Kept for the Sheikh's Pleasure Page 3

  His sigh was audible. “Yes, one would think it should work that way. But Bah’shar is an ancient country, and things have always been done a certain way. Blood feuds often go back many generations. My father tended to ignore the violence so long as the Sheikhs paid their obeisance.”

  “Why can’t you do the same?” Not that she thought violence should be ignored, but she wanted to know why it was important to him.

  “I could, I suppose. But then things happen—like border raids, where old fools let their men kidnap Western archaeologists. It makes us look bad in the eyes of the world. I wish us to move forward as a people, not wallow in the past.”

  “Isn’t tradition important?”

  “Of course. But so is progress. And I believe we can have both—though there are those who resist.”

  “I remember that you were going to build skyscrapers. Do you ever get to do that?”

  He sighed again. “I did, for a while. Perhaps once I’ve settled into this new role as king I will be able to do so again.”

  They’d only been together six months, but she remembered his enthusiasm for building—his sketches and grand plans. He’d been in love with the idea of creating and she’d been in love with him. God.

  “I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you’d hoped,” she said.

  “It is as it was intended to be. I accept that.” He threw back the covers and sat up. “Are you tired?”

  “Not really.” Too much adrenaline in one day. And too much shock.

  “Then come. I wish to show you something.” He hesitated a moment. “You once told me you could ride. Was that the truth?”

  “Yes, but I won’t be joining the Olympic equestrian team anytime soon.”

  His teeth flashed white in the dim light as he stood and held out his hand. “That is sufficient.”

  Genie stared at his outstretched fingers. Did she really want to go anywhere with him? To risk even a moment more in his company than absolutely necessary?

  But what was the alternative? Refuse and have him climb back into the bed with her?

  She put her hand in his. Electricity snapped along her nerve-endings, sizzling into her core.

  No matter how she sliced it, she was in big trouble here. A few days might as well be an eternity.

  *

  “What do you think?” Zafir asked.

  Genie could only stare at the undulating sand dunes—no, mountains—spreading as far as the eye could see. She’d excavated in the desert before, she knew what sand dunes looked like, but she’d never seen anything so beautiful as the pink-tinged dawn sky, the red sand that glistened with moisture which would soon be burned off by the hot rays of the sun—and she’d certainly never witnessed it from the back of a white Arabian mare.

  The horse’s delicately arched neck belied her strength. She’d run up this mountain of sand as fleet-footed as a gazelle. Now she stood, her nostrils flaring, her proud head held high, her bridle dripping with tassels that shook with each prancing movement.

  Genie turned in the saddle. Zafir was staring at her. He sat his mount so easily, the white fabric of his dishdasha a sharp contrast with his stallion’s bay flanks. He looked at home here, regal and otherworldly—like someone she should never have met in a million years.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  “It’s amazing, Zafir.”

  He turned his head, his profile to her as he gazed over the dunes. It stunned her to realize that he very much looked like a king. How had she never noticed that royal bearing of his?

  “I wanted to show you this before, but it was not possible. I am glad you are here to see it now, despite the circumstances.”

  Her heart throbbed. Why did he have to do this to her? Why did he have to remind her of how much she’d once loved him?

  “I’m glad too,” she said, though she wasn’t really sure if that was the truth. Far better to be over the border, still in her encampment, digging through sand and rock and not knowing Zafir was here—so close and yet so far. In many ways, though he sat beside her now, he was farther from her than he’d ever been.

  Untouchable. Unapproachable. A king.

  Genie sucked in a cool breath. The desert air was frigid at night, but it was beginning to warm as the sun crept upward in the sky. Soon it would be too hot ever to believe it had been cold only hours before.

  Zafir threw one leg over his horse’s head and jumped to the ground. “Let us walk before we return to the camp,” he said.

  Genie dismounted and fell in beside him. They walked along the top of the dune without speaking. The sand made it difficult to go fast, so they took their time—almost as if it were a companionable morning stroll.

  Like they’d used to do when they’d get up early and make the walk to the bakery first thing in the morning. “Should we get the donuts or the sunflower bread?” she said, and then wished she hadn’t. How ridiculous to bring that up!

  But he glanced over at her and smiled. “The donuts, of course.”

  “That was a simpler time,” she said softly, not looking at him. Simpler because she hadn’t known what was expected of him, because she’d believed they shared something deep and meaningful. How wrong she’d been.

  “Indeed. But everyone grows up, Genie. Life does not sit still because we wish it to.”

  “No.”

  He stopped and turned toward her. His face was limned in the dawn light, the hard planes and angles both harsher and more beautiful because of it. Dark eyes gazed at her intently.

  “There is no reason why we can’t recapture some of that feeling,” he said.

  Her heart thudded in her throat, her temples. A few hours ago she’d been Dr. Geneva Gray, renowned archaeologist. Now, she was Genie Gray, the lovesick student who’d once had a passionate affair with a desert prince.

  And he was tempting her with the promise of more. How could she want him again when he’d hurt her so deeply?

  “I’m not sure that’s wise,” she said.

