Page 6 of Hiding in the Sheik's Arms

Khal froze at the whispered words. They were like a punch to his gut. They confirmed what he’d already suspected, but he didn’t like the confirmation.

He and his brother were standing just outside of Tasha’s office. Khal had no idea why he hadn’t brought Joran into his office. A sixth sense or maybe an angel’s whispered warning? Whatever it was, Khal was glad that he’d listened to the impulse to pause, to be very still. Those words, spoken with a soft voice filled with absolute determination, gave him a small glimpse into the woman who had finally woken back up to the world.

Khal had to restrain himself from rushing back into Tasha’s office, maybe pulling her into his arms and kissing the top of her head with the assurance that she would be fine, that he would ensure that she thrived.

Who the hell had hurt Tasha so badly? Her soft, brown hair and those intelligent chocolate eyes weren’t enough of a window. He wanted to throw the door open and discover all of her secrets.

She’d been here for a year now. She had been so timid at first, but as soon as she’d seen the disastrous state of the office, Tasha had taken control. She had been broken at first. But work, and as many tempting treats as he could come up with, had given her pale cheeks and too-thin frame a little more color and curves.

Still, her comment to the pathetic leaf – he couldn’t call it a plant, not with just one damn leaf that looked as if it were ready to give up and die – was a startling revelation. Tasha had been quiet when she’d first arrived here as his new personal assistant. Quiet and…intense. Yes, that was the right word.Intense, as if she was waiting for something bad to happen. She’d worked diligently to ensure that every issue was resolved without error. She’d figured out how to anticipate his needs, creating reports and handing him information before he even realized he needed it. For a while, Khal had wondered if the woman could read his mind.

Then there’d been the day she’d flinched. He’d merely picked up a file folder, getting ready to hand it to her, but when he’d lifted the folder, she’d visibly flinched.

“Khal!”

The voice coming from a few feet away pulled his attention away from his pretty assistant. Reluctantly, Khal looked at his brother, Joran who was waiting patiently, a confused expression on his face.

“In my office,” Khal said, pointing behind him.

His bodyguards, and Joran’s guards, stepped aside as he and his brother walked into Khal’s office.

When the door closed behind Joran, Khal turned to lean against his desk. “Tasha mentioned that you need to speak with me,” he prompted. “What’s going on?”

Joran crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you hear about Tamia?” he asked, saying a name that none of them wanted to ever hear again.

Khal sighed. “Dad’s second wife? What about her? She left our father years ago.”

Joran shrugged and dropped his tall, boxer-style body down onto the leather sofa in Khal’s office. “I know that she’s not our favorite person, but she just passed away from cancer.”

Khal’s eyes narrowed. There was a long, tense silence, then Khal sighed heavily. “I never liked the woman. She didn’trespect our customs and hated the heat of our country, so she’s obviously not our favorite person. But no one deserves to go through the hell of cancer.”

“Agree,” Joran replied. “However, it’s more complicated.”

Khal rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, pushing away from his desk to walk around it. “We’ll pay for her funeral expenses, of course,” Khal replied. “What more does her family want from us?”

“She doesn’t have family,” Joran explained. “I’ve heard through a friend that Tamia had a young daughter when she passed.”

Khal was immediately alert. “She got remarried?”

Joran shook his head. “She never remarried.”

Khal filled in the blanks and stiffened. “We have a sister?” he demanded, his voice more gravelly than normal as the implications hit him.

“Half-sister,” Joran corrected. “I sent someone to do a paternity test, and yes. We have a half-sister.”

There was a long silence while they absorbed this information. Khal stared out the office window, without seeing the beautiful city stretching out in the distance. He didn’t notice the painfully blue sky or the bright sunshine bathing the city in warmth.

After a painful pause, he swung his head back to his brother. “Does Raj know?” Khal finally asked, referring to their younger brother. “He’s…,” Khal’s features tightened and he stopped, thinking for a brief moment. “Where is he these days?”

Joran shrugged. “Yesterday I read a news article about Raj and some actress.” He tilted his head slightly as if tryingto remember the details. “Or maybe a waitress?” He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Raj has gone off to do his own thing ever since mother passed and father married Tamia.”

Khal chuckled, shaking his head. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

Joran’s head jerked backwards slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Khal walked over to the leather club chair, dropping the file for his next meeting on the coffee table before sitting down. “You don’t think that your extreme sports, your love of heading out on missions with the special forces teams, is fulfilling the same need that Raj’s sexual prowess fills for him?”

Joran eyed Khal for a long moment, then shrugged, silently accepting that yes, he had a few issues to work through. “So, what is your antidote for the lingering anger and resentment created by our childhood?”

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