The Sheik’s Embrace (The Billionaire’s Club #12)
Chapter 1
The buzz, sharp and intrusive, seemed to hang in the air like a dissonant melody, disrupting the hallowed silence of the High Council chamber. The polished mahogany table, usually a symbol of order and authority, now served as a stage for the unfolding drama. Papers shuffled and pencils scratched, remnants of hastily halted note-taking, lay in front of each member, emphasizing the abrupt halt that had befallen the meeting.
As the participants' heads swiveled in unison, the strategic lighting in the chamber cast elongated shadows, heightening the sense of suspense. The ornate tapestries that adorned the walls, depicting scenes of historical significance, appeared to observe the proceedings with silent disapproval, as if the very fabric of the room had turned against them.
At the sound, Tara abruptly looked up from her laptop, her sharp eyes narrowing as she glanced at each member of the High Council, their elderly features creased by age and wisdom…and shock at the intrusive sound. No one moved as the censure built. A split second later, everyone glanced at their phones but Tara, always mindful of the tall, powerful man sitting next to her, looked to him. He was watching each of his council members with barely contained fury.
“Your Highness,” she started, watching the members stuff their cell phones back into their pockets after confirming that it hadn’t been their phone that buzzed.
Sheik Zayed el Mastrion, Ruler of Pitra, stared at her. Zayed sat at the head of the table, a commanding presence exuding strength and authority. His tall, muscular frame bespoke a life of discipline and power. His broad shoulders and chiseled physique hinted at the physical prowess honed through the rigors of his duties. Dark, penetrating eyes, sharp and intelligent, revealed a mind adept at navigating the complexities of both tradition and modernity.
His dark gaze held an intensity that conveyed a wealth of experience and wisdom. The hard, unwavering set of his jaw suggested a man unyielding in the face of challenges. Dressed in a tailor made suit that accentuated his stature, he carried an air of dignity and grace.
And…she loved him. Tara knew, with all of her heart, that she loved this hard, powerful man. She loved the way he cared for the people of his country. She loved the way his lips pressed into a thin line when he disagreed, or the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he was amused. She respected his ambitions for his people and the way he easily laughed. She even loved the way he teased her or when a sandwich appeared in her office because he knew she’d stayed in a meeting, skipping lunch to help him. She loved the way he knew every person’s name in the administrative office, asked about their families, sent graduation presents, wedding gifts or big bouquets of flowers when someone lost a loved one.
Unfortunately, she also knew that she could never be anything more to him than a memory!
Another buzz intruded on the tense silence, bringing Tara’s mind back to the present. When she glanced around again, the council members were subtly shaking their heads, denying that they’d just received an alert.
Then it sounded yet again, the dreadful, unmistakable buzz that indicated another message had come through, the sound adding to the escalating tension in the room. The council members, on edge and eyes narrowed, exchanged wary glances.
As the seconds ticked away, the air thickened with suspicion. The once-stately chamber, accustomed to dignified debates and measured discussions, fairly crackled with an undercurrent of paranoia. The ornate surroundings, adorned with gilded frames and aged tapestries, cast long, ominous shadows that danced across the faces of the councilors, amplifying the sense of secrecy and unease.
And then, like an ominous revelation, Tara felt it — a subtle vibration against her leg. Her eyes widened, the momentary shock registering on her face. The room seemed to shrink around her as she became acutely aware of the watchful gazes that now turned on her.
Tara, normally composed and stoic, faltered. Her hand instinctively moved to her ever-present tote bag, the fabric rustling with a nervous energy that mirrored the charged atmosphere of the room. She reached down into the depths of her bag, her fingers brushing against concealed secrets.
When she withdrew her hand, it held not the expected documents or personal effects, but a secret cell phone. The dim light in the room caught the glint of its screen, a forbidden beacon that illuminated Tara's face with an eerie glow. The tension in the room, already taut, reached a palpable climax as the councilors collectively held their breath.
