Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Oh heavens, save me from the incurably blind. The man had only taken his sunglasses off, for Allah’s sake, and they were acting like he had done something worthy of winning the Nobel—-
Anisah quickly put a brake on her thoughts the moment she realized how horribly unfair she was acting. Hate him as she did, she mustn’t let old (and not to mention bad) habits get the better of her. She mustn’t allow herself to forget that she knew the truth about him now.
Yes, he was a playboy, but he was also one of the kingdom’s most loyal and hardworking sheikhs. She had to at least give him that.
With this new commitment in mind, Anisah fought hard to keep her face expressionless as she watched the fans fawn over the sheikh for another five minutes. Sheikh Malik joined him a minute later, and the crowd’s excitement grew frenzied at the sight of the two men.
With them standing shoulder to shoulder, the similarities and differences between the two sheikhs were impossible not to notice. Although both were tall, dark, and handsome, their resemblance ended there. Malik, dressed in the kingdom’s white robes and his dark hair covered in a red headdress, was the picture of formality, the ideal figure of traditional authority. Tarif, on the other hand, had ‘bad boy’ written all over him, the classic rebel without a cause, with his lethal form encased in leather and denim.
The two sheikhs presented a united front as they delighted the crowd with a brief but entertaining banter and afterwards thanking the people for supporting the launch of the kingdom’s latest tourist offering. The ceremonies closed with a prayer, and as the crowd reluctantly dispersed, the sheikhs clasped each other’s arms in an ancient form of greeting founded in Ramilian history.
The two sheikhs parted ways after, and she closed her eyes as she sought to brace herself for the incoming storm. You can do this, Anisah. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, but as soon as she lifted her head, the wind was immediately knocked out of her sails.
Tarif Al-Atassi already stood in front of her, tall, dark, and handsome, and his earthy masculinity so infernally potent it had Anisah digging her fingers into her palms.
Curses.
It had been so long since she had been this close to the sheikh. She had completely forgotten how the sheer presence of him was so intensely sexual, and it took everything in her to keep her body from trembling.
What a cursed life she led.
If only that stupid tabloid hadn’t printed the blind item about her, she would never have to seek the attention of the very man she had been determined to avoid for the rest of her life.
If only...
A thousand curses never tore a shirt, she reminded herself, and it was time to show the sheikh her mettle. “Yam jamil, alshaykh,” she said politely. The way the corner of his lips lifted told her he knew exactly what she was trying to do, but Anisah didn’t care. It was her right to be as close or as distant with whomever she wanted, and where this sheikh was concerned, she wanted to make it very clear that she saw him as her liege’s trusted vassal and nothing else.
“Marhava, Tory.”
Oh, curse him. There he went again using his own private nickname for her like she was his concubine to name as he pleased.
“Malik also says hello, by the way.”
Her brows furrowed. Why couldn’t have Sheikh Malik told her himself?
As if reading the question in her eyes, the sheikh said silkily, “I asked that he allow us a moment of privacy.” He paused. “I have a feeling your presence here has something to do with the blind item in today’s gossip columns?”
Her lips pressed together. “You’ve read it then?” Every word of it had been horrible, with the gossip writer using the most salacious terms to paint the most disgustingly lewd picture.
Apparently, the reporter who had caught them together at last week’s ball had been quite the Peeping Tom. Having seen Anisah also go down on her knees, the reporter had pretended to accidentally enter the room in hopes of gaining clues to her identity.
What those clues could be, Anisah had no idea, but somehow the reporter had managed to put one and one together, enough to deduce that the sheikh’s anonymous companion was someone employed at the palace.
“I cannot risk having the reporter discover who I am, Your Highness.”
“And so you desire my help to clear your name?”
“Nem, alshaykh.” Anisah practically choked on the words, but she had no choice. The blind item had more or less labeled her as the palace’s Jezebel, and if the article was ever linked to her, it could very well place her expected tenure in jeopardy.
And she couldn’t afford to let that happen.