by Erin Snihur
It was many hours later that Amelia found herself lying naked atop Khalid’s chest, listening to the soft thumping of his heart and slow rise of his breathing. Smiling when Khalid groaned in Arabic, Amelia turned her head and gazed up at the man she loved.
“You’ll have to teach me Arabic. I hate not understanding what you and Haseem are talking about, especially when you talk about me,” Amelia chuckled.
Khalid grinned down at her and kissed her forehead, “All in good time, Lia.”
When his hand took her left hand and the both stared at the diamond ring twinkling back at them, Khalid murmured, “I’m so happy you said yes.”
Amelia hummed softly, “Were you worried I would say no?”
“Very much so. I had hurt you so much, ya amar. I never want to see you experience that kind of pain ever again,” Khalid murmured as he pressed his lips against hers.
Moaning softly, Amelia shuddered against his lips as she pulled away, “I was so foolish, Khalid. I shouldn’t have run off like I did. I thought...I thought I was nothing more than your mistress.”
“You are, ya amar. The mistress of my very heart and soul,” Khalid murmured back. In a flash, Amelia could see it. Their whole life together filled with romance, love and perhaps a few exciting incidents. All in all, there was love and the love they shared could conquer anything.
The Sheik’s Forced Bride
Who knew spending one passionate night with a complete stranger could lead to being forced down the aisle with that same stranger?
Samara Yassine had plans. Important plans that would lead her up the corporate ladder towards independent success. Too bad, those plans never succeeded. Now, Samara finds herself married to a Sheik.
Billionaire, Sheik Malik had everything. Riches, women and an entire country at his feet. Now, he finds himself being forced to wed his latest one-night stand.
Can these two suspicious hearts make their forced marriage work? Or will two hearts end up as broken as their forced marriage?
1
“You’re not seriously considering Hamda’s proposal, are you?” one of Sheik Malik Al-Mokhtar’s best friends, Khalid, spoke up from his seat in Malik’s royal study.
“It is a good proposal and worth the cost of travel to Oman,” Malik answered back firmly.
“The man is a cutthroat and not to be trusted. He is not of the Arabian Coastal countries and is merely a man, not a Sheik,” his other friend, Amoz answered back.
Four of the five Sheiks of the Arabian Coastal countries were convened in Malik’s study, including Malik himself. Sheik Khalid Abdul Majeed of Aman, Sheik Amoz el-Safar of Elish and Crown Prince Tariq of Hattan.
Stepping away from the cart of drinks, Malik held out the glass of bourbon to Tariq, who had remained quiet during their discussion.
“Anything pertinent to add, Tariq?” Malik questioned his friend, who grinned back at him through hooded eyes.
“They say Hamda has beautiful granddaughters, ripe for the picking. Maybe I’ll join you?” Tariq waggled his eyebrows as Amoz and Khalid groaned at their friend’s outlandish behavior.
“Don’t you ever think of anything besides your dick?” Khalid grumbled from his seat.
“Sorry, Khal, we can’t all be engaged to a beautiful Canadian like you or celibate like Amoz over here,” Tariq answered back and took Malik’s offering of the glass full of bourbon. “Malik seems to be the only one of us recently that wants to go out and meet beautiful women. Who knows where Kasin is. Probably holed up in a mountain somewhere trying to mate with a bear.”
Rolling his eyes at Tariq’s words, Malik scanned the room and sighed. “Kasin is busy. He lost his entire family in Masarat’s seige. He can’t afford to party like we used to, and besides, aren’t you supposed to be straightening up your act as per your father’s orders?”
Glaring back at Malik, Tariq took a swig from his glass and shook his head. “I don’t let the old man boss me around.”
Amoz sigh from the other corner of the room gained everyone's attention and all eyes turned to the tall, lean man with pale eyes. “Say you take this deal, then what? Your country is wealthy and happy, but you still don’t have an heir. You need one before something happens, like your brother. I know you think the terrorists in Batra have all but been eradicated, but it just takes one bullet.”
