The Sheikh's Determined Lover

by Leslie North

  She'd skipped breakfast, and now she had to get some food before her blood sugar totally crashed. She already had a faint pounding in her temples and a temper on edge.

  Heading out of the archives, she decided on a quick detour into the gardens. She needed air as much as she wanted some lunch. She actually found both waiting for her, along with a card with a flowing script on it.

  Shahia tayebah—A.

  “Please enjoy,” she translated. She could guess the A stood for Arif. He'd set this out for her.

  For a moment, her eyes stung and her nose burned. She gave a sniff. No one had ever set out a meal for her. Her father buried himself even deeper than she did in work, and both her boyfriends had thought she should be the one to cook and clean. She stared at the plate of sliced fruit, cheese, and bread. A teapot sat next to it, and next to that a china coffee pot gave off a tempting aroma of a strong Kona blend. Touching them, she found them both hot, meaning someone had been keeping this ready for her. All on the sheikh's orders. She glanced around but saw no one. So she sat down, ate, drank the coffee, wolfed down flatbread, fruit, and tangy goat cheese, and then headed back to tackle the archives again.

  At dusk, Sahl ibn Harun showed up with an electric lamp in his hands and jingling keys. Christine looked up from the notes she'd been taking. Several works here looked promising, but she had considerable translation work ahead of her. Sahl ibn Harun simply stared at her, and she got the idea it was closing time.

  She gave him a brilliant smile and stood. If he wanted to be crusty, she wasn't going to join him in that game of rudeness.

  "I'll be back tomorrow. Please leave these works out for me." She strode out of the archive, her back straight. It wasn't until the door closed behind her that she sagged against it and rubbed her neck. She'd been sitting still for far too long. Stiff muscles, a cramp in her right hand, and that headache told her as much.

  Reaching her room, she half expected to find Arif waiting for her with some plans for an exotic dinner. She rehearsed five ways she could decline and worried that she wouldn't be able to get any of them to stick. Instead, she found a tray for her with chicken, couscous, bread and a lovely mint tea. She wanted to cry again. Okay, this guy knew how to get to a woman.

  She took the meal onto the balcony. In the scented gardens below, someone was playing the oud—a sweet melody filled with longing. Closing her eyes, she touched her fingers to her lips and thought of Arif. The song seemed to echo his kiss—and the poetry he had quoted to her.

  I would split open my heart with a knife, place you within and seal my wound, that you might dwell there.

  What a wildly romantic notion—the idea of being able to keep someone within your heart. Tess might be able to inspire such notions, but Christine knew she was not made of such legendary stuff. Arif was probably interested in her simply because she was different—and she'd said no. He looked the type who would enjoy the chase far more than a relationship. If only…

  No, she wasn't going to start daydreaming. That led to disappointment.

  She gave a shiver and tried to shake off the mood. It was just the music and the moonlight and the perfume from the flowers rising up to her room. That was all. And she was tired. That was an even better reason to start being a little too emotional. Time to shift back to the academic she'd been raised to be.

  She'd gotten a good start today. Tomorrow, she'd do more. She headed back into the bedroom. Changing into her T-shirt, she snuggled into bed and fell asleep to the plucking of the oud.

  She managed two more days buried in the archives, but on the third, she stepped out of her room in the morning and almost walked straight into Arif's arms. She fell back and blinked up at him.

  "Uh…is something wrong?" she asked.

  He grinned and shook his head. "Not at all. But this is a deal. You have access to the archives, and in return, I am allowed to court you. And I have this day planned for courtship."

  Christine blinked up at him. This wasn't what she'd planned, and she was having a hard time adjusting. On the other hand, she could actually do with a break—she'd been working too hard and starting to hit dead ends. Meaning she needed to regain some perspective. Sheikh Arif also did not look as if he would take no for an answer.

  She glanced at his clothes—impeccably cut linen trousers in a soft beige, an open-necked polo shirt, loafers that looked soft, sinful, and Italian. She suddenly felt underdressed in her black trousers and the T-shirt she'd thrown on. With a nod, she made up her mind. "Give me ten minutes to change."

