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| Email: Ardethsgal@comcast.net Rating: R (sexual content) Author’s Note: I own all characters in this story. The emirate of Kumar does not exist and is not really part of the United Arab Emirates—I made it up. The characters of Nikash and Rafee were inspired by Oded and his roles way before I had ever heard of fanfiction and these stories have been sitting on my computer for nearly two years, unread. Hope you love these men as much as I do. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ |
| The Sheiks Of Kumar - Part One The Crown Prince By CJ |
| Chapter 1 She was positive she hated him, whichever one he may be. The entourage of men with which he walked reinforced all the negative stereotypes she’d been harvesting since June when her family’s precious Villa Serena winery and estate had been sold to him. Of course, Tara Malone didn’t know which one he was. The seven or so men in the group were all dressed quite similarly. Half the men wore navy blue suits. The other half wore some form of traditional garb, the thoub, which consisted of a long white tunic shirt. Underneath, they sported dark suit pants. And they all wore white gutrahs upon their heads. Tara found it interesting how modern they appeared, even in their traditional thoub and gutrahs. Then again, these people were extremely well off. They more than likely had a very highly developed sense of style that most people with money instinctively developed. So it didn’t surprise her how easily they’d blended modern with traditional. But it still didn’t mean she liked them. She stood down by the stables, the stone building with the white stable house, and watched as the entourage moved purposefully around the large house. Villa Serena sat two hundred yards up a small rise and overlooked the vast acres of grapevines and the large stable building and paddocks. It was a grand estate and Tara felt a tear building in her eye as she again realized this was no longer her family property. Wiping the tear away, Tara pulled her eyes from the group of men and thought back on that June day, two months prior, when she’d lost both her father and her heritage. Walter Malone had always been such an easy-going, friendly man. But apparently that attitude had not served him well in his business dealings, for when he had passed away last June, he’d left Tara and her younger sister Jenny in bankruptcy. The details of the debt accumulated were a bit foggy to Tara. She wished now she’d paid more attention in her economics classes in college. She’d never been interested in business, though, merely horses, and that interest had not served her well when her father had died, leaving her in financial ruin. “You and your sister have virtually nothing left,” she remembered her lawyer, Gabe Bryant, telling her. “What?” Tara had asked, aghast. “How can that be? The winery was doing wonderfully, I thought.” “It was,” Gabe had told her. “Your father’s investments, however, weren’t so lucky. He had practically all of his winery profits invested in technology stocks. And there was recently a major drop in the stock market’s technology sector. He lost everything.” Tara had lamely shook her head then. Her father would not have done such a thing to her and her sister. He was too good a man to have managed his money so unwisely. Yet Gabe was a long time friend of the family and assisted in the estate management. He would certainly know what the financial situation was. “What are my options?” Tara had wondered. Gabe had thrown her a crooked boyish grin then and said, “You know the answer to that one. You could marry me.” Tara still laughed thinking about his proposal. Certainly Gabe was a handsome man—tall, lean, blonde. And he owned a very stable legal practice in the Napa Valley area, working with several of the richest wineries around. But the thought of marrying him left her less than excited. They shared little in common interests and though she saw him as a friend, she felt no desire. “I can’t marry you, Gabe,” she’d told him. “But seriously, what are my options.” He’d frowned then and moved to the window of his office. The Bryant Law Firm was located in the tiny town of Calistoga, California, not far from Tara’s estate and sat nestled away in an old Victorian house. The office was quaint, and it didn’t fit Gabe’s attitude of superiority. “You could always sell,” Gabe had then suggested. “Sell? Never.” “You don’t have much choice, Tara.” She still went cold thinking about the tone in his voice. It had been final. There were no other options, she was certain. It had been a long moment before she’d replied and asked feebly, “What will happen to Jenny and I? And my horses?” “I’ll see what I can work out. There’s lots of room on that estate. Let me see what I can swing for you.” He’d moved next to her then and took her hand in his. It had felt so cold to her, but thinking back on it now, she was positive it was just the shock that had overcome her, for she’d been able to feel nothing for the past two months since her heritage had been auctioned away. So two months later, Villa Serena had been sold. And the new owner, Sheik something or other, had purchased it. Tara had sold two expensive cars they’d owned outright and much of the furniture in order to make a nest egg to ensure Jenny’s education would be paid for through college. But aside from Jenny’s education, nothing else was secure and nothing else