Zahkim Sheikhs Series: The Complete Series Read online

  "That was more than a good fuck…that was a great fuck."

  She got back a hum that could mean anything from agreement to disagreement, but right now she didn't care. He'd given her exactly what she'd wanted—he'd made her feel fully alive. She could sleep now and not dream of planes crashing. She'd dream of him instead.

  And when the morning came—well, she'd deal with that then.

  Chapter Five

  Tarek stirred sugar into his morning coffee. Last night had been a mistake.

  He had let his desire for Tess override his common sense. She had urged him to give into his instincts, and he had. He could kick himself for that now.

  He was a rational man. He was not a man who lost control and fucked a guest in his palace as if she was his personal toy. That should not have happened, and it would not happen again. No, Tess Angel could stay at the palace as his honored guest. He, in turn, would make certain he kept his distance, his mind sane and his cock could stay in his pants. He would ignore his body’s insistence that possessing her had been the best idea ever.

  However, he could not ignore his grandmother, who disconcertingly sat across the breakfast table from him. She had been discussing a feast in Tess's honor, and those plans needed to be derailed.

  He waited for her to run out of steam and then said, "My first priority this morning is to ensure Zahkim's communications continue to operate smoothly. The military has been put in charge and there will be no outage of the Internet or mobile phones." He smiled. "I'm certain you do not intend to hamper my ability to see to my duties today with this scheme of yours."

  Amal's mouth flattened. She had finished her breakfast of fruit and now placed her cutlery across the plate. They always breakfasted together in the small dining room off the central gardens. He thought of it as pretending to be a normal person for an hour, before he had to face the reality of his position.

  Fixing her stare on him, she stated, "You cannot be in meetings all day. You have a guest to see to."

  Tarek put his gaze on his coffee. He did not want to think of Tess. After he'd left her asleep, he had done nothing but think of her, and then he had dreamed about how those long, luscious legs had felt wrapped around him while he…

  His spoon clattered against the china saucer. "Tess has the palace at her beck and call. She will also have her own business to attend to."

  The old woman huffed out a breath. "That is not enough. In my day, a man knew—"

  "This isn't your day. It is mine."

  "So you mean to be a monster who calls out the military for no reason? That will not endear you to the people."

  "Perhaps not, but having access to emergency services and keeping businesses open so this country can continue to run will. And now, Grandmother, I must start my day."

  "You would do better to start it by courting your fate. You cannot escape what is meant to be." He shook his head. She stood and faced him. "Believe what you like, and I'll believe my feelings about this. We'll see who's right, my modern grandson."

  She stalked out, leaving Tarek to his ritual second cup of coffee. He studied the gold-rimmed cup and saucer, the silver spoon, and wondered what Tess would think of last night. Should he at least stop by her room to ensure she still considered it to be no more than sex? Had she thought of him this morning? And what did she think of Zahkim?

  She had stared out the window of his car the night before, her eyes wide as they drove through the city. The campfires and crowd in the park had drawn her gaze, of course.

  He hadn't felt like explaining the strikes and protests—over wages, women’s rights, and his efforts to modernize Zahkim. To some, he was a devil for tearing down the old. To others, he was a relic of the past for not moving fast enough to bring change. He could please no one, it seemed. Not even his grandmother. Well, at least he had not failed Tess Angel last night.

  He smiled at the memory of her. If the palace still had a harem, would he have installed Tess there?

  He shivered at the thought, spilling his coffee. Dabbing at his trousers with a napkin, he wondered where that idea had come from. He did not wish for a wife. He had no time for such luxury now. Eventually, yes, he would marry to ensure a son to inherit, but now he thought of Tess in his harem and grew hard. The palace did have a wing once used for the sheikh's harem, but his father had converted it to a swimming pool and garden. Perhaps he would show it to her. But that would be all. Last night would not be repeated.

  "Do I smell coffee?"

