Married for the Sheikh's Duty by Tara Pammi

Author:Tara Pammi [Pammi, Tara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarlequinUKLtd
Published: 2016-11-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I WOULD APPRECIATE it very much if you unhand my fiancée.” Zayn had no idea how he managed to make the warning sound dire when his heart was pounding in his throat. He’d spent a hellish two hours searching for Amalia on the streets of Paris, along with his security team while she...

The fist in his gut would not unclench.

He hadn’t known fear like this in...ever. The thought of Amalia hurt or worse had consumed him.

He had sworn to fire his entire security team once she had been found. He had called himself a hundred names for not making her aware of what a target she could be to so many different factions now that she belonged to him.

And here she was...in the arms of her lover.

“Stop fondling her at the same time, before some camera crew gets a picture of it and plasters it all over social media tomorrow.”

“Zayn, I wanted to...”

Her topaz gaze met his in defiance and slowly, softened. Even her temporary yielding did not calm him. Slowly, she moved in the man’s embrace, trying to extricate herself from him. “Massi wanted to catch up and I thought we would have more privacy away from—”

“You will explain later, habibti, in the privacy of our suite.” A shadow of fear he still could not subdue made his tone harsh. “I have no intention to provide your boss or some other sneaky reporter with a lovers’ spat.

“You are a sheikh’s fiancée, Amalia. Sneaking out with other men is exactly the kind of fodder that the media looks for.”

Her chin tilted up. “Even if it’s to catch up with an old—”

“Friend, or ex-lover or your boss...it doesn’t matter. After the last two weeks, I thought you understood that. Come, let’s return to the suite.”

The man turned and looked at Zayn, the cocky tilt of his head deepening the anger in Zayn’s stomach. “I’m not done ensuring that Amalia is not with you under some sort of coercion,” the Italian replied, his English only slightly accented.

Amalia cringed, but the man’s arm did not budge from her waist. “I have already told you the whole story. I know you mean well but Zayn is right.”

A tender smile curved the man’s mouth, the easy camaraderie between them too obvious to miss. “You have no one else to look after you and...”

Jealousy prowled like a monster in his blood, and it took all of Zayn’s carefully cultivated control to stop from pulling Amalia from her boss’s arms into his. This was how one of his barely civilized ancestors must have felt when their claim on their woman was challenged so blatantly.

Having always believed that a man could use his brains more effectively than fists, right now Zayn saw the appeal to the old approach.

“Amalia knows perfectly well what she means to me, Massimiliano. And I always take care of that which belongs to me.”

Instead of backing off, the man frowned.

Amalia’s laugh, forced and brittle, tinkled in the oppressive silence that was only punctured by the greeting called out by Parisians taking advantage of a beautiful night.

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