Malik winced as his now deceased brother, Keen, was brought up. Assassinated after his crowning, Malik still felt a twinge in his heart at the mention of his older brother, taken from the world too young.
“Fine,” Malik grumbled and all eyes turned to him as he slammed his glass down on the end table. “By the time I return to Batra and we all see each other again, I will have found a woman to wed and produce Batra’s next heir.”
2
Samara Yassine had never seen such beauty as she stood overlooking the splendor from her bedroom balcony. Her grandfather’s gala event was going off without a hitch.
Anyone who was anyone had purchased their tickets in advance and all showed up dressed in their best evening wear and jewels. Samara smirked down at the men and women who were either huddled in groups mingling, eating at the buffet tables or dancing the night away. She knew the real reason they were here. It was to get a glimpse at Batra’s Sheik, Sheik Al-Mokhtar. He was notorious in their little village of Oman that was only a few miles north of Batra’s borders.
The rumors of Sheik Al-Mokhtar’s attendance had started the first moment he and Samara’s grandfather had been photographed together by paparazzi. According to the gossipers, her grandfather, a wealthy oil tycoon, was involving the Sheik of Batra in some business affairs.
The thought of a powerful Sheik attending one of her grandfather’s charity galas was laughable to Samara. She had memorized the guest list. The mysterious Sheik was not on it. Shaking her head in dismay, Samara waltzed away from the balcony window and stood in front of her floor length mirror.
According to her maid, she was a vision in her deep green ball gown. Around her arms and along the hem of her scooped neckline, there was gold detailing that had been woven into the fabric, giving the dress an ethereal look. Samara knew it wasn’t her own natural beauty that caused her to become a “vision” as her maid had put it.
Instead, it had been the team of makeup artists who had given her skin a soft and innocent look and made her usually dull, brown eyes pop. The hairstylist had wove Samara’s long, brown hair into a high updo braid that trailed down her bare back and ended at her bottom, which was carefully hidden by the folds of her gown.
She did feel like a princess though, Samara hummed happily. She’d always wanted to be a princess when she was a child. A fact her grandfather never forgot to tease her about.
A hard knock at her bedroom door had her jumping in shock. Straightening up, she called for the person to enter. Samara blushed at the sight of her white haired and bearded grandfather who wore an impeccable grey suit and was beaming at her.
“My princess! Look at you! So grown up!” Her grandfather laughed in delight and pressed a kiss to both her cheeks before standing back to gaze at her. “You look just like your mother, God rest her soul!”
Blushing, Samara nodded her thanks to her grandfather. “Thank you, Baba. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I didn’t have to attend tonight. I’m still a bit tired from the flight.”
Her grandfather shook his head in dismissal. “You’ve been gone too long. That university in England was good, but having you here is much better!”
Taking another look at Samara, her grandfather held a hand to his heart. “My little one, you bring me such joy. First, you rank at the top of your class, and now, you are such a grownup. Where is the little girl who used to climb the trees in the backyard and slide down the railing of the front staircase?”
Blushing at his words, Samara swatted at his hands and slid her feet into her high heels. “Baba, you old tease. I’m too old for all that stuff now and besides, Oxford graduates don’t climb trees and sli
de down railings.”
Her grandfather sighed as he watched her take one last look in the mirror. “Oh, how I wish your mother could see you now, my princess.”
As she met her grandfather’s gaze in the mirror, Samara smiled tentatively. “I know, Baba. But she’s watching us in heaven now and I’m sure she’s trying to tell us the host should never be late to his own party!”
Laughing at her grandfather’s mocking protests, Samara led her grandfather downstairs and out into the party. As she pasted on that signature smile that she had been trained from childhood to wear in the presence of company, Samara felt her inner self wither under the fake platitudes and barbs that came with such a life. The rich may be known for their wealth and generosity toward various charities, but that didn’t mean they all always got along with one another.