  Tess's low, husky voice brought him back to the present. He looked up to see her standing in the doorway. She wore one of the outfits placed in her room for her use, loose trousers and a long tunic, all in turquoise and beaded with silver. Silver sandals glinted on her feet. Her green eyes seemed brighter, and her hair glinted a deep red in the morning sun.

  She smoothed her hand down the length of the tunic. "Thanks for the clothes. Am I wearing them properly?"

  They've never looked more perfect. "Please join me. Would you like some breakfast?" He poured coffee for her into the spare place setting—extras were always set in case any of his cousins cared to join him.

  She sat next to him and pushed her fingers through her hair. "That smells great. And whatever you're having is fine. Should I have my hair covered?"

  Not on your life. "In Zahkim, we leave that to personal preference. How do you feel this morning?" He'd already had a report from the maid assigned to her that after he had left Tess, she had slept without trouble.

  "Much better, thank you." She smiled and helped herself to the fruit set out on the table. Flatbread, goat cheese, za'atar spice, and fig jam also could be had. She took some of each as if she ate them every day.

  Tarek couldn't take his eyes off her. She seemed…unconcerned about last night. As if it really had meant nothing to her. Well, that was good. He kept telling himself that. And kept watching her.

  Every motion was fluid. Her hands fluttered, the long fingers elegant and almost dancing as she spread the jam over her bread. Despite his grandmother's belief, he still wouldn't call her an angel. She had nothing of Heaven about her and everything earthy. She was like some desert creation, her hair burnished by the sun. She certainly had burned last night in his arms.

  Stop it—she’s not for you. It’s completely irrational.

  He cleared his throat. "I've assigned a car and driver to you. Please feel free to visit your pilot at the hospital. When you feel able, you might find our art and history museum interesting and a section of the Amin oasis is a public nature park. I fear I will be too busy to escort you anywhere." He almost winced. He sounded petty and ungracious.

  "Thank you. What about the communications problem your grandmother mentioned?"

  "Do not let it trouble you." Lifting a hand, Tarek snapped his fingers. At once, a servant appeared with two cardboard boxes.

  Tess's eyebrows rose, but she took the boxes and opened the smaller one. A broad smile lit her face. "My phone? It survived."

  "It only got a little wet yesterday. It has been dried out and recharged for you. Your computer was destroyed in the crash, but the hard drive was still intact. My people transferred your files onto this laptop."

  "Tarek, you're a miracle worker!" She paused and fingered the phone, flipping it over and over on the table. "Sorry I ever doubted you. Uh, about last night. I meant what I said. It was last night and doesn't have to be more than that."

  He nodded. "Perfectly understandable. You've landed, so to speak, in a difficult situation. I’m glad I was able to help." He told himself he meant the electronics.

  Whispering from the doorway interrupted them and Tarek looked up to see his minister of labor speaking in a hushed but harried tone with yet another minister. Both men hovered outside the breakfast room. They knew Tarek was not to be interrupted until after his second cup of coffee. Tarek pushed out a breath and stood.

  "Excuse me. Duty calls."

  Tess tried not to listen in on Tarek's heated conversation with
the men in the doorway. She didn't understand any of the language, but the gestures and the tones were unmistakable. Something had gone wrong. Badly. She'd been in Hollywood long enough to know when a deal was going south.

  She also overheard Tarek mutter in English, "I need a hostage negotiator." And then he and the men headed off. It wasn't anything to do with her, but it bugged her. She owed the sheikh big time, not only for her rescue, Phil's care, and her own, but now for new equipment.

  And for last night, which had been amazing.

  She made a couple of calls, opened the laptop, and got a few emails out. Riya was more than upset about both the accident and the fact that Tess wouldn't be able to meet up with her and the other executives of Sharma Entertainment. Tess could hear the stress in Riya's voice and knew the woman needed investment or her company was going under. But Tess couldn't leave Phil, and he took priority. She hung up and sat sipping her cold coffee and thinking about her situation.

