The Sheiks of the Arabian Coast Series: 5 Book Box Set

by Erin Snihur

  Humming to herself, Samara blushed. “I’ll have to remember that the next time he wakes in the morning in a grumpy mood.”

  Malik’s eyes met hers and she knew he had heard as he reached over to clasp her hand and squeeze it softly before bringing it to his lips. “I shall never wake grumpy if you are at my side, angel.”

  Samara blushed as her heart began to flutter. A few women around the table sighed dreamily at Malik’s words and Samara shuddered under his gaze. It was all an act. He was trying to be nice for her grandfather.

  It was then that she remembered, her voice stuttering as she asked, “Where is my grandfather?”

  Malik’s eyes seemed to grow harsher at the mention of her grandfather as he leaned back in his chair and scanned the room. “Perhaps he is sleeping in.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Samara forced a smile on her face. “Of course. He had a busy night last night.”

  Pulling her hand from Malik’s, Samara shakily began to finish her breakfast. Pushing the food around on her plate, Samara guiltily looked around the table. Everyone else was smiling and having a wonderful time. Why did the mere mention of her grandfather cause her to become fearful and shaky?

  Because of what he has done to you, a voice hissed in her mind.

  Scanning the room for Caliyah, Samara pointedly got the young girl’s attention. As the girl approached, Samara turned to Malik who had returned to his paper.

  “Caliyah is going to take me on a tour of the palace,” Samara said softly, gaining Malik’s attention.

  Putting down his paper, he stared at her carefully as though she were some puzzle to examine or a stock to analyze. Before he answered, Malik seemed to glance around the table, as though to gage who was listening.

  Leaning over, Malik whispered, “Stay on the estate and try not to fly away, pretty bird.”

  13

  Stay on the estate and try not to fly away, pretty bird.

  Those had been Malik’s exact words. She hadn’t technically disobeyed him. She was still on the estate, just not in a part known for a Sheik’s wife to be in. After walking around the palace with Caliyah for hours, Samara’s stomach finally began to rumble and she demanded she be shown the kitchens.

  After meeting and batting her eyelashes at the grumpy old chef, Marso, who had been in Malik’s family’s employ since Malik’s grandfather had been Sheik, Samara began to feel at home.

  After ordering a fresh apron and demanding everyone call her Samara or Sam, she dug in. To baking that is. Marso seemed to have taken a liking to Samara and she to him. So much so that he’d let her help make basbousa. Samara had never made the coconut yogurt cake before. She’d only had it a few times personally and was fascinated by the baking process.

  Elbow deep in coconut and the other ingredients, Samara wasn’t sure how much time had passed and, when she finally had a chance to ask the time, she learned it was well past lunch. Shrugging, Samara knew Malik hadn’t been told she was needed anywhere and she much preferred the kitchen staff’s company than dealing with the blonde as she mooned over Malik.

  It was only when the doors to the kitchen burst open and a snarling voice cried out, “What is the meaning of this!?”, that time seemed to stand still for Samara.

  Standing in the kitchen doors were Malik and his advisor Imad, who stared down his nose at Samara. Swallowing, Samara stared back at Malik and Imad, just as stunned as they seemed to be.

  First day as a wife and already you’ve angered your new husband. Nice one, Samara.

  Malik’s first day as a husband wasn’t going well. He’d thought the day of the wedding was busy; instead, the day after was equally as busy. They’d received so many correspondence congratulating them on their nuptials from people Malik hadn’t even heard of that his eyes wanted to cross and stay that way. Pushing aside the correspondence, Malik leaned back in his desk chair.

  Even though he’d slept well with Samara in his arms the night before, he felt a small ache in his chest over how he’d left her there without so much as a good morning. Her little act at the breakfast table had been amusing though. She was so obvious in her jealousy over Chantal. She shouldn’t be. Malik found himself only having eyes, and a hardening erection, for Samara.

  Chantal, while she and Malik had engaged in their own affair years ago, was now nothing more than a family friend and had asked to stay on at the palace for a few days after the wedding. Malik couldn’t deny her, especially when she was so close to his Uncle’s wife.

