Her Improper Desire, page 1
Table of Contents
Her Improper Desire
Her Improper Desire
Blackmailed by the Sheikh
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Ruined by the Sheikh
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Bullied by the Sheikh
Ember
Ilyas
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Epilogue
Warning: Irredeemably twisted and deliciously dirty. Not suitable for all readers. No cheating. Cute and steamy happy-ever-after guaranteed. This collection of novels includes Blackmailed by the Sheikh, Ruined by the Sheikh, and Bullied by the Sheikh.
Blackmailed by the Sheikh
I'm being blackmailed...and a gorgeous, arrogant sheikh has now taken over my life.
Ruined by the Sheikh
My cousin set me up to ruin my life...and I end up in bed with a sheikh.
Bullied by the Sheikh
My gorgeous royal bosshole is drunk...and the sheikh is now telling me to get out before he does something to me. Problem is, I have secret feelings for him, so...
Her Improper Desire
An anthology containing Blackmailed by the Sheikh, Ruined by the Sheikh, and Bullied by the Sheikh
by Marian Tee
Copyright 2023 by Marian Piñera
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Blackmailed by the Sheikh
Chapter One
Tears blind my eyes as my palm slams down on the row of buttons. I don't know which floor the elevator's going to end up opening to, and I honestly don't give a damn.
All I care about is getting away as fast as I can. I just need to be on my own, just need some time and space to myself so I can stop pretending everything is fine.
Two years ago, my mom conned most of my friends into investing in her crypto scam. Others, she lied to about being sick and borrowed money from. It was only when police showed up on our front door that I found out about everything.
Virtually everyone I know stopped speaking to me after what happened, and rightly so. Mom stole from them. Went through other people's life savings like money grew on trees, and for what?
Addicted as she was to gambling, Mom lost the lot of it - all of it, dammit - in a single high-rolling night at the casino, and even to this day, she doesn't see the need to say sorry to any of them.
That's my mom.
My mom who doesn't give a shit about the number of lives she's ruined.
My own flesh and blood.
And that's why I've cut myself off from the entire world, and all I care to do now is work my ass off to pay everyone back. That's the only plan I have for the future. The only routine I have. I eat, work, and sleep, and then I do it all again.
Those days may seem boring to many, but I like boring. They're so much better than the days that aren't boring. So much better than the days when a former friend would call just to curse me for being alive, and all I can do is take it all in.
What else is there to do, when it's Mom - my mom - who killed their dreams for good? What else can I do but say sorry if it's what they want to hear? Grovel if it's what they want to see? What else can I do but just stand there when I realize our new hotel guest is one of Mom's victims?
I have no right to do anything else.
And so that's what I did earlier.
I just stand there as they slap and spit on my face, and I would still have been there if one of the other housekeepers hasn't gone running to our manager and called for security.
The doors of the elevator finally open, and I stumble out in a daze. I look up, and I manage to catch a glimpse of the floor number before the elevator resumes its ascent.
44F
I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand. 44F is perfect. The entire floor is closed off to the public, and since it won't be in use until tomorrow, I won't have to worry about anyone seeing me break down.
Housekeepers like me are given a master key card for all the rooms, and I use it to randomly open one of them. SOP allows us to do quick checks on unused rooms, but right now I just need five minutes in privacy to bawl my eyes out.
I step inside and insert the keycard into an activation panel. It powers up the entire room in the next second, and the lights automatically switch on as I turn to close the door.
When I turn around again, there's already a gun pointed straight at my head, and my whole life flashes before my eyes when I hear a cocking sound.
Oh God.
The man holding the gun doesn't even have a mask or anything else to cover his face, and that's so, so bad.
In all the crime and thriller movies I've watched, gunmen who don't give a shit about hiding their identities are usually the worst...since they also tend to be the ones who don't give a shit about keeping their victims alive.
"You."
The way he murmurs the word makes me think of another You. It's this TV series about a stalker, and that's what he calls his victims.
You.
And now this man is calling me that, too, and God, oh God, does that mean I'm a would-be victim of some psycho who thinks he can be this year's Netflix-famous criminal?
"What's your name?"
Hearing him say more than one syllable makes me realize he has an accent. Middle East, I'm almost a hundred percent certain, since our hotel frequently caters to wealthy Arab families, and shit, shit, shit, why the hell am I thinking about accents now, when my freaking life is on the line?
I'm beginning to realize I'm flirting with the edge of panic and hysteria, but I'm afraid he'll end up shooting me dead if I so much as blink.
"Answer me."
The impatience in his tone nearly makes me jump, and I blurt my name out. "Seven."