As the evening progressed, Samara became sick of the way the people attending this gala didn’t seem to care about her interest in various charities or political business and, instead, inquired about her newly married sister, Sheena. In her teens, Sheena had been spotlighted as a model and never looked back, much to their grandfather’s disappointment. Though Sheena was the favorite in the family for her lavish lifestyle and equally rich husband, Charles, Samara always wondered if Sheena was truly happy or if everything in her life was as fake as the people she surrounded herself with.
Sick of the questions revolving around her sister, Samara withdrew to a private balcony attached to the veranda that overlooked the Persian Gulf. Leaning over the balcony as she tried to catch a glimpse of the coast, Samara wondered if anyone would notice if she slipped off the veranda balcony and climbed down the vines attached to her grandfather's home and disappeared for the night. Drawing in soothing breaths, Samara sighed in frustration.
Don’t let those people ruin your mood, Sam. You’re a university graduate from Oxford. You were the highest ranked student in your class with honors and you don’t need these people's approval. Do this for Baba, then you can go up to your room and relax in the tub with a good romance novel.
As her anger cooled and her breathing became slower, Samara’s nose tickled at the scent of spicy smoke. It wasn’t until Samara turned in her spot on the balcony that she saw him.
A man so sinful with his tanned skin and curly dark hair, high cheekbones and perfect Roman nose that Samara almost melted into a pool on the tiled floors. He was like every heroine’s dream. Something out of a fairy-tale. And he was smoking a cigar in a dark corner, with not a care in the world. As Samara stared at him, a warning thought in the back of her mind wormed its way to the forefront. He looked familiar, but Samara had been away from Oman for so long that she couldn’t place him. Her studies in England had consumed her. Her grandfather would be mortified if she insulted one of his guests.
As this strange man brought his cigar back up to his lips, the man’s crooked smile deepened. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you, angel?”
3
Malik was used to these kinds of events. Being promised the opportunity to discuss business tonight was the only reason he even bothered attending. Until he saw her. She’d walked in on the host’s arm. After being escorted around for introductions, the startling beauty had been separated from her date and began mingling with everyone in attendance, except for Malik.
Hamda Ameen had mentioned his granddaughter would be attending the gala, but Malik had never dreamed his new business partner’s granddaughter would be a woman. And what a woman indeed.
With her chocolate brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes and bright smile, Malik knew she would look even more amazing writhing naked beneath him than she did in that beautiful green dress. He didn’t approach her or her grandfather for an introduction and instead waited and watched.
Malik liked it that way. He watched from the fringes of the party, not wanting to draw too much attention to those around him. No need to cause a scene or let any of the eligible women know there was a single Sheik in attendance just yet. He wasn’t sure if anyone would recognize him. He didn’t wear anything that would betray his true nature, like his gold ring or his royal scarf. Even his security team remained hidden deep within the shadows.
As he watched Hamda’s granddaughter and the way she spoke to those around her, he knew instantly that this was the last place she wanted to be. Like him, Malik wondered if this beautiful woman wanted to do nothing more than fly away from the crowds of overwhelming wealth and petty comments. She handled herself well though, considering. Malik had to give her props for the way she skillfully moved conversations throughout her mingling.
It was only when Malik had retreated off the veranda to a private balcony for a cigar that he got to see the true woman beneath the opulence and wealth. Like an angel, the woman seemed to float over to the balcony’s railing and stare down at the grounds below and out overlooking the gulf.
As he puffed out another breath of the spicy smoke, Malik grinned when the woman’s shoulders tensed and she finally noticed his presence. As she turned, her eyes widened, giving off an even more innocent look than he’d ever seen before. There was no way a woman this beautiful could be that innocent. She stared at him in silence for a few minutes. Malik was used to women staring at him. Usually they stared at him with dollar signs and sexual hunger in their eyes. This woman was a different story. Her eyes were drawn to his cigar at first, before gazing over him.