  Clenching his fists, Malik recalled the way his uncle had insinuated Samara’s new duties might be too much for a woman such as herself. Probably due to Samara not being of noble birth. While his Uncle Artis may appear a kindly old man, Malik wondered if perhaps the older man knew about the clause in his father's will that stated if Malik failed in his marriage everything was his.

  He couldn't possibly know the truth. Only Imad, the royal lawyers and Malik knew of the will clause. Clenching his fists to relieve the stress, Malik groaned. He knew what he needed to relieve the stress. He needed Samara. His cock had been as hard as a rock since breakfast. After her little show, who could blame him. She was so sinfully sexy and Malik knew she had no idea of the effect on him.

  Scanning his itinerary on his phone, Malik grumbled at the realization that the servants would be laying out lunch in the dining hall. Perhaps he could convince his sinfully sexy wife to join him for a private lunch in their quarters. Afterall, if he was to be married to this woman for a year, he might as well enjoy her charms while he could.

  As he entered the noisy dining hall, Malik nodded in acknowledgement to his many cousins, aunt and uncle, even going so far as to ruffle little Leelah’s hair when she sent him a funny face as he took his seat at the head of the table.

  Scanning the table, Malik cleared his throat, “Where is Samara?”

  Chantal appeared beside him and immediately took the seat next to Malik, her eyelashes fluttering as she smiled at him. “Who cares. What I want to know is about your trip to Japan? Do you think you’ll go back?”

  Ignoring her, Malik turned his attention to a servant who appeared with Malik’s lunch, “Where is my wife?”

  The servant paused, as if hesitant to give the answer. Glaring at him, Malik asked again through clenched teeth, “Where is my wife?”

  Stammering, the servant clasped his hands in front of him, “I--in--the kitchens, your Majesty.”

  Beside him, Chantal clucked her tongue and scanned the room, gaining Malik’s uncle’s attention as well as a few of his older cousins. With a sly smile that made Malik’s stomach sour, Chantal asked him, “Did you marry a servant, Malik?”

  Before Malik could respond, his Uncle chuckled along with the rest of his family. “Where did you find this girl, Malik? In a barn?”

  Pushing away from the table, Malik glared at his uncle, before grasping the servant by his silk shirt and pulling him in close. “Take me to my wife.”

  At the servant’s nervous nod, Malik followed the man, his fists clenched in anger. Why was she in the kitchens? Sheik’s wives did not go in the kitchens. For heaven’s sake, even he had not been in the palace kitchens since he was a small boy attempting to steal sweets from the cook.

  Grumbling a curse under his breath, Malik stopped before the set of doors that stood between him and his wife. Already he could feel the heat of the kitchens through the door and Malik inhaled sharply, his senses coming alive at the smell of basbousa. Malik paused as the servant opened the doors and he only had a moment to glance around the bustling area before his eyes landed on his coconut covered, sweaty wife whose arms were elbow deep in a bowl of dough.

  Before he could rationalize what he was seeing, Malik’s temper got the best of him and he shouted, “What is the meaning of this!?”

  Malik’s voice carried across the room as everyone stopped what they were doing and fell silent. With all eyes on him, Malik stepped into the kitchen’s further and scanned the room. His little wife was helping b
ake basbousa.

  Staring into Samara’s chocolate eyes, Malik felt only one thing. The zing of attraction. Damn her. Even covered in food, she was sexy.

  Releasing a harsh breath, Malik slowly placed his hands in his pockets and very calmly spoke, “If you all wouldn’t mind, I think my wife and I have more pressing matters to attend to than baking.”

  The bowl Samara had been kneading dough in was promptly pulled away and her apron removed by swift servants who wished to avoid the Sheik’s anger. Standing at the door, one of Malik’s eyebrows rose in question as he stared Samara down.

  “Angel?” he asked, hoping she would take the hint that he was serious.