His gaze narrows at me, and I find myself distracted yet again. The man's eyes are...gold, and the fact that I care to notice this just makes everything feel more surreal. Is it like this for others, too? Am I thinking crazy thoughts because I'm in shock?
"Your face."
Oh God. Why does he suddenly sound so curt? And what about my face? What do I do if he finds me so repugnant to look at that he'd want to gouge my eyes out and cut my nose and—-
"Someone hit you."
Uh...okay.
Is he mad that someone beat him to...beating me up?
His thumb is suddenly on my cheek, and I can't help but tremble at how hot and tender his touch feels. He has a gun pointed at my head, but he's touching me like I'm precious, and the way it totally doesn't make any sense leaves me disoriented.
"Who did this?"
I start to shake my head, but then I see his golden eyes flare anew with impatience, and it scares me enough to break my silence. "It's just...just someone I know—-"
"A man?" he demands. "A woman?"
"A woman."
"Why did she hit you?"
"Because I owe her money." I say it in a nearly inaudible whisper in hopes he wouldn't hear it...but he still does.
"You owe her money?"
I want to say yes, but the thought of lying - and getting caught doing so - fills me with fear, and I say reluctantly, "My mom did."
"And you took it upon yourself to pay it back?"
Is it just me or does he sound furious while saying that?
"But you haven't quite managed to, have you?"
I'm unable to think of what to say, distracted as I am by the sight of him suddenly taking a step back...and another and another.
What the hell is he planning to do?
I have this stupid urge to cry as I watch him back away while the gun stays pointed at my head. When you're a kiss away from death, I think that's when you realize how most of your problems are frivolous, and that's certainly how I feel now, when I think about how I've wallowed in self-pity and anguish, every time someone confronted me about Mom's evil deeds.
If I survive this, I promise myself, I will never, ever stress over things that are out of my control. I'm going to focus on the positive. I'm...I'm done being an ungrateful bitch, so please God, please don't let me die!
The distance between the gunman and me has stretched to the entire length of the room by the time my feverish prayer comes to an end, and all sorts of crazy thoughts infiltrate my brain when I see him actually take his gaze off me as he pulls a drawer open.
Should I make a run for it? Even if I'm clumsy as hell? I should, shouldn't I?
"Don't even think of it," the gunman murmurs like he' s totally read my mind...all the while putting his gun away.
Why is he putting his gun away?
He turns his gaze back to me as leisurely as you please, and the thoughts in my head take an even crazier bent.
Could he have changed his mind about shooting me to death...because he wants to prolong my torture? What if he's not just a fan of You? What if he's also into movie franchises like Saw and Hostel and—-oh my God, Seven, stop trying to scare yourself to death, dammit!
My gaze swings back to his, and this time, a few more things about the gunman start to sink in, none of them comforting. At all.
He's impeccably dressed in a suit that's worth more than my wages for the entire year, but what worries me the most is just how dazzlingly gorgeous he is.
I was too frightened to realize this a while ago, but now that my shock has started to wear off, I'm able to take in all the other little details of his appearance. There's the ebony shade of his hair, the angular prominence of his cheekbones, and the way his overnight stubble just makes his lips appear more devastatingly...sensual.
It's the last thought that makes my blood turn cold, and I'm now painfully convinced that I'm soon going to meet my Maker. A man this hot has all the reason to conceal his identity, and the fact that he isn't—-
"Do you know what the punishment is—-"
Oh God, here it comes, here it comes!
"—-for entering the room of a member of Huznan royalty without permission?"
What did he just say?
I stare at him in stupefied silence, and his gaze turns mocking. "Shall I repeat the question?"
Oh shit.
The truth finally dawns on me, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Good news: This man is no killer.
Bad news: This man is a member of the royal family of the kingdom of Huzna, and—-
Worse news: I actually do know what the punishment is for trespassing on any property owned or occupied by Huznan royalty, and it's fucking death.
Shit, shit, shit!
It's like jumping from the frying pan into the fire, and I rack my brains for something I can say to excuse the inexcusable.
I know our VIPs' schedule like the back of my hand, and I could've sworn he and his entourage weren't due to arrive until tomorrow. But regardless of the reason for him showing up a day early, I still haven't any right to enter his room without permission—-
"So you do know."
The man's drawl makes my frantic gaze snap back to his, and the glint in his golden eyes makes me swallow hard.
"I'm s-sorry," I stammer. "I didn't mean to trespass." I make a tentative attempt to retreat after, but the moment I move, his sharp voice lashes out like a whip.
"Did I say you were dismissed?"
