Second Chances (Blood Brothers #3)

by Manda Mellett

  A sheikh? A real life fucking sheikh? And the title emir? Isn’t that like the king or something? What the freaking heck is going on? Is this a trap? I freeze, unable to move while mentally running through my options at the speed of light, rapidly recalling the research I’d done on Amahad. It’s an absolute monarchy; the emir has total power over everyone in his country. That includes everyone in his employ. The man at the top of the food chain is just the type of person Ethan would consort with. Have I been conned? And if so, what the bloody hell do I do now?

  I’ve been tricked! I came here expecting to meet with a lowly frigging envoy. I must have been set up! While realising, I can’t have been as careful as I’d hoped, all the blood drains out of my face. The confidence I’d regained under Ida’s care seeps away as I rapidly try to think how to escape.

  As I’m standing there, mouth hanging open, looking like an idiot, I notice the door to the main office is open, and I see a man standing there, a man, tall and intimidating, wearing an aura of command around him like a cloak. I can’t do this! Is Ethan in that room behind him even now?

  “I thought you said my twelve o’clock was here, Richard?” The voice is deep, authoritative, with only a touch of an accent. He also sounds slightly bored. As he looks around the anteroom, his eyes meet mine, and I see something flare in them for a second. But then just as quickly it’s gone as if it was never there as he stands back and gestures for me to precede him into the room.

  I’ve no alternative but to do as he directs. I’m not stupid; there are embassy officials and guards enough that I wouldn’t be able to run even if I tried. They wouldn’t believe any excuse I could offer. If indeed I’m delivering myself into Ethan’s clutches, he’ll have already convinced them to believe a story that suits his purposes. Taking a deep breath, I smooth down my suit jacket to give my trembling hands something to do, and enter the powerful man’s office, hesitating just a second to scan the large space, feeling some relief when, apart from the emir, the room is otherwise empty. Perhaps Ethan’s running late?

  “Please, take a seat.” The door closes behind us, and the Monarch of Amahad indicates where I should sit. Like a victim waiting for the executioner’s axe to fall I do as instructed, and take a moment to survey the man who’s moved behind the desk and seated himself in the chair opposite. His height and build remind me of Horse, who’d promised to protect Sophie, but he’s even more intimidating; a strong, virile man with confidence and power oozing from him. His smart business suit is definitely not something bought off the peg or via next day delivery. A handkerchief, perfectly matching his tie, peeps out of his top pocket and as he sits he undoes his jacket button revealing a tailored waistcoat underneath. Were it not for his assistant’s introduction and his olive skin, his smart mode of dress, his dark hair cut short around his head and a short beard on his chin he would look like any typical businessman.

  His generous lips are pressed together giving him a stern appearance as he, in turn, examines me with dark, brooding eyes, making me lower my gaze, feeling overawed and afraid as if I’ve just stepped foot into the lion’s den. Like Ethan, he’s wealthy, dominant, and probably uncaring as to whom he steps on to get his way. Not every man’s like Ethan, the common sense part of my brain tries to calm me. I lick my dry lips and swallow hard, not wanting to be the first to speak, but feeling increasingly unsettled as the silence stretches on and his scrutiny continues. Just as I feel I need to blurt out something, anything, he clears his throat.

  “Thank you for coming here today, Miss Ranger. My sister-in-law, Sheikha Cara has asked me to meet with you on her behalf.”

  I raise my eyes in astonishment. He’s talking about the interview! Could my fears be for nothing? Could this be exactly what it’s supposed to be? Then I shake my head in confusion. The woman I spoke to, Cara, Cara’s a Sheikha? But she sounded so normal, so down to earth? So, well…English! I swallow rapidly, feeling even more out of my depth.