  Her face flushed, Samara smiled at the others who could only stare back in shock as she murmured, “Thank you for the wonderful morning.”

  Ignoring Malik’s now outstretched hand, Samara brushed past him and began marching down the hallway toward the steps that led to the higher levels of the palace. Following after her, Malik tried to keep his eyes on her hair. With a quick tug, he could have her pressed up against him just by grabbing her braided locks. Clenching his fists, Malik growled low.

  “Are you not going to even explain what you were doing, Samara?” Malik asked through clenched teeth as he came up beside her, matching her urgent steps.

  Samara didn’t say anything in response and kept her gaze forward until they both stopped before their quarters. Neither of their guards were present and for that Malik was thankful. No need for more people to witness his wife covered in food.

  Turning to face him in front of their chamber doors, Samara stared up at him, her face set in a serious frown. “I don’t see why you had to act that way, Malik. I was just baking. It isn’t a crime.”

  Looking down the hallway both ways, Malik reached out and gripped Samara’s upper arm, pulling her into their chambers. Once the door was slammed shut, Malik faced her, his grip on her arm still holding fast, much to her squirming distaste.

  “You are my wife now, Samara, a Sheik’s wife. You cannot simply befriend the servants and bake in the kitchens like a commoner,” Malik growled.

  Wincing at his tone, Samara tried to escape his grip, “You are hurting me, Malik.”

  Shocked, Malik moved to release her arm and when he did, his silver watch caught in her flowy sleeve and ripped the sleeve completely from her shoulder. Malik didn’t watch as the fabric fell to the ground and instead stared in shock and alarm at the sight of bruises the size of handprints covering Samara’s upper arms.

  “What the hell!” Malik yelled, furious at what he was seeing.

  14

  Samara knew the exact moment Malik’s eyes registered the bruises on her arm. His icy blue eyes seemed to alight with fire as his whole body tensed.

  His words, while loud, seemed to echo in her ears, “What the hell!”

  Trembling under the weight of his gaze, Samara tried to cover the bruised arm, but Malik was faster. His grip on her wrist stopped her from covering and his icy blue eyes brought the temperature in the room way down.

  “Who did this to you, Samara?” Malik asked, his words a hiss through clenched teeth.

  Shaking her head, Samara felt her eyes begin to well up with tears. She didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t even want to hear herself say the words. At the same time, she felt her heart breaking at the thought of what Malik might do if she told him.

  Trembling, Samara stuttered out the one sentence she’d used over and over again over the course of two weeks when others had asked her the same question, “I fell.”

  Stunned, Malik paused before hissing further, “You fell?”

  Nodding, Samara trembled under his gaze. “Yes.”

  Releasing her, Malik began to pace in a circle around her, like a prowling tiger. Samara couldn’t move. If she did, she knew she might break down and reveal everything her grandfather had told her to keep quiet.

  Why does he care so much? He was only interested in me for grandfather’s companies anyway, Samara thought.

  Finally, Malik stopped his pacing and stood before her. Before she knew it, his hands were gripping her shoulders, forcing her to glance up at him. His eyes were no longer icy, but defeated.

  “Samara, I can’t help you unless you tell me the truth,” Malik crooned. “If someone has hurt you, I can have them taken care of. You never have to be afraid again.”

  Shaking her head, Samara wordlessly whimpered as she wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes tightly, praying he would drop it. She didn’t understand how her life had fallen into such darkness. She’d been so happy after returning home from university and now she felt like a broken shell of herself.

  Sighing, Malik’s hand caressed her face softly. “Fine. If you won’t tell me, then I will have to find out myself.”

  Opening her eyes, Samara stared up at Malik, shocked by his words. Stammering, Samara began to protest, “That isn’t nec--”

  Holding up his hand for her to stop, Malik glared down at her. “It is. I cannot have my wife being abused.”

  Pushing away from him, Samara glared back. “Of course not. Why would you want someone else to abuse your wife when you can just as easily do it yourself.”

  Malik’s glaring face turned to that of surprise before his crooked smirk appeared. “Are you calling what I did to you the night in the cabin abuse, angel?”

