Malik: Desert Sheikh Romance

by Marian Tee

  As they took the elevator to the topmost floor, the sheikh noticed his bodyguard glancing at him again, and his temper flared. “Just say what you have to say, damn you.”

  To the sheikh’s surprise, Emmanuel actually did. “Punishment is when the one doing the punishing can extract pleasure from the process. But when the one doing the punishing feels the same pain as the one being punished, then the exercise turns into unnecessary torture.”

  Malik’s face turned expressionless. “A philosopher, are you now, Emmanuel?”

  “All I’m suggesting is that you hear the lady out, Your Highness.”

  “You make it sound like my life revolves around her,” the sheikh snapped.

  As it does, Emmanuel thought, but he was saved from replying as the elevator doors opened to the hotel’s exclusive rooftop club. A quiet but palpable frenzy took over the crowd at the sight of the all-too-eligible sheikh, and Emmanuel had to temporarily set aside his meddling to act as the sheikh’s bodyguard. With the establishment’s in-house security clearing the way for them, Emmanuel and the sheikh were able to reach the VIP area without incident. The club’s owner, young Farica de Konigh, grinned and gave Malik a quick hug as soon as he reached her. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered feelingly. The club’s opening was extremely important to her. Tonight was make-or-break for her, and she needed all the help she could get to make sure its opening was a success.

  “You’re welcome,” he whispered back, “but we both know I’m not doing this for free.”

  “I do know,” Farica said laughingly, “But I’m thankful all the same.” She gestured to the stage. “Ready to make your speech?”

  The crowd stirred as Malik stepped up to the podium. “Marhava.” The sheikh’s voice, deep and strong, was enough to have the women swooning, but combined as well with his foreign accent, devastatingly sexy smile, and urbane manners, none of them stood any chance at all. They became his slaves in an instant, hanging on to every word from the sheikh.

  His speech was meant to be charmingly quick and to the point, the usual spiel that he did for thanking the guests who had paid an exorbitant amount of money simply for the right to say that they were able to “party” with Malik Al-Atassi.

  That was the plan, but then he spotted a certain woman at the back of the crowd, her hair covered by a headdress and looking straight at him with an uncertain smile wobbling on her lips---

  Kyria.

  Emmanuel coughed loudly behind the sheikh, and Malik recovered from his shock. Dark color stained the sheikh’s sharply defined cheeks when he saw the way the crowd was staring at him, all of them no doubt wondering why he had suddenly stopped talking. Clearing his throat, Malik swiftly concluded the rest of his speech and as soon as Farica stepped in to take over, his head turned immediately towards Emmanuel. “Did you see her?” he demanded under his breath.

  “Did I see who, Your Highness?”

  “You know who I’m talking about.” He cast his bodyguard an impatient glance, knowing he was being baited. And unable to help it, he looked at the crowd again, and his heart slammed against his chest when he saw her still standing there. Aira. Fuck. He was a full-grown man, and here he was acting like a besotted fool.

  Looking back at Emmanuel, he said tersely, “Get Kyria to my table.”

  “To be clear, Your Highness – is this the same Kyria whom you say wishes to have nothing to do with you---”

  “Emmanuel.” The bodyguard’s name came out in a warning growl.

  The older man allowed himself a small smile. “Right away, Your Highness.”

  Although it only took Farica less than a minute to end her own speech, Malik still had to struggle in curbing his impatience, and the moment his duties as the club’s VIP guest were completed, it was all he could do not to run people over in his desire to get to his table as swiftly as possible.

  Heads turned wherever he went, but Malik didn’t even glance at any of the women blatantly inviting his attention. Despite the rather cool evening wind, most of them wore outfits that barely covered their bodies: tops that were either transparent or cropped, skirts and dresses that exposed the entire length of their legs and the under curve of their bottoms. A live DJ had started spinning music from one corner, its mix of fast-paced beat and alluring melody inducing the crowd to shed their inhibitions and obey the rising heat of their blood. Bodies began to twist and gyrate on the dance floor, skin against skin, butt against crotch. It was an intensely erotic scene, but it did nothing for Malik. He only had eyes for one woman---

  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 was not the 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?”