  Chapter Six

  Arif paced the hallway. He was tired of waiting. He had given his Christine three days without interruptions. That had been relatively easy, since his government work had demanded his attention. Nasim was supposed to be handling most matters, but his cousin had dumped a pile of documents onto Arif to read and review, saying reports fell under the department of education.

  However, after three nights with an empty bed and Christine so nearby, he knew his control was to the breaking point.

  Last night, he had dreamed of her riding across the desert naked, her body moving with her horse. He had woken with the desire to have her riding him instead. In his dream, she had ridden to the tent where they’d dined, had stepped inside, and had stood naked and pale, silhouetted against the desert heat. She had come to him and spread herself on the carpets, her legs open to him, offering him the most desirable meal ever. In the dream, he had knelt before her, put his mouth onto the honey dripping from between her legs. He had plunged his tongue into her, finding her wet and welcoming.

  He had woken hard and sweating, with only his own hand to please himself. With two fast strokes, he had come with a groan, muttering her name. Lying on his bed, the sweat cooling on his skin, his heart slowing again, he’d decided it was time to move things along a little faster. He needed more than a dream.

  And now he was hoping his Christine would fall in love with him by first falling in love with Zahkim.

  Amazingly, she came out of her room in far less than ten minutes. A vivid blue scarf circled her neck, and she had changed from the T-shirt she'd had on—something with a university logo—to a black silk shirt that fluttered around her hips and thighs. She'd put on her golden sandals as well, and even something on her lips that made them seem even more pink.

  He took her hand and started to lead her to the front doors. "We start with a tour of Al Resab, which is somewhat modern, and then to the old souk to see the spices and clothes."

  Her hand began to drag at him, and he glanced back to see her frowning at him. They'd reached the front doors of the palace, and he stopped to see why she hesitated.

  "I'm not really much for shopping." She slipped her hand out of his, bit her lower lip, and then blurted out, "Actually, I'm on a tight budget and didn't bring much cash with me."

  With a laugh, he caught her hand again. "Have you never heard the joys of window shopping? Besides, you are an honored guest of Zahkim. You will find the merchants willing to gift you anything so that they might earn the pleasure of the royal house."

  Eyes wide, she stared up at him. "That sounds even worse. I can't just take things without paying for them."

  He shook his head and led her out to where his car waited. "You will offend everyone if you don't accept graciously. But if you wish it, you have but to take my hand, and I will find a way to both decline the gift and at the same time offer up assurances that it is not due to the quality of the merchandise."

  "You can do that?" she asked. "Okay, that's something I have to see for myself."

  The drive into Al Resab did not take long. Arif liked to drive himself instead of having a driver as so many others in the royal family preferred. He'd acquired a black Tesla Model X, and it never got out of the garage enough. Soon they were swallowed up by traffic and high-rises, the noise of the city kept distant by thick windows and the pop music Arif had playing on the satellite radio. Tess Angel's music had become a huge hit, and her new label was star
ting to turn out Middle Eastern pop-rock that Arif quite liked.

  Christine glanced out the window, and Arif offered up what he hoped were interesting facts about Zahkim, its hot climate, its lack of access to the shore, the hopes of a stronger economy with better education for the young, the recent reforms enacted by Tarek and Tess. Christine nodded and seemed to be listening, but Arif could tell she was only being polite. Her mind was probably back in the archives with those dusty books.

  He reached his destination—his downtown office—and changed his mind. He had thought to start here and end the day at the old souk—Al Resab's old marketplace. Now he could see that very little of the modern city would catch Christine's attention.

  Driving to a nearby parking garage, he left the Tesla with a valet and took Christine's hand. A few blocks later, they stepped into a narrow lane. Two more turns and they had stepped back centuries. Next to him, he could almost feel Christine's energy pouring out, setting the air tingling. Her eyes had gone wide and bright, and a smile lifted her wide lips.