Tara's fingers trembled as she lifted the phone from her bag. Her fingers trembled so badly, she could barely press the buttons to silence the noise. It took her three tries, but she finally, thankfully, silenced the rancorous buzzing.
However, she couldn’t stuff the phone back into her bag. Not this phone. Unaware of the combined censure of the room’s occupants, Tara’s quivering fingers pressed the button that allowed her to read the message.
“Just letting you know that the hamburgers are ready. They are on their way to your destination. Enjoy!”
Tara's gaze fixated on the words glowing on the screen, desperation driving her to re-read them as if hoping the second pass would magically alter their meaning. The dim light of the secret phone cast an eerie glow on her face, shadows dancing in unsettling patterns around the edges of the room. The councilors, suspended in a collective breath, awaited her reaction.
But as her eyes re-traced the last word, a sinister revelation dawned, plunging her into a chilling abyss. The message, rather than offering solace or reassurance, carried an undertone of malevolence that sent a shiver down her spine.
A sudden, stabbing pain erupted in Tara's stomach, a physical manifestation of the dread that gripped her. The room seemed to constrict around her, the air thickening with an almost suffocating intensity. Every muscle in her body tensed with terror, turning her limbs into a prison of fear. The oppressive weight of the unknown bore down on her, and the once-sturdy ground beneath her feet suddenly turned into shifting sands.
“Ms. Treon?” the deep, masculine tone interjected into her terror-filled mind.
Tara looked up, but she didn’t see the handsome, roughly hewn features of Sheik Zayed el Mastrion. She didn’t see the ancient walls or the polished table that had witnessed centuries of wars and conflict, negotiations and peace. She didn’t see the twelve, beloved men who would tease her after the meeting for breaking protocol by having a cell phone in this room.
Stammering, she snapped her laptop shut, the sharp clack echoing like a gunshot in the hushed room. Panic etched across her face, and the cell phone’s glow extinguished abruptly as she shoved the phone deep into her bag. Her laptop teetered dangerously on the precipice of the stone table while her heart thundered in her chest, a desperate drumbeat in sync with the escalating tension. Every eye in the room fixated on her abrupt movement. The unexpected act spoke of urgency, a volatile secret now confined within the hidden cell phone. The room held its breath, poised on the brink of revelation or ruin.
“Tara?” Zayed prompted again, his tone gentler this time but still firm and commanding.
Tara shook her head and…her numb fingers accidentally dropped another file onto the floor. In the shocked silence, she looked at the papers strewn across the ancient stones, but she couldn’t do anything about them. Clutching her tote containing the cell phone to her chest, she looked into Zayed’s eyes and backed up a step. “I’ll…I…um…!”
Words failed her. In this moment, her brain was consumed with the dire warning relayed in that simple message.
Instead of explaining, which she couldn’t, Tara turned and rushed out of the room. The heavy oak door was already opened thanks to one of the guards. Normally, she would have smiled gratefully up at the man and given him a gracious thanks. But today, she bowed her head, her fingers tightening around her bag as she hurried out.
Once out in the hallway, the bright lights overhead hurt her eyes. The intensity of that light was like the message – a bright, desperate signal that her misery-filled past had caught up to her. Lifting her eyes, she looked around for a private place, a space where she could re-read the message.
Unfortunately, the hallway was teeming with guards and assistants to the council members, none of which were allowed in the council chambers. As the personal assistant to Sheik el Mastrion, Tara was the only assistant permitted to sit in on the meetings.
Privacy! She needed a place where she could think, strategize, escape the suffocating weight of the looming crisis. The urgency clawed at her throat as she scanned the room for a sanctuary away from the hallway’s chaos. What was she going to do? The unanswered question echoed like a siren in her mind, each passing moment intensifying the pressure. With every heartbeat, the need for a plan built relentlessly. The eyes of the room bore into her, a silent witness to her unspoken turmoil. The gravity of the situation hung in the air, demanding action, while uncertainty clung to her.
Rushing down the hallway, she glanced around. Unfortunately, the only doors in sight led either to another office or to…a storage room!
