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

by Erin Snihur

  Hamda shrugged and sputtered as he took a seat across the desk. “It is simply insurance.”

  “I have married her because of what was agreed upon. There is no need for such a clause,” Malik’s icy voice interrupted, as he glared at Hamda.

  Hamda stroked his beard. “I do not wish for my granddaughter to become hurt by a man such as you, Malik.”

  “And what kind of man is that, Hamda?” Malik asked, already hating this line of questioning.

  Hamda shrugged again and smiled as if it was obvious. “Well of course, you are known as quite a ladies man and you are not exactly known for your faithfulness. I could not bare for my granddaughter to be hurt by your illicit activities. It is insurance.”

  Snorting, Malik’s mind strayed to Samara and what had transpired in their quarters this morning. Turning his gaze on Hamda, Malik’s mind began to wander to the possibilities. The old man couldn’t have hurt his granddaughter, could he? Samara hadn’t had any bruises when he’d left her that morning in the cabin. At least not on her arms, Malik thought as he recalled the way her ass pinkened from his hand.

  Gripping the arms of his chair, Malik glared at Hamda as an idea formed in his mind. “And what of your granddaughter’s illicit activities?”

  Silence and then eruption.

  Hamda was on his feet, red-faced and spit flying from his mouth as he shouted, “How dare you!”

  Malik shrugged and cocked his head. “My wife is covered in bruises, Hamda. Bruises that suggest she was either engaged in an illicit activity or was being abused.”

  When Hamda gave no word, Malik continued, “Now, I know your granddaughter was no virgin when we met, but I cannot imagine why a woman who claimed to want such a marriage would engage in what you call illicit activities with another. Unless of course, she was being abused.”

  Hamda snorted. “Ridiculous. My granddaughter was not engaged with anyone and was kept in my home until the wedding day. The only visitors she had were myself and the wedding planners.”

  “Then it was abuse that caused her bruises,” Malik queries, his grin crooked. “It is a good thing only yourself and the wedding planners were her visitors. It will make eliminating the abuser much easier.”

  Hamda’s face went starch pale as Malik slowly rose from his chair. “Unless you’d like to confess now, Hamda?”

  Clenched fists, Hamda spat on the ground in front of Malik’s desk. “I have never laid a hand on my granddaughter. For all I know, you have been the one to lay bruises on her during your wedding night. I will not take this insulting inquiry any longer. Good day.”

  With that, Hamda strode away and out of the study, practically running into Imad who stood at the study doors waiting to be granted entrance. Malik watched the older man depart before signalling for Imad to enter.

  Collapsing into his desk chair, Malik ran his hands through his hair as Imad approached the desk, tablet in hand, waiting for Malik to speak first.

  “I’ve made a mistake in marrying Samara, haven’t I, Imad?” Malik asked and, before the older man could impart his wisdom, Malik continued. “I could have said no and then everyone in the world would have seen the same thing they have seen for years. A rich, playboy sheik with no care for any woman he tangles with.”

  Imad stared at Malik before opening his mouth to speak, “Your father held such a title before marrying your mother, your Highness.”

  Malik snorted in laughter. “How is that possible? They were so in love it made others sick just to be in the same room with them when they met each other’s gazes.”

  Imad merely shrugged. “Your father once said it was the fire he saw behind your mother’s eyes that first attracted him to her.”

  Inwardly, Malik thought back to that first night he’d seen Samara. The fake act she’d put up for the masses was there, but there was also a fire behind her eyes that grew when she her views or opinions were challenged. He’d been attracted to her fire, as well. Especially when she’d ordered him to meet her at the cabin. He’d met confident women before, but never like Samara.

  Without thinking, Malik murmured softly, “Have a guard from the special forces follow Samara. I don’t think anything more will happen, but I fear the road to wedded bliss will not be a smooth one.”

  15

  It was weeks later that Samara began to develop a pattern of how her days went. When she would first wake in the mornings, Malik would be gone. Sometimes it seemed as though he hadn’t even been in their bed. A ghost who came and went without notice. Samara had tried staying up late one night to greet him before bed, but she’d fallen asleep watching tv and woke the next morning in bed alone.

