basic maintenance skills as well.
So, this was who she was beyond her title and her role as princess of her country. A jeans and a tee shirt kinda gal. She knew how to glam it up, but this was her preferred state of dress.
Stepping out of the room, she looked to the right and left of the large, luxurious penthouse area, not sure which way to go. Had she come from…that way? She looked down one hallway, then the other way. The décor in this area was neutral enough that she wasn’t positive. Deciding to take one direction and if she were wrong, she’d simply backtrack and start over again, she headed to the right.
A man was stepping out of one of the rooms in the hallway and she froze, startled. “Oh! I’m sorry. I was trying to find my way back to the living room.”
The man’s eyes were hard for a long moment as he stood still, staring at her. He wasn’t an unpleasant looking man. In fact, in a different situation, his looks might be a bit eye catching. But at this particular moment, he looked furious.
“These are private quarters, miss. You need to leave immediately!” His gaze raked over her tee shirt and leggings with obvious disgust.
Tamara smiled. “I’m not invading anyone’s privacy. Jurid instructed me to change my clothes.”
His eyes widened for a moment and he looked ready to slap her. “You’re…!”
“I’m Tamara el Hamid,” she introduced, extending her hand politely.
The man’s outrage shifted to recognition and he bowed his head slightly, ignoring her outstretched hand in deference to the more formal nature of her position. Oddly, coming from this man, his gesture of subservience didn’t seem quite right.
“I apologize, Your Highness,” he snapped. “I didn’t recognize you. And I wasn’t warned ahead of time that you would be with the sheik. Please forgive my rudeness.”
Tamara casually waved her hand, dismissing the need for an apology. “No worries, sir. But, would you mind giving me directions back to the living room? Jurid is waiting for me and I’ve probably been gone too long now.”
“This way,” the man headed back towards the way she’d come. She’d had a fifty-fifty chance and she’d failed. Oh well, she thought, following the man who was tall, but not nearly as tall as Jurid. And this man wasn’t as broad in the shoulders. He seemed a bit…weak too. It wasn’t that he was overweight. In fact, he was quite slim. But there was something about him that told her that there weren’t a lot of muscles underneath the suit.
Tamara pondered that as she smiled her thanks to the man as he stood back at the entrance to the living room. “Thank you,” she said as she stepped into the brightly lit room.
Looking over at Jurid, who was looking out at the night, she wondered about the other man and her instinctive preference for Jurid’s taller, more muscular frame. She’d never been overly interested in muscles on her dates in the past. Why was she so fascinated by him? Was there…?
“You look much more comfortable,” Jurid smiled, interrupting her mental ruminations. Instantly, the comparison with the other man was gone. Unfortunately, when Jurid was around, she couldn’t really think about other men.
Besides, there wasn’t much comparison. Jurid was several inches taller and significantly more powerful in every way. Even his eyes as they moved over her leggings and tee shirt, seemed to affect her, whereas the other man’s gaze had only irritated her. When Jurid looked at her, she felt…alive. Feminine!
“Yes,” she agreed. “Leggings are more comfortable.”
“Are you hungry? You barely ate anything during lunch today.”
She thought about the celebratory meal, not really remembering much about the day, and suddenly realized that she was famished. “Yes,” she replied. “Thank you very much.”
“Good. I went ahead and ordered some food, just in case. But if nothing tempts you, I’ll have the hotel kitchen fix something else.”
That was very…sweet of him. Not wanting to be charmed, she shrugged indifferently. “I’m sure that whatever you ordered will be fine.”
They moved into the dining room and she looked at the enormous, polished table set at one end with two place settings. The table was large enough for twenty people, it seemed silly to use only one end of it.
Once again, her years away from her father’s palace made her aware of the differences in their lifestyles. She usually just ate a bowl of cereal if she were hungry, or she and Mike would eat takeout at their desks. She lived a much more casual lifestyle, so this formality was a harsh reminder of what she wanted to leave behind.
He held a chair out for her and she smiled her thanks, moving to sit down on the plush chair. “Thank you,” she muttered, wishing she could just grab her plate and head into the living room to eat curled up on one of the comfy sofas.
