by Leslie North
The crowd broke into a roar. The sound slammed into her and almost knocked her off her feet. She hadn't performed the song live before. And she hadn't expected a reaction like this. It terrified her.
She managed a smile, a wave, and fled stage left.
Once out of the spotlight, she bent over and braced her hands on her knees, gulping down breaths.
"That was…magnificent."
Straightening, she discovered Tarek staring at her from two feet away.
He wore traditional robes, the flowing tunic and thobe, a white keffiyeh held on by the classic black, rope-like bands. With his beard, hawk-like nose, and those hot amber eyes, he was more than a sheikh. He looked every inch the ruler of his domain.
Tess caught a breath and pushed her chin high. She was supposed to do a full twenty-minute set, but she couldn't. She’d thought she'd be able to do this—be mature and rational. Smile. She couldn't.
Eyes stinging, throat burning, she ground out her words. "Thanks. Send my check to a scholarship for young musicians."
She started to brush past him, but he caught her arm. "Tess…"
Glancing down at his fingers on her, she pulled away. "What? Can you say something to me now you couldn't before? We're still from two different worlds, Tarek. Let's not make this harder than it already is."
He stiffened. "You're not going to let me do this my way. Very well, we shall do it your way."
She gave him a sideways look. "What do you mean?"
He strode onto the stage. Applause and cheering erupted. Crossing her arms, Tess thought about storming off. But her ride to the airport was in a royal car—she had a feeling Dabir wouldn’t take her anywhere until this was over. She might as well stay and listen.
Tarek held up his hands. He started speaking in Arabic, then switched to English. "My beloved people…"
Tess rolled her eyes. Great, he can call his people beloved, but not me. She didn't know if she wanted to cry or hit the man. He kept speaking, alternating between Arabic and English.
"Tonight we celebrate Zahkim's first steps into the future but we bring what is good from our past with us. As you know, a prophecy was spoken to me in my own past. I chose not to believe in such things. I see it differently now—what is a prophecy but a way of imagining the future? And I cannot imagine my future without the woman I love beside me."
Tess gulped down a breath. The crowd had stilled, and she did as well.
"My Ashira fell from the sky as was foretold. She saved me—and Zahkim—in her own way. But the part of the prophecy that matters most is that I, in turn, must fall as well. Fall deeply in love, far deeper than I believed possible. Such a love has led me to empathy for my people. And to find that I was a man who lived by reason, but without hope. With a mind, but without a heart. She led me to the truth—that there is more to this life than we can see or touch. And now, if you will have her, and if she will have me, I give you my future bride."
He turned to face her. He did not move, and Tess felt as if the entire world held its breath. Did she want this? To be a wife to this man?
She knew the cost—she would have to live here with him. He couldn't give up Zahkim any more than she could give up her music.
Her own song lyrics came back to her—and now my hopes are back to climbin', and someday again I'll fly.
With this man, she could fly. He'd take her to places she'd never know without him—maybe to heartache, but always to more than she could be without him.
Her throat tightened, and tears blurred the world to swirling colors, but her feet started moving without her asking.
When she reached his side, he took her hand and leaned close to whisper in her ear, his beard tickling, "Some say the world's all logic…I no longer say such a thing. Because of you. And I cannot lose you."
She pressed the back of her free hand to her nose and sniffled. "You make me cry now, and I'm going to end up looking like a raccoon with all that running mascara."
He smiled. "Then let’s do something else and shock the world." He swept her into his arms and into a kiss that rattled her down to her toes. Her skin tingled, her heart thudded into her ribs, and she wrapped an arm around his neck.
When he put her back on her feet, she swayed and glanced at the utterly silent crowd. Uh, oh—had he just lost his throne because of her and kissing her like that?
For another heartbeat, the crowd seemed shocked into silence, and then a shrill, "Yaaa!" erupted. Cheers and applause spread from the front to the back.