  “There is,” the sheikh said simply, and when Kyria slowly nodded, he knew she understood and remembered one of the first lessons palace life had taught them. Private matters may only be spoken in equally private places, and St. Valentine’s newest and hottest club definitely wasn’t one of those.

  It was already a few minutes past one in the morning by the time Malik and Kyria left the club and said their goodbyes to a deeply grateful and still visibly euphoric Farica. When they reached the lobby, Kyria suddenly stopped dead in her tracks and looked up at him. “Malik?”

  “Mm?”

  “May I sleep at your place tonight?”

  His heart banged against his chest. “Ah.” He cleared his throat. “Of course.”

  Her smile of relief was a sweet sight. An ordinary brother would probably find it cute, but it just made Malik want to---

  Kiss her. Touch her. Fuck her.

  “I promise I won’t be any trouble,” Kyria was saying. Her smile turned sheepish, and then she said shyly, “I just…missed you.”

  The sheikh forced a smile even as his entire body clenched with desire. “It is the same with me, Ky. I missed you a lot, too---”

  His words broke off as Kyria threw herself at him, her arms winding around his neck in what seemed like an impulsive embrace. “I’m so glad…” Her voice was muffled with her face against the crook of his neck. “I have you back in my life.”

  His arms went around her, and the sheikh said gruffly, “So am I.” And he still meant this, regardless of the consequences.

  While waiting for Kyria to return from the powder room at the lobby, the sheikh caught sight of Emmanuel’s too-stoic look and felt defensive. “What?”

  “I haven’t said a word, Your Highness.”

  “It’s going to be fine,” he snapped. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Of course.”

  He glared at his bodyguard. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said tersely, “and I’m telling you, nothing will happen.”

  “Isaiah 55:8,” the bodyguard said rather piously. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my---”

  “Making a dig at me using the Bible, old man?” The sheikh’s fulminating gaze was filled with distaste. “Don’t you think that’s beneath you---”

  Kyria rejoined them then, asking curiously, “What’s beneath Emmanuel?”

  After shooting a threatening look at Emmanuel, he turned to Kyria, saying smoothly, “Nothing to concern you. Ready to go, Ky?”

  For the rest of the ride, the sheikh peppered Kyria with questions about her life in St. Valentine, which she happily answered. Although Altair and Vanna had also filled him in about this in the past years, it was different when hearing the words from Kyria herself. His family had told him that Kyria had remained as uninterested in dating as she had been when living in the palace, and now Malik could see it was true. She seemed content enough when talking of her life in Contini, but her eyes only glowed when she talked about her life back home…and him.

  Upon reaching the hotel where Malik was currently checked in, Emmanuel bid them goodnight and then it was just Kyria and the sheikh. Unlike their ride back, which had been filled by laughter and conversation, their walk to his suite was quiet. It wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either, and it was beginning to dawn on Kyria that she might have been a little too…impulsive?

  Her eyes squeezed shut in despair. Sweet heavens, had she really asked the sheikh if she could sleep at his place tonight? She had only asked it because she had wanted to talk to him in private, but now that she had more time to think about it, the more it seemed like a bad idea---

  “Kyria, wait---”

  She looked up, but it was too late, and she ended up walking straight into a door and nearly knocking herself out.

  “Owww!” Straightening, she rubbed her forehead and looked up at the sheikh. His handsome face was expressionless, but the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. “Go ahead,” she said dourly. “You can laugh.”

  “You know I won’t do that.” His voice was gentle, but the amusement in his eyes was gleaming even more brightly, and at that moment he looked too adorably handsome for words---

  Her head snapped back just as her heart threatened to leap out of her chest.

  Oh, Gates of Heaven, it was just as she feared.

  From the corner of her eye, Kyria noticed the sheikh frown and knew he had felt her sudden tension. She wished she could apologize, but she also knew that was impossible. Right now, even the mere thought of looking at him in the eye was too much to contemplate.