Probably not something a ruler of such a powerful country would ever consider doing, she thought and took her napkin, spreading it over her lap.
The hotel’s butler arrived, carrying in two plates with something that smelled incredible! “Oh my!” she whispered, leaning back as the man set a plate filled with a golden, flaky spanakopita and an olive salad. “This looks wonderful,” she announced, smiling up at the butler who puffed up with pride at her praise for the traditional Greek foods. “Thank you!”
The man bowed out of the dining room, giving them both some privacy.
“So, you were talking about your father’s method of governing his country and how you disagreed.” He picked up his knife and fork, breaking into the buttery, golden crust. “Your father has repeatedly regaled me with your ‘delightful’ submissive qualities. Over the years, he has said that you were a very docile creature, eager to please, eager to allow me to guide your opinions, and would never speak out against me.”
Tamara’s fork froze halfway to her mouth, her appetite vanished, and she lowered her fork, carefully placing it on the delicate china plate. “Your Highness, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but remember my description of my father’s…flexible…attitude towards honesty?”
“I remember,” he replied, his eyes sparkling.
“Well, that is a prime example of my father’s version of his world.”
“Are you telling me that you’re not the docile virgin that your father wants me to believe?”
She shuddered. “I’m not docile. No one has ever called me docile.” She sighed, shaking her head. “In fact, I don’t think I’d know how to be docile.”
He took a sip of his wine. “Good to hear,” he told her with a wink.
Tamara was so startled her mouth fell open. “Um…well, what…how…?” she stopped, not sure what she wanted to ask. And not sure she dared to ask!
“I don’t want a docile wife, Tamara. That would only annoy me.” He took a sip of his wine. “If you had full power to change anything in the world, what would be your priorities? What agenda would you push?”
Tamara stared at him, unaware that her mouth was still hanging open. Did he really want her to answer him? Was he serious?
Deciding that it didn’t matter, she straightened her shoulders and narrowed her eyes.
Jurid was already turned on from the moment she’d stepped into the elevator hours ago. And every moment in this woman’s company seemed to intensify his need to touch her. Earlier today, in the lavender dress, he’d watched her with stunned fascination as she interacted with her friends. Loyalty was a commodity in his world. For some people, their loyalty could be bought and sold for a price. But he doubted that Tamara would ever allow her loyalty
to be bought.
He’d watched her with her friends, understood the intensity of her desire to protect the lovely Ms. Kosta from Christoph’s dubious attentions. He’d been humbled by her dedication to her friend and, all afternoon, had wondered what it would be like to have someone feel that sense of loyalty towards him.
Then she’d stepped into the living room with the clinging, cotton leggings hugging her curves and the cotton tee shirt that had been washed so many times over the years so that it was a soft, clingy material…and his mind had blanked for several minutes. She’d walked towards him and all he could think about was discovering what those breasts would feel like without the tee shirt and bra hindering his view.
Now, watching her eyes light with intelligence, his body was on fire for her. He wanted to shove the food off of the table and simply feast on her instead.
“I think that teachers should be the priority,” she said, nodding her head for emphasis. “In my opinion, countries should make teaching one of the highest paid industries and one of the most difficult professions to get into. Being a teacher is incredibly difficult, with long hours and a multitude of frustrations to deal with, but their salaries do not reflect their efforts, skill, dedication, or importance. Also, raising the salaries for the teaching profession would attract more people to the profession.”
“Why teachers?” he asked, encouraging her to continue.
“An educated society is a creative one and a thinking one. If we push our students to achieve more, to work harder and to think outside of the norm, outside of the box, just imagine what we might achieve! Right now, I think that my country’s creativity is stifled because the citizens don’t know how to think. Or if they do think of an idea, they don’t know how to produce it. If they know how to create a product, how do they take it to the next step and bring it to market? There are so many people out there with ideas but they don’t know how to implement those ideas.”
Awakened by the Passionate Sheik (The Ladies of The Burling School Book 2) Page 3
