The Sheik's Virgin

by Susan Mallery

  Phoebe couldn’t believe this was happening—maybe in a movie, but not in real life and certainly not to her. She glanced around and realized that everyone in the lobby was watching them. She hesitated, torn between what she wanted to do and what she knew she must do.

  “Miss Carson?” A man approached. The brass name tag said he was Mr. Eldon, the hotel manager. “I want to assure you that, ah…” He glanced at the stranger. “That Mazin is a most honorable gentleman. No harm will come to you while you are in his presence.”

  “You see,” Mazin said. “I have those who are willing to vouch for my character. Come, Phoebe. See the wonders of Lucia-Serrat with me.”

  She was about to refuse—because she prided herself on being sensible—when Ayanna’s words came back to her. Her aunt had wanted her to live life to the fullest and never have regrets. Phoebe knew she would regret refusing Mazin’s invitation, regardless of how foolish it might be to accept.

  “The banyan tree sounds very nice,” she said softly, and allowed Mazin to lead her out to his waiting car.

  CHAPTER 2

  The young woman cast one last tentative glance over her shoulder before slipping into the front seat of his Mercedes. Mazin closed the door and circled to the driver’s side, all the while trying to figure out what he was doing.

  He didn’t have time to play games with children—and that’s exactly what Phoebe Carson was. A child of twenty or so. Far too young and inexperienced to succeed at his kind of game. Why was he bothering? Worse, why was he wasting his time?

  He slid onto the driver’s seat and glanced at her.

  She stared at him, her eyes wide—as if she were a cornered rabbit and he were some deadly predator. A perfect metaphor, he thought wryly. He should walk away—tell her that he was too busy to take her on a tour of the island. If he wanted a woman—a woman, not a child—there were dozens who would fly to his side at the first hint of his interest. They knew him and his world. They knew what was expected. They understood the rules.

  Phoebe understood nothing. Even as he put the car in gear, he knew he was making a mistake. Because he was acting against his good sense—something he never allowed himself to do. His nature didn’t allow him to take advantage of those who were not his equal. So why was he here with her?

  Yesterday he had seen her going through customs. She had seemed both brave and terrified…and very much an innocent. At first he had kept track of her because he had been sure she was being met and he wanted to make sure she found her way. Later, when he had realized she was alone, he had found himself compelled to approach her for reasons he could not explain.

  He had just returned from his own trip abroad. He should have been eager to go home. And yet he had taken the time to speak with Phoebe. Having spoken with her, he could not forget her.

  Madness, he told himself. Simple madness.

  “The weather seems very nice,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.

  Mazin glanced out the front windshield. The sky was blue and cloudless. “With only the occasional sprinkle, this is our dry season,” he told her. “In the fall we have a rainy season, followed by several weeks of monsoons. Sometimes I am surprised that all of Lucia-Serrat doesn’t wash away into the sea. But we survive and after the rains, everything grows.”

  Maybe it was her eyes, he thought as he turned onto the main road. So wide and blue. Trusting, he thought grimly. She was far too trusting. No one could be that innocent. He gritted his teeth. Was that the problem? Did he think she was pretending?

  He wasn’t sure. Did women like her really exist, or was this all an elaborate plot to get close to him? He glanced at her, taking in the long blond hair pulled back in a thick braid and her simple, inexpensive clothing. Was she trying to put him at his ease by appearing so far out of his league as to be beneath notice? Yet he had noticed. For reasons he could not explain, she intrigued him.

  So he would play her game—whatever that might be—until he learned the truth, or grew tired of her. Because he would grow tired…he always did.

  “You said your family had been here five hundred years,” she said, glancing at him quickly, then returning her attention to the window. “I can’t imagine having that much personal history.”

  “The island was first discovered by explorers setting out from Bahania nearly a thousand years ago,” he told her. “It was uninhabited and considered sacred ground. The royal family claimed it for their own. As European sailors set out to conquer the New World, the king of Bahania grew concerned that his private paradise would be taken for Portugal, Spain or England. So he sent relatives to live here. Eventually the island became populated. A sovereignty was established. To this day, the crown prince of the island is a cousin of the king of Bahania.”

  Phoebe looked at him, her eyes wide. “I guess I knew about there being a prince, because that’s how my great-aunt got in trouble, but I never thought about there being one right this minute. Does he live on the island?”

  “Yes, he is a permanent resident.”

  She looked as if she were about to ask another question, when they drove past a break in the trees. Phoebe stared at the view of the ocean and caught her breath.

  “It’s so beautiful.”

  “Do you not see the ocean where you live?”

  “Sometimes.” She gave him a quick smile before returning her attention to the view. “Ayanna’s house is a few miles inland. I used to spend a lot of time by the water when I was in school, but after she became ill, I never had the time.”

  She pressed her fingers against the window. Her hands were as delicate as the rest of her. Mazin eyed her clothes. They were worn, although well cared for. In the right designer gown, with a little makeup and her hair styled, she would be a beauty. Like this, she was a plain gray dove.

  While the fantasy of Phoebe as a femme fatale appealed to him, he found himself equally attracted to the little dove sitting next to him.