could be kept—not even her prize Arabian mare, Mystic. There was an up side, however. Gabe had been able to get her an agreement with the new owner allowing her to stay in the stable house and work at the stables for a wage. Mystic was also staying, at least for the time being, and she hoped she would be able to persuade the new owner to allow her to buy Mystic back—somehow. Now that she saw the arrogant, self-assured group of men, however, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to persuade the new man in town to let her buy back anything. “Look at them,” old Edgar Reynolds quipped as the group moved around from the pool area and started down the paved drive toward the stables. “Aren’t they a bunch of snotty looking fellows?” Tara shrugged and pulled on the loose ponytail keeping her brunette locks in place. She glanced around quickly for her sister, but failed to see her. Poor Jenny was taking father’s death and losing the house hard. The child felt uprooted and displaced. Tara understood exactly how she felt, she was experiencing the same emotions. Only now she was the adult. She had to provide for them. No longer could she waist her days dreaming about the world famous stables she’d wanted to build. Now she had to toil away making sure the sheik’s steeds were cared for. “They’re from the Middle East, right?” Edgar inquired. “Yes, United Arab Emirates,” Tara answered. “United what? Is that some sorta terrorist organization or something?” Tara shook her head. Old Edgar had been down fixing a patch of fence in the paddock and had decided to stay around to catch the arrival of the new resident of Villa Serena. He was Calistoga’s handyman, but hopefully not indicative of the attitude of its residents towards newcomers. “Don’t be absurd. It’s a country in the Middle East. It’s small and I think more modern. That’s about all I know,” Tara explained, wishing again that she’d been more diligent in her college studies. “So does that mean we’ll have a bunch of weird praying going on at sunrise and strange celebrations around here in the middle of the week?” Edgar asked. “I’m not sure,” but thinking more than likely not. Edgar was not the most politically correct of individuals and his fears would probably go unfounded. Edgar watched the approaching group. They were still far enough away not to be able to hear their conversation, yet close enough that one could see the outlines of their dark and almost elegant facial features. “Hey, didn’t we bomb their country a few years back?” Tara shook her head. She really hoped Edgar wasn’t the spokesman for Calistoga’s attitude. “No, Edgar. That was Iraq. UAE has lots of commerce and oil. They trade with us. Why on earth would we bomb them?” Edgar shrugged then and said, “Hell, I don’t know. All them foreign countries seem the same to me.” He gathered his toolbox and slapped Tara on the back. “Better you than me, missy. Catch you later.” Edgar had bowed out just in time, and Tara wanted to do the same. And she still couldn’t find Jenny anywhere. As she quickly looked around again, searching for the young teen, a lean, bearded man stood in front of her. His eyes glanced her over coolly and his bearded mouth pulled a frown. “Are you the stable hand?” he quickly asked in heavily accented English. “Yes,” she answered, hating the title the man had just briskly assigned to her. “I’m Tara Malone.” She held out her hand but the man ignored it. “I am Jamaal. I will be in charge of the stables. You will work for me. Understand?” Tara nodded and glanced the man over again. There was something aggressive in the way he stood and she wondered how he got along with the horses with such an air. He was one of the men who wore the traditional white thoub with the pants and Tara was certain that signaled a conservative Middle Eastern attitude. “Good. Now, before Sheik Nikash arrives, I will instruct you on some protocol. You do not address him unless he addresses you. You do not challenge him with words or looks. And most of all, do not trouble him with stable problems. I am the only one with the authority to do that. Remember, you are hired help and he is a sheik. Understand?” Tara gave a barely imperceptible nod, feeling as though she’d signed her rights away when she’d contracted to stay on. She held no ill feelings about the new culture she’d be experiencing on Villa Serena, but she did resent the attitude of the man in front of her as well as the new owner. For the sheik had bought her heritage and even if he turned out to be the most modern and generous of sheiks, she was certain she would always dislike him. Dislike? Hadn’t she hated him when she’d seen the entourage arrive in the black limousines? She had. But now that Jamaal the new stable master was in front of her, she was leaning towards hating him instead. Without further warning, the group of the remaining six men were in front of her. Jamaal stepped crisply aside and announced with a bit of melodrama, “Sheik Nikash Aarif bin Armanjani.” Having lost track of the name after the title “Sheik”, Tara began to look each man in the eye to see who was going to claim the introduction. Then she remembered Jamaal’s warnings about not challenging the new owner and she diverted her eyes and instead stared at six pairs of feet. A pair of expensive Italian dress shoes moved forward and a deep voice possessing a very light European sounding accent said, “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Malone.” Tara