Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid: The Complete Series

by Leslie North

  “Are you prepared to step into that role?”

  “I’ll step into that role however you mean it.” Was he mistaken, or was there desire in Mackenzie’s eyes when she said it?

  “I mean that as my wife, you’ll be expected to support Al-Dashalid in this dispute.” Especially with the threat of war hanging over us, he wanted to say, but didn’t.

  “I’m a good lawyer,” Mackenzie told him. “I’ve done my research, and I know what tactics and arguments my brother-in-law was going to make.” She leaned forward, as if she thought Issam was waffling on the proposal. “I’ll be a real asset to you.”

  He was relieved. The warmth of it spread through his veins from his fingertips to his shoulders. Mackenzie would be valuable to him, and triply so because having her safely folded into the royal family meant that there would be no tension between Al-Dashalid and America, and he and Al-Madiza could work together to prevent Caldad from becoming a nightmare for the region.

  He realized he was smiling—a big, wide smile—when Mackenzie smiled back at him.

  She was sexy. And smart. She was the kind of person that Issam could picture himself talking to in the evenings, after the various family members had returned to their apartments within the palace.

  Issam could sense it in the air as color rose to her cheeks.

  It was going to go well.

  Very well.

  5

  “Thirty days,” intoned the imam, then pressed his lips into a thin line. It was clear—he was not entirely pleased with being overruled by the royal family.

  Mackenzie didn’t care.

  She’d been nervous when she walked into the mosque at Issam’s side, even though the muscled height of him commanded the space. It was a spark of fear at the pit of her stomach. What if the imam went against the royal family’s wishes? What if he insisted on some hasty execution beside the ruined column?

  But he had only sat down on the other side of his desk from Mackenzie and Issam and listened while the sheikh explained his plan.

  “Thirty days?” Issam said.

  “To negate the death penalty.” The imam folded his hands on top of his desk and looked them each in the eye. “Any later, and the sentence will have to be carried out.”

  “It’s no trouble,” Issam told the imam. “I have a more pressing deadline.” With that, the sheikh stood up, and the imam quickly followed. “God willing, the planning will go smoothly.”

  Mackenzie was so relieved that it took until they were back in their black SUV for Issam’s words to register.

  “Wait—what did you say? You have a more pressing deadline than the death penalty?”

  His dark eyes danced with amusement. “I might have exaggerated slightly. But I do have a pressing deadline.”

  “What is it?”

  “I have to be married by the time I’m thirty. That’s in twenty-seven days.”

  Mackenzie laughed. “Another set of ancient laws?”

  “Yes, except the royal family is not immune from this one.”

  Issam sat back in his seat, and Mackenzie took the opportunity to appreciate the hard lines of his body beneath the crisp white dress shirt and black slacks that he wore. His arms, carrying her away from the perilous column, had been so strong. Pleasure bloomed at the memory, but she shoved it away. She only felt that way because he had saved her life. Twice. It was no reason to lose her head.

  “I’m sure they’re not willing to bend on wedding traditions, either,” she mused. “What kind of wedding will your family plan?”

  He smiled at her, a curl of his lip that made her want to edge closer. “We’ll elope.”

  “Elope?”

  Issam ran a hand through his hair, and the serious expression he usually wore returned. “Tensions are high as it is. You must already know that. You came here to negotiate about the no-man’s land.”

  “Yes,” Mackenzie agreed. Her brother-in-law had been on edge about it as well, but he’d seemed most concerned about Caldad, not Al-Dashalid. The two men needed to put aside their differences.

  Soon, she’d be able to leverage her power as a member of the royal family to make them do it—and complete her real mission.

  “But,” Mackenzie pressed on. “Shouldn’t we plan a larger ceremony? For the press, I mean. To make it look like we’ve been considering this for a long time.”

  Issam dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “I don’t have time for a large ceremony. We’re on the brink of serious military involvement with Caldad.” He cut another glance at her. “Besides, this is all business. We don’t need an ostentatious ceremony for what’s only going to be a legal commitment.”