  Inside his suite, which was as vast and luxurious as one would expect, the sheikh gave her a swift tour: an open-layout living room, a shared balcony for the living room and the master’s, a library, and finally the spare bedroom where she would stay.

  “Will it do for you?” Standing by the doorway, the sheikh began to unknot his tie as he spoke---

  It was too sexy, just too much of everything, and everything that Kyria had fought so hard to suppress in the club surged to the fore.

  Her knees started to quake.

  “Kyria?” The sheikh raised a brow at her as he whipped his tie off.

  Oh God.

  She smiled brightly at him. “Everything’s alright.” And then she slammed the door in his face.

  Again.

  Her hands flew to her mouth in dismay.

  Oh dear.

  This was…this was very, very bad.

  Outside the hallway, the sheikh stared stoically at the door that had been slammed shut in his face. Twice, he thought grimly. This had only happened twice in his life, and in both instances Kyria had been the instigator.

  He had thought – and foolishly so, as it seemed now – that things could still change between them. He had thought that things could go back to the way they used to. But now he knew.

  “Kyria?”

  Inside the room, Kyria literally shuddered at the too-soft voice of the sheikh, knowing from experience that it was not a good sign. Gulping hard, she whispered, “Y-yes, Malik?”

  “If you don’t open this door in three seconds, I’ll take it as a sign that you wish nothing to do with me.”

  Her face paled.

  “And if so, I shall never show my face to you again.”

  Her hands fell to her sides.

  Three…

  Two…

  She threw the door open, crying out, “It’s all your fault!”

  The sheikh only stared at her, unflinching and too painfully handsome for her heart to take.

  “All y-your fault!” Her tone was violent, but her eyes were shimmering with tears, and the sight of it killed whatever hope he had left of keeping her in his life. He knew how much Kyria hated to cry, and for her to be on the brink of tears now…

  Two years, he thought bleakly. He had fooled himself for two goddamn years, but now it was time to face the truth. The thought made him feel weary, and far, far older than his thirty-one years. Looking at Kyria, he said tonelessly, “I’m sorry.”

  The sound of his voice made Kyria swallow back a sob. “I wasn’t asking you to say sorry.”

  “I know. But it’s all I can say. I’m sorry that morning happened.”

  “Your s-sorry is not enough---”

  “Then what do you want?” he demanded bitterly. “To punish
me for something I couldn’t help?” Tears started running down her face, but it was different this time. “What do you want, damn you?” The sight of her crying made him want to explode, made him want to beat something up until the impotent rage inside of him was completely spent---

  Kyria was crying harder, but it only fed his rage. “Say it!”

  She started shaking her head. “I c-can’t---”

  “Say it, damn you,” he raged. “Just say it---” Because that was the only way for things to end between them. He needed her to tell him to get out of her life, needed her---

  “I just want it to stop, okay?” she choked out.

  Her head lifted, her red-rimmed eyes clashing with his, begging for something he dared not think of.

  “Since that morning,” Kyria wept, “I’ve become so weird, and I just can’t change it.”

  The sheikh slowly shook his head. “Kyria---”

  “No!” And to his surprise, Kyria started to babble. “You have to listen. Listen until the end! You have to understand how much things have changed since that morning. I hear your voice, and I panic---”

  Malik stiffened.

  “I see your face, and I panic---”

  And there was that word again, he thought grimly. “Are you panicking at the thought that it would happen---”

  “Oh, Malik.” She let out a laugh that sounded crazy even to her own ears. “Don’t you get it? Do you really need me to spell it out loud?” Her lips curved in a smile that pierced his chest. “I’m panicking because that morning changed e-everything, and when I’m n-not mentally prepared to see you, or even hear you, I can’t help but think of things---” Her arms wrapped around herself as her voice lowered to a shamed whisper. “Weird things.”

  Malik could only stare at her. “But at the club---”

  “That was different,” she said miserably. “There were people around. We weren’t alone. And I…I saw you first before you saw me so I had time to prepare. But the other times and even just now, when I saw you taking off your tie---”