glanced up, but only focused her eyes on the man’s face for a moment. She caught dark, direct eyes and handsomely chiseled features. But she looked away so quickly it was difficult to determine to what degree “handsome” could be attached. She did catch, however, the outstretched hand the man offered, and she politely extended her own. She felt a little foolish for not having extended hers first. After all, she was working for him, it was proper for her to offer her hand first. Yet her experience with Jamaal just moments before left her feeling a bit hesitant about any of her actions. “Pleased to meet you, sir,” Tara mumbled placing her hand in his. The man’s hand was both firm and gentle and she balked for a moment as she shook hands. A bit of a current raced the length of her arm, and Tara glanced up at his face again with a shocked expression. He smiled cordially, and bowed his head slightly. Indeed, he was quite polished and, now that she’d chanced a second glance, extremely handsome. But those eyes of his kept her at bay. There was a hint of superiority there. Not only in his eyes, but also in his perfectly tailored blue suit and carriage. And the men around him hovered closely as though they feared that a slender five-foot, six-inch woman could harm their beloved six-foot tall sheik with a handshake. Tara felt the handshake continue as the man said, “I will be having my stallion, Raja, shipped here within the week. Jamaal knows of all the particulars. I would appreciate it if you could make Raja as comfortable as possible until I return.” She wanted to know more about his horse and would have liked to inquire about his travel, but she caught Jamaal out of the corner of her eye and remembered she was not supposed to address the new owner about stable business. He was more than likely only speaking to her now as a simple courtesy, letting the hired help meet and see the new man of the house. Or in his case, sheik of the palace. “Yes, sir,” Tara said quietly. Still holding her hand in what was surely too long of a handshake by American standards, the man said, “Very well then. I am satisfied my beloved Raja will be in sure hands.” Tara nodded, felt him release her hand and she took a small step back. She watched as Sheik Nikash bin whatever was swallowed up by his entourage again as they walked into the stables. Jamaal gave her a quick critique, then followed after. ** Nikash Aarif bin Armanjani, or Nik as he liked to be called, was enjoying the tour of his new estate. California’s Napa Valley was extremely rich and fertile and the large Spanish style house that was going to be his American home was quite lovely. He’d wanted to own a piece of America since he was a little boy. Something about the rugged, carefree attitude in this country appealed to him. Though he’d been afforded the best lofts in London, a chateau in the Alps and a villa on the French Riviera, none of that had satisfied him. In his dreams, he’d always seen himself somewhere on the vast open plains or amongst rolling greenery. All of that, America offered. It had taken until this point in his life to come to America. Certainly his family’s oil business had involved travel to America. But so much of his life had been spent in Europe that he really did not yet know the American culture intimately except for what he’d learned from books, American businessmen and Hollywood movies. At thirty-five years old, he suddenly felt like a child on a brand new adventure. He was pleased with the purchase of Villa Serena. Though he’d seen it only in pictures before buying and upon his lawyer’s advice, being on the property brought a sense of awe. The house was both elegant and immense, and the stables were certainly large enough to allow him to develop a high quality stock of Arabian horses. “And this is the mare that was sold with the property. She is of the finest quality America has to offer,” Jamaal said in his native Arabic tongue as he stopped in front of a box stall, interrupting Nik’s thoughts. A finely structured bay mare threw her head and sidestepped to the back of the stall when the group stopped. Nik noticed the healthy sheen of her coat and the cleanliness of the stall and was impressed with the care Ms. Malone had afforded the horse. “She is lovely. I am pleased,” Nik said in English. He preferred English because he was in America. And, because English was what he spoke ninety percent of the time in his business dealings. He’d been educated in England since he was a child and his native Arabic tongue sounded almost foreign to him at times. English often came easily for him and now that he was going to be living in America, he would speak it as often as possible. He held his hand out to the mare and spoke softly to her. The animal remained in the back of the stall, eyeing him with distrust. That look reminded him of the glint in the Malone woman’s eye. She’d averted her eyes constantly and refused to look directly at him. And when he’d shook her hand, she’d nearly jumped away. This mare was acting strangely the same way. “Perhaps in time, Mystic,” he said, seeing that the horse was not going to step a foot near him. He backed away from the stall. “What have we yet to see?” he asked the group of men who surrounded him. His younger brother Rafee, his uncle Laxman, his two personal assistants Devesh and Omar, and Jamaal all turned to Taj, the family lawyer who had made the Villa Serena