Trusting A Sheikh (Playgrounds of Power 1) (19 page)

"Either we negotiate with him," Tariq said firmly, biting back a more aggressive response, "or we accept that this Eurofighter deal is as good as dead. We're on British soil here, we have to play by their rules – and they aren't just going to lock him up for us, convenient as that would be."

Chloe sat on the sofa, lurking in the background and listening into the conversation eagerly. It was a fascinating insight into the way that the powerful world leaders operated.

"Who says we need him locked up?" Tariq's father asked, with an evil grin on his face. "Go with Khalid's plan."

The blood drained from Tariq's face as the shock of what his father had just said hit him with all the force of a train. "Khalid's plan?" he croaked, sounding as though the last thing he wanted to hear in reply was the response he was inevitably going to receive.

"This Rashid is a roach. And what we do with roaches? We eliminate them. Why should we treat him any differently?"

"Father! We can't kill him. We'd never be allowed back," Tariq replied weakly, shocked.

“Pah!" his father spat, dismissing Tariq's objection in an instant. "These Brits, all they care about these days is money. They'll be annoyed for a while, but eventually they'll take our cash."

"I'm not sure that's true, Father. You don't know the situation on the ground – the facts, he's been all over the news, if he disappears, or worse – he's found dead, then there'll be public uproar."

"Are you questioning me, boy? Remember who's in charge here, understand?" his father hissed. "Are you telling me you aren't willing to eliminate this cockroach?"

Tariq looked down at his feet and didn't reply for a long time.

He tried one last time to forestall the inevitable. "Father, I don't think this is the right course –."

The Defense Minister interrupted him irritably. "Yes or no, boy?"

"It's as you wish, Father," Tariq muttered into the floor.

"Good," the man on the other end grunted, leaning forward and punching a switch off camera, killing the feed.

Tariq slumped back into a wall, shaking. "Are you – alright?" Chloe asked tremulously, no idea how he was about to respond. And he didn't, not for a few seconds at least.

"The man's mad," Tariq finally said, shaking his head in incredulity. "Mad."

"Are you going –." Chloe began, but she was quickly cut off.

"Of course not!" Tariq replied, turning to look at her accusingly. "I wouldn't hurt him, couldn't – it's not the way I was made, much as my father wished that wasn’t the case."

"I'm sorry," Chloe said desperately, laying her palm on the shoulder of the emotionally distraught man in front of her, soul rent with shock. "What are you going to do?"

22

T
ariq didn't respond – not for a long while, anyway. Chloe looked at him pityingly, understanding his pain. After all, it couldn't be easy to realize that your father wasn't the man you believed him to be.

"I didn't know," he said blankly, looking off into the distance. "I promise you, I had no idea."

Chloe could tell just by looking at him that he was telling the truth, and in an instant, her fears about his true allegiance vanished, dispersed and smashed into a thousand tiny fragments.

"I know," she replied, consoling him. The hand she'd rested on his shoulder was stroking him, almost as though it had taken on a life of its own in her desire to care for the young man whose life had just taken such an enormous detour. "But it's not your fault."

"I should have known," Tariq replied, ignoring her – his face wrought with the creases of aching sadness. "I always knew –" He paused, as though trying to make sense of a lifetime of memories. "– I always knew that my father was a hard man, I knew he had a vision for my country that not everyone would agree with, but I also thought he was just." Tariq looked up at Chloe, his empty face begging her understanding – and forgiveness. "We had plans, Chloe. At least, I thought we did…"

"What plans?" Chloe asked gently, more for the sake of allowing Tariq to work through his emotions than out of any great desire to know.

"We talked for hours, days even, about the direction the country was going in – what we could do to change it." Tariq broke off, standing up and shaking off Chloe's hand almost as though he hadn't noticed it was there in the first place. "I don't understand," he continued, clenched hands trembling with delayed rage, or maybe shock. "I don't understand how he could turn his back on all of that and become – this!"

"It's not your fault, Tariq," Chloe murmured quietly, only intending to sympathize, not interrupt. "You're right, you couldn't have known. It's what you do now that matters."