  She dragged him at once into a bookseller and then to a spice shop, its wares spread out in baskets to catch the eye, the colors dazzling. He pulled her into a silk shop, but she only glanced at the fabrics and then was out and into the rug shop next door. Discreetly, he accepted the gift of a prayer rug for her in pale pink and gold, arranging for it to be delivered to the palace. She started for a tea shop nearby, its scents strong and alluring, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him into a narrow alley, up a flight of stone stairs, and into a darkened room.

  "What is this place?" she asked.

  An ancient woman stepped from an arch that led deeper into the house. Arif gave her a bow and then waved to Christine. "Nadira, may I make known to you Christine Harper."

  The old woman fixed her dark eyes on Christine and smiled. "Ah, the one has arrived?"

  Christine stiffened, but Nadira was already moving to a brass table, where a pot with cool mint tea and colored glasses stood. As she poured, Nadira asked, "Have you come to set a date?"

  Arif ignored Christine's raised eyebrows and guided her to a seat on a low couch. "We have." Leaning closer to Christine—close enough to catch the scent of honeysuckle from her—he whispered, "Nadira is the most skilled astrologer in Zahkim."

  A laugh sprang to Christine's eyes. She covered a smile with her hand and whispered, "I don't be—"

  He cut off her words by pressing a finger to her lips. "We must honor our elders."

  Christine pressed her lips tight and folded her hands in her lap. Nadira poured tea for them, then pulled out paper and pen and ink. She started to ask Christine questions—where exactly she was born and when. Christine gripped her glass of tea, but gave polite answers. Nadira smiled and nodded.

  "Ah, March the tenth—Pisces, a good match for our Taurus prince." She drew the charts with deft hands and handed the results to Arif. "A full moon is auspicious for the sensual mermaid. The equinox is a date for the earthly Taurus. Between those dates look for fortune to smile on you." She turned to Christine. "A caution, child. In trying to walk the path of another, you will never find your own way."

  Arif stood and put down his tea. Christine copied him. He said a few words to Nadira to assure her that he held her in esteem and payment would be forthcoming, and then he led Christine from the astrologer's house.

  They had not even reached the street before Christine turned to face him. "I can't believe you're that superstitious. You seem a rational man. And what was all that about paths? Typical vaguely worded mumbo-jumbo. It's that kind of ploy that pulls people into believing this nonsense."

  Skin heating, Arif pulled her with him, out of earshot of Nadira. "There is more to this world than can be seen. And you would do well to think on her words. Nadira has advised kings and has seen much in her life. She is respected by world leaders, and her advice has been invaluable to the royal family."

  He stopped at the mouth of the alley and let go of Christine. She faced him, chin up and a frown in place. Throwing his arms wide, Arif asked, "Why is it so difficult for you to believe in fate? That the stars guide us?"

  She turned away for a moment but then looked back. "I don't think fate had much to do with my mom dying of cancer. The problem was she didn't get checkups. And I don't think fate has much to do with my dad now fighting the same battle. Damn cancer. Science will find a cure—eventually. And that's not fate either."

  Her voice broke, and her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Arif forgot his irritation with her. He knew what it was to lose loved ones—his parents had died far too young in a car accident, a huge one that had taken a dozen lives in a smashup caused by a sandstorm on the only highway in Zahkim.

  Shaking his head, he touched a finger to Christine's face. "I am sorry. I have no right to push my views onto you. You believe what you will."

  Her shoulders sagged. "No, I should apologize. I…I have no right to step on your views either. Pax?" She held out her hand.

  He took it and kissed the inside of her wrist. Under the press of his lips, her pulse jumped. He smiled and linked her arm with his.

  "Come. Let us do something we both agree is wonderful. Let me take you to the Forum."

  She had no idea what to expect from the name. The Forum could be anything from a nightclub to a school. She was not expecting Roman ruins.