purchase. He knew the layout of this land for he had traveled out here a month prior to see the estate first hand. With that casual air of his, Taj pointed to the end of the stable barn and said, “The winery is the last on the list.” Nik knew the winery was a good walk from the stables and as the group left the mare’s stall, he took one last look at the horse. She was no longer looking at him. Her ears were pricked toward the stall next to her and her eyes riveted on the partitioning wall. Moving to the next stall, Nik looked in and found an older, docile gray horse. It was standing at the back wall, tugging on its hay. Finding nothing of importance, Nik was about to turn away when his eye caught the human form in the near corner. He stuck his head over the door and looked down at the young girl. Brown hair lay about her shoulders and green eyes that matched those of Ms. Malone’s were puffy and red. Tears streaked her pretty face. “Hello,” Nik said. “Hi,” the girl returned. Then she sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “Are you all right?” he inquired. “Fine.” The girl pushed to her feet. “Nikash!” Rafee called from the stable entrance. Nik looked his way and said to his brother, “One moment. I’ll catch up.” Rafee turned away and Nik returned his eyes to the girl. “What are you doing in here?” Nik inquired, certain this was the younger sister he’d been told would be living in the stable house with Ms. Malone and assisting with the horses. “I’m not stealing the horses or anything,” she returned defensively. “I’m just having a really, really bad summer. It kinda sucks, you know.” He was lost on the teenage slang, but he understood the gist of the girl’s words and that she was unhappy. “Jenny!” Ms. Malone’s voice filtered into the barn. “Shoot! That’s my sister.” The girl ducked back behind the stall door and requested, “Don’t tell her I’m here. All right? I just wanna be alone for a while.” Seeing the distraught look on the girl’s face and figuring her request would not hurt anyone, Nik returned, “Certainly.” He moved away from the stall just as Ms. Malone’s form entered the barn. She was walking briskly until her eyes landed on him. Suddenly, she halted. “Excuse me, sir,” she said and began to turn around. “One moment, please,” Nik called to her and began walking in her direction. The woman halted, but it was with much tension that she obeyed his request. “I was just admiring the stock here,” he told her cordially. His tone didn’t help ease the tension in her body and she remained rigid, eyes diverted. “Yes. There are some fine animals here. I…” Tara was going to tell him that she’d picked them all herself. Their bloodlines were some of the finest in America. But she remembered Jamaal’s warning that all stable business went through him. And the fact that her entire livelihood was now in this man’s hands, she was not about to do or say anything that would jeopardize it. “You…what?” he asked. “Nothing, sir,” she said automatically. “Is there something I can help you with?” Tara then glanced around the stables and noticed the six other men were missing. She thought that strange and then she landed her eyes on the lone man. He suddenly looked so much less intimidating without his palace guards. Nik finally saw the woman’s eyes stray to him. For a moment, she didn’t seem quite so tense. Her finely structured features relaxed and her supple mouth almost pulled into a smile. American women intrigued him. They were a strange mix of female. They existed somewhere between independence and insecurity. He was positive that’s not how they would characterize themselves, but as a foreigner looking in, that’s how he perceived them. He wasn’t certain if he appreciated their attitudes or not. His home country was not exactly a conservative Arab country. Because of the oil trade, it had extensive contact with the western culture. That culture had infiltrated their traditions and he was positive that was one of the reasons why America drew him in. But his mother had been mostly traditional in her female role and he was still debating where his own opinion lay. What he was certain of, however, was the beauty of the American woman. So many cultures, so many exquisite features had melted into this society and American women seemed to exude all that was physically beautiful in the world. And this one standing before him now was no different. She was beautiful and refined. Yet there was a toughness to her attitude that kept him on his toes. “Actually, Ms. Malone, if you could show me to the winery, I would be most grateful,” Nik finally said. He’d lost his party and tour guide, Taj, and he was uncertain of the lengthy route. “It’s down the gravel drive that branches off the main drive. It’s almost a half-mile walk. If you follow the road you can’t miss it,” Tara explained as she threw a hand toward the open stable doors. The man in front of her frowned slightly, took a few steps in her direction, then said firmly, “Show me.” His dark gaze left no room for argument, neither did his tone. Tara was going to have to walk him there herself. She only hoped she could abide by the rules Jamaal had outlined for her while she escorted him to the winery building. “Of course,” she said stiffly, turning toward the door. She could see the sun begin to set behind Mt. Saint Helena and realized they had little time to get there before the night moved in. Tara was ready to bolt out the door, but her new