  It stung a little, his casual dismissal of her as someone not worth loving—or at least liking. But she wasn’t going to admit that. She had no reason to be hurt. “Of course.” She turned her head and looked out the window. The sun was setting over the buildings of the capital city, bathing all of it in a warm desert glow.

  Would an elopement be enough for the imam?

  And would it be enough to save the people who were counting on her?

  By the time the SUV pulled up at the private entrance to the palace, Mackenzie had shaken off her moment of doubt. Who had time for doubt, anyway? She was getting what she wanted: access and influence on the matter of the land dispute, and it was priceless. She was one step ahead now and in the perfect position to research Al-Dashalid the same way she had researched Al-Madiza.

  Before the driver opened her door, she reached out and touched Issam’s hand. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For saving me.” There would be plenty of time to battle him about that ancient fort later. Now was the time for gratitude.

  Now was the calm before the storm.

  Issam’s dark eyes seemed to see right through her, and a strange tension zinged through the air between them. He put his other hand on top of hers. “It was my pleasure,” he said.

  They got out of the SUV and went into the palace. They’d entered a wide hallway, dim and quiet, though Mackenzie could tell by the crush of the carpet beneath her shoes that it was expensive carpet indeed, and this was a private area. No one else was in the hall. She was suddenly aware of Issam’s breathing—of the scent of him in the air. She edged a little closer.

  “Where to now?” she asked. She hadn’t thought much about what would happen when they were actually back in the palace, but now…it was likely they’d end up in his private sitting room again.

  “Upstairs,” Issam said. “Your rooms are a hallway down from mine. I’ll show you, and then I’ll need to meet with my family for a moment before—before we’re all introduced.”

  He led her halfway down the hall to a staircase, also richly carpeted, and gestured for Mackenzie to lead the way. Issam followed her closely all the way up the stairs, then reached around her for the door handle as he said “The rooms have already been—”

  The door opened, and light and noise burst in around them. Mackenzie took a step back in surprise and connected with Issam’s firm chest, his hand automatically coming around her waist to steady her.

  It was a party.

  She knew it instantly by the music and the laughter, the waiters moving through the crowd, and all the bright clothing. A celebration.

  “Come on,” Issam said gruffly. “Let’s get out of the stairwell.”

  They stepped up into the room, and Mackenzie took it all in. Tables throughout the space—which looked like the grand entryway of the palace—were draped in white tablecloths and blue table runners. It wasn’t just a party, it was an event.

  It took a few moments for anyone to notice them.

  The man who stepped up first was as tall as Issam and muscular, though slightly less built. It was Kyril, Issam’s brother. Mackenzie recognized him from her research.

  “Issam!” he cried. “You’re here at last. Everyone’s been waiting for you.”

  “Kyril, what is this?” Issam said, and then an older man who resembled Kyril stepped forward a
nd clapped Issam on the back.

  “Congratulations, son,” he said, his voice quietly proud.

  “You shortened your trip,” said Issam. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “And miss this? Never.”

  A movement at Mackenzie’s elbow caught her eye, and she turned just as she was embraced by a short woman in the loveliest blue abaya she’d ever seen. “You must be Mackenzie. I’m Daya, and this is Zafir. We’re so happy to have you with us today, and so delighted that—”

  “Mother.” A younger woman with dancing eyes and shining hair that spilled down her back pulled on Daya’s shoulder—Adira. “Don’t overwhelm Issam’s new fiancée.”

  The word was pure pleasure, though Mackenzie worked fast to tamp it down.

  “Well?” Adira prodded Issam in the ribs. “Aren’t you going to introduce her? We’re all here.”

  “Now we’re all here.” Rami, Issam’s other brother, was taller than Issam but lean, giving him a regal grace as he approached the group.

  Issam’s shoulders relaxed, and the shock melted away from his face. “Beloved family,” he said, and for the first time Mackenzie heard laughter in his voice. “This is my fiancée, Mackenzie Peters.”