  The structures lay just south of the main city, off a two-lane highway that became an unpaved road. Arif parked his fancy SUV, got out, and came around to her side, but Christine was already out, shading her eyes. With the sun blazing overhead, tourists seemed to be intent on avoiding this barren stretch of desert, with its broken pillars and half-buried foundations. Christine was both entranced and ready to cry at the crumbling structures.

  She narrowed her eyes, a lump in her throat and her heartbeat rapid. "This needs excavation work done. And restoration."

  They walked into the ruins, the columns soaring up into the stark blue sky. A hawk soared overhead, crying out. A few lean cats, dusty colored with the angular faces of the cats in Egyptian art, glanced at them and then disappeared into the ruins.

  Arif put a hand on one of the pillars that still stood, its lines elegant, the stone almost golden in the sunlight. "We do what we can to preserve it, but it is hard. Most of the structures date back to 30 BC, but we have remnants of Greek as well as Babylonian influences."

  "It's…amazing," she said, barely able to get out the words. "To think this is still here after all these centuries." She leaned against the pillar. The hot stone warmed her back. "It's not my area of expertise—I specialize in texts—but have you ever thought about applying for grants to do a full dig here?"

  He gave a laugh. "I adore that your mind always turns to the practical." Reaching up, he brushed the strands of hair the wind was pushing into her face. "My Christine." His voice dropped as he spoke those words, and a shiver ran through her.

  She tipped her head back so she could see his face. "What is it like to have roots this deep? This old? To be part of a country where the history goes back to before memory?"

  He leaned closer. His scent washed over her, along with the dry desert wind. Sweat glistened on his skin. "You know…for you belong here as well."

  "I don—"

  He stopped her words with a kiss.

  Christine wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. She couldn't help it. This kiss wasn't anything like the others. This was need and passion and something else sparking. His mouth swept over hers, taking what she was offering and demanding even more. He nipped at her lower lip, took it between his teeth and sucked hard. She angled her head and tried to pull him closer to her. The breeze swept over her skin, warm and dry, but where Arif held her, she felt as if she was glowing hot.

  Lifting her up, his lips still covering hers, he carried her a short distance into cooling shade. Smooth stone pressed into her back. She managed to get her eyes open long enough to see he'd moved them into a small grotto.
<
br />   Pulling back, short of breath, her heart pounding, she stammered, "Snakes."

  He gave a low laugh. "Why do you think the cats are here? Now I must have more of your skin." He pulled off his shirt, and she pulled in a breath. He had wide shoulders and more muscles than she would have thought. A dusting of black hair covered his forearms. She reached out and dragged one hand over his flat stomach, staring at the difference between her pale skin and his darker tones, seeing the sapphire ring wink from her finger.

  Pulling up her shirt, he put his hands on her and stepped closer. She gave a gasp at the contact of warm skin against hers, at the feathering touches now sliding over her and upwards.

  "This is crazy," she muttered.

  He pressed a finger to her lips. "A sweet madness. Let it carry you away, habibi."

  Just this once.

  He didn't say the words, but they echoed in her head. Just this once, don't be sensible. Just this once, go with the flow. He swooped in again to kiss her, stealing the air from her lungs, leaving her dizzy and wanting. She gave a moan, and put her hands on his arms to feel all that glorious muscle and skin. And then her blouse hung open, and Arif lowered his mouth to her breast.

  She'd done this much with one boyfriend, had done some serious petting with another, but nothing had ever set her skin on fire. Arif ran his teeth over her nipple, wet the fabric of her bra with his tongue, and she glanced down because she had to see.

  He had his mouth on her and one hand behind her. Somehow, he got her bra unhooked, and he dragged the fabric down. He gave a soft growl, stepped between her legs and pulled her up to him, arching her back. She let her head fall back.

  In his arms, her clothes half off, she felt more like a holy offering than anything else. Her head spun, and the world narrowed to just the sensation of his mouth on her, the rough heat of his tongue, the small nips from his teeth setting off sparks inside her.

  Madness, yes, but a glorious one. It was as if the ruins had put them outside of time—outside of anything. It was just them and the desert heat.