boss was seemingly in no hurry. He stopped in the doorway, took a look back down the row of indoor stables, then glanced out at the paddocks and almost formed a smile on his lips. Then he turned his eyes down to her and held out his arm. “Please.” He gestured to his arm. Tara balked at the offer because touching a man who’s status was obviously so much higher than her own, a sheik even, felt incredibly wrong. “Is escorting a lady properly not an American custom?” he inquired when she failed to take his arm. “In polite society it is,” she answered. “Are we not in polite society now?” he countered. Tara thought about that for a moment. Though the man had been nothing but polite, she wondered if those relations would remain so as she continued to work for him. And the thought of the sheik escorting the stable keeper didn’t exactly register as “polite society” by any means. Sure, Tara had been raised with money. But her family had never flaunted it, nor traveled in exclusive circles. They’d merely been residents of small town Calistoga, California, living their everyday lives like everyone else. She understood nothing about polite society and felt completely out of place in this man’s company. Reminding herself she was now a pawn to the prince, she forced a smile, took his arm and walked toward the long, winding gravel drive. The road to the winery wove through the acres of grapevines. The smells of summer mingled with the smells of the vines and if Tara had been with any other escort, perhaps she would be able to enjoy the evening. But this man she disliked. He was overly confident, arrogant and…she halted her evil thoughts. This man had been none of that so far. Aside from his insistence to have her physically show him to the winery, he’d been polite and sophisticated. It had merely been that entrance she’d witnessed that had her thinking so. Seven men with confident strides could take any woman back. Even on her own turf. This wasn’t her own turf, she reminded herself. This was now Sheik whatever’s estate. “The land here is beautiful. I am very pleased,” her escort suddenly said. She noticed his English was so proper that he rarely even used contractions in his speech. And that was certainly an intriguing accent she continued to hear. She wanted to tell him so, but refrained. Nik felt her hand resting stiffly on his arm and the tension in her grip traveled over to his body. There was something about him that was creating a very uneasy atmosphere for this woman. He’d asked her to escort him to the winery only to assist the younger Malone in her request for privacy. But now he was finding that this walk would serve two purposes. Not only would the younger sister have time alone to work out her emotions, but he would also have an opportunity to hopefully discover the cause of stress for the woman on his arm. “I like it here,” she answered matter of factly. “I am sure I will too,” he said, then added, “But you do not want me here, do you?” Tara halted and felt her mouth go dry. If this man sensed that she disliked him living on her old estate, he could very easily terminate her employment and send her and Jenny on their way. “Excuse me, sir?” Tara asked in a weak voice. “I would hope I have not said anything that would give you that impression.” “No. You have not said anything. But I sense it none-the-less,” he explained. He studied her face for a moment and watched as she shuttered her green eyes away from him. There was such a purely American look about her. She was the type of woman who graced the covers of American magazines and Nik was finding that she was more attractive each time he looked at her. He was also finding, however, that she apparently disliked him. Those dark, unapproachable eyes searched her face and Tara knew there was another question coming. This man was direct and bold and he was going to find a way to read her. “Are you uncomfortable with my race? My culture?” he asked outright. Immediately Tara shook her head and answered, “Not at all, sir. I know very little about either, but I certainly don’t judge people according to race and culture. I assure you I hold no negative feelings about where you come from. In fact, I’m very interested in learning about your culture.” Nik heard the honesty in her voice and nodded his head. No, she was not frightened away by his culture or ethnicity, only by him. “Then I will assume I am imagining your distress,” he said as they started walking again. The man was leading a slow, leisurely pace. She thought it odd that she was walking her property on the arm of a sheik and before she could halt her question, her curiosity popped out of her mouth. “What are you a sheik of, exactly? I mean, what does your title mean?” He laughed at her question and she was taken back by the warmth of his humor. For a moment, after she’d asked her question, she imaged him telling her she was not to ask anything of him, like Jamaal had warned. But he seemed amused by her question and said, “It is a family title. My father is the Sheik of Kumar and I will one day inherit his title. The United Arab Emirates was once eight separate kingdoms. Kumar is one of those former kingdoms and is now a municipality within UAE. At one time, many years ago, the Armanjanis were the sole rulers of Kumar.” Finding both his easy delivery and the history fascinating, Tara questioned, “And now? What position does your family title hold?” “Its mostly just that—a title. We