Page 14 of Her Seductive Enemy

She watched the sheikh rise to his full height with lithe grace and swallowed hard.

“This is a mistake,” Anisah repeated doggedly, and this time, she no longer cared about pride, with her eyes begging the sheikh to agree with her.

But the sheikh did not.

“This, my sweet, was inevitable.”

Chapter Four

The Noble House of the Sheikhs of Ramil, like the palace, was an architectural marvel of gold and white marble set against a stunning desert backdrop. It was also located, as with all lawmaking bodies of the kingdom, within a thirty-minute radius of the king’s royal residence. The first reason for this was security: traveling was considered a security risk for the Emir Sheikh, and so the less time spent on the road, the better. The second reason was pure strategy: with the legislative office so close to the palace, the king had the ability to readily make his royal presence – and power – felt if any of his enemies dared to undermine his command in the guise of subversive speeches presented in court.

Proposals concerning one or several specific sheikhdoms were tackled in any of the smaller halls of The Noble House while bills of national interest were presented in the Grand Chamber, a majestic hall in which crystal chandeliers hung from a steeply vaulted stone ceiling. Even the thousands of seats making up the public gallery were richly adorned with velvet cushions and mahogany frames.

The court held three sessions a week in the Grand Chamber, and there was not one such session that the king or members of his cabinet did not attend. Today wasn’t any different, and the entrance of the two Al-Atassi sheikhs, presented last as accorded by their rank in court, was greeted with enthusiastic applause coming from the gallery.

“You seem to have acquired a new fan, brother.” Rayyan Al-Atassi made his observation sotto voce following the closing of the first half of the first session and an announcement of a fifty-minute break.

Tarif subjected his silver-haired cousin to a puzzled look. “A new fan?”

When the other sheikh cocked his head slightly to the side, indicating the private gallery reserved for those employed by the palace, Tarif caught sight of a familiar figure, her poise undiminished even with her slender form shrouded in a hideously serviceable-looking abaya.

Anisah.

Even with her back to him, Tarif had not a single doubt about it. That was his luscious harpy indeed, and his lips curved. A week had passed since the night of the ball. He had not made a single move on her since then, and he knew it was driving her crazy – the way he meant it to.

Her present obsession for him was clear as the light of day, something so painstakingly obvious the whole palace couldn’t help but notice it – and she didn’t even know it, just like how he had also been the only one in the palace unaware of her dislike for him.

Now, Anisah wasn’t able to stop searching for him, unable to resist following him with her eyes, unable to help drawing her breath every time they passed each other by in the palace. Now, with her drawn to him like a moth to a flame, she was forced to see things she had probably never thought or cared to search for in the past.

Now, she would want him more and more, enough to have her body shiver at the mere sight of him, enough to make her cry at night, wishing for a man she had started out hating and now desired beyond reason.

Anisah might not know it yet, but everything between them now was but a game as old as time, and it was a game he had years of experiencing playing, a game she had absolutely no hopes of winning. Their every encounter was meant to seduce her, enthrall, and draw her in like a master would with a puppet that wasn’t even aware of its strings.

And soon – God, it had better be fucking soon – the game would come to its lustful end; his mouth would finally have the kiss it craved to taste, his fingers would cease to itch upon feeling the silky texture of her skin, and most importantly of all, his cock would finally stop aching the moment it sheathed itself in her warm, moist, virginal pussy.

A mild frown marred Rayyan’s forehead at the way Tarif’s dark gaze followed Anisah’s retreating back until she disappeared into one of the gallery’s exits. He had never interfered in his cousin’s affairs – never thought, cared, or had a reason to – but this was different.

And so for the first time in so many years, the sheikh found himself breaking one of his most-prized rules: never go on a limb for anyone outside the family.

“Anisah is not the kind of woman one should toy with, brother.”

Tarif’s face became expressionless at the slight edge in the other man’s words. “Whether that’s the case or not - why the interest in her?”

“She is almost like a sister to me,” Rayyan answered evasively. “I would not want to see her hurt unnecessarily.”

“If you want her as well—-”

Rayyan frowned. “What the hell are you talking about? I have never been interested in her that way.”

Tarif’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like the way he suddenly found himself doubting his cousin’s words, and that he would care about Rayyan lying in the first place was something he liked even less. There had been numerous women in the past that he and Rayyan both had been attracted to, and in those instances, competing against each other had always been more a friendly challenge than anything. Jealousy had never reared its ugly head in those days...unlike the way it did now.

The mere thought of Rayyan and Anisah flirting had him on edge, and his mood only worsened when he thought of how things might change if he were not so aggressive in seducing Anisah. After all, Rayyan was his complete opposite. Unlike Tarif, Rayyan did everything by the book and was known to live for his work. No doubt in Anisah’s eyes, then and even now, Rayyan was the better man.

Even his own mother had thought so, so why wouldn’t Anisah as well?

The thought made his expression harden, and Tarif heard himself say, “Actually, forget I said anything.” He had already made a fool of himself one too many times in his desperate need to seek his mother’s approval. He would not let his history repeat itself again. “How you think about Anisah Kahveci has nothing to do with me.”

Ah, fuck. Knowing that things could only get worse if he allowed Tarif to draw the wrong conclusion, Rayyan said tautly, “You misunderstand.”

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