  But he closed the distance between them, his body so close, so vibrant in the cool morning air. “Why wouldn’t it be, Genie? We are adults, and we still want each other. This is not a crime.”

  “No, but it feels too much like digging up the past.”

  His smile was almost mocking. “Ah, but isn’t this what you like to do? Dig up the past?”

  “Not all things need to be dug up,” she replied, her pulse hammering in spite of how calm she tried to sound.

  His head dipped toward her in slow motion. She knew she should move away, but she closed her eyes automatically, waited for the touch of his lips against hers.

  It didn’t happen.

  She opened her eyes again, to find he’d stopped only inches from her mouth.

  “I do not believe what you say, Genie Gray. And neither, it seems, do you.” He straightened and turned toward his mount. “Come, we must return to the camp before the sun is up.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GENIE had never been to Al-Shahar before. Though the city was ancient, and rife with ruins to be explored, Zafir’s father had not allowed any excavation to take place. Nor had the previous kings before him. Zafir was the first to suggest it was possible, and she had to admit that the prospect excited her. She had to hope that he would still allow her to do so, regardless that he’d claimed she first had to sleep with him in order to get the commission.

  He’d not mentioned it since last night, and she wondered if perhaps he’d merely been angry and acting on emotion from the past instead of truly intending to force her into his bed.

  Not that it would take much to force her, she thought disgustedly. In spite of everything—the hurt and pain and anger—she still felt something in his presence. Something she’d never felt with anyone else. Was she adult enough to handle a casual affair? To know he was a king and that he could never, ever have a real relationship with her beyond the physical?

  She turned her attention to the city as they passed through the ancient gates at one en
d. The ruins of the old temples sat on a point that was higher than the rest of the city, with the exception of the palace. She could see them clearly in the distance as she sat up straighter and pressed her face to the glass.

  “You want very much to get your hands into the dirt there, don’t you?”

  She turned to the man sitting beside her. He was still dressed in the robes of the desert, but the ceremonial dagger was gone. And he was still as breathtaking as he had been from the first moment she’d seen him again.

  “You know I do. It’s a fabulous opportunity, Zafir.”

  She expected him to tell her that she knew what she had to do to gain the commission, but he said nothing of the sort.

  “I would not have offered it to just anyone—no matter that it’s past time this city’s history was explored and preserved for future generations.”

  Warmth blossomed. “I appreciate your confidence in me.”

  He shrugged and turned away. “You must be very good at what you do.”

  “Must be?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you find out before you hand over this commission to me?”

  His gaze was sharp, assessing. “Should I give you this commission, there will be no need.”

  “I’m not sure how you can say that. It’s important work, and you should get the best to do it.”

  And why was she saying this? Why place any doubt in his mind?

  Because she wanted him to know she was the best, not just to give it to her because she was the only archaeologist he knew. Assuming he did so, of course.

  Zafir gave her a hard look. “Your work is the most important thing in the world to you. More important than anyone or anything. No one would sacrifice so much without being determined to succeed.”

  A pang of hurt throbbed to life inside her. “It’s not the most important thing. There’s my mother, my friends—”

  “But not a lover, yes?”

  “I don’t need a lover to prove I care about things other than work.”

  He merely shrugged again. “As you say, then.”

  “Are you going to give me the job?”

  “That depends on you, Genie.”

  Genie tamped down on the irritation uncoiling within her. She wasn’t about to ask him what he meant. She didn’t need to.

  She turned to watch the city glide by. Al-Shahar was more modern than she’d thought it would be. Cars rolled down wide streets with tall glass and steel buildings. There were sidewalks, manicured trees and plants, and designer shops lining the streets on both sides. It was still early enough that people populated the sidewalks—the men in business suits or traditional robes, the women either wearing colorful abayas or Western clothes.

  They also passed through an older section of town, where the buildings were mud-brick and she saw more than one donkey pulling a laden cart. The air smelled of spice, exotic and fresh, and she wished she could get out and explore the old bazaars. But the Hummer continued toward the palace, finally passing through the arched gates and pulling to a halt in front of huge double doors that looked as if they were made of gold.

  Zafir’s door popped open. Someone had unrolled a red carpet, and he stepped out onto it, then turned and held out a hand for her. She accepted, scooting across the seat and joining him on the walkway. The car door slammed again and the vehicle moved away—everything a perfectly coordinated dance of efficiency.

  Black-clad men with headsets and Uzis flanked the palace doors, while several other men fanned out behind them.

  “Is it so dangerous here you need this many guards?” she asked.

  Zafir frowned. “Not at all. It is simply custom.”

  Another thought wormed its way into her consciousness. A worrying thought. “Zafir, you said you were putting an end to an old feud in the desert. Are you in any danger from those men?”

  The double doors whisked open and they passed inside while men and women bowed low. It was disconcerting to be reminded so forcefully at every turn how exalted a being Zafir now was.

  And he’d wanted to renew their physical relationship? With a woman who crawled around in dirt and mud on a regular basis? She was beginning to doubt his sincerity on that score.

