Sheikhs of Hamari: The Complete Series Page 7

  Or on the sofa.

  Bed, sofa, it didn’t matter.

  She had to focus.

  “By being active?” Mr. Medhi looked at her with a certain knowing attitude. Nobody knew what had happened last night, but Hannah still felt like the man could see right into her soul.

  Hannah put on a professional smile, as if she were standing in front of the elementary school, waiting for the first bus to arrive. “The discussion format is good, but if he sits too long…”

  As if to prove her point, Ryan swung his legs back and forth, toes brushing the floor. “What are we doing today, Mr. Medhi?”

  “First, I’m going to talk to your mother,” Mr. Medhi told him, then turned his attention back to Hannah. “What is your suggestion, Miss Fisher?”

  “Getting outside the palace walls.” Hannah didn’t hesitate. This was her moment, and she was going to seize it. If last night had taught her anything, it was that too much patience was not a virtue. She could have been patient. She could have followed all the royal rules and protocol.

  She could have. She didn’t.

  “Ryan could learn many of these skills in public places. He’d be out more, that’s true, but he’d learn faster. Today, for example…” She searched her memory for what they’d been working on the day before. “Hamari’s currency. If we could take him somewhere he’d actually use it, I’m sure he’d get the hang of it by afternoon.”

  Mr. Medhi raised his eyebrows. “Has the sheikh agreed to this strategy?”

  Hannah hedged. “His main concern is getting Ryan ready in time for the crowning ceremony, so whatever we can do to speed up his progress would be good for everyone. Including Ryan.”

  “There’s an outdoor market not far from the palace,” Mr. Medhi mused. “Ryan? Would you like to work outside today?”

  “Yes!” Ryan jumped to his feet, pumping both fists in the air. Then he remembered where he was. “I mean, yes, Mr. Medhi. Yes, I would really like to work outside.”

  “Then let’s go. Before the morning escapes us.”

  Victory! She took Ryan’s hand, and they walked out with Mr. Medhi into the morning sun, the bewildered guards following close behind.

  12

  No one was in the sitting room.

  Chakir was late—Kishon had pulled him into an early meeting about the crowning ceremony—but not so late that Ryan’s daily session would be over.

  Guilt curled in his gut. Perhaps he should have sent a note.

  Perhaps he should have woken up earlier and gone back to Hannah’s room. He wanted to talk to her about the night before. He wanted…

  Oh, he wanted to do a lot more than talk about it.

  But that’s where he planned to start.

  Chakir paced the length of the sitting room. On his second trip across, he saw the flicker of a hemline go by in the hall outside. He was at the door in several long strides.

  “Ms. Shadha.” The elegant woman stopped in mid-stride and came back.

  “Sheikh Chakir.” Her eyebrows lifted. “I thought you’d gone with them.”

  “Go with who? Where?”

  “Miss Fisher, Ryan, and Mr. Medhi. They said they were going to the market, to help Ryan practice with our currency. I’m sorry—I assumed you were meeting them there.”

  Chakir didn’t have time to explain why he hadn’t gone on an outing he hadn’t been invited to—or approved—because at that moment Hannah and Ryan turned the corner into the hall, followed closely by Mr. Medhi.

  “You did such a great job, Ryan.” Hannah’s voice filled the entire hallway. “All your greetings were top notch. Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Medhi?”

  “I would agree,” Mr. Medhi said. They were all in high spirits.

  Chakir’s emotions multiplied with every beat of his heart. First—envy, that he hadn’t gone on the outing. Second—anger, that they’d gone without his permission. And third—need. Pure, unadulterated need.

  He needed more of Hannah. He liked the way she teased him, the way she tipped her head back and laughed at him, the way she leaned against him like they were just two normal people, without all the strictures of royal life to keep them wrapped in formalities.

  “Sheikh Chakir!” Ryan ran up to Chakir, slowing at the last possible moment. “Look. I bought this at the market.” He held up a tiny figurine to Chakir. It was a small metal bird with a crank at the top. “The wings work.”