hold little political power any longer other than advisory duties. In Kumar, we have special symbolic importance, but not the same ruling power we once had.” He was downplaying the history attached to his family name and position. True, the Armanjanis held only little political positions any longer, but they did hold cultural and economic power. Their oil business was huge and their native people respected their positions in Kumar, especially the position of his father, Sheik Aarif Mohammed bin Armanjani. And though Nik was the crown prince of Kumar he had learned a long time ago that in America, royalty did not exist. What counted in this country was capital and anyone could possess capital. A person could be a street beggar one day, win the lottery, and be important the next. Family history did not count in this country, therefore, his title would not count in this country either. The sheik’s words and tone attempted to downplay his title, but Tara could read in the way he walked, dressed and looked at people that he had indeed been raised in a special world. One of those worlds reserved for the precious few who’s blood ran blue. “Your heritage sounds quite interesting, sir,” Tara said when he was through. “And I see that my story has eased some of your tension.” She felt him place his free hand upon hers for a moment and any tension that had subsided came rushing back. His touch did a strange thing to her, she realized and she was positive that the feeling of electric shock she experienced was only due to the fact that she didn’t know this man. She knew Gabe Bryant quite well, and whenever his hand touched her, she never jumped, never felt shock. Once she got used to this man being on Villa Serena, she was positive the touch of his hand would no longer assault her senses so. Nik felt her tense at the touch of his hand and he quickly released her hand. She may have enjoyed his story, but there was still tension in the air. He wanted to find the root of her apprehension but realized Americans were sometimes evasive. Directness could cause them to shut down and he figured he had a good long time to discover what it was about him that caused Ms. Malone to shy away. He would learn to be patient. Tara was glad he had put his free hand back to his side and that they were once again strolling in a direct course for the winery. The sun was now almost gone and its dying rays cast long shadows on the gravel road. Tara glanced around nervously at the dimming eve. As much as she loved this land, the night amongst the vines brought back old childhood fears. She was a grown adult and on her own now with a thirteen-year-old sister to care for, yet night out on the land always gave her a shiver. It was more than likely all those ghost stories her mother had enjoyed telling her as a child. They stuck with a person and she realized she had not ventured out into the vines at night in several years. She gripped her boss’s arm a bit tighter and stepped a few inches closer as they walked. It was almost dark now and the lights of the winery loomed a good three hundred yards in the distance. They still had a few more minutes of walking to reach their destination. A high pitched cry issued in the night and though Tara knew it was only a coyote, she still overreacted. Quickly, she grabbed the sheik’s arm with both hands and accidentally bumped against him. The fabric of his suit was of the finest quality and his body felt completely solid. She sucked in a quick breath and looked up at his face with startled eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said, catching herself and beginning to move back to the acceptable distance for an escort. But the sheik wouldn’t allow her to step away. He placed his free hand again upon her hands as they clutched his arm and asked, “Is the cry of the jackal alarming to you?” “Coyote,” she corrected, “and yes, it startles me. I don’t like being out in the vines at night.” Nik would have laughed again for his assessment of American women was right on. Independence and insecurity. Only moments before, Ms. Malone had stubbornly been refusing escort and now she feared the call of a harmless dog. No wonder so many of the American businessmen he’d dealt with over the years had professed that their women were confusing. “Why is that? Is there something about this land at night that I should know about?” he inquired. They were finally walking again and Tara was still clutching his arm and his hand was still touching hers. Apparently the sheik had no discomfort with the hired help touching him for he had not asked her to let go and was actually touching her further. “No,” she said with a small laugh, thinking her fears childish. “Its just one of those childhood fears. You know, like the boogie man under your bed.” He frowned at her and his dark brows knitted together in confusion over her words. Tara laughed again, forgetting that she was supposed to be hating this man and explained, “Like ghosts, monsters. All those horrible imaginary things we think up as children. My mother used to tell me silly ghost stories about make-believe spirits that lived in the vines at night. I know they’re not real, but those things just kind of stick with a person. Even as an adult.” He’d smiled easily at her for a short moment and Tara found she liked the sexy quality his lips held in that expression. “Then if its childhood legends we are discussing, let me dispel yours by saying