Desert Jewels & Rising Stars

by Sharon Kendrick

  “Get out of here.” He didn’t bother with the half turn to hide his scar, but looked her full in the face. That ought to scare her off.

  “Listen, I—” Her voice wavered.

  “You listen.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead. The air was well over a hundred degrees outside, and even warmer in the car. He had run up to his office for only a few minutes to grab some papers before he headed off to the camel races, so he hadn’t bothered to pull in to the climate-controlled underground parking garage. He let loose the frustration and anger that churned inside him. “Get the hell out of here. Now.”

  The woman stopped, but only momentarily. Her wide brown eyes flashed with determination, and her deep auburn hair swirled around her face in the dry breeze that’d been blowing from the desert all day. Hair that flowed in soft waves well below her elbows. Her soft linen skirt fluttered around her ankles, the light color matching her modest top—clothes that accentuated her tall, slim figure. She looked as beautiful as an angel and as determined as Satan’s handmaiden.

  Few men would have remained standing there when he had that glare on his face and that edge in his voice. But incomprehensibly, instead of running the other way, her delicate chin came up. She was maybe four feet from him and not budging.

  “All I want—”

  Oh, hell. “There’s a bomb—” Karim saw movement in one of the windows behind her, and acted on instinct.

  He vaulted out of the car and flew across the space between them, crashing her to the hard pavement, doing his best to break her fall. He didn’t stop, but rolled and rolled.

  She screamed the whole time and beat on his shoulders, resisted with all the power in her slim frame, her long hair entangling them. Then the car finally blew, shaking the parking lot.

  Heat.

  Smoke.

  Fear.

  She screamed even louder, but it barely registered now over the ringing in his ears.

  Head down. He kept her covered as best he could, protected her from the burning debris that flew across the air like projectile missiles. As strong and determined as she had looked a moment ago, she seemed scared and fragile as she clung to him now.

  “Don’t move,” he said near her ear, unable to hear his own voice, half-deaf from the explosion. “It’s okay.” He made an attempt to reassure her anyway. They would assess their injuries and face reality in a moment. For now, he was still trying to catch his breath.

  The air swirled blazing hot around them. But even the acrid smell of smoke couldn’t completely drown out the scent of the woman in his arms: jasmine and vanilla.

  In his peripheral vision, he registered security personnel running from the building.

  “Ambulance. Now! Cover his position.”

  “Secure the grounds! Secure the grounds!”

  “Are you all right, sir? Sheik?”

  Karim let the woman go and nodded, the ringing in his ears diminishing with each passing second. She looked wide-eyed with shock, staring at the car a few short yards from them. Her fair skin was now positively white, to the point of being translucent, save a few smudges of dirt.

  “What happened?” She pressed a hand to her abdomen, breathing in quick gasps.

  He’d probably knocked the air out of her.

  After checking her over for visible injuries and not finding any, he followed her gaze, clenching his teeth at the sight of the twisted metal behind him. That had been close. Too close. Aziz’s death still filled his mind, dulling his attention to other things. He had to separate himself from the grief, had to block the memories of the burning well—a fire a thousand times larger than what burned in the parking lot now. He couldn’t get distracted and be taken out. He had to find who killed Aziz.

  The company’s private ambulance was racing through the parking lot toward them. For him.

  “I’m fine. You take her.” Whatever she wanted from him, he had no time to deal with her now.

  He’d spoken in Arabic, but she must have understood his body language, because she began to protest.

  “No, I’m fine. Really. I don’t need to see a doctor.” She was rattled and scared, more than a little bewildered, fighting to hide it. Her chin came up, trembling slightly and smudged with dirt from the pavement. “I can’t go.” She backed away a few steps. “I’m not going.”

  The woman showed a deep-seated aversion to do as she was told. Even if it was for her own good.

  He wasn’t in the mood just now to humor her. “Get in.”

  Even his own security stilled at the growl in his voice.

  “No,” she said, oblivious to danger once again.

  His eyes narrowed. Did she just stomp her feet or had she been flexing her knees?

  He had been careful with her when he’d taken her down. She didn’t look hurt. She was breathing normally now. Her clothes were barely rumpled and only slightly stained. Her hair looked the worst, tangled and with a fair amount of sand in it. The desert winds had been blowing for days, dusting the parking lot and everything else in the city.

  His security force closed in a circle around them and awaited his orders. They would remove her forcefully; all he had to do was give the word. He should. He had a million things to do at the moment and no time for the distraction of a stubborn woman.

  “Fine. No hospital,” he said instead. “Just get in. Whoever did this could be still out here.”

  She paled even more, if that was possible, and stepped up into the back of the ambulance. He went after her, on second thought, not because he was scared for his life, but because if whoever was out there decided to shoot at him, the bastard might hit one of his men instead. Better to remove himself from sight.

  “We can drop you off at your hotel. Please, sit.” He gestured to the gurney. He remained standing, holding on to one of the restraints as the vehicle moved out. He nodded toward the lone paramedic’s cell phone with a questioning look.

  He handed it over immediately. “Of course, sir.”

  Karim’s chief of security came on the line after the first ring.