She leaned close to him. "Do we bow?"
He grinned, swept her into his arms and carried her off stage. "I have a better idea."
He got them to the car through the VIP section. After the door closed, Tess let out a breath "Your people like a good romance, don't they?"
"Our people now." He took her hand and kissed her palm.
Tess's skin went cold. "I'm going to be a queen?"
"A sheikha. My grandmother will be pleased. She loves weddings."
Tess sank lower in her seat, and then remembered what everyone had been saying about a celebration. "Hey, wait a minute, what is this festival really all about? And how did you manage to put it on? These things cost a fortune up front."
He smoothed his beard. "They do, but the royal treasury could afford it."
She stared at him. "You paid for it out of your own pocket?"
"To get you to return to Zahkim, I would have plucked a desert diamond from the sky itself. I didn't think an email, text, phone call or video conference would do the trick. And it didn’t do me any harm politically. If I am willing to do this for my people, my people—especially the wealthy—should be willing to do similar for their country."
Tess laughed. She wanted to jump up and turn cartwheels—he loved her. He'd done this for her—and to make some folks put up or shut up. "You're showing them the way. Nice move."
Moving closer, he put his arm around her waist. "As insightful as you are beautiful. When do we marry?"
She put her hand on his chest. "I love you, Tarek. And your country. And your people. But I have a new label to get up and running, and I've got to be in the recording studio in three weeks. I can't do all that and plan a wedding."
Tarek waved aside her excuses. "My grandmother will plan it. You will only have to approve or not, as you like. And work can start on a studio for you in the north wing of the palace." He started to pull her into a kiss.
She braced her palms on his chest. "Whoa, slow down there a touch. Are you making decisions for me?"
He cupped her cheek. "I may be a stubborn fool at times, but I am not an idiot." Leaning down, he put his mouth on hers. He pulled her closer and kissed her, slowly and carefully, as if exploring her mouth for the first time. She curled her fingers into the soft cloth of his robes, her body vibrating, as if fireworks were going off inside her.
The car came to a stop. Tarek opened the door and pulled her out. Inside the palace, instead of going up to his room, he kept going up the stairs, higher and higher, until a narrow door stood before them. He opened it and ushered her onto one of the turrets of the palace. She gasped at the view down to the festival and then looked up to the sky in time to see a falling star.
She turned to Tarek. He put his arms around her. Leaning into him, she pressed her head to his chest to hear his heartbeat. "That's good luck—that star falling."
Tarek brushed a hand over her hair. "Don't you know there's no such thing as luck? There is good planning, and good—"
She shut him up with a kiss. A long time later, she pulled back and said, "What were you saying?"
"Something about how I’ll love you forever, my guiding star. And now we must plan that wedding."
"Yeah, yeah, good planning. I think I'll leave it to luck—I have a hunch it might work out better."
He laughed.
Epilogue
Tarek stood with Arif and Nasim at his shoulder and watched for his bride to enter the palace gardens. His grandmother had spent
six months planning this day—a good thing, considering how much the music festival had drained his treasury. At the last minute, Tess had given in to his grandmother's advice that Tarek should not see her at all for the past week. He was about to jump out of his skin.
When had he stopped being able to command the royal family?
"Is he up to this?" Nasim whispered to Arif.
"It's going to be a near thing," Arif said.
Turning on them, Tarek lifted an eyebrow. He would at least command his cousins. "The two of you can shut it."
Arif smiled. "The culmination of a prophecy. This is a moment we should all savor."
Tarek tried to smooth his robes and contain his need to pace. He'd never worn this much gold braid in his life. He'd been groomed within an inch of losing all patience with his staff. And now he was forced to wait. The sound of the fountain irritated, the scents of the garden made him want to order it all dug up, and in the distance a peacock gave a shrill cry. A gift from a neighboring sheikh, so he could not have the animal shot.
"If I hear one more word about this prophecy...."
