The Sheikh's Tempted Protectress (The Sheikh's Every Wish 4)

Beth noticed the look of disapproval she got from the doorman, and ignored it. She didn’t look like any of the women here, and the condemnation ran through the room like a lightning bolt. Beth didn’t care.

As Osman climbed the short series of steps to the booth and slid behind his large table, a waitress came forward with a vodka cocktail for him, and a gaggle of women began to edge closer to their table.

Beth was stood at the foot of the stairs, watchful. A young man and two women approached and made to move past her to the table. Beth held out a hand.

“Security check,” she said, stone-faced.

The man looked at her in confusion, then laughed and called up to Osman. “So this is the new security guard! Osman, you didn’t tell me how attractive she was!”

Beth stared at the man, even as she heard Osman laughing behind her.

“Faraj, you old flirt! Let Beth do her job then get up here and grab a drink with me!”

Defeated, Faraj looked at Beth and held his arms out to his sides. “Frisk away my dear, the only weapon you’ll find is one only the lucky few can wield.”

Beth rolled her eyes. This wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to, and she made quick work of patting him down.

“You’re clear to go,” she said, stepping aside.

Faraj gave her a small bow, though somehow Beth didn’t at all feel respected. He took one or two long strides up the stairs, and seconds later was laughing with Osman, drink in his hand.

The women in the group weren’t nearly as accommodating.

“Get out of my way. I won’t let you handle me like some criminal,” the tall, dark-haired one hissed.

Beth planted her feet more firmly to the ground and lifted an eyebrow. The message couldn’t be clearer. Either accept a pat-down, or move along.

Sighing dramatically, the woman finally held out her arms for the brief pat-down Beth conducted, and she was on her way.

The second one, a curvy platinum blonde, was wearing a large broach, which was surprisingly cheap-looking for such a place. Cheap-looking, and an easy weapon.

“I’m going to need to confiscate that,” Beth said, pointing to the golden bauble.

The woman’s glare was ice cold. Her accent was foreign, noticeably not from this region.

“I’m not a threat, you strange, plain woman. Let me pass and leave me alone.”

Beth stopped her with a firm hand, and the blonde lifted a brow. She could tell from the woman’s expression that she had underestimated her strength, and was now trying to decide how to proceed.

“You can have it back when you leave the table, but you can’t take it with you,” Beth said flatly.

They stared at each other for a minute, each sizing up the other, before the woman relented and unpinned her broach, handing it over.

“What an obnoxious brat you have working for you, Osman! Is this really necessary?” Beth heard her say as she mounted the stairs to join the others.

Beth couldn’t hear Osman’s reply as a techno song began blaring through the speakers.

She slid the broach into a back pocket, wondering whether or not she should sit on it “by accident,” then she caught sight of something in the corner of her eye, and glanced quickly in that direction.

Two men were watching from a dark corner of the club, their faces close together as they spoke. Beth watched them in her peripheral vision. They did not seem to be focusing on anyone else but her employer. Beth realized in that moment that the Sheikh believed he was much safer than he actually was, and stood a little straighter as she kept a subtle watch on the men in the corner.

“Excuse me,” a deep female voice said. A red-haired woman with bright blue eyes stood in front of her, arms crossed.

“Yes?” Beth asked, after a long pause.

The woman exhaled loudly. “I’d like to go see Osman, and you’re in my way. Could you please remedy that?” she asked, her tone dry.

“Not unless I search you first,” Beth said, also crossing her arms.

The woman’s glare deepened. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t let you through without a brief pat-down, ma’am. It won’t take long,” Beth said, hiding a smirk.

The woman had nearly jumped out of her stilettos at the word “ma’am,” and she huffed again. “I don’t need lesbians feeling me up in my favorite bar, thank you very much,” she said, throwing her arms up in the air in frustration before storming off.

Beth took the opportunity to glance back into that darkened corner, but the two men were gone.

Damn.

“Beth, can we chat in private for a moment?”

Beth turned to see Osman standing right beside her. He took her arm in his and guided her toward the restrooms.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, facing her directly.

Beth didn’t back down. “My job, last I checked,” she replied, her tone cool.

“Your job is not to molest anyone who wants to be near me. Those are my friends, Beth,” he said.

“Then you should have provided me with a list.”

“You’re a security guard, not a bouncer!”