  They all started talking at once, and then Inan ran up and wrapped his arms around Issam’s legs. “Did you get her out of trouble, Uncle Issam?”

  He scooped the boy up in his arms. “I got her out of trouble or my name isn’t Mohammad.”

  Inan screeched with laughter. “Your name isn’t Mohammad!”

  Mackenzie couldn’t help staring. This was not the stone-faced man she’d sat across from in his private living room, or the man who’d faced down the imam at the mosque with cool confidence. He was a loving uncle, son, and brother.

  He would probably be a kind husband and a good father.

  No. She couldn’t think of that. Things likely wouldn’t get that far. Why would they? It was only a marriage of convenience.

  “Now, now,” Daya said, hands in the air, as if that alone could silence the rest of the partygoers. “We have an announcement to make.”

  Issam sighed. “Please tell me you’re not going abroad again. The last arrangements were a security nightmare.”

  “We’ve set a date for the wedding,” Daya said, ignoring him.

  Mackenzie’s mouth dropped open.

  Daya waggled a finger at her sons. “You’ve deprived me of two other royal weddings, and I will not stand for it. Not with my youngest son. This time, the planning is up to me.” She remembered herself at the last moment. “Of course—I should ask permission from your bride.” Daya looked longingly at Mackenzie as if she were already her daughter.

  Mackenzie laughed out loud, another wave of relief moving through her. This wasn’t going to be so bad. A lavish wedding? Becoming royalty? Staying alive another day to fight for the people who needed her?

  It could not get any better.

  “The bigger the better,” Mackenzie said and clapped her hands.

  Daya threw her arms around Mackenzie’s shoulders, laughing. “My sons have given me such wonderful daughters,” she said, voice filled with excitement.

  “Oh, thank you,” said Adira with a quick roll of her eyes. “Now, quick, Mother. We have to make plans. Before she cuts and runs!”

  6

  Issam craved a quiet room.

  The party was wonderful. That wasn’t it. He could hardly complain about the trouble his family had gone to in arranging it so quickly. His mother, more than anyone else, had scrambled to make it happen. He could tell by the excited gleam in her eyes that she had come in just under the wire, even with all the resources available to the royal family.

  Yes, it had been wonderful. But after two hours, he was ready to go.

  He turned away from the table he’d been standing at to find Mackenzie.

  She was in a little clutch with Adira and some other friends of the family, but the moment he moved into her field of vision, her gaze snapped to him. Even after the day she had had, energy radiated from her. She stepped over to him.

  “What is it, Issam?”

  “It’s time to get out of here.”

  The excitement didn’t wane—not even a flicker. Mackenzie simply put her glass down on the nearest table and said, “Let’s go.”

  She followed him down a hall to another private staircase. The moment they were enveloped within the quiet, Issam felt the weight on his shoulders. It was the weight of all the tension still strung between all the countries involved in the land dispute.

  It was simply no time to be swept up in planning a wedding.

  “Adira is lovely,” Mackenzie was saying, and he realized she’d been talking since they left the party. “And your mother is so enthusiastic about planning. I’m not sure I’ll have any decisions to make at all, and honestly, I don’t mind.” She laughed. “I’d much rather plan a wedding than…” They turned the corner into the wing of the palace that housed his quarters, and Issam stopped in front of one of the doors.

  “These are your rooms.” He pressed open the door and led the way into a suite smaller than his own but no less well appointed. It smelled as fresh as a spring breeze, and he could tell from the shine on the graceful mahogany furniture that someone had been in very recently to make sure it was perfect.

  Mackenzie stepped inside and ran a hand over the crisp white bedding. “This is a far cry from that holding cell,” she said softly, and it hit him again. Things were far too dangerous to worry about planning a wedding.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “So we need to focus on keeping you out of it for good.”

  Mackenzie turned back toward him, her face gentle. The wall sconces were turned down to half-power, and it was lovely mood lighting for her.