  He stopped at another ornate door. “I am not in danger, habiba. Do not worry yourself.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” she lied. And she didn’t believe him. He’d said there were those who clung to the old ways and didn’t want change. When people felt threatened, they were capable of many things. In a volatile environment such as this, would someone go so far as to try and harm the King?

  “Go with Yusuf,” Zafir said. “He will show you to your quarters. I will see you for dinner tonight.”

  She could only stare after him as he turned to go.

  But then he looked back at her. “And be sure to wear something sexy, Genie.”

  *

  Zafir entered his private office and went to his desk to see what papers his secretary had left for him. But his mind was on the woman he’d left standing in the hall. It was dangerous to want Genie Gray again. He had too many things he needed to do as a new king trying to cement his rule. Distractions were unwelcome.

  Most of his father’s ministers had accepted him as king, though there were those who grumbled he’d spent too much time in the West, that his education in America was dangerous to tradition and custom. He was careful to pick his battles, and swift to act once he had. This issue with the blood feuds was one he intended to put a stop to as quickly as possible.

  Now that he was king, he was also being pressured to marry again. A king needed heirs, and his ministers were anxious he should get started on the task. He would do so in his own time, however.

  His experience with marriage thus far had not been the most pleasant. Jasmin’s death had shocked him. She’d been impulsive and high-strung, and when she’d threatened to do herself harm he’d not believed her.

  He still didn’t believe she’d meant to kill herself.

  She’d most likely meant to scare him when she’d taken the pills. She’d counted on him to find her, to call an ambulance, but he’d been delayed that day. By the time he’d found her—it had been too late. He still blamed himself for not taking her seriously, for not getting her the help she needed.

  Four years after her death he’d bowed to the pressure to marry again. A mistake.

  And now Genie was here, back in his life by accident when he’d never expected to see her again. Her presence brought a feeling of normalcy to the circus his life had become. She’d known him before, when he had been simply Prince Zafir, when he’d been excited about his studies and the things he would build.

  Perhaps it was wrong to keep her here, but he didn’t care. Because she gave him something he’d thought lost, something he hadn’t realized he needed until she’d ripped off her veil in the tent.

  Genie Gray gave him a sense of himself as he’d used to be. She made him feel less alone in this world, and he truly needed that right now. Oddly enough, he also felt a pang of guilt over the way they’d parted ten years ago. Perhaps he should have told her about his arranged marriage when they’d first met. Perhaps he should have given her the chance to decide for herself if she wanted to take the risk of being with a man who came from a world so different from her own.

  And what choice are you giving her now?

  He shoved the thought aside brutally. He would not force her into his bed, no matter what he’d told her. He’d been angry, and he’d said things he did not mean.

  But he would bed her again. It was as inevitable as the sand-storms that swept across the desert.

  *

  Genie stood in the middle of the cavernous quarters she’d been shown to—the old harem, Yusuf had explained—and studied the tilework over her head. The room was vaulted, the mosaic inlaid with gold and precious gems. It was an extraordinary room.

  There were marble columns, soaring arches, stained glass, and a crystal chandelier that must stand twice as tall as she if it were lowered to th
e floor and she could measure herself against it.

  This room connected to another—a smaller room this time, with a large bed on a dais in the center. The furnishings were ornate, more modern than appropriately suited this space, and luxurious. She went through another door and found a bathroom that would more or less be considered a spa where she lived. A cutout high in the roof let natural light in, and it shafted down over a pool—yes, pool—from which steam arose.

  A natural hot spring. Marvelous.

  On a long shelf there were scented oils and cosmetics in an array of delicate blown-glass bottles. She passed into another room, and came up short. This was a dressing room, and one wall was lined with clothes. But whose clothes? His ex-wife’s? A mistress’s?

  She plucked at the first garment. A tag was still attached to the sleeve. Galliano. She dropped the tag as if it burned when she saw the price. How many zeroes were possible when you were only talking about a dress?

  Genie picked up the next garment, and the next. All had tags. And all had cost far more than a month’s wages.

  She passed back into the large reception area, to find a woman laying out a teapot along with small cakes and a selection of fruit near one of the divans.

  “Please, madam,” the woman said. “His Majesty sends you greetings.”

  She indicated an envelope on the table. Genie went over and picked it up.

  “Tea?”

  “Um, yes. Thank you,” Genie replied. It’d been hours since breakfast, and she had no idea when, or if, lunch would be served.

  Ripping open the envelope, she pulled out a piece of heavy cream paper upon which Zafir had scrawled, ‘Choose a dress from the closet. They were sent over for you. Dinner is at eight.’

  He’d bought the dresses for her? The thought was both disconcerting and warming at the same time. Disconcerting because there were so many, and they were so expensive. Warming because he’d thought to do so.

  The afternoon that followed was long and lonely. Though it frustrated her to putter around the harem when she could be working, Genie still managed to soak in the hot spring, take a long nap, and find a suitable dress. The one she chose was a soft blue-gray silk with jeweled spaghetti straps. It fell right above the knee, and though it was very nice she wasn’t sure she would call it sexy.