  Hannah and Mr. Medhi caught up. “And he paid for it himself. With all the correct denominations.”

  “The correct amount of money, the correct greetings, everything in order,” agreed Mr. Medhi. “He did very well. You were right to send us out, Sheikh Chakir.”

  Oh, it got under his skin, hearing that from Mr. Medhi. Impressed as he was to hear that Ryan had done a good job, he knew instantly that someone among them had gone behind his back. He met Hannah’s eyes. She was biting her lip. He wanted that privilege.

  “Ryan, let’s move to the sitting room,” said Mr. Medhi. “I’ll send for some food. You must be hungry.”

  “I’m so hungry,” said Ryan, following Mr. Medhi.

  Chakir saw mischief in Hannah’s captivating green eyes. “I’m sorry, Sheikh Chakir,” she said. “I should have asked.”

  He scoffed, the hairs on the back of his neck rising at her sultry tone. “I don’t believe for an instant that you’re really sorry. You’re the type to beg forgiveness, aren’t you?”

  “If it means I don’t have to ask permission,” Hannah said.

  He stepped closer. “It was a very unconventional idea. Tutoring sessions should remain safe within palace grounds.”

  “But it worked,” she murmured.

  “Yes. Unconventional, but good.”

  She looked up at him through her lashes. “What other unconventional ideas do you have?” Hannah cocked her head to the side. “More ideas like you had last night?”

  He might burst into flames. He didn’t so much as look around them before he tugged her close, hand at her waist. Hannah sucked in a sharp breath. “Come with me.”

  One corner and one narrow hallway later, he led Hannah into a smaller sitting room and kicked the door shut behind them. She pounced immediately, pressing him backward into that door.

  “Be careful,” he warned as she planted a row of kisses up the side of his neck, ending with a nip at his earlobe that gave him a series of full-body shivers. “The door doesn’t lock.”

  Hannah’s eyes flew open wide. “It doesn’t?”

  “You’ll have to take a chance. And we only have a few minutes.”

  “Consider the chance taken.”

  Then her mouth was on his, sweet and soft and wanting, and Chakir didn’t care about any traditions at all. He only cared about her—this wild, American beauty who saw all his rules and strictures as challenges. It made him hot. It made him an inferno. And the door with the broken lock gave him a rush of adrenaline that made everything sharper and clearer.

  He wanted her up against that door.

  Panties, his belt, his pants—one after the other, and then he lifted her knee and stroked between her legs. She was wet, ready, and she tipped her head back and moaned as he worked a thumb over her clit.

  It was nothing to lift her to him when she trembled over his fingers, nothing to press her back against that door, nothing to sink into her soft slickness. Hannah’s arms over his shoulders weighted him to the ground, but thrusting into her like this—hard and powerful, because he felt her strength and he knew she could handle it—had his heart racing into the sky. The clean, soft scent of her skin worked its way into his mind along with the sounds she made in the back of her throat, and he was entranced.

  His own release brought him thundering back to Earth.

  Back to Hannah’s green eyes.

  Back to her panting breath, a wide smile on her face.

  She pushed him away from the door and followed, staying close to him, his shirt clenched in her grip. Hannah kissed him one more time, a knockout
sweetness that he wanted to remember forever.

  “Oh, Chakir,” she said against his lips. “I’m so glad we came here.”

  “To the sitting room? Me too.”

  “To Hamari.” Her eyes met his, suddenly serious. “I think I’m a little in love with…this place.”

  “And I think…” he said slowly, “this place is a little in love with you.”

  13

  “Our meeting has been postponed.” Kishon looked up from his desk, faint worry lines etched in his forehead. “The elders have requested a meeting with you.”

  All the things Chakir had on his mind vanished into clean, empty space. His plan for the day did not include meeting with the tribal elders, a council that had a great deal of influence over Kishon in his position as king. The six men who sat on the council were a bridge back to a time when things had been less complicated. Chakir’s mouth went dry. They’d never had cause to summon him for anything. He’d only sat with them for official meetings, usually run by Kishon.