  After waking, Caliyah would appear and assist Samara in bathing and dressing for the day. Then it was onto breakfast, where she would be delighted by Malik’s cousins and his aunt. Malik’s uncle had been away for some time now and thankfully the blonde hussy, Chantal, had left soon after the wedding.

  Lately, Samara only saw Malik in the mornings in passing at breakfast. He would eat quickly, wish her a good morning and then be off for meetings and attendance at what Malik’s Aunt Sheeba called “court”. There, all of the governors and head members of Batra’s noble families would attend and bring issues and news before Malik and his advisors.

  Sheeba had stressed that women were not welcome during these meetings, but Samara bristled at that thought. How could women not be welcome when almost half of Batra’s populace were women?

  Samara knew these things because of Sheeba’s teachings and the tutor Malik had hired for her. She’d learned so much about Batra’s history and the rules that a Sheikha of Batra were to follow. There was much to learn and Samara was thankful by the time lunch rolled around that she was given a small reprieve. After the small incident in their chambers, Malik had demanded Samara meet with a doctor so that she could be assessed for more injuries. There hadn’t been any and, thankfully, Malik hadn’t brought it up again. Though he had hired her a bodyguard, to which Samara had laughed in his face when he’d first brought it up at dinner one night.

  Samara hadn’t been sure why she needed a bodyguard in the palace, but Malik said it was necessary. So, Marcus was brought up from Batra’s Special Forces and would go wherever Samara went. Even when she went to eat with the family. After her lunch, Samara was given free time where she would play with Malik’s cousins, further her learning of Arabic, Batra and explore the palace. All of this done under the watchful eye of her bodyguard, Marcus. Samara had already found the gates that were heavily guarded and led to the capital city of Batra. Much like a fish in a bowl, she felt herself watched constantly.

  In the late afternoons, Samara was rushed back to their chambers and she was dressed for dinner. Some nights, Malik demanded they have a private dinner together, but most nights they spent with his family.

  Even though she knew he was staying in the palace, Samara had hardly seen her grandfather over the past few weeks. Just in passing at meals had she seen him engaged with Malik’s older cousins discussing business. He hadn’t even come to visit her to see how she was doing. Samara knew why. Now that she was married to Malik, she was of no use to him. Simply a pawn in his plan for riches and power.

  Samara often thought that she should warn Malik about her grandfather, but would he even believe her? Afterall, Malik was the one to marry her for her grandfather’s businesses. Surely he didn’t really care that much for her. Although over the last few weeks, Malik had been very attentive. He had sent beautifully exotic flowers to her while she studied and told her many stories of his childhood when they ate privately together.

  Everytime she found herself eating with just the two of them, Malik was kind and his heated eyes spoke of so much more. Nothing ever happened. After the meal was done and the night wore on, Malik would kiss her, send her on to bed and claim he had to finish some work before bed. Then he would disappear. She’d worried at the beginning that he was meeting with another woman; but according to Caliyah, Malik was actually workin
g in his study and had been asked not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency.

  Samara wasn’t sure why he hadn’t tried to be with her again after that last time. Had it been the bruises? Did he think she was damaged goods? Samara couldn’t bear it if he thought she was weak. She hadn’t been weak before her grandfather had viciously attacked her. Samara had been strong and she wished she could be strong again now.

  It was during one of their many dinners together, that Samara’s shyness wore away and she began to speak her mind when Malik mentioned issues he’d encountered throughout the day.

  “Certain governors are complaining about the rising protests for female equality. The most recent law allowing women to drive in some Arabian countries have caused quite a stir,” Malik mentioned one night.

  Without thinking, Samara asked, “If you want to show your people that you agree with equality for men and women then you must bring forth more women into your court. Allow Batra to see that you approve of these new laws.”

  “Perhaps,” was all Malik had murmured, his eyes watching her with that same intensity.