Every cell in my body freezes, and shock claws back into my soul.
"Did I?"
I work hard to keep my voice steady as I answer him. "No, Your Highness."
"Then don't until I tell you to."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Several moments pass, and he's now looking at me like I'm some alien species to be dissected. Thoroughly.
"What do you know of Huzna?"
Oh God.
Is he asking me this because he thinks I'm some kind of government spy? The thought makes me panic anew, and I struggle to keep my voice from shaking as I try to convince him of the truth. "I'm no one important—-"
"Just answer my question."
Shit.
"And forget about holding anything back."
The blandness of his tone only makes his warning all the more frightening, and I find myself rushing into speech as I throw out every Huznan fact I'm able to remember. "You had your b-borders closed for the past fifty years. A c-civil war broke out, and you were able to overthrow your former king, who's been found guilty of conspiring with rebel forces from Ramil. Your, um, your culture or your society is...is a-androcentric—-"
"Androcentric?"
There's that mocking tone of his again, but this time, it's more than a little offensive, and I find myself momentarily forgetting my fear. "Just because I work in housekeeping doesn't mean I'm illiterate—-"
"But it doesn't guarantee you'd be articulate either, does it?"
Irritation burns through my shock, but it's a blessing in disguise. Anger gives me a moment of clarity, and a sudden fact hits me like a punch in the guts.
If this man is no different from the other VIPs I've worked for - and I have no reason to think that he is - then the only way I can make sure I survive this ordeal with my neck intact is to not cower and blubber in his presence...never mind if his ability to legally order my death sentence makes me want to do exactly that: cower and blubber, and maybe swap my citizenship for Canadian, just to be safe.
"What else do you know about our kingdom?"
He's using the same bland tone from earlier, and while the sound reminds me awfully of how John Effin' Wick speaks—-
Just be yourself, Seven!
And so I look at him in the eye and say, "I know just one other thing."
"Which is?"
"You guys are filthy rich."
I'm hoping that would throw him off, but the words only make his golden eyes glitter.
Shit.
I have this really bad feeling my plan's completely backfired, and I've just given the sheikh another reason to punish me.
"Do you know who I am?"
I shake my head. Huznan royalty is notoriously overzealous about guarding its privacy, and the one and only time a tabloid magazine dared to publish their photos online, the kingdom's legal forces had been unleashed like a rain of missles.
With the London-based tabloid declaring bankruptcy just three days after its court battle, all other news and media outlets had virtually responded with a 'copy that', and the Internet hasn't seen a single photo of the royal family since then.
"My name is Saif."
Oh.
Then that means...
"You've heard of me," he says silkily.
"It's part of our job, Your Highness." I'm not really the type to pick my words with care, but there's just something about Sheikh Saif that makes me feel like I'm treading on eggshells, and one wrong move can have him instantly transform from sophisticated royal to the most dangerous predator.
"Tell me what you know."
I'm tempted to lie and say I don't know anything, but since I'm just not ready to risk the consequences of doing so, I decide to start with the least interesting facts. "You're the heir to the throne, and you have three younger brothers." I mentally cross my fingers and hope those things would suffice, but...no...such...luck.
"Is that all?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Mm."
Is that a good mm or an I-need-to-run-for-my-life kind of mm?
"That's the first lie you've uttered in my presence."
"I—-"
But the sheikh cuts me off with a look. "You should be aware that I am not known to be merciful—-"
"No kidding."
There's a second of silence, and that's when I realize I've spoken my thought out loud.
Shit!
My horrified gaze swerves back to the sheikh, and it's then I see his lips slowly curving into a smirk that makes me want to slap him...and fan my face at the same time.
What the hell?
Why am I suddenly feeling like I'm running a fever or something?
"My Seven is finally showing her claws," the sheikh purrs.
I tell myself to just keep my mouth shut, but it's as if the weird heat that's burning through my body has me losing all of my marbles, and I find myself smiling politely at the sheikh...just before purring some words right back at him. "I'm. Not. Your. Seven."
"Yet."
"Ever."
A part of me expects the sheikh to have me flogged for insubordination after that, but the sheikh's golden eyes only glitter in a way that makes me feel even hotter. Maybe I need to have maintenance check the A/C in this room? It's seriously hot, dammit!
"You're exactly what I expected."
He's only known me for what? Five minutes? And he already has expectations? That I've apparently met?
"This," the sheikh says lazily, "is the part where you tell me if I'm also what you expected."
The words throw me for a loop, and I end up groping for words. "I, um..."
"Why do you hesitate?"
Because I don't actually have any expectations of him?
"Are there other things you've heard about me?"