Tariq turned back to her, eyes threatening tears, face burning red with suppressed anger, and perhaps even a little embarrassment – not at being seen in this state, but because he had been fooled for so long by his evil father.

"I don't know," he finally admitted, punching the air with frustration. "What can I do? He has all the money, all the power, access to the right people, and knows the right ears to whisper poisonous half-truths into. How can I fight that?"

Chloe felt awful for him, because he was right – and she couldn't think of anything that would change the stark, bare facts of his situation. After all, her own father hadn't even tried to challenge the power of the Saudi state, and had nevertheless been strung up and tortured for it – and he'd just been a low-level diplomat who had the misfortune, or fortune depending on whose eyes the situation was being viewed through, of falling in love with a foreign woman.

"What happens if you don't do what he asks?" she asked, her question cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

"
When
I don't do what he asks," Tariq corrected her instantly and firmly. "I don't know. No, that's a lie – I do. He'll kill me."

"But surely he wouldn't?" Chloe gasped. "You're his son!"

"His
first
son," Tariq corrected her again. "He has others, my brothers – from my mother and others. If I don't do what he asks me to do, he'll see me as having betrayed him, and therefore his own actions as just."

"But that's, that's – barbaric!" Chloe exclaimed. "You're family…"

"It's different where I come from, Chloe." Tariq smiled sadly. "It's a hard land, full of hard people – and nobody would blame my father for doing what he needed to do."

"I can't even imagine…" Chloe said sadly, trailing off.

"Not many can," Tariq agreed. "Why do you think I try and get away so often? I like my country, but not like it is at the moment."

He slumped down onto a padded armchair looking half defeated. He closed his eyes and lay there for a couple of seconds while Chloe contemplated going over to him and comforting him however she could. As she watched, the expression on his face changed from resignation to… something else. His jaw set, muscles tightening and tensing under the surface of the skin, and his posture shifted ever so subtly in the chair.

"What?" she asked, curious.

"I'm not going to let him beat me," Tariq said determinedly, opening eyes which burned with a righteous fury. "He wants me to give up, wants me to believe I don't stand a chance against him. And he might be right," he admitted. "But I'm still going to try."

The sudden confidence that was once more suffusing him returned Tariq to the man Chloe had first fallen into bed with. It was like night and day, as though a switch had simply flicked in his mind and forced him to cast off the self-doubt and recrimination that fit him so poorly.

"Are you sure that's the right thing to do?" Chloe asked, padding towards him barefoot, having kicked off her heels. "Couldn't you just run?"

"I could," Tariq agreed affably. "But what kind of man would that make me?"

"It'd make you the kind of man who lives to fight another day," Chloe said, the concern evident in her voice. "There's no use fighting him just because you can. Why not wait until you're strong enough to win?"

Tariq focused his intense, intelligent gaze on Chloe's face, watching her intently as she walked over to him. "You might be right," he agreed, "but that doesn't stop me from wanting to punch him in the face…"

Chloe closed the last couple of yards between them slowly and seductively, sashaying her hips, and staring at her prince with a seductive gaze in her eyes. "Pick your battles," she advised, maintaining eye contact the whole way. "Why waste effort before you know you can win? Why not focus on things that are right in front of you?" she whispered, straddling him on the comfortable armchair, resting her weight on knees either side of his crotch.

Tariq sighed gently, a little gasp of air escaping his lips that caused Chloe to shiver deep inside. "Pick my battles?" he asked, a little smile on his lips. "Is that your advice?" he asked, leaning forward and nuzzling her hair, breathing in deeply.

"It is," Chloe replied softly, her skin tingling all over her body.

"And can I win this one?" he asked, placing one of his hands on her right hip and allowing the other to roam up and down her back, his fingers drawing light circles all over her skin.

Chloe didn't respond for a while, just closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensations building over her body. "You can," she whispered softly, lost in the pleasure. "You already have…"

He didn't wait for another invitation, just hooked his hands under her top and pulled it straight off, casting it onto the floor somewhere out of sight. Once again, the last thing Chloe had expected was that she might end up being intimate with Tariq again, so she hadn't dressed up particularly – the bra was plain. He didn't seem to mind, and as with her top, he just single-mindedly pinched his fingers on the clasp, unhooked it, and lifted it over her head. Chloe knew what she was in for – this wasn't going to be tender, sweet love making, far from it. Tariq had steam to burn off, and a lifetime of bad memories to forget, and he was going to use her to help do that. She was fine with that.