Nasim laughed. "You are a changed man, Tarek. Your beloved is teaching you to listen to hunches and will no doubt soon have you listening to the palace astrologers."
Tarek tugged at his robes. "I am still a rational man. Loving another does not change that."
Nasim and Arif swapped glances. Tarek opened his mouth to tell them what they could do with their doubts, but a quiet settled over those gathered. The imam stiffened, and Tarek turned to the garden entrance.
His eyes widened.
Tess wore an elaborate white gown, beaded with pearls and embroidered with gold. A veil covered her head, flowing down to her feet. Henna decorated her hands with elaborate swirls. More gold framed her face, glittering in the sunlight.
His stare fixed on her green eyes, brighter than any foliage in the garden, their depths as endlessly fascinating as the ocean. He could not look away from her.
Somehow, he got through the ceremony. At any moment he feared someone would say something or do something to end this, or he would wake to find it only a dream. But then he had Tess's hand in his, and it was done.
Tess smiled up at him. He kissed her hand.
"My queen. Now and forever."
She gave a small shiver. "In another fifty years, I might get used to that."
He squeezed her hand. "Take forever if you wish, my Ashira, because that is how long we will be together."
End of The Sheikh's Captive American
Zahkim Sheikhs Series Book One
Blurb
Christine Harper has no intention of becoming a Middle Eastern princess. She just wants access to the royal palace to find the research her father needs. He's badly ill, but Christine figures she can find a reason for him to live. That reason just might be solid proof for her father’s theories of the 'Lion People', an ancient tribe who first settled Egypt. To find the necessary proof and help her father, she’s willing to put her own career second… and even accept a deal from Sheikh Arif ben Iben.
Arif is a man who knows what he wants—and what has been foretold to him in the stars. If he and his cousins marry for love, his country will prosper. And he's fallen for Christine Harper at first sight. The small spitfire is the woman he wants to win, but she turns down his immediate proposal. When she asks for access to the palace archives, he makes her a bargain—she'll have all the access she wants for three months, but he will use that time to convince her to marry him and stay in Zahkim. Now, Arif is out to win the love of his life, but can he pull her from the dusty papers long enough to prove their love is more than a fleeting fancy?
Chapter One
Maybe there were worse fates than marrying a sheikh. Christine Harper had figured Tess had lost it when she'd said she was marrying a sheikh. But then, Tess Angel's life, what with her singing career and her production company, was like something out of a movie—exotic and fabulous. So was this wedding.
And I get to be the boring friend.
Christine wrinkled her nose. She was not going to start down that path. Not today. This was a celebration, and she'd better start cheering up and stop being so nervous and negative. But she had a lot to lose—and her dad had even more—if she didn't achieve her aim in coming to Zahkim.
She sat at one of fifty linen-covered tables, turning her sparkling lemonade as if it was her dance partner. Music—modern and a little bit jazzy—floated in the air. She tapped her toes to the beat and glanced around the gardens where Tess's wedding had taken place.
The Zahkim palace gardens were even more vast and lush than Tess had said, and all Christine wanted to do was get out of here and go exploring. She knew parts of the palace dated back to the sixth century, when Zahkim had flourished as a center of learning. Her Dad would love this.
But she had another idea for how to get him more committed than he was to beating his cancer. It centered on getting access to the Zahkim palace archives. For now, she had a party to enjoy.
Around her, white marble pillars turned to gold in the sunset. Flowers scented the air like perfume. The rustle of green plants moving in a cooling breeze and the splash from a huge fountain in the middle of the garden added a romantic touch. Next to the fountain stood the arbor draped in white jasmine where the couple had exchanged vows. The ceremony had been lovely, and Christine had even found herself starting to tear up. She'd almost wished she didn't understand Arabic as well as she did, but she got though it without getting too sappy because Tess looked happy. If anyone deserved that, it was Tess, who'd always put others first in all her business ventures.