  What now? Go back to her room? That didn't hold any interest. A servant hovered nearby—one always seemed to be around—and Tess asked if the laptop could be taken to her room. She pocketed her phone and started to wander.

  The palace wasn’t that much of a maze. One side seemed residential, and she was going to guess the other was for government business. A large and lush garden, scented by jasmine and other flowers she couldn't begin to name, took up the center of the structures. She headed into it. Trees and awnings shaded the plants, and a fountain splashed merrily in the center. She was amazed at the amount of gilding, the number of columns and arches, the thickness of the rugs scattered inside the rooms and halls like they were nothing. She was used to luxury and wealth, but nothing in Hollywood could compare to this place.

  Shouting drew her to the east side of the building. She couldn't resist. She crossed the garden and stopped outside open French doors.

  Inside what looked like a conference room, Tarek stood with his arms crossed. The two men she'd seen with him—both in Western ties and suits but also headscarves held on by black ropes of some kind—stood across from him. Four more men sat in the room, arms crossed, three of them in very traditional Arabic robes and one in a rumpled suit. No one looked happy.

  Tess didn't want to eavesdrop, but she couldn't look away. Tarek looked every inch a king right now, his back straight and stiff, his chin high, his eyes narrowed as he looked down that hawk nose of his. He'd worn a dark suit today but didn't have on a tie, just a white shirt, open at the neck. She didn't see how the other guys could do anything but follow where he led.

  He spoke in careful, stiff English, his voice deceptively quiet. "I do not see how anything will be accomplished at this volume."

  The six men around the conference table all started talking again, voices started going up, and one man began jabbing his finger at another. With a single slice of his hand, Tarek silenced them. He pointed to the man in the rumpled suit. "You will speak first. And we will all use English instead of the five dialects of Zahkim. I will not have anyone say they could not understand what was being said."

  "Majesty, you have heard the workers’ demands. They are just and fair. Wages must rise and work hours shorten."

  One of the men in traditional dress snorted, said something in Arabic, and added in English, "Impossible. You would bankrupt the country."

  The man standing next to Sheikh Tarek shook his head. "Nothing is impossible for the Sheikh of Zahkim. We must strive to please His Highness."

  Tess couldn't contain a tiny snort. The boot-licking ran strong here.

  Tarek arched an eyebrow and glanced around the room. "The strikes must end. Transportation must resume. The protests must end. How do we do this without setting the military upon the people?"

  No one spoke. Finally, one of the men standing next to the sheikh cleared his throat. "I think if we had someone to mediate, someone who is not on either side."

  Tarek nodded. "Anything else?"

  Again, no one answered. Tarek gave a low growl and strode out to the garden, one hand dragging through his short hair. Tess tried to get out of his way and ended up starting to trip. Tarek looked up and grabbed her by the arms. She stood there, caught by him, her heart pounding almost as hard as it had last night. He stared at her, his eyes darkened by pupils blown wide. At last, he put her away from him and back on her feet. He strode toward the fountain, and she followed.

  "Sorry—I didn't mean to—"

  "Overhear a bunch of idiots?" He threw his hands wide. "I govern a country that is torn between the past and a future no one seems to really want."

  She stopped beside him. "This is none of my business, and tell me to go jump off a cliff if you want, but I've dealt with more than a few pricks in Hollywood, and even worse business dicks elsewhere. Why not go looking for some common ground—something they all believe in?"

  He turned to stare at her. "One night with me and you think to tell me how to run my country? You have all the solutions?"

  Tess fisted one hand and hung onto her temper. "No. I hate to see you losing your cool, that's all. And…that guy in there said it. Maybe you need an outsider’s eyes on this."

  He stared at her, eyes slightly narrowed. Her mouth dried. Had she put her foot in it? Butted in where she wasn’t remotely wanted? Her dad had always told her she was too impulsive but Tarek's shoulders relaxed slightly. Tess's mouth started without her.