  “You’re stressed,” she said. It wasn’t a question. She reached for his hand. “Come on, sit down. Sit down.” She pulled him toward the edge of the bed, put her hands on his shoulders, and pressed until he was seated at the foot of the bed. Then she kicked off her shoes and clambered up behind him.

  “What are you—oh.”

  Mackenzie was rubbing his shoulders. Skillfully, in fact. He felt the tension releasing with every roll of her hands.

  “It’s no wonder you’re feeling pressure,” she said, her breath tickling the back of his neck. “You don’t have time for all this. None of us do. Politically, things are…you’re right. It’s a dangerous time.”

  She was perceptive. Most people couldn’t guess what he was thinking, yet here she was, giving him a massage and reading his mind.

  What should he say to that?

  “I can help,” she went on, her voice low and smooth. “I’ve been studying the history of the no-man’s land between the two countries. I’ve done all the necessary research to help you—both of you—negotiate an agreement. That’s why you’re marrying me, after all.” She laughed, and the sound gave him a flush of pleasure. “So you can resolve this peacefully.”

  “I’m marrying you so that you don’t die. Help with the land dispute is a silver lining.” Of course, no matter what Mackenzie said, he wasn’t going to bring her in on the actual negotiations. They’d have to send someone else for that. Mackenzie’s conflict of interest would be a problem for both Al-Dashalid and Al-Madiza. He’d need to give her another job.

  “You could look at it that way,” Mackenzie said neutrally.

  “What I really need,” he said, leaning back into her hands, “is for someone to take charge of the wedding. My mother will quickly get out of hand. Do you think you could manage that planning to royal standards?”

  “What?” The mattress dipped as she climbed off the bed and came around in front of him. “Your standards?” There was high color in Mackenzie’s cheeks. “You don’t know me very well, Issam. I never fall below anyone’s standards because my own standards are so high.”

  “Oh?”

  She was determined. “Yes. I’ve always insisted on doing the best, getting the best. I fought my way into
a full-ride scholarship at Notre Dame, and do you know what? I went to law school at Yale. I made them pursue me. An Ivy League university!”

  “Wow,” Issam said.

  “There hasn’t been a day since I passed the bar that I haven’t thrown all of myself into my work. I researched you before I ever set foot into Al-Dashalid. I’m always prepared.”

  “You weren’t prepared at that intersection.”

  “I couldn’t have predicted that someone would run the red light.” Mackenzie stepped forward so she was standing between his legs. “And you—” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “Should be grateful that I’m a quick thinker. I saved more than one life. I sacrificed myself for those children. I made that choice in an instant. And you think I can’t plan a wedding to your standards?”

  She shook her head, eyes blazing.

  It was sexy.

  She was strong, she was bottled lightning, and Issam wanted more of her. Here was a woman who could hold her own in discussions with him. No, Mackenzie was a person with an edge of her own. He’d lost track of what she was saying—he was too consumed by the flash of her eyes, the toss of her hair, and the way her body brushed against his thighs. He was hard as a rock. Another inch, and she’d feel it. Pure need rushed through him, and he raised his hands to her waist. She kept talking, kept arguing, right up until the moment he pulled her in and silenced her with a kiss.

  A hard, hot kiss, his lips firm against hers. She felt so good under his hands, and the moment their lips crashed together she threaded her arms around his neck and kissed him back harder. His cock twitched against the fabric of his pants. She was holding nothing back, and he tightened his grip around her waist. Pulled her in closer. Ran a hand up her back to thread his fingers through her hair. Closer, closer. He took that same hand and put his thumb on her chin, tugging her lips open so he could push his tongue inside, exploring.

  She shivered. She actually shivered, and a little moan slipped into his mouth.

  Issam felt his self-control shredding. He wanted to tear her little suit jacket right off her, but…he shouldn’t. It was too soon. It was too soon, and after the day they’d had, nobody was thinking clearly. How could he think clearly, tasting her? Sweetness and fire all in one?