  A dove who had no idea of his identity. Perhaps that was part of her appeal. He so rarely spent time with women who were not clear on who he was and what he could give them.

  “There is a grove of spice trees,” he said, pointing to his left. “People assume that spices come from seeds, but often they are found in the tree bark.”

  She turned to look. As she leaned toward his side of the car, he caught the scent of her body. Soap, he thought, nearly smiling. She smelled of the rose soap left for guests at the Parrot Bay Inn.

  “Dozens of different kinds of spice are grown here,” he said.

  “What are those flowers?” she asked. “Are they growing out of the tree bark?”

  “No. They’re orchids. They’re grafted into the branches of the trees and grown for use in flower arrangements. Some are used in perfume. Mango trees are the best hosts, but you will find orchids growing everywhere on the island.”

  “I haven’t seen any oil pumps. You said there was oil on the island. Or is it out at sea?”

  “Both.”

  He waited, wondering if this was where she would tip her hand. Interest in oil meant interest in money…specifically his. But Phoebe didn’t even blink. She turned her attention to the passenger window, almost as if the oil didn’t matter.

  Now that he thought about it he realized that her enthusiasm for the island was far greater than her enthusiasm for him accompanying her. Was she really the shy tourist she claimed to be?

  He couldn’t remember the last time a woman hadn’t hung on to his every word. It was almost as if she wasn’t overly interested in what he had to say. If true, it was a unique experience.

  They rounded a bend. The main bazaar was spread out on a flat stretch of stone-covered earth.

  “The Lucia-Serrat marketplace has been in existence for nearly five hundred years,” he said. “These outer walls are part of the original walls that surrounded the area.”

  Phoebe clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh, Mazin, we must stop. Look at everything they’re selling. Those little copper p
ots and flowers and oh, is that a monkey?”

  She laughed as a small monkey climbed across several open-air booths to snatch a particularly ripe slice of mango from a display. The owner of the monkey handed over a coin before the owner of the fruit stall could complain.

  Mazin shook his head. “Not today, Phoebe. We will save the bazaar for another day. After all, you have a list and to see everything, we must proceed in an orderly fashion.”

  “Of course. Your way makes sense.” She leaned back in her seat. “I’ve always been in favor of being orderly.” She sighed softly. “Except something about this island makes me want to be reckless.” She smiled at him. “I am not, by nature, a reckless person.”

  “I see.”

  Her innocent words, the light in her eyes and the way her smile lingered on her full mouth sent a jolt of desire through him. The arousal was so unexpected, Mazin almost didn’t recognize it at first.

  He wanted her. He wanted her. How long had it been since he had done little more than go through the motions of making love? His desire had faded until he could barely remember what it was like to ache with passion. He had bedded the most skilled, the most beautiful women of his acquaintance and none of them had stirred him beyond the desire necessary to perform. Yet here, with this plain gray dove, he felt heat for the first time in years.

  The fates that determined his life were once again having a great laugh at his expense.

  “What do you know of present-day Lucia-Serrat?” he asked.

  “Not very much. Ayanna mostly talked about the past. What it was like when she was my age.” Her expression softened with obvious affection. “She would describe glittering parties she attended. Apparently she was invited to the prince’s private residence for several events. She talked about meeting visiting dignitaries from other countries. She even met the Prince of Wales—the one who became King Edward and then abdicated the throne for Mrs. Simpson. Ayanna said he was an elegant dancer.”

  She talked about other parties her great-aunt had attended. Mazin wasn’t sure if her lack of knowledge about current events on Lucia-Serrat was real or pretense. If she played a game, she played it well. If not—

  He didn’t want to think about that. If Phoebe Carson was exactly what she appeared to be, he had no business involving himself with her. He was jaded and far too old. Unfortunately, with his body unexpectedly hard with desire, he doubted he was noble enough to walk away.

  “Look,” Mazin said, pointing out the window. “There are parrots in the trees.”

  Phoebe strained to see, then rolled down her window. The tall trees were alive with the colorful birds. Reds, greens, blues all blended together into a fluttering rainbow of activity. She breathed in the sweet air of the island and thought how it was a miracle that she was here at all.

  Mazin turned left, heading inland. Mazin. Phoebe still couldn’t believe that he’d actually come to her hotel that morning simply to show her around the island and help her with Ayanna’s list. Men never noticed her. It was amazing enough that he’d bothered to speak with her yesterday, but to have remembered her through the night—who would have thought it possible?

  She brushed her hands against her slacks. Her palms were damp. Nerves, she thought. She’d never met anyone like Mazin. He was so sophisticated and worldly. He made her nervous.

  A sign up ahead caught her attention. A carving of a small creature standing on its back feet and staring toward the sky sat on top of the sign.

  “Meerkats,” she breathed. “Oh, look. It’s the reserve.”

  “I suppose you’re going to ask me to stop there, as well.”

  She wanted to, but thought the banyan tree was a better outing to share with her companion. At least staring at a tree wouldn’t make her babble like an idiot. Being around adorable meerkats with their funny faces and charming antics would make her gush in a very embarrassing way.