  I try to speak, but nothing comes out but a squeak. Everything about this meeting unnerves me. Even if this isn’t a way to hold me until Ethan arrives—and part of me still believes that’s an entirely possible outcome—there’s no way on earth I’m going to be taking a job as a humble employee of people of this calibre. No, this job is not for me. I’ve been around people with such prestige and power for long enough to know I’d be too far out of my depth. Memories of the strained dinner parties I’d attended with Ethan, where those present only tolerated me because of my relationship with him, come to mind. These are the kind of people who chew someone like me up and have no remorse spitting out what’s left. And right now, there’s not much remaining of me, to begin with. Their conversations would revolve around money, making more of it, and expressing outright disdain for those who didn’t haven’t enough; laughing with cruel amusement at the struggles of the have-nots in their vain attempts to better themselves, and throwing condescending looks at me. I can’t work for these types of people; I’d never survive it again.

  I realise I’ve been I’ve been preoccupied with my thoughts when a cough brings me back to the present. I blush in embarrassment.

  “We’re to conduct an interview here today, Miss Ranger. I suggest you give it your full attention.” The emir sounds like I’m wasting his time, which I am, having decided there’s no way I’ll be accepting a job offer from a person like him. In any event, I’ve blown my chances by sitting here, made up like a clown, and struck dumb.

  I struggle to find my voice when I do it comes out as a gasp. “I’m sorry, this is a mistake.” I’ll make my escape now, get back to Ida’s, and hopefully, in time, come up with some other plan.

  I’ve surprised him. He leans forwards, elbows on the desk, his chin coming to rest on the back of his hands which he holds clasped in front of him. His pose seems almost threatening, his gaze direct and focused. Something has caught his attention; there’s hunger in his eyes, he looks like an owl hovering over a petrified field mouse that waits frozen, anticipating sharp talons to descend. I’m right; I couldn’t possibly work for a family such as this. Sheikha Cara is his sister-in-law, not just a humble palace employee. And in my experience, wealthy women can be just as, if not more, spiteful than men. Puzzled, though, I recall she hadn’t seemed like that during our telephone conversation, which had flowed so naturally as if we were already friends. Had it just been an act? People from a powerful family like this would only see pound signs and have the innate need to dominate, to control and abuse little people such as myself. My suspicions rise again. What would people of this ilk want with someone like me? He must be acting for Ethan.

  I decide not to wait to find out, and stand up, my body visibly shaking. “No, I have to go. I’m sorry.” I make an about turn to face the door.

  “Stay.” The gentleness of the deep velvety voice almost belies it is a command. Almost. My body obeys and I still.

  “I’d prefer to speak to your face.” A suggestion, but it has me rotating. He nods in approval, and with an officious wave of his hand indicates the seat again. I’m not sure why I’m following his instructions, almost against my will I do as he’s ordered. He’s still leaning forwards, but the fierce expression has smoothed out into one of curiosity, and he no longer appears quite so threatening. I try to control my breathing, but my hands continue to shake as I clasp them in my lap, my right hand gently massaging my crooked wrist hidden under my jacket sleeve. I know my nerves are shot to pieces, and make an effort to pull myself together, starting to reconsider whether it’s unreasonable to accuse this man even mentally as being from the same mould as Ethan, who abused more than my body, who destroyed my confidence and my ability to trust.

  The emir gives me a brief moment, and then, with another nod, starts to speak again, “I know you have spoken to my sister-in-law, Miss Ranger, though possibly it was not a long conversation and you perhaps did not pick up on the force of her personality. You see, she is someone I would hate to disappoint,” he laughs, disparagingly. “Even I, as e
mir, would be concerned if I had to return to my country without completing the task she allotted me. I need, therefore, to beg you to stay and for us at least to conduct this interview in a civilised manner.”

  My eyes widen, Cara, a woman, has such power over this incredibly self-assured man sitting in front of me? I see by the twinkle that comes into his eye that to some extent he’s joking. His assessment of his sister-in-law’s character has caused his face to soften; the predator momentarily suppressed. But I doubt it will be satisfied for long. That’s how men like this work, they pull you into until they have you tight in their clutches, and then the mask is removed, and their true face is revealed. The face of a monster.

  “You could tell her the interview took place, and I wasn’t suitable?” I offer the lame excuse, hoping he will accept it.

  “Ah, but that would not be truthful, would it? And I always tell the truth.” He doesn’t sound like he’s teasing now.