  Before she could sputter an answer, Malik continued, “Because if I recall correctly, you begged for much more abuse as the night wore on.”

  Blushing as Samara’s mind flashed of those memories, she shook her head, trying to focus as Malik stalked toward her and she, in turn, backed away with every step he took.

  “That was a one night thing, Malik,” Samara protested.

  Cocking his head to the side, Malik’s grin grew. “We are married now, Samara. It doesn’t have to be only a one night thing as you put it.”

  Samara wasn’t sure where she could escape to. He was fast approaching and Samara was unsure of whether she wanted him to stop or not. Could she follow his lead and delve deeper into a physical relationship with Malik without getting attached.

  Her heart ached to say yes, but her mind screamed no. She’d seen the papers her grandfather had hidden in his briefcase. Their marriage had all been part of a business scheme. He didn’t really want her, he just wanted the businesses.

  As she opened her mouth to protest and deny him, Malik struck, pulling her by the front of her shirt into his chest. Lips met hers and blinded her with passion as Samara felt her body melting into Malik’s. Arms tenderly wrapped around her waist and held her against his hard chest as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

  Moaning into his mouth, Samara threw caution to the wind and felt her own arms winding around his neck and pulling him in tighter to her. Fingers delving into his hair, Samara sighed as Malik pulled his lips away from hers and brushed his nose against hers. Fluttering her eyelids open, Samara stared into Malik’s eyes as he stared down into hers. Malik’s eyes strayed to her bruised arm and his gaze hardened.

  Caressing her cheek, Malik sighed, seemingly frustrated, and straightened himself, pulling away from Samara’s arms.

  “I will see you tonight, angel,” Malik murmured and, before she knew it, he marched out of the room with a slam of the chamber doors, leaving Samara’s mind racing over everything that had happened in such a short time.

  Malik leaned back against the now closed chamber doors and tried to slow his breathing and calm his raging erection. One look in those big, brown eyes and Malik had almost lost it. Clenching his fists, Malik tried to recall the lies and deceit she’d started that had caused this entire mess. He couldn’t. All he saw was his Samara, with big innocent eyes and bruises covering her arm.

  Pushing away from the door, Malik found a servant walking the hallway and demanded he send his wife’s maid to help her get ready for dinner. As Malik strode the halls of his palace, he wasn’t sure where he was going exactly. He should have been
in meetings this afternoon and instead he’d blown off the first hour searching for his wife and almost losing himself in her tight sheath once more.

  Damn her.

  Striding toward his study, Malik paused, keeping to the shadows as he watched his study doors open. His uncle departed with Samara’s grandfather. Both men shook hands and smiled like good friends. A twinge of suspicion grew within Malik and he waited until his Uncle had disappeared down the hallway before he made his presence known to Hamda, who stood by the now closed study doors and tapped away on his phone.

  Silently appearing behind the older man, Malik cleared his throat, enjoying the way the old man jumped in alarm and clutched his chest, “Waiting for me, Hamda?”

  As the old man realized exactly who had spoke, Malik enjoyed the way his eyes widened before his face was clear of surprise and an easy smile replaced it. “No, your Highness! I was just enjoying the palace and its beauty.”

  “Please, Hamda, call me Malik, we are family now, no?” Malik urged and moved toward his study doors. “Please, won’t you join me?”

  “Of course, of course, Malik,” Hamda said as he nervously entered the study first at Malik’s urging.

  Closing the doors behind him with a smirk, Malik entered and scanned the room. Nothing had been moved, but he did smell the hint of cigars. They’d been talking. About what, Malik would find out. He didn’t trust Hamda or his Uncle. Granted, he didn’t really trust his new wife either. What a mess he’d gotten himself into.

  Taking a seat behind his desk, Malik cocked his head. “I received the contracts for the sale of the companies. I noticed there was a clause that stated if, in a year, Samara and I are no longer married, the contract is null and void. Is there a particular reason for such a clause?”