  “I’m determined to abide by the schedule,” she said, trying to sound mature. “I’ll see the meerkats another day.”

  “Quite sensible,” Mazin murmured.

  His tone of voice caught her attention. She glanced at him, taking in his strong profile and the air of confidence and power that surrounded him. She didn’t know why he bothered with her, but she knew that whatever his expectations, he was destined to be disappointed. She had never been good at fitting in. She had no experience with the opposite sex—not that he was interested in her that way.

  “You probably think of me as a child,” she said before she could stop herself. Heat instantly flared on her cheeks and she had to resist the need to bury her face in her hands. Instead she pretended to be engrossed in the view out the passenger window.

  “A child,” he repeated. “Not that. A young woman. How old are you, Phoebe?”

  She thought about lying, making herself sound older, but what was the point? People already thought she was much younger than her actual age.

  “I’m twenty-three.”

  “So very grown-up,” he teased.

  She glanced at him. Their eyes met and she was relieved when she saw his expression was kind. “I’m not all that grown-up. I’ve seen little of the world, but what I have seen has taught me to depend on myself.” She swallowed, then risked asking a question of her own. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-seven.”

  She did the math instantly. Fourteen years. Not such an impossible distance, although she didn’t know what Mazin would think of it. No doubt his world was incredibly different from hers. They would have no experiences in common—which might make the age difference seem even larger.

  Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. She didn’t know why he’d taken time out of his day to show her around the island, but she doubted he had any personal interest in her.

  She briefly wondered if he’d ever been married, but before she could gather the courage to ask, he turned down a narrow road. Trees and shrubs grew on both sides, their bright green leaves nearly brushing against the sides of the car.

  “The banyan tree is protected by royal decree,” Mazin said as he pulled into an empty parking lot. “It is considered a national treasure.”

  “A tree?”

  “We value that which is unique to our island.”

  His low voice seemed to brush across her skin. Phoebe shivered slightly as she stepped out of his car. She glanced back once, noticing for the first time that he drove a large Mercedes. She recognized the symbol on the hood, but had no idea about the type of car, save that it was big and a silvery gray. Back home she drove a nine-year-old Honda.

  Different worlds, she thought again.

  “Is the park open?” she asked as they headed for a path leading to a covered patio with an information booth at the far end. She glanced both left and right. “There isn’t anyone else around.”

  “This is not our busy season for tourists,” Mazin told her as he lightly touched the back of her arm to guide her up the stairs toward the information booth. “Plus it is early in the day for visitors. However, the park is open.”

  Phoebe studied the plants they passed. She didn’t know any of them on sight. There were brightly colored blossoms everywhere. Lavender star-shaped flowers hung from spindly trees. Spine-covered pods in vivid red reached for the sun. A wild and sultry perfume filled the air as if the flowers conspired to intoxicate her. Even the air brushed against her body like a sensual caress. Lucia-Serrat was like no place she had ever been.

  Mazin reached the information booth. He spoke quietly with the person inside. Phoebe glanced up and saw that the price of admission was three local dollars. She reached for the purse she’d slung over her shoulder, then hesitated. What was she supposed to do? It hadn’t occurred to her that Mazin would pay, but would he be mad if she said anything?

  She had barely fumbled with the zipper on her purse when he turned and looked at her. His dark eyes narrowed.

  “Do not even consider insulting me, my dove.”

  There was steel behind his words.
Phoebe nodded and dropped her hands to her side. Then she replayed his sentence, pausing at the very end. My dove. It didn’t mean anything, she told herself as she mentally stumbled over the two words. No man had ever called her by anything other than her name. But it wasn’t significant. He probably used flowery language with everyone.

  She would store this memory away, she told herself. Later, when she was alone, she would pull it out and pretend that he had meant something wonderful. It would be a harmless game, something to hold the loneliness at bay.

  He collected two tickets and they walked through an arch covered with blossoming bougainvillea.

  “People think the pink and red on bougainvillea are the flowers,” Phoebe said inanely before she could stop herself. “Actually those are just leaves. The flowers are very small and often white.”

  “You know horticulture?” Mazin asked.

  “Uh, not really. Just that. I read about it somewhere. I read a lot of things. I guess my head is full of obscure facts. I could probably do well on a game show.”

  She consciously pressed her lips together to keep from talking. Could she sound more stupid? The fact that Mazin made her nervous was of interest to no one save herself. If she continued to act like an idiot, he wasn’t going to want to spend any more time with her.

  The stone path had been worn smooth by years of use. They stepped from bright sun into shade provided by large trees. There were several formal gardens all around them. As they turned a corner, Phoebe caught her breath. In front of them stood the famous Lucia-Serrat banyan tree.

  From where they were standing, they couldn’t see the center of the tree. Branches spread out in all directions, some slender, some as thick around as a man. Sturdy roots grew down from the branches, anchoring the tree to the ground in hundreds of places. The tree itself stretched out for what seemed like miles. A small sign said that the circumference of the aerial roots was nearly ten acres.