  “How did they get in? I want a report the second you find something,” he told the man in Arabic. “I want the whole building in lockdown until everyone inside is verified. And I want a digital copy of the security tapes e-mailed to me immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He handed the phone back and focused on the foreign woman who was watching him with morbid fascination. She looked even more impossibly beautiful than his first impression had been—high cheekbones, delicate features, eyes the golden brown color of a perfectly ripe, sweet fig. Eyes that held wariness and secrets, and a certain amount of plucky determination.

  Then it clicked.

  Media.

  A less disciplined man would have groaned. She probably wanted an interview for some foreign paper. Sheer bad luck that she had caught him at a moment like this. There’d be no way now to keep the attack out of the papers. She’d be impossible to shake off. But he had other things to do, which meant he had to get her—and the distractions she brought—out of his life as fast as possible.

  “At which hotel are you staying?”

  She drew a deep breath and pulled her spine straight. “I need to talk to you first. I’m looking for Aziz.”

  His fists clenched. He made a point to relax them. Not a reporter then. Aziz. Of course. He should have known.

  Aziz had always been the lucky one between the two of them, the ladies’ man, or as some Western tabloids had once called him, the Playboy Sheik. Aziz had been in his element at the high-society events of Cannes and Monaco, and had kept a party house—with Hollywood celebrity neighbors—in Miami on Star Island. He’d lived the high life and pursued a wide range of interests, had dabbled in everything from yacht racing to desert archaeology.

  “And who are you?” he asked.

  “Julia Gardner.” She extended her hand. Some of her color had come back. Her skin was now the palest of pinks. A tangle of bead bracelets encircled her slim wrist
.

  He didn’t move.

  She pulled back immediately. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Sorry. Force of habit. I have trouble remembering all these strange rules.” She snapped her full mouth shut. That lasted only a second. “Not that I think your country is strange. Just strange to me. New. New to me. I—”

  “No offense taken.”

  “You look just like your brother.” The words spurted from her before she pressed her full lips together once again.

  His mood darkened. Maybe at one point Aziz and he had looked alike—they were identical twins. But nobody had dared compare them for a long time now, not since a childhood accident had taken the sight of Karim’s right eye, leaving a hideous scar on his face. “You knew Aziz well?”

  She glanced away.

  So, Julia Gardner, too, had some trouble looking at his face, despite her earlier bravado. He resisted the impulse to shift into his usual half turn.

  “We met when he was in Baltimore a couple of months ago,” she was saying. “I haven’t been able to reach him and I came here and—Look, I just want to talk to him. The man at the front desk told me I should ask you.” She kept her hands clasped together tightly in her lap, but her shoulders were drawn straight and tall.

  “Aziz is gone.” The muscles in his jaw pulled tight. The pictures that flashed into his mind brought raw pain every time. He’d been closer to his twin brother than to anyone else in the world. The hot rage over the unfairness of Aziz’s death hadn’t diminished any in the month since his funeral. Nor had Karim’s desire to seek revenge.

  The corners of her eyes crinkled with worry, which she tried to mask with a nonchalant smile. “When is he coming back?”

  He forced air into his constricting lungs. “We had a well explosion last month.”

  He could see when she understood finally. Shock and pain flashed through her eyes. She stood, agitated, a hand pressed to her stomach, then opened her full, lush mouth, but no words came out. Color drained from her face all over again. She swayed.

  He caught her and helped her fold to the gurney.

  “She fainted, sir.” The paramedic who sat in the corner, trying his best to remain invisible and give them privacy, moved forward and managed to clip a monitor on her index finger without actually touching her. Her vital signs showed on the small screen behind him.

  Fainted. Karim blinked and let her go, stepped away from her. He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have time for her. Period.

  He would absolutely not allow her to sully Aziz’s memory with scandal. He was fairly certain about why she was here. She wasn’t the first. Others had come looking for Aziz after his international trips. They wanted to keep the party going, have access to Aziz’s wealth and a shot at becoming one of oil-rich Beharrain’s latest princesses.

  She was too late. He watched her. Miss Gardner might not know it yet, but she was leaving on the next plane out of the country.

  It seemed perversely insane that he was actually looking forward to going a few rounds with her before her stubborn nature would accept that decision.

  He was ready to give her his ultimatum, but she still didn’t stir.

  His annoyance with her switched to concern. She did look vulnerable, her skin losing color again, all that hair tangled around her. She looked like an angel, injured after falling to earth. “What’s wrong with her?”

  He preferred that stubborn chin of hers thrust forward, as she faced him down, even if she were here to cause trouble.

  He wouldn’t let her.

  “Could be from the stress or heat exhaustion. She’s probably not used to our climate.” The paramedic was administering an IV, again with the absolute minimum of touching. Then he drew blood into several vials. “If we went to the hospital, they could do tests as soon as we got there.”

  Karim rested his gaze on her face. She hadn’t wanted to go to the hospital, had been pretty adamant about it. And he’d told her he wouldn’t take her there. “Call ahead and have Dr. Jinan meet us at my house. You can take the blood to the hospital and call over when the results are ready.”

  He was about to take the troublesome angel home. He ignored the voice in his head that said he would probably live to regret his decision.

