Sheikh's Desert Duty

by Maisey Yates

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I missed it somehow. You know, considering our history together.”

  “Fair enough.” But he kept his arm extended.

  She took a step toward him and curled her slender arm through his elbow, her body sliding close to his. And in that moment he knew he had vastly underestimated the dress. Because the moment she touched him he burned. The moment she touched him he thought of nothing but pressing her up against the nearest wall and bringing his mouth down on hers.

  It was a wild and errant fantasy. The kind he had not had in more years than he could count.

  While he had not given up sex entirely until his engagement had become official, he had given up this. This kind of intense heat. The driving sort of need that transcended everything. From duty and honor to decorum and appropriate behavior for the public. Because once he had her against that wall, once his mouth touched hers, he would be hard-pressed to stop.

  He shut down that line of thinking. It would not happen. He would not touch her.

  His engagement to Christine would be honored. Though he and his fiancée did not have a physical relationship, they had made an agreement. And he would respect that.

  If Samson had had the foresight to stay away from Delilah, he would’ve been spared quite a bit of trouble. Zayn intended to spare himself the trouble. He would not touch Sophie.

  He adjusted his hold on her, disengaging his arm from hers and placing his hand on her lower back. The gesture was provocative, more intimate than the previous one. He was doing it to test himself. Doing it to prove to himself that he was not a slave.

  She tensed beneath his touch, but did not look at him. She didn’t stop. Perhaps she was testing herself, too.

  No, he would not think of that. That way lay madness.

  They walked from the dining room, and down the corridor that led to his quarters.

  The study was different to the rest of the palace. Most of this portion of it was. Zayn had never moved quarters when his parents had left. Instead choosing to stay in the rooms he had called home from the time he was a child. He had remodeled them as an adult. The study had a more European feel to it. Dark wood bookcases, large windows that overlooked the gardens outside. And armchairs. Places for him to read. When he had given up partying, when he’d given up womanizing, he’d had to find a hobby. Reading seemed as good as any.

  “Well, this is different than what I imagined.”

  “What is it you imagined?” he asked.

  “Well, not this.”

  “I am gratified that I was able to surprise you.” He released his hold on her and gestured to one of the velvet armchairs. “Please have a seat.”

  He took a seat across from her, a healthy amount of space between them. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “I feel a brandy is in order.”

  He chuckled. “A brandy. Yes, naturally.” He stood again and made his way over to the bar in the corner of the room, picking up a decanter and pouring both of them a healthy portion of amber liquid. He made his way back over to the chairs, handing her a glass, careful to ensure that his fingers did not brush hers.

  He took a seat across from her again.

  “Thank you.” She swirled the liquid, lifting it to her lips, blinking when it touched her tongue.

  “Strong?”

  “No. Not strong at all.”

  “We wouldn’t want it going to your head. You have an interview to conduct.”

  She cleared her throat and straightened, setting the glass on the rich wood side table. “Yes, so...about the Chatsfields.”

  He waved his hand, silencing her. “No, that is not how we are doing this.”

  “What?”

  “If you want to interview me, it will be on my terms. We will do this my way, or we will not do it at all. We will go back to talking about the very hot weather.”

  “That isn’t how an interview works. I’m not sure if you’ve ever had one conducted?”

  “It is how an interview works with me. If you don’t like it, spend the remainder of your time here in your room, and get nothing from me.”

  “You know, you really are a demanding bastard.”

  “I have never claimed to be anything else.”

  “Fair point,” she said, her tone dry.

  “Your boss wants an article on the wedding. And I think in order for you to get a good picture of the wedding, you need to understand some things about the circumstances my country is in.”

  “Okay,” she answered slowly.

  “In order to understand why the marriage is important, you must understand the monarchy.”

  “I was always a very good study in world history. I do know some things about Surhaadi.”

  He leaned back in his chair, a smile curving his lips. “Really? Do enlighten me on all of your knowledge of my country.”

  “I didn’t mean to sound all arrogant about it. It’s only that I am somewhat familiar.”

  “Yes, well, you may be somewhat familiar, but it is in my blood. The history of Surhaadi is a part of me, like flesh over bone.”

  She reached down and picked up her purse, pulling out a small black device. “Tape recorder.”

  He inclined his head. “Of course.”

  It stood to reason that she would be recording their interactions, for ease when she compiled the conversations into an article. But it also made him conscious of the fact that he would have to be very careful in what he told her. She would have his words recorded, and she would be able to play them back, turn them over. Dissect them for meaning.

  He continued. “But, of course, before you can understand the monarchy, you must understand how it was founded.”

  “If you insist.”

  He could tell that she was quite annoyed with him. Quite annoyed at being subjected to a history lesson rather than simply being handed the information she was after. But he had to keep her here, and he was busily trying to construct a way to do that. To keep her hanging out for information that he did not have, so that she would remain of her own accord. There was little honor in this kind of behavior, but he had given up any chances of being truly honorable years ago. He could hardly grieve the loss of it now. He could only afford it where the treatment of his family was concerned. And nowhere else.