  He’d kissed her on the back of the hand and departed, only returning when she’d gone to sleep that very night.

  The next day, Samara had been sitting at her desk, learning about Batra’s education system and making notes she wanted to bring up to Malik at dinner, when his advisor, Imad, appeared at her door. Caliyah stood at Imad’s side, head bowed, though Samara could see the younger woman was trying hard to contain her glee.

  “Your Majesty, His Highness has requested your presence,” Imad’s serious tone spoke, but all Samara could do was stare at the man.

  When he cleared his throat, breaking her confused stared, he continued, “His Highness does not like to be kept waiting, your Majesty.”

  Standing at Caliyah’s urging, Samara found herself standing before her dressing mirror in a black and white pantsuit with her hair piled in a curly updo. Slipping into her heels, Samara glanced at her wedding ring and blushed as it sparkled back at her, much like Malik’s icy eyes.

  What could he want? Wasn’t he keeping court all day?

  Even though Samara had no idea where exactly Imad was taking her, she was excited. She’d been cooped up for so long that it was nice dressing up and getting out of their chambers and taking part in Malik’s day. Perhaps her words about female equality had gotten through to him?

  Or worse, they had the opposite effect and he’s going to humiliate you, an insecure voice hissed at her from the dark corners of her mind.

  Before long, Imad stopped walking ahead of her and she stumbled in her heels to keep from knocking into the older man. Blushing and apologizing profusely, Samara spared a glance with the always silent Marcus who was only a few steps behind them, wearing a dark suit, no doubt concealing some form of weaponry like a spy in a movie.

  Samara hadn’t seen Malik’s throne room before and she half-expected the room to be full of gold covered statues and exotic furnishings. Straightening her clothes and smiling at a serious looking Imad, Samara stared ahead at the tall, oak carved doors before them.

  “Shall we go in?” Samara asks, wondering why Malikwas requesting her presence now, before Batra’s court and ruling families.

  As the doors opened, Samara breathed in the smoky scent of the air and tried to cool her wide eyed expression. Inside, instead of an expansive throne room where she’d read about other Sheiks holding court, Malik chose a more business like room.

  A long and wide oak table sat in the middle of the room with dozens of chairs surrounding it. On the table were papers, maps and some even displaying border security measures and military forces around the country.

  Movement at the far end of the table distracted Samara and her gaze moved to her husband, the Sheik. Malik stood in his impeccable suit and his blue eyes were piercing in the surrounding company. Blushing at the heat in his gaze, Samara met his gaze with a similar heat as she scanned the throne he’d stood up from. As he stood, so did the others. Malik’s court.

  Some of the shocked men that were present were familiar to Samara, but others not so. She instantly recognized Malik’s uncle who appeared disgruntled by her presence and worriedly avoided Samara’s gaze.

  “Wife, thank you for joining us,” Malik’s smooth and silky voice broke through the silence and gained her attention as he held out his hand and merely ordered, “Come.”

  Samara blushed and ignored the hushed whispers as those in Malik’s court appeared upset over her mere presence. Striding with her head held high, Samara briefly heard the sounds of the doors closing behind her and knew she was very well trapped.

  Placing her hand in Malik’s, Samara barely had a chance to take in the smaller throne like chair that sat next to Maliks. A twin in every way except for its size, Samara smiled at the sight of the beautifully carved chair.

  Meeting Malik’s gaze and obeying his pointed nod toward the chair, Samara sat as elegantly as she could with Malik taking his seat next to her. The other court members followed, though they continued to whisper in hushed Arabic.

  Squeezing her hand, Malik didn’t remove his gaze from Samara’s face, much to her amusement as he called out over the hushed voices, “Something you wish to say, Uncle?”

  Samara watched as Uncle Artis stood and continued avoiding her gaze before meeting Malik’s, who turned his head to glare at the older man.

  “This is highly unusual, your Grace. Tradition dictates that no woman or Sheikha be present during court meetings. Your father…” Uncle Artis crooned but at Malik’s hand raising, trailed off in his sentence.