She was hungry for a kiss, and leaned in, passionately planting her mouth on his and biting his lower lip gently in encouragement.

"Ouch." He breathed heavily, hands now scrabbling at her skirt, looking for the top of the zip. "What was that for?" Tariq gasped, looking up at her reproachfully.

"I just got carried away," Chloe replied, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Don't stop," she chided, grinding her crotch into his.

Tariq took it as an order, lifting her hips up with one hand and unzipping her skirt in one long, continuous motion with the other, and flinging it to one side before dropping her, hard, into his crotch.

"Well this isn't fair, is it?" Chloe chided him again. "I want to see some of that skin." She leaned forward and began undoing the buttons of his shirt, passing the hard circular pieces of plastic through the slits as fast as she could manage.

"Rip it off," Tariq growled. "I can always buy a new one."

Chloe didn't stop, just continued methodically undoing the buttons one at a time. "Maybe not for much longer," she replied, slyly – alluding to the fact that if Tariq was to cross his father, then he might not be able to expect to live the life of luxury forever.

Tariq's hands appeared out of nowhere and grabbed the shirt. "I've got money of my own, wouldn't you know," he said, and then ripped the shirt off, sending the buttons flying across the room. Chloe giggled with surprise, and helped him out of it as he leaned forward.

"I hope so," she chuckled, making circular motions with her hips, and teasing his cock into life. "I only date a certain
class
of men, you know?"

"Is that right?" Tariq replied, glancing up at her with a raised eyebrow. "It must not be a particularly selective class, then, if you're willing to accept the son of a murderer…"

"Who said I was?" Chloe replied provocatively, turning in for another kiss. She started with his lips, but couldn't resist kissing her way down his cheek and along his strong, thick and powerful jawline. His breathing quickened, she sensed it change in his entire body. It was more erratic now, and faster – and the intakes of breath happened almost exactly in time with her shifting on his crotch.

"You like that do you?" she asked breathlessly. He nodded wordlessly in reply, his face a picture of contentment. She didn't want to disappoint him, so she dragged her lips down his neck, against the ever so slight bristle of the late evening stubble. He shivered in response, and she kissed her way down his thick, muscled chest, marveling at the shape he kept himself in.

She crawled backwards, not breaking eye contact as she continued her slow, steady journey of pecking nibbles and kisses down the prince's torso, and then wickedly dragged her fingers, drawn back in the shape of a claw, across the bulge in his crotch.

"Please –" he begged, and Chloe felt alive with the power she held over him.

"Please what?" she asked, eyes narrowed – just waiting for the request. Chloe wanted nothing more than to take his length in her mouth, to taste a slight salty tang of sweat, and sample the musky aroma of his juice, but more than anything – she wanted him to ask.

The contradiction was written on his face – he didn't want to, at least not completely. "Please –" he begged again, gasping in pleasure as Chloe's fingers danced lightly across the expensive fabric that stood between her skin and his cock.

"I said – please what?" Chloe repeated, with a glint in her eye. "All you need to do is ask." She continued drawing her fingers slightly up and hooking them into the waistband of his suit pants and burrowing beneath his underwear.

Tariq fixed her with a stern look, maintaining eye contact and holding his gaze, but begging her with his eyes not to have to say the words. She slapped a cheeky expression on her face, and saw him grimace with frustration and unrequited desire as he finally relented, as though there had ever been a doubt that he would, eventually, fold.

"I want to feel your mouth around me…" he finally sighed. It wasn't quite the wholehearted, full-blooded declaration of desire that Chloe had been looking for, but it was close enough – and she was tired of playing games. Deftly, she unclasped the buckle of the suit pants, unzipped them and slid them off, underwear along with them, until it was all discarded in a pile at Tariq's feet, his cock half erect and bobbing gently in the air, pulsating with the hot blood flowing into it.