“I’m doing what you paid me to do! If you don’t want security, then don’t bring me with you!”

“Fine! Consider yourself relieved of your duties for the rest of the evening,” he said, turning abruptly and heading back to his table, though not, Beth noticed, before taking the arm of the redhead she had turned away and bringing her with him.

So let him get killed trying to bang every woman in the club. What do I care? Beth thought, steaming with anger as she walked out of the nightclub and across the street to the beach. She needed air. That whole place had reeked of wealth, booze, and egos.

Beth strolled up the beach, avoiding the waves so as not to get her new shoes wet. Maybe this really had been a mistake. She had just signed a six-month contract, but clearly Osman didn’t want her to do the job at all. What did he want from her? She wasn’t going to half-ass it. She wasn’t going to play nice. Playing nice didn’t keep people out of danger.

She knew, of course, that there was nothing stopping her breaking her contract. She missed her mom. She missed feeling in control. At least when she’d been in the military, expectations had always been clear. Here, she didn’t know what her purpose really was. She wasn’t a prop. She was a soldier.

Beth froze, gazing out at the dark ocean as waves pulled in and out in a lulling rhythm. She found a comfy spot on the sand and sat down, pulling up her knees and wrapping her arms around them, suppressing a shiver. The desert was tricky that way; mind-numbingly hot during the day and freezing at night. She watched moonlight dance along the waves, suddenly very homesick.

“Beth!”

She’d heard it from a distance. Did someone call her name?

“Beth! Are you out here?”

It was Osman. Beth stood and waited for him to reach her. He picked up his pace when he saw her, and a moment later was by her side. She stared at him as he caught his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, and Beth took a step back, surprised.

“You’re what?” she asked, needing to hear it again. She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but his brush-off had hurt her more deeply than on a professional level.

His eyes were full of remorse. “I’m sorry for how I acted in there. I guess I didn’t really think about what it would be like, having you with me at the club. I know you’re just doing your job, Beth, but I’m not used to someone looking out for me like this. My old guard let anyone in and didn’t seem to care.”

Beth stared at him in the moonlight. This rich, powerful man suddenly stripped of all ego and bravado. She quickly gave in to her urge to comfort him.

“I care,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before moving to let go. He held on.

“You really are disarmingly attractive, Beth. The other women in there were wildly jealous.”

Beth barked out

a laugh at this. “I’ll have to train you in how to read a room, Your Highness. No one was looked down upon in that club more than me. Don’t compare stained glass to rubies.”

Osman frowned, moving in a little closer. “I know how to read a room perfectly fine, Beth, and I know women very well. They were jealous. Of you.”

Beth tried not to breathe. The scent of him mixed with the fresh ocean tide was taking over her senses, and she found herself leaning in closer.

Then something caught her attention from behind Osman’s shoulder.

“Move!” she shouted as a large man dressed in black lunged towards them, driving a knife toward Osman’s back.

With cat-like reflexes, Beth reached in and pinched the man’s wrist, forcing him to release the knife. Then she tripped him, slamming his large body against the ground, hard. Sitting on his back, Beth pulled a pair of zip ties from another pocket and made quick work of tying his hands behind his back. She slammed his head into the ground, watching calmly as he spit out sand and blood.

“Who sent you?” she asked in a low, dangerous voice.

Osman stood at a distance, watching with horror as the man spit into the ground again.

Beth looked up. “Osman, call the authorities. This man belongs in jail,” she said.

The Sheikh pulled his phone out of a pocket and swiftly made the call. Being in the heart of the city, it didn’t take long before the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.

Beth slammed the man’s head down again. “I’ll ask one more time before the police get their chance. Who. Sent. You?”

“Someone who wants a lot of money. Who else?” the man hissed, glaring up at her.

Beth could tell she wasn’t going to get anything else from the guy. As the police cars pulled up to the beach and officers started pouring out, she pulled her knee out of his back and went over to Osman, but not before turning to say one last thing to the assailant.

“You can tell whoever you’re working for that Osman Al-Haddeni is under protection. They won’t be getting a dime from him. The police will take it from here.”

Beth ignored the slurs the man threw at her as she steered Osman away from the scene and back to the club.

Osman being who he was, his distinctive car was in full view, parked outside the front of the club. Adil was seated in the driver’s seat, reading a newspaper. He jumped from the car as Beth and Osman approached.

“What happened?” he asked, his eyes wide.