  “With me personally?”

  “Yes, Chakir, with you personally. They’re already waiting.”

  Chakir’s stomach turned over. He battled between irritation at being summoned like this and a creeping dread that he’d done something terribly wrong without realizing it. “What is it about, then?”

  “They didn’t say.” Kishon picked up a pen and scrawled his signature on a document in front of him. “Concerns about traditions in the palace. Perhaps they want you to take the lead on…I don’t know, Chakir, something involving one of our customs. All I know is that they didn’t wish to meet with me, or I’d be there already.”

  “I’ll see what they want.”

  “Yes, you will,” Kishon said absently, Chakir’s cue to leave.

  The elders met in a room just off the throne room. The palace still did have a throne, though Kishon only used it for ceremonial purposes and photoshoots. Still, Chakir felt the weight of all its history when he passed through to the council room. As promised, the six members were waiting for him. They stood up as he entered the room.

  “Good morning, Sheikh Chakir.”

  It was supposed to have been a good morning. His…encounter with Hannah in the sitting room had been the first of many over the last week. He’d felt the aftershocks of that pleasure for the rest of that day, and he’d found more convenient rooms—with doors that locked—and stolen moments, between outings with Ryan or after bedtime, to indulge their passion. And what she’d said…

  He’d already decided which part of the palace to explore with her today. But it seemed he would have to postpone their pleasure.

  “Good morning. Be seated.” He took his own seat at the big round table and tried to swallow the feeling that he was being hauled in front of the headmaster. His rubbed slick palms discreetly against his pants. In all his years in school, Chakir had never earned a formal reprimand. Even informal reprimands had been few and far between. Whatever this was, he had no interest in dragging it out. “King Kishon tells me you wished to speak with me.”

  “Yes.” The leader of the group, a man named Qamar, meted out the word slowly enough to make Chakir’s skin crawl. “We’ve been concerned with your recent behavior.”

  “More than concerned,” one of the other members cut in. “Displeased.”

  Qamar held up a hand. “Displeased,” he repeated, looking Chakir in the eye.

  There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. Had they been discovered? Chakir forced a long, steady breath. “Displeased with what behavior in particular? I’ve only been carrying out my duties as requested by my brother.”

  “Word has reached us that the American woman has had quite the influence on you, Chakir.” Qamar’s gaze was steady, but the rest of the elders didn’t look nearly so thoughtful. Chakir could see their displeasure in the tight set of their mouths and burning in their eyes. “We’ve heard of the birthday party. We’ve heard that the young prince is on a sporting team that has been given instructions to disregard his royal status. Even his tutoring sessions have taken a troubling turn.”

  Even as relief flooded him—the elders hadn’t heard about his making Hannah his lover—Chakir’s ears burned. He’d read about that feeling in books, but now he felt it—they were red hot and matched the defensive anger that boiled in his chest. “What troubles you about the tutoring sessions?” Never in his life had he dreamed of using such a sharp tone with the elders, but here he was. He’d barely managed to blunt the edges.

  “Field trips,” said one of the others, a man named Zehab. “Outside the palace walls. Perhaps any one of these issues wouldn’t have come to our attention, but taken together…”

  “Taken together, we see an immoderate departure from the traditions we’ve strived to maintain.” Qamar folded his hands on the table. “This isn’t a direction we’d hoped to see with new members of the royal family.”

  Chakir’s heartbeat could compete with a line of galloping horses. He took a breath to steady himself. “The idea of adjusting the tutoring sessions to fit our young cousin was a good one. He’s made excellent progress with the few sessions that have taken place in the city.”

  “It’s not right,” burst out Zehab. “Members of the royal family should not make public appearances without proper training.”

  “Oh, Zehab, I made public appearances as a toddler.” Chakir could feel the death grip he usually kept on his temper loosening with every moment, and he didn’t like it.