  In actuality, he had no intention of throwing her in a dungeon. And were she to escape the palace there was a limit to what he could do. Certainly, he was the sheikh, but he could hardly have a woman going to the media and claiming he had kidnapped her, and was holding her in the palace. Which meant that if she escaped he could not go after her. In which case she would simply be written off as a spurned lover. Or a woman who had been spurned in an attempt to be his lover.

  That his reputation could transcend. The kidnapping very likely not.

  “I do insist.”

  “Okay, then let’s start at the beginning.” She leaned back in her chair, her hand poised on the record button.

  “My family has been in Surhaadi for at least a thousand years. Of course, at the time it was not one unified kingdom. Rather, it was a territory populated by a series of independently ruled tribes.” This was like reciting remedial history, and he’d never paid much attention to history in school, but as an adult he had started to appreciate his country’s past. Had started investigating it on his own.

  Another hobby he’d started after giving up partying.

  “The desert is large, and so there is ample access to territory, but what there is not ample access to is water. The need for water, the need for plants to graze animals, the need for food, occasionally caused battles to break out among the tribes. As the landscape changed, water became more scarce. And it came to a point where a specific tribe refused to move away from an oasis. Refused to allow others passage to water. That was when
my people knew changes had to be made. There was a call for unification. If only temporarily so that the people could have food. Could have the water they needed. So that they could band together and deal with the threat facing their lives.”

  “When was this?”

  “About three hundred years ago. As kingdoms go we aren’t an old one.” He could see that in spite of herself she was interested. He found it gratifying that she might be. Because for all that he had scorned the traditions of his country in his youth, as a man the pulse of the desert ran through his blood. It was a part of him, as was each and every soul that populated the kingdom. “The tribes banded together, and due to their increase in number they not only successfully regained control of the oasis, they were able to do so without starting a war. This led to the desire for further change. Concern over outside threats brought a call for more permanent unity.”

  “So they decided to form one nation?”

  “Eventually. Even though there were, of course, some issues. And the tribe that was defeated at the oasis declined to join.”

  “And now? Have they moved? Have they joined?”

  “They still live in Surhaadi. And they still claim independence from the monarchy. Though we do have some hand in their lives. They have the option to partake in various government programs, though for the most part they decline. They are broken into several different groups now, and live most of the year away from the city deep in the desert.”

  “And you don’t have any issues with them?”

  “Not as such. Though the leaders are not overly friendly. They see me as a challenge to their authority, and my authority is not readily recognized within the borders of their territory.”

  “But you aren’t afraid of them? You haven’t seen the need to draw them into the fold, so to speak.”

  “I see no need to destroy centuries worth of culture in a power grab. A treaty was signed long ago between their family and mine. As long as we do not interfere with them to their detriment, they will not interfere with us. And if we are in need, we are allowed use of any oasis we might find in their territory.”

  “That seems fair enough. But how did your family find itself being selected as the ruling family?”

  He placed his glass back down on the table. “That, I think, is a story for another night.”

  “You seem to fundamentally misunderstand your function in an interview.”

  “It seems to me that you should be exhausted from the trip.”

  “I slept on the plane.”

  “Hours ago. And if you do not get on schedule here in Surhaadi as quickly as possible, your jet lag will be fierce.”

  “I’ve never been in a position where I might be jet-lagged. So I have no idea what it’s like.”

  “It’s a bit like being hungover.”

  She blinked. “Well, I’ve never been hungover before, either.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “You aren’t the only person who prizes a bit of control.”

  Suddenly, she seemed even more intriguing than she had before. “You must have quite a bit of control in your possession, then.”

  “People like me do not have power bestowed upon them from birth. We have to find it in ourselves. We have to take it where we can. In my case, that meant seizing control over my own life. Over my own behavior. It never mattered to me what my contemporaries did. It only ever mattered what I did.”

  “Admirable.”

  “I don’t know if it’s admirable. I don’t particularly care if it’s admirable. But it has worked for me. At least up until the moment when I got pulled out of an alleyway in New York City.”

  “Yes, I would apologize for that, but I’m not sorry.”

  “I didn’t think you were.”

  “I appreciate the exchange of information—” he inclined his head “—it has been very informative.”

  Her cheeks blushed rose. “Is that what we’re doing? Exchanging information?”

  “It seems fair, doesn’t it?”

  “Not particularly. I didn’t think that was part of our deal. I interview you, you tell me about the Chatsfields.”

  Technically, he had not said that. Technically, all he had promised her was a scandal. But he would not correct her, not now. “Instant gratification can be damaging. I believe in working for what you want.”

  “That’s rich coming from a man who was undoubtedly born with a golden scepter in his hand.”