  I stare at him, trying to read from his face if it is true he never lies. Don’t powerful men get where they are by at least bending the facts to suit their purpose even if they don’t come straight out with downright falsehoods? In my experience they do. So I don’t believe him. I can’t lower my guard. I’ve learned that lesson at least.

  He leans back in his chair, picks up a pen and taps it against his teeth. “So, Miss Ranger. Shall we proceed?” He pulls some paper towards him, “Tell me about yourself, and why you wish to work in Amahad?”

  Is he actually going to go ahead and conduct an interview? For a moment, I have a mental block. Sure, I’ve come to this meeting expecting I’m going to asked questions, but at this point, my thoughts are all over the place. An interview for a dream job is a faraway location? Now I truly feel like a fraud I am. It was one thing talking to another woman on the phone, a woman who at the time I’d thought was another employee like myself, but quite another to speak to a real life influential sheikh. Particularly since I’m here under false pretences, and as soon as he knows I can’t prove a thing he’ll see right through me.

  He stares at me, waiting. Realising I look like the village idiot, the business-like manner he’s adopting helps summons up my professional pride. Suddenly I find myself clearing my throat and starting, “I’ve got a joint first class honours degree in landscape gardening and architecture. When I saw the job advertised, I knew I had the right skills necessary for the role, and when I discussed my background and experience with, er, Sheikha Cara, she indicated that I sounded just the person she was looking for to renovate the harem.” I break off, unsure what to say next and uncertain what I’m trying to do. Do I want this job or not? My wrist throbs, reminding me that if real, this chance of employment in Amahad is my escape out of Ethan’s clutches. But what would I be escaping into? Frying pan, fat and fire come to mind.

  He steeples his hands, his strong chin resting on his fingertips, “My harem, Miss Ranger.”

  It’s his tone of voice, a mesmerising drawl as he stakes his claim, making clear his ownership of the evocative sounding place, that draw my eyes sharply to his face like metal filings to a magnet, and there’s an unsettling churning in my stomach which has nothing at all to do with nerves. Unbidden, the vision of a bevvy of women waiting for his attention comes into my mind, and out of nowhere, the sudden thought of what it might be like to be one of those women makes my stomach muscles clench. A woman with nothing to do but to wait for the summons to go to the bed of this powerful, commanding man. I look at him as if seeing him for the first time. Now I’m able to see that his tailored suit is giving him a false air of civilisation and that underneath lies a desert warrior, a proud, untamed man. A man who could use his strength to harm a woman, or to protect her with his last breath. And there’s an aura surrounding him, a sense of pride suggesting he’s someone who wouldn’t just use a woman for his satisfaction, but would see to her needs first. Careful, Zoe, you’re projecting just what you want to see. Ethan fooled you, remember? My brain might be giving me sound advice, but my body betrays me as unwanted fantasies rip through me, causing my nipples to harden.

  Tugging my jacket tighter around me, I force myself to remember the man across the desk from me is exactly the type I should stay away from. He’s a man who exudes dominance through every pore, everything I should avoid. How did just four words resonate within me, and trigger such a physical reaction? It must surely be nerves that cause me to blush as I dare to glance up at him.

  He hasn’t missed my reaction to his words in the slightest. One side of his mouth is turning up in a small, crooked smile, and his eyebrow has lifted as though in question.

  As I’m beginning to dread the direction the conversation might take next, an interruption comes by way of a knock sounding on the door. I start, blood draining from my face as I know it signifies Ethan’s entrance, or perhaps he’d send Hargreaves to collect me. I knew I’d been tricked. I’ve no fight or protest left as I sit, twisting my hands in my lap ready to accept my fate. I don’t even look up as the door opens, but see through my periphery vision that the emir’s assistant is entering alone, carrying a tray.

  I’m hardly able to comprehend the normality of the situation as Kadar gestures for Richard to place the tray on a side table, and then he rises. “Can I offer you refreshment, Miss Ranger? Coffee?”

  A violent shiver runs through me. I might have a reprieve from being delivered into the hands of my nemesis, but there’s something about Kadar that suddenly seems equally dangerous. His voice arouses feelings that should stay forever dead, and I shrink back into my chair, scared and overwhelmed.