  “My father is dead, Uncle, and so is his heir, my brother. I am the Sheik of Batra now. I intend to pull Batra kicking and screaming into the 21st century. If you do not wish to be a part of this, you may leave Batra,” Malik bit out, his glare landing on every member of the court. “That goes for all of you. Batra has been falling behind on every level compared to other countries in the world and we must lead the charge for the other Arab countries. My wife has wonderful ideas for Batra and for our future, I suggest you heed them.”

  Silence ensued, but for Uncle Artis collapsing back into his chair, looking dumbstruck.

  Samara breathed carefully, trying not to reveal through her expression how frightened she was or how excited she was to be present during a court meeting. A squeeze of Malik’s hand brought her out of her reserve and she met his smiling gaze.

  She belonged here. With him. Her husband.

  Malik turned back to the court and flipped open an agenda book on the table, “Let us begin.”

  16

  Samara couldn’t stop smiling. Her cheeks hurt so much from her gleeful grins. After everyone left the throne room, Samara turned to Malik and stunned him by wrapping her arms around him.

  “Thank you, Malik,” Samara murmured against his chest. “Today was amazing. I never thought my life could turn out this way.”

  Snorting to himself, Malik murmured and pulled her away to stare into her eyes, “What did you expect when you told your grandfather you wished to marry a prince, angel?”

  Laughing loudly in front of him, Samara covered her mouth with her hand to quiet her boisterous laughter, “What are you talking about?”

  “Your grandfather said you wanted to be a princess?” Malik said in the form of a question and, at her startled gaze, he sighed. “I figured you knew about the reason for my asking for your hand, Samara.”

  Sighing, Samara’s heart sinks. “You wanted the companies.”

  Pulling his hands away so that he wouldn’t squeeze her bruised arms, Malik sighs. “I did. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “But why…” Samara muttered, confused.

  Hands clutching her face, Malik tilts Samara’s face up toward his. “I have another reason for wanting this marriage to succeed.”

  Before she can ask further, Malik presses his lips against Samara’s with such passion that Samara’s toes curl in her heels. Moaning softly against his lips
, Samara’s mouth opens at the gentle probing of his tongue.

  Breathless, Samara whimpers mournfully as Malik pulls away. “I’m sorry, Samara. I shouldn’t have taken such liberties.”

  Heart overflowing with unknown emotions, Samara feels herself begin to shiver as she whispers, “Take them, Malik. Take all of me.”

  Ignoring his protests, Samara wraps her arms around his neck and presses her lips to his, silencing him completely. She wasn’t sure if he would listen to her, but when she felt his hands wrapping around her waist and cup her bottom in his big hands, Samara moaned in appreciation at the feeling of him possessively lifting her up onto the table that only a few moments ago was surrounded by Batra’s elite.

  Gasping for air as Malik pulled away from her lips, Samara blushed when Malik’s crooked grin grew. Her lips and cheeks burned at the feeling of his slight beard scruff brushing against her neck as his lips placed soft kisses to the opening of her cleavage.

  “Are you sure, angel?” Malik whispered against her chest.

  “More sure than anything, Malik,” Samara crooned through the lust and took Malik’s hands in hers, placing them on her breasts over her clothes. Nipples pebbling, Samara trembled as he took that first squeeze.

  Groaning, Samara threw her head back as the rush of feelings and attraction over the last few weeks came rushing forward. She had no care who heard as she called out his name, over and over again.

  17

  Weeks had passed after her first day attending court with Malik. She also hadn’t seen Uncle Artis at any other meetings and worried the older man’s prejudices had gotten the better of him. According to Imad, the older man had been too busy to attend any further court meetings. She had been walking the halls with her new assistant and her maid, Caliyah, when they turned a corner and collided with the older, gruff man.

  Marcus, who followed Samara everywhere, had his hand at her shoulder to steady her in the collision and at Uncle Artis’ shocked gaze, he bowed quickly and apologized profusely.