  JULIA WOKE IN a strange bed in a strange and ridiculously opulent room, with a strange woman peering over her. An IV bag was attached to her arm. She panicked for a second, her gaze darting around. Her hand slid to her abdomen under the cover. No pain there. “What happened to me?”

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Jinan.” The woman smiled. She wore a gold-threaded, deep blue abaya, no veil. Her startlingly sharp eyes, which were lined with kohl, fixed on Julia. “You were near an explosion and fainted afterward.”

  Disjointed memories rushed her, and Julia pulled the silk cover higher on her body. The dark red fabric was as resplendent as the rest of her accommodations. “Where am I?”

  “You are a guest of Sheik Karim Abdullah in his Tihrin palace. You’re fine. You have a good, strong pulse. Once this IV runs out, we can remove the needle. Feeling better?”

  “Thank you. Yes.” She sat up to prove it. She didn’t like the idea of some strange doctor examining her while she’d been unconscious. She didn’t want anyone to know her secret.

  “Did you have enough to eat and drink today?” the doctor asked.

  Julia noticed the platter of food on a low, round table behind the woman—fresh fruits and other bite-size nourishment that looked exotically unidentifiable, but not the least bit appetizing at the moment. These days she was alternating between ravenous and nauseous, and was currently feeling the latter.

  “Yes, thank you.” She drew a deep breath to dispel the queasiness around her middle.

  “Please do remember plenty of fluids. Our summers are mercilessly hot. I hope this little incident won’t ruin your enjoyment of our beautiful country.” The doctor smiled, all mothering warmth. “Looks like the IV is done. Let me take care of that.” She removed the needle without causing any pain, stuck a cotton ball over the puncture wound. “Bend your elbow and hold this here for a few minutes.”

  She stood and began placing everything into her old-fashioned, black leather doctor’s bag. “I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow. Try to get as much rest as possible until then.”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” With Aziz gone, she had no reason to stay in the country. “I will be leaving here.”

  Dr. Jinan gave her a smile one would give a petulant child. She was poised and self-assured, obviously a woman secure in her own power, challenging Julia’s preconception of the women of Beharrain. Every rule had a few exceptions, she supposed.

  Not that she had time to ponder the doctor. Karim Abdullah walked in immediately, as if he’d been waiting outside. He paused at the door and exchanged a few words with Dr. Jinan.

  Julia searched their faces, unable to figure out anything. They spoke in Arabic. Did they know? They couldn’t. Nobody could tell just by looking at her that she was pregnant, not even a doctor, she was pretty sure of that.

  She would have told Aziz her secret. Probably. That was why she had come here. He was the father and he deserved to know, even though he had cut off communications with her. Or so she had thought. Now she knew the truth about why he hadn’t returned her calls. The shock was still as fresh as it had been when she’d first heard the news.

  Pain filled her chest and squeezed her lungs. Aziz was gone. It seemed impossible. She had never known anyone as filled with life and wide-open to the world, as charming.

  He’d charmed a great many people; she had found that out when she ran a search on him on the Internet after he’d returned to his home, and she’d seriously considered taking him up on his invitation to visit him. The celebrity reports were full of his pictures, labeling him the Playboy Sheik. That had been a disappointment, not that he had promised her anything. The information had been enough to make her realize the brief affair for what it was: a few days of fun with an exotic s
tranger. She’d succeeded in putting Aziz out of her mind until those two pink lines appeared on a white plastic stick.

  She took a few days to digest the news. Then called him without success. If she’d checked the Internet again, she would have found out about his death…wouldn’t have come here…to his daunting brother.

  A few of those news reports she’d read mentioned Aziz’s twin. They had called him the Dark Sheik, without explanation, making her wonder. And now she was in the Dark Sheik’s house. She looked around. Scratch that. The Dark Sheik’s palace. God, it sounded like a gothic novel.

  She had figured she would come here, would see how Aziz felt about the possibility of a baby. She wasn’t going to tell him until she got a better idea of what kind of man he really was. Their time in Baltimore had been way too short. They had had some whirlwind dates and one night of passion, the day before he left. She had thought herself to be half in love with him and had been sure he felt the same. She was pretty certain now that he hadn’t, but still, he was the father, and she had wanted to give it another go, if for no other reason than so she could tell her child later in life that she had tried. Her own parents had been all messed up. If she could help it, she wanted something better for her baby.

  She was going to come here and see how Aziz was in his own environment. When and if she felt comfortable with it, she would have told him her news. Not a moment before that. Whatever happened, she was going to protect her baby. She was never going to let her or him go.

  “Doctor Jinan tells me you are well.” Karim came over once the woman left. He was not handsome, not with that scar. But he had a strong, masculine presence that drew her full attention to him. He stopped at a respectable distance from the bed, looking larger and harder than Aziz, infinitely more dangerous. Where Aziz’s face had reflected humor, mischief and a sexy sort of cockiness about life, Karim’s was bathed in darkness. And she didn’t think all of that came from his scar.

  He was wearing a fresh, crisp suit, his hair neatly combed. She felt dirty and sweaty and rumpled in comparison, but wouldn’t let that stop her.