  She was not wrong, for many things in his life had been delivered to him at the snap of his fingers. But that had been a contributing factor in forming the man he had become. And the man he had been was not one he could be proud of. It had taken hardship to change him.

  “It’s true. I cannot deny it. I have also suffered. And no amount of money could insulate me from that suffering. I’ve learned that sometimes you simply have no choice but to walk through the fire. And if you come out the other side, then the reward is great.”

  “Are you my trial by fire?” she asked.

  “Perhaps one of them. I wouldn’t presume to know if you’d had others or not.”

  “I appreciate that. I’m sure you’ve suffered greatly here in your palace. But I am no stranger to suffering. I’m also no stranger to hard work, so trust me when I tell you you’re preaching to the choir. Though, also, forgive me for saying I’m a bit jaded to the concept that hard work somehow makes something more rewarding. I’ve put in more hard work to get where I am than many people ever will. I find it more exhausting than rewarding. There were some times when I would’ve simply rather had the playing field even, rather than subjecting myself to character-building exercises. It is easy to romanticize what we’ve never had to endure.”

  He almost laughed at the irony of the statement. He looked around the ornate room. “Indeed.”

  “I suppose I should take my leave. I might need a map of this place, if you have one handy, otherwise I fear I will spend a good portion of my time wandering around feeling lost.”

  “I have a feeling it would be best for me if you felt a little bit lost. In which case, you would cause me less trouble.”

  “Don’t bet on that. I imagine I will contrive new ways to cause you trouble daily. Until I get what I want.”

  “What is it you want?” he asked, knowing what her answer would be.

  “What is it you’re hiding?” she asked.

  The question took him off guard. Perhaps because she had grazed far too close to the bone.

  Not just in terms of Leila.

  “Nothing but the usual skeletons,” he managed, knowing his voice sounded strangled, affected.

  “I look forward to seeing them,” she said.

  He gritted his teeth. “I am not James Chatsfield.” Neither did he actually have any information on Chatsfield he could share.

  “I know,” she said, nodding once.

  If he had thought he’d understood her, he’d been wrong. Bitterly so. She’d put him on his back foot, and he didn’t like it. For one thing, she was far too beautiful. For another, she was unpredictable. “Excellent. And on that note, I bid you good-night. My quarters are just here, so you will forgive me if I do not walk you back to yours. It is quite a trek.” And he had a feeling, that were he to accompany her in dark corridors, his control would be tested in ways he did not want to think of.

  “I shall manage. Though if I end up in a royal vault and decide to abscond with the crown jewels, you will have no one to blame but yourself.”

  “It is a risk I shall have to take.”

  “Clearly you’re a man who lives on the edge.”

  Her words brought them up short. “On that score you would be wrong.” He nodded firmly, turning away from her, breaking the connection between them. The sooner he got rid of her, the better. “Good night.”


  Behind him he heard her voice, slightly shaken, confused. He did not care, or rather, he should not. “Good night.”

  Her tone of voice made him want to speak again. Made him want to say something kinder, something not quite so short and harsh.

  “Later this week I shall take you to see the desert...”

  He did not know why he was offering this, except that it was a chance to show the world what Surhaadi was, who they were. And she had seemed interested.

  Moreover, he needed to keep her busy. He could not have her wandering about the palace appearing to be a lover, or a captive. Not considering the fact that media attention would be on them very soon for the wedding, not considering that he had a fiancée he had made certain he was faithful to.

  If he had a story to give his staff, things would be better. Yes, she was a reporter covering the wedding and the history of Surhaadi.

  Yes, getting her out of the palace for the day would be the best course of action. Taking her out to see the Bedouin tribe would be good, seeing as it would give her something to focus on that had nothing to do with Leila or James Chatsfield.

  “And after that?” She was fishing for the scandal, still. She was right, she was rather stubborn.

  “After that we will continue the interview.”

  “And I will have my scandal?”

  “You will have your scandal.”

  And with that, he strode from the room, without looking back.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ZAYN MANAGED TO avoid her for the next several days, setting a firm departure time for their trip to the desert late in the week.

  She spent those days rattling around the palace, feeling slightly shaky and deprived since she had no contact with the outside world. She was ready to trade her kingdom for some internet. Or Zayn’s, since she didn’t actually have a kingdom.

  The day of their desert trek dawned bright and early. She’d lost some sense of time and place after being cooped up in the palace, but still she was up, and dressed, courtesy of the clothing that had been provided for her by Zayn. It was a strange thing, having an entirely new wardrobe just sitting there for her. Not so idly she wondered if she would be able to bring it home with her. Then she felt guilty for wondering about that. But it wasn’t as though she could afford to go refresh her wardrobe every season, or even every year. And as projecting a polished, professional image was important in her line of work, she knew the clothing was important, too. And, as always, she was conscious of the fact that she was working from a disadvantaged place. People were more likely to be watching for her to appear low class, disheveled or cheap. Because once they knew where she came from they expected those things.