  "Perhaps if they faced a challenge together? Maybe they could be abducted by aliens and have to work as a unit to escape." She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and waved a hand. She'd heard worse pitches before, but not many.

  Tarek's mouth twitched. She swore she saw a smile curving his lips before he ran his hand over his mouth and down his beard. Her heart hopped to an uneven beat, and she couldn't stop staring at his mouth and beard and thinking about how they had felt on her last night. Lord, she wanted to stroke that beard and feel his mouth on hers again, but it had been one night. She had no right to ask for more, not when she had another life elsewhere and he was the leader of his country.

  Leaning close, he asked, "Where do you suggest we find the space invaders?"

  "Oh, I think maybe a woman would be alien enough for that crowd," she muttered.

  He shook his head. "I have a difficult time getting all those men in the same room. Add a foreign woman? Anyone but Sheikha Amal would be impossible."

  She propped a hand on her hip. "Aren't you sheikh? Ruler and all that? Tell them they have to speak to me, and I will guarantee you I'll get a deal done."

  He raised his eyebrows, and she couldn’t quite read the expression. "You are inserting yourself into my country's business. Into matters that do not truly concern you, and into a conversation you may not actually wish to have or enjoy."

  Men. She'd been dealing with them since she was a teenager, sitting in on her father's arguments with his record label executives. Crossing her arms, she asked, "Are some of those guys the reason the airport is shut down?"

  "And much of the rest of the country, yes."

  "Well, then, it does concern me, since I'm the one wanting to use that airport sometime soon. Let me help. I've got a name, if nothing else—the words ‘Tess Angel’ open a lot of doors. Yes, they'll want to pat me on the head and flirt with me, but if nothing else, I'll have them thinking they need to impress me by getting a deal done."

  Tarek had frowned when she mentioned flirting. "I have been trying to get this strike settled for weeks. Why will you have such sudden success?"

  "My womanly wiles." She grinned. "Actually, guys hate looking like a fool in front of a woman. Introduce me. Tell them I'm worth listening to. I'll do the rest. What do you have to lose?"

  He studied her. "Very well. You can be my alien invasion. Just don't promise anything I cannot deliver. Believe it or not, they are all my employees, since the government runs almost everything."

  "Well, that's a problem right there," Tess said.

  Tarek shot her a sideways look but headed back to the con
ference room. She walked a half-step behind. The men stood and bowed to Tarek and then glanced at her.

  With a smile, Tarek waved to Tess. "Consider yourselves abducted by Tess Angel for the next few hours. You will pay her every respect you would give to me. Get something done." He glanced once around the room, then strode out.

  Tess stared at the wary, angry, and sullen men. She sat, gave them each a smile and thickened her drawl. "Well, now, you know I'm Tess—recording artist and head of Angel Productions. I'd be happy to sign a few autographs if you've got daughters who are fans of mine." A couple of men swapped looks, and Tess knew she'd gotten a toehold. "Let's clear the air and start off with you telling me the one thing you want most in the world. Besides world peace and maybe a pay raise…or for Tarek to not come in here and start glaring at all of us again."

  Two hours later, Tess had discovered they all wanted the same basic thing—a country where their children had a future. Workers needed wages high enough to support a family, opportunities for their sons and daughters, and a voice in government. Ministers needed a strong economy, full coffers that could support new infrastructure, and a balance of modernity and traditional values. It all seemed basic enough. The trouble came in how to get all those things at one time.

  Tess went with her instincts.

  These guys were trying not to lose face. She got that. If one looked weak, he'd figure on being out of a job soon. That meant no one wanted to give up anything. She started off slow with them, telling them how things got done back home. Soon enough, she was the enemy—she was the American, and they were having to put things down on paper to show her how much better Zahkim was at doing things. She didn't have to act impressed—she was. These men could work together. They only needed to think they had to outdo the pushy American who thought she knew better. Soon enough, they were slapping each other on the back.