The guests—a mix of traditional Middle Eastern robes among the groom's family and Western tuxes and dresses from Tess's Hollywood friends—now milled around refreshment tables that had been whisked from nowhere by what looked to Christine to be a professional catering staff. Or maybe they were just the palace staff, all dressed in discreet black. The aroma of beef, lamb, and something spicy tempted, but right now Christine was content to sit back and stay on the sidelines. She felt comfortable there. She always had.
The wedding had been a lot more modern than she'd expected from a small Middle Eastern kingdom tucked near the east coast of Africa, but Tess had always had good taste. She'd managed to mix Eastern flair with Western comfort. She also looked amazing in a green traditional Arabic robe trimmed in gold, which set off her green eyes and auburn hair. She'd changed from her wedding dress for the reception, and she was dazzling. Best of all, Tess seemed to have found a guy who looked to be utterly in love with her, if his expression was any clue. Sheikh Tarek was also a hunk—tall, dark, and taken.
Christine sighed. Why were the good ones always spoken for?
Sipping her drink, she wondered when she'd get a chance to congratulate Tess. They'd been best friends growing up in New Hampshire, but Tess had left to find her fortune, and boy had she found it. They'd reconnected with emails and texts over the years, but Tess had become a bigger-than-life character by then, with a recording career that had left Christine feeling distinctly provincial. It also seemed Tess had found her Prince Charming—or at least a Sheikh Charming. Sheikh Tarek Rahim to be specific.
Christine suppressed another sigh. She shook her head. If she kept this up, she'd soon be the gloomy girl at the party, comparing her dull life in academia to Tess's amazing one.
Straightening, she tugged the neckline of her gown up. It was just a touch lower than she liked. Tess had supplied the loose, flowing dress in a deep-red silk with silver embroidery around the neck, sleeves, and hem. To please Tess, Christine had worn it. She was almost glad she had, now. This was all about Tess's big day.
Tess looked happy—ecstatic to judge by the glow on her face. Christine smiled, but a small ache settled around her heart. She didn't know why fairy-tale loves happened to other people, not to practical women who preferred books, museums, and antiquities to hot dates. Oh, well, she'd just have to focus on the other reason she'd come t
o Zahkim, other than to be here for Tess.
The jazz band, playing at the far end of the gardens, brought the song to a close. A smattering of applause rewarded the musicians, and Christine glimpsed Tess dragging Sheikh Tarek toward where Christine was sitting. She stood. What the heck did you say to a sheikh, other than that he'd gotten a great girl and he'd better treat her right?
But then Tess grabbed another man's hand. What the heck?
Christine had time to smooth her gown and her hair—short and almost not curling in the dry desert air, thank you—and then Tess stood in front of her, grinning and nudging her elbow into her husband's side.
Sheikh Tarek smiled, his eyes warm, and he turned to Christine. "My Tess insists I make known to you my good friend and cousin, Sheikh Arif ben Iben, known in our country as the Hami Almaerifa. He is also one of my top ministers, heading up education and development. Arif, this is Christine Harper. Tess says she has a great deal of interest in our country."
Christine looked at the other man. The Protector of Knowledge? Well that sounded…impressive. And rather intriguing, given that he was also some bigwig in the Zahkim government. The title of sheikh wasn't handed out to just anyone, only to those rich and important, or just old and venerated. This guy looked to be in his mid-twenties.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said.
Dressed in the traditional white thobe and keffiyeh of the Zahkim royal family, the headscarf held in place with a black and gold knotted rope, he looked dressed for the desert. She couldn't see much of his hair under the keffiyeh, but his eyes fixed on her with an unsettling intensity. With the light changing from day to night, and torches starting to be lit in the gardens, she couldn't quite make out if his eyes were green or gray or a mix of the two. He smiled, and Christine's heart rate jumped. She also noticed a small crescent scar on the left corner of his mouth and wondered how he'd gotten it.