Tara nearly ran to the closet, jerked open the door and stepped inside. The light automatically came on but as soon as she pulled the door closed, the light clicked off.
Silence.Blessed silence and privacy!
Taking a slow, steadying breath, Tara closed her eyes, pressing the bag to her chest as if she could somehow suppress the message it contained. But after only a moment, Tara sighed and released her hold on the bag. Clutching the leather straps, she let the contents tumble downwards with an ominous thunk. Retrieving the phone, Tara nervously entered the unlock code and read the message again.
Unfortunately, the words didn’t change with the third reading.
“No!” she whispered, closing her eyes again and leaning her head back against the wall behind her. “No no no no!”
Bending low, Tara, now concealed in the darkness, attempted to suppress the escalating panic clawing at her insides. This was no time for panic; she needed a clear mind, formulate a plan. But what plan could she devise? How could she escape this latest act in the pathetic drama that was her life? The question echoed though her thoughts, resonating with urgency.
When she looked up, a dim reflection off of a small mirror over a tiny sink revealed her terrified features. But Tara cared little for her image; instead, her priority was shrouding herself from the haunting shadows of her past. Though some bestowed upon her the label of beauty, it was a title she considered a nemesis. The very allure of her appearance had lured a tormentor into her life. Her facial features, once admired, were now considered a curse, the architect of the inferno she found herself in. The mirror, a reluctant accomplice in reflecting her image, served as a reminder of the turmoil that stemmed from the beauty that had betrayed her.
Though her green eyes shimmered with intelligence, they also mirrored the fear that gripped her. In the calming darkness of the little closet, Tara inhaled deeply, the taste of tension lingering on her tongue. Trying to calm down, she paused and held her breath, counting to five. Exhaling slowly through pursed lips, she repeated the calming ritual until, after the fourth repetition, a semblance of control returned.
As the threat of a panic attack subsided, Tara, her normally calm features were now accentuated by the strain etched on her face. But with the newly found calm, Tara also discovered clarity. Now, amidst the shadows, she could think, strategize, and confront the unknown challenges that loomed ahead. The tension in the air persisted, but Tara, with steely determination shining in her green eyes, was ready to face whatever awaited her next.
However, before she could create a solid plan, the door to her temporary sanctuary jerked open and the tall, terrifying persona of her boss loomed even larger because of her crouched position.
“Your Highness!” Tara gasped, quickly stretching herself to her full height. Or tried to. Perhaps she’d crouched here in this silly closet for longer than she’d realized because her legs didn’t want to cooperate.
Thankfully, two strong hands reached out, steadying her until she was upright.
“Thank you,” she whispered, lowering her eyes as his touch shot sparks of a strange sort of wanting inside of her. Backing up, she nearly tripped over a bucket. Grabbing onto a wire shelf, Tara attempted a small bit of dignity, despite her surroundings.
“You’re welcome.” Zayed released her and Tara suddenly felt cold. “Now explain.”
For a brief moment, she nearly laughed. Not because any of this situation was amusing. Nope, her laughter would be more along the hysterical kind. Tara doubted that the powerful, shockingly…um…healthy…she let her eyes skim over his broad shoulders and flat stomach. The man was absolutely yummy! She’d thought so from the first moment she’d interviewed with him.
“Tara!” Zayed snapped.
She realized that she’d allowed her eyes to…meander…and jerked her focus back to his face. Tara had to tilt her head back when he was this close, but didn’t mind. Not one little bit. A woman could get lost in those dark, intense eyes of his. And his lashes were ridiculously long. Why couldn’t she have been blessed with such lashes? Why had she received the “blessing” of pale skin that freckled at even the hint of sunshine?
With a heavy sigh, Zayed reached out and…if Tara had been in her right mind, she would have anticipated the man’s actions. But because she was so frazzled, she didn’t anticipate the man simply reaching out and plucking the cell phone from her numb fingers. He pressed a button and read the message, one dark eyebrow lifting.
When his quizzical gaze returned to her worried features, Tara knew he didn’t understand.