The Sheikh's Claim (Desert Nights 2)

If she’d had grievances about their arrangement, she should have spoken up. She’d never done so. So he could be excused if he didn’t take her unrelated temper flares at the time as evidence of past discontent. Or if he didn’t accept this alleged degradation he’d exposed her to. Or her other stated reasons for walking out.

Why wouldn’t she just admit she’d wanted a clean break to be with Patrick? Why was she persisting on that twisted version of history? It didn’t make sense that she’d play the wronged female. It didn’t sit right with her character. And she claimed she wanted one thing from him. That he stay away. Yet blame was a lure not a repellent. If she wanted him to stay away, she shouldn’t have accused him and gotten him even more engaged.

Yet, he couldn’t deny the authenticity of that please.

That left only one answer. There was more to all this than she was letting on. And to make her confess it all, he had to do one thing. Alter reality. At least, her perception of it.

He now had the means to do that. Late last night, Fadi had provided him with a windfall of a discovery. The plan to use it to fulfill all his goals had come to him fully formed.

Now before he caused actual damage—to his business, not to mention his sanity—he had to put it in motion.

He produced his cell phone. In seconds, the familiar voice rumbled in his ear like faraway thunder. “Somow’wak?”

He gritted his teeth at hearing Fadi calling him Your Highness. It wasn’t just a title to Fadi. He meant everything it stood for. Everything Jalal felt he had no claim to.

He exhaled. “I have new orders concerning Lujayn Morgan.”

A long silence stretched after he’d specified his orders.

He frowned. “Fadi? Are you still there?”

“Ella, Somow’wak.”

“Did you hear everything I said?”

Another long silence. A rare show of opinion from the stoic Fadi. “Are you sure about this, Somow’wak? These…intentions might interfere with your campaign. They might even damage it.”

Of course that would be what Fadi would worry about. And if he’d voiced his concerns, he must think the consequences of Jalal’s tactics could be catastrophic.

If only. If they were, it would also mean they had worked.

“You have your orders, Fadi.”

This time Fadi didn’t take time to answer, the matter grave enough it made him go against his unquestioning fealty. “Have you given possible ramifications enough thought? If you allow me, I can come up with an alternative scenario that would right this wrong, but keep you away from any hint of further scandal.”

His lips spread as he visualized the success of this scenario. With Lujayn back in his bed. In his life.

“This is what I need to do, Fadi. And yes, I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

* * *

Lujayn gaped up at the dark colossus looking solemnly down at her.

Rationally, she knew he wasn’t bigger than Jalal. But while Jalal made her acutely aware of her femininity, made her feel soft and pliant in comparison to his chiseled power, this guy made her feel…dwarfed, vulnerable.

Other than that, Fadi Aal Munsoori shared much with Jalal, had that force-of-nature-embodiment thing going. And like one, he’d walked into her family home and made them all feel as if they were there at his discretion.

Knowing everything and everyone relevant in Azmahar from her family, and everything about Jalal from her own obsessive research, she’d recognized Fadi on sight. Everyone had. He’d still introduced himself, after he’d walked in. It hadn’t been her imagination that he’d stressed his positions as Jalal’s head of security and campaign director for her benefit. And that menace had spiked when he’d specified the latter.

He hadn’t been with Jalal during her time. But one look into his eyes told her he knew of their defunct relationship. And disapproved something fierce. And was warning her off. Had they been alone, she would have told him where he could put his precious prince and his probable future throne.

But that was before Fadi had made his offer. Something so ridiculous that her mind shrieked to a halt.

“You—you can’t possibly— Prince Jalal can’t possibly mean…”

The faltering words jogged her back to the fact that her mother was right beside her. Her gaze dazedly moved to her, found her looking more flabbergasted than she felt.

“Somow’woh says and offers only what he means,” Fadi said. “I brought this information to his knowledge only last night and eight hours later he insisted I conveyed to you his gracious offer. I can understand your reluctance…”

“I-it’s not reluctance!” her mother blurted out, cutting him off, to his obvious displeasure. “It’s shock. I—I never thought this would ever be brought to light again.”

Fadi grimly nodded. “It would have been forever buried if Prince Jalal hadn’t directed me to unearth the evidence. Still, your justifiable reservations may be averted if…”

“Is it true?”

The haunted voice dragged Lujayn’s gaze to her uncle. It was the first time he’d talked since he’d welcomed Fadi in. She’d totally forgotten he was there.

Her uncle had once been almost as gorgeous as Jalal, if in a very different way. His striking good looks had long been dulled, like the magnificence of a gleaming sword would be by rust.

Now something trembled below the layers of resignation, of…defeat. It was as if his soul was being reignited.

Her uncle suddenly moved, almost stumbled as he grabbed hold of Fadi’s arm with a shaking hand. “Is it? Prince Jalal is in possession of proof?”

Fadi gazed at her uncle’s stooped form. “He is, ya sayyed Bassel. At his orders, I unearthed deeply buried but incontrovertible proof. He will see to it that your family members are reinstated into gabayel el ashraaf.”

Lujayn knew Arabic perfectly, especially the Azmaharian colloquial dialect. She’d learned it, at her mother’s insistence that language was power. So far, it had been one, in Jalal’s hands. He’d used her comprehension of his verbal passion as another element of her enthrallment.

So she understood what Fadi had just said. But that couldn’t be what he’d meant. When had the Al Ghamdis ever been considered among the “tribes of nobility” around here? They were from the class who emptied their ashtrays and fetched their slippers!

“Okay, time out!” Lujayn made the gesture, stepping between her mother and uncle, who vibrated with emotion, and that monolith who’d come at his master’s command to spout impossibilities and spread more heartache. “What the hell are you all talking about?”