  If this interview is real, what exactly is the position I’m being interviewed for?

  Chapter 12

  Kadar

  I must still be running on the after effects from last night’s intense experience; I don’t think I’ve come down from a Dom’s headspace yet. My harem? What the fuck made me lay claim to that part of the palace which has lain in disuse since my great-grandfather’s time? As Richard causes us to break off this particular discussion, I cringe inwardly, particularly when I can’t fail to notice the reaction of my visitor. Her nervousness is palpable, the blush that’s risen to her cheeks so obvious. Does she think I’m interviewing her for a role as a concubine? And for fuck’s sake, why is that thought making blood rush south, my cock coming alive like that of a teenager who’s not yet learned to control himself? As I feel myself hardening, I turn my body away from her, embarrassed by my unexpected reaction.

  She’s nothing particularly special or out of the ordinary, pretty enough I suppose, her dark hair seeming at odds with her pale complexion as if the colour isn’t natural. It looks like there’s a nice enough figure under those dreary looking clothes, though currently, she’s holding tight to her jacket as though it’s armour to protect her, and I can’t tell much about the body underneath. Her eyes are large, but her nose is slightly crooked, I suspect it might have been broken at some point, but that just serves now to give her character. Her makeup is overdone; bright red lipstick demands me to focus on her mouth, forcing inappropriate thoughts of those lips into my brain. What would they feel like around my cock? What the fuck is making me think about that? And what is this sudden and intense desire to see her naked of both her clothes and the heavy cosmetics that seem to spoil her face? It has to be the lingering effects of last night; this is no way to conduct an interview. I tell my unruly cock to stand down. It’s reluctant to obey.

  Pushing irreverent thoughts aside I wait for her nod in answer to my question, and then prepare her coffee, offering her cream and sugar before passing it to her; the simple tasks giving me the much needed time to bring myself under control. A suit was a mistake today; my traditional robes would have better hidden my reaction. Once I’m sure I’m adequately concealing my body’s betrayal, I move back and sit down again. I sip my drink, and retake the reins of the interview, resolving to keep it on track this time. Her nervousness is not lost on me, and I know I have to try to put her at her ease, em
barrassed I seem to have scared her. But in some ways, that helps. I need her relaxed and off guard for the next part of the conversation.

  “I’m well aware of your discussions with the Sheikha, and she has told me how happy she is with your approach to the project. You should know that the harem has been in disuse for over half a century. And you should also know that I have no plans whatsoever for that part of the palace ever to be used for its original purpose again.” Perhaps I put unnecessary stress on the last sentence, as well as pause, to let that sink in. I want no misunderstandings between us. I’m only too well aware of the fascination that just the word Sheikh can conjure, let alone when it’s linked to a harem, and the last thing I want her to think that anything other than a landscaping job is on offer. “Our meeting today is to verify your experience and qualifications for this venture.” So far, Miss Ranger and the interest Cara has in her remain a mystery to me. Why had my sister-in-law become so enamoured with her in such a short time? Was it simply a lack of other candidates and an overwhelming desire to see the restoration work started? Or was it something about this woman herself?

  Miss Ranger hadn’t been aware I’d witnessed her interaction with Richard when she’d arrived for her appointment. I’d been standing at my already open door, taking my first impression of the candidate. She looked like any other applicant until my assistant had divulged my title. Another woman might have been impressed she was to be interviewed at the highest level, but she’d seemed terrified by the idea. I immediately grasped she’d been expecting a palace lackey, someone who’d be easier to fool. Oh yes, I’m already aware that Miss Ranger has secrets. I just didn’t expect to be so intrigued to find out what they are.

  She’d stood, looking so frightened, for a moment there I thought she was going to about heel and run. In my head, I’d already decided I’d chase after her if she did. What was that all about? Of course, I would hate to disappoint Cara, but in reality, my sister-in-law holds no sway over me. Why should I care if her candidate turned tail and fled? I could have used the time to catch up on work from some of my other meetings. Fuck, I’ve got enough to do going through my notes from the Electoral Commission and catching up on the rest of the work I neglected last night.