She definitely liked what she saw, Malik’s mind murmured as he took in the way her form tensed and he had to reign in his groan at the sight of her breasts rising slightly in the tight dress.
Deciding to toy with the woman, Malik’s face broke out in his signature, panty dropping grin. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you, angel?”
His words seemed to stun her as her pretty plump mouth opened. Malik was stunned by her voice. So elegant and lyrical. She must be one of those debutants that sung so sweetly as a way to lure in potential husbands with deep pockets.
“Smoking kills, you know?” she said, clearly not impressed as he blew another cloud of smoke into the air.
Malik smirked, it wasn’t the first time someone had told him to quit his annoying habit. “Are you going to give me a list of diseases I will surely afflict myself with if I continue this horrible habit? Perhaps you’ve come to convert me of my sinful ways?”
With a tilt of her head and a squint of her bright eyes, the woman took a step toward him, her lips pursed. “You don’t seem like the type of man who takes orders well.”
Malik could tell this little spitfire was still trying to figure him out. Probably trying to figure out who he was, to see if he was even worth flirting with. Not wanting to give her an opportunity to figure out who he was, Malik quietly doused the cigar in the ashtray he’d snatched from a nearby table. Better to have one on hand at these dreadful parties.
“And you do, I presume? Take orders well?” Malik asked, his words teasing as he adjusted his cufflinks and stared her in the eye, watching for a lie. Women lied all the time. Why should this one be any different?
The woman shrugged and turned her back on him before waltzing back over to the balcony railing.
“My sister would call me a goody-two shoes, but perhaps I just have more respect for the rules than she does,” she murmured as she stared out over the estate’s grounds.
Malik snorted as he approached her from behind and leaned his hip against the railing, gazing down at her from his side. “Following the rules can lead to a dull life, I’m sure.”
One side of her lips turned up into a smirk.x “Depends whose rules you’re following.”
Clever witch, Malik thought inwardly. His pants tightened and Malik shifted, breathing in the cooling night air in an attempt to subdue his raging erection. What an effect this woman had on him after only a few moments of conversation.
“I’m Sam, by the way,” the woman murmured.
Malik’s eyes landed on her eyes in an instant and he quickly regretted having been caught staring at her lips as sh
e spoke.
Chuckling, Malik nodded at her. “Malik. Were your parents hoping for a boy when you were born, Sam?”
She grinned. “It’s short for Samara. Unfortunately, my parents died when I was quite young, so they never got to have a son. Only myself and my older sister.”
Malik instantly felt like a heel, even as she smiled up at him for a moment before turning her gaze back to the view. He understood the pain the loss of a parent can have over a child. He’d lost his own parents as a teenager and he hadn’t exactly handled their death well.
Between the drinking, parties and girls, Malik was surprised he lived to be twenty-nine at all. His uncle, Artis, never thought he would. After being appointed Malik’s guardian and regent of Batra until Malik’s brother was deemed old enough to take on the title of Sheik.
After Keen had been assassinated, Artis had been the first on Batra’s counsel to grumble at the possibility of Malik being named Sheik of Batra. Even when Malik had finally graduated from university at the highest level and achieved many accolades, his uncle never thought him capable of the title of Sheik of Batra.
Clenching his fists tightly in his suit pockets, Malik grumbled under his breath, “I will show you, uncle.”
“What?” Samara asked, her voice breaking through Malik’s inner turmoil as he jumped to attention and stared down at the confused woman.
“I’m sorry. I mean, for your loss. I too lost my parents when I was still young,” Malik murmured in response.
Samara tilted her head once more, as if she truly was a pretty bird or either genuinely concerned for him. “I’m sorry. No one truly understands the loss unless they too go through it. My grandfather did his best with us, but I fear my sister didn’t take the loss well. He claims she caused his hair to go white.”