that my family’s royal symbol is the lion. I was told at a very young age that we are the guardians of the desert and no evil may come to our land or our people because the lion protects us. So, you see, you are perfectly safe here with me.” At his soothing and enchanting words, another childhood story came to Tara’s mind—that of Prince Charming. Or in this instance, Sheik Charming. Without realizing it, she halted her stride and turned to look at him. The moonlight was playing evil tricks on her for she was finding him to be the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes upon. His features were so exquisite and his full, kissable lips were framed by a fashionable mustache and goatee. And his eyes…for the first time, they weren’t holding her at bay. They were liquid pools in the night light beckoning to her like a desert oasis. “You know what, Sheik Armanjani, right now, I actually believe that,” she said breathlessly. Nik was taken back by the softening of Ms. Malone’s face. He’d obviously said something to charm her into his good graces and he sensed it was his family fables that had lured her to his side. She seemed to have a penchant for family stories and history and he thought he might enjoy telling her all about his. But for the time being, he didn’t feel much like talking. Taking her hand in his, he pulled it toward him and she easily allowed him free maneuver. Placing a chaste kiss upon her hand, he whispered, “Its true, Ms. Malone.” She smiled up at him and said, “Its Tara. My name.” “Tara,” he repeated and she liked the accent he used to draw out the vowels and roll the r. He kissed her hand again and the sensual feel of his lips and the soft brush of his facial hair on her hand made her wonder briefly how it would feel upon her mouth. “Uh, sir…” she began, wanting to find out what his intentions where. A sudden shift had occurred with the setting of the sun and though it had only been twenty minutes since she’d met the sheik, she was starting to feel too comfortable. “Nikash,” he corrected. “Sheik Nikash. We use the first name with our title, like Queen Elizabeth. But I prefer just my first name minus the title.” When she wrinkled her fine brow in confusion over his name, he said, “Nik. Call me Nik.” “Nik,” she said quietly. “Is kissing a woman’s hand like this a custom in your country?” She hoped it was, because then she could ignore the goose flesh that was creeping up her arm with the sweet pleasure. For if it was simply a custom, then she’d have no cause to feel such a sensation. His eyes flashed with mischief for a moment as he shook his head in the negative. He kissed her hand for the third time and she felt his warm breath dance off her skin and his thumb move in a caress over her hand. She shivered and almost gasped out loud from the strange and utterly foreign sensations coursing through her body. No kiss on the hand had ever reeked such havoc upon her before. Then he moved the back of her hand across his lips in a very slow, enticing act, touching the tip of his tongue to her skin ever so slightly and she did gasp from the utter desire that jumped through her nervous system. Nik was pleased with the reaction. Tara was a perfect sight in the moonlight, dressed in her faded denim and simple cotton T-shirt. When they had started the walk to the winery, he never would have guessed he’d want to touch this woman the way he was now. But the reflection of starlight in her eyes and the wild flower smell of her skin prompted him to act more aggressive than he would have imagined being with an employee of his estate. “I believe,” he finally said, her hand very close to his mouth, “this is custom in France. I have traveled extensively and I know the ways of many cultures.” His eyes locked onto hers and he asked boldly, “Shall I stop?” Tara had gone from hating the man to wanting him in a matter of one walk to the winery. She was about to shake her head no, about to give in to the exotic sensuality he was exuding, when a call from the winery caused them both to start. She heard his name and loud words spoken in Arabic. He answered and when he returned his eyes to her, they were again distant and beyond reproach. “We must proceed,” he said simply, replacing her hand on his arm and moving forward. Then he added with humor, “Or they may start to think you have kidnapped me for ransom.” She’d surely kidnapped his heart, he was positive. That was an interesting statement, and Tara heard herself inquiring, “Is that a real danger?” “In some parts of the world, my family’s name and business can bring large rewards. There are always threats and that is why I have associates that travel with me.” Tara felt a cold streak run the length of her spine as she imagined Villa Serena being turned into an armed compound to protect the sheik. Nik must have felt the tension creep through her body for he patted her hand reassuringly and said, “That is not a danger in America. People do not care about sheiks or Kumar over here. And remember the lion. Villa Serena is protected.” She found his words intriguing and realized how different a lifestyle he lived. She also thought his words about Villa Serena being protected ironic for when her father died, there had been no lion to protect her. And now she was at that lion’s mercy, despite the reassurance from the man beside her that they were safe. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The Crown Prince - Chapter 2 |