  “In controlled moments,” Qamar countered. “And the people understood that you were being raised in our traditions.”

  “If it makes it easier for the boy, then I don’t see why—”

  “Because traditions need to be repeated in order to be upheld,” said Qamar. “Chakir, you are the last person I would expect to leave those traditions by the wayside in the span of a month. It’s always been your purpose to hold fast to our ideals of justice and honor. The royal family must live as examples of those values made flesh by showing the country that they are beyond reproach. Are you ready to discard that purpose?”

  The accusation pierced his chest like a knife.

  “No. I’ll never be ready to discard that purpose.” Chakir’s mind raced with a thousand things he wanted to say, but none of the words would arrange themselves into sentences that made any sense.

  “If you are not able to fulfill your duties, now is the time to tell us so that we can work with the king to make changes going forward.”

  “Changes? What kinds of changes would the council be looking to make?”

  For the first time in the meeting, the six men exchanged quick glances. Chakir didn’t look away from Qamar.

  “Someone else would need to manage the young prince’s tutoring. Especially in advance of the crowning. It’s simply too much of a risk, Chakir. Surely you can see that.”

  In fact, Chakir could not see how it had been such a terrible risk to have a birthday party or let Ryan play on a soccer team where he was treated as an equal player. Those things were unconventional, yes. But even in his tug-of-war with Hannah over what Ryan should be doing, he’d managed to keep things within bounds.

  Chakir wanted to argue with them. He wanted to put them on the spot, and demand that they explain why all of this was so terrible. After all his years in the palace, all his years of following customs and protocols and making sure to never embarrass the royal family…

  But Chakir was in no position to put together an argument. Not now, with his stomach in knots at the thought of being removed from his sessions with Ryan.

  And losing all that time with Hannah.

  He would have to sort it out in the privacy of his rooms, not when he was facing down the council members who had acted as guides for his family for generations. These men were the voice of the tribe. Tradition dictated that he accept their advice with grace. Tradition felt like a weight around his neck.

  “There’s no need—” Chakir cleared his throat and started again. “There’s no
need to make any changes. I will see that your concerns are addressed.”

  “There are other concerns. The boy’s mother…she needs to be more silent and proper,” blustered Zaman. “She might be the mother of a prince, but she’s a true outsider.”

  “All of your concerns.” He stood up. “I’m certain the new prince’s tutoring can continue in a way that we’ll all find acceptable. I’ll keep our customs in mind every step of the way.”

  Zehab opened his mouth, but Qamar silenced him with a raised hand. “We’ll be watching with interest.”

  Chakir turned and went, the man’s words echoing in his mind. Watching with interest had never felt so ominous.

  14

  “No. No, this won’t do at all.”

  Hannah looked up at the sound of Chakir’s raised voice. He hardly ever spoke that loudly in tutoring sessions with Ryan. He wasn’t yelling—not even close to yelling—but this wasn’t his regular tone. Not by a long shot.

  “Ryan, you need to come back and do this again. All five people. You must shake every person’s hand as if they’re the first person to greet you.”

  Hannah watched her son carefully. He screwed up his lips, thinking, then ran back to the first person in the row of five. Chakir had recruited a couple members of the security team, two maids, and Mr. Medhi to stand in for the guests at the ceremony. Ryan had to know how to greet them.

  Had he noticed the change in Chakir’s voice?

  “Like this?” Ryan asked, shaking the beefy guard’s hand too enthusiastically.

  “A little less,” Chakir said. “Gently…not too gently. Look at him while you do it, not me.”

  Something was wrong.

  Chakir normally took the sessions seriously, but this afternoon his shoulders were tense, and all the playfulness was gone from his golden-brown eyes. Hannah wracked her brain. What had happened?

  Part of her wished they’d been discovered during one of their stolen interludes since the morning in the dangerously unlocked sitting room. A deep, dark part of her that she never wanted to mention out loud. She pressed her legs together under the skirt of her dress and focused hard on Chakir. Being caught out would change things…force them into the open. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.