At least those were the two tasks his sisters had given him before sending him off.
He walked inside the open-air lobby of the visitors’ center and glanced around at the other people here to partake in the fourteen-day-long “Recover Love Rehab” session. Most appeared to be around his age, early thirties, and much less inhibited than himself—at least if the way the guy and gals were hanging all over each other, kissing and hugging and generally making fools out of themselves, was any indication.
Yeah. He belonged here about as much as bacon belonged on a Muslim breakfast table.
Rehaj smoothed a hand down the front of his custom-tailored Italian suit, thankful to still have his sunglasses firmly in place to hide his gaze. Eyes were the window to the soul, and he liked to keep his soul private, thanks very much.
A line had formed at the check-in desk, so he took his wheeled carry-on bag in hand and stepped into his spot at the end of the line. Perhaps he’d feel better once he got situated in his private villa. His sisters had assured him they’d reserved a luxury beachfront abode for him. He couldn’t wait to change into his swim trunks and go for a few laps in the warm water of the sparkling turquoise ocean. It would be a nice, refreshing change of his usual routine in his lap pool back at the palace. Plus, he wouldn’t have to worry about any nosy paparazzi or tourists snapping candid shots of him here, since all technology—including cell phones—were banned on the island.
Maybe he really could fall in love again on Amour Island. In love with being alone.
The line moved forward step-by-slow-step and Rehaj did his best not to stare at the couples making out all around him. As private as he was in his professional life, his was even more so in his personal. He’d learned that brutal lesson the hard way when he’d been just seventeen, and he’d never make the mistake of thinking the public or the media were his friends ever again. He kept to himself. He liked it that way. And yes, he was still a man and he had relationships, but nothing that flew above the radar and nothing that drew attention to himself or his family. The minute any wind of his trysts got out to the media, he ended them. The longest he'd been with anyone since his seventeenth birthday was six months. Still, after the horrific mistake he’d made, he didn’t deserve anything better.
As he got nearer to the desk, the strains of a conversation at a nearby concierge station caught his ear. He glanced over to see a blonde woman, pretty, maybe late twenties, pleading with the man behind the desk. “Please, there’s been a mistake. I just need to make one call. Just one.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the attendant said. “But there are rules on the island. You acknowledged that you understood when you signed the reservation agreement.”
“But I need to check my emails. I’m expecting something really important.” The woman glanced around at the other people nearest her, then nervously checked her hair and outfit—a pale green sarong dress that highlighted her creamy tanned skin and long, long legs. Rehaj found himself following the line of said legs all the way down to her cute little feet with their pink-painted toenails. An unexpected jolt of lust zinged straight to his groin at the sight and he cleared his throat, looking away fast. This was ridiculous. He was not here to get involved with anyone. If anything, he was here to keep a promise to his sisters and to enjoy some much-needed peace and quiet.
Finally, he reached the desk and handed over his ID and reservation paperwork to the girl at the computer.
“Ah, Mr. Nazrani,” the gal said. Thank Allah, his sisters had had the foresight to leave off his official title. The last thing Rehaj wanted was to draw unwanted attention to himself. “Welcome to Amour Island. We do hope you’ll enjoy your stay here at Heartsong Villas.”
He gave her a curt nod. “I’m sure things will be fine.”
“Looks like we have you in a luxury oceanfront private villa for the next two weeks.” She printed off a form and laid it atop the counter along with a pen. “Please read through this and sign on the dotted line when you’re ready. Also, please place any electronic devices you may be carrying in this bin and I’ll have them locked up in our safe until your departure.”
Once more, Rehaj’s attention was drawn to the woman at the concierge desk. She’d resorted to tears now and actually looked quite desperate. As Rehaj dug out his cell phone, tablet, smart watch, and laptop to place them in the black plastic bin the attendant was holding out for him, he could understand the blonde’s panic. He signed on the dotted line and took his keys and a small map before stepping off to the side to figure out which way to go next.
Before he could head toward the shuttle, however, the blonde woman tore past him, her shoes clacking loud on the tiled floor and her sobs tugging at his heart. Damn. Much as Rehaj hated having his privacy invaded, he hated seeing a damsel in distress even more. Without a second thought, he took off after her, his suitcase bumping along behind him as he headed back down toward the docks where the sea plane was busy turning around to taxi back out into the Arabian Sea.
The sun was lower in the sky now and the blue on the horizon was starting to fade into deeper shades of indigo and violet. The woman stood at the end of the dock staring out to sea like some kind of fabled siren. Rehaj couldn’t seem to look away from the gentle curves revealed by the silk of her dress as it blew in the warm breeze.
He took a deep breath then approached her, being sure to make enough noise to announce his presence. Having four sisters had taught him well that females did not liked to be caught unawares in these situations. He cleared his throat as he moved in beside her, glad his aviator shades were still in place. It gave him a chance to take in her lovely face. She wasn’t classically beautiful, with her nose a bit too sharp and defined for that. But she was still quite pretty, with her high cheekbones and flawless, smooth skin. She sighed and her shoulders slumped.
“I’ve missed the plane,” she said, her voice so forlorn that for a moment Rehaj had to battle the urge to reach out and pull her into his arms. “What am I going to do?”
His logical brain took over, as it so often did in these situations where he should have relied on his heart instead. “Well, I suppose you’re stuck here with the rest of us for two weeks.”
He’d meant it as a joke, a quip to lighten the mood. He even grinned at her as he said it.
She promptly burst into tears again, wailing and flailing her arms and generally causing an enormous scene and all Rehaj could do was stare at her, mortified.
* * *
Anastasia Brightbridge knew she was being dramatic. Hell, dramatic was kind of her thing. Still, it felt like her whole world was leaving on that jet plane. Literally. Oh, God. What was she going to do, stuck on this godforsaken island in the middle of nowhere for fourteen days. No phone, no iPad, no nothing.
She’d wanted to call her sister, that had been her gut instinct. Gwen was always able to talk her down from the proverbial ledge whenever Ani felt too exposed, too vulnerable, too on edge to convey the slick, professional, easy-breezy confidence that was expected from the daughter of such a prominent family and the girlfriend of a titan in the business world. Well, ex-girlfriend now, but still.
Heck, Gwen had even talked her into coming here to Amour Island.
At the time her sister had signed her up for this “rehab”, it had sounded doable. After all, she’d just ended a relationship that she’d thought would last forever. But nope. Eight months ago she’d been traded in for a younger woman. Well, younger than twenty-seven, anyway. She’d been gutted.
Then, a few days ago, the awful had gotten even worse when her ex’s new marriage had been splashed across the tabloids. He’d been older by ten years, and richer than Midas. His new bride was barely legal and a budding supermodel. Yeah, love. Not.
Ani sniffled and swiped her hands across her damp cheeks, looking up to find that handsome stranger still staring at her. At least she thought he was staring. Hard to tell with those mirrored shades covering his eyes. The raised eyebrows gave him away though. They were
raven black, same as his thick curly hair. He was tall too. Ani was tall for a woman at five-ten, but this guy dwarfed her by at least six inches. Muscular too, if the way that fine-cut suit clung to him was any indication. She’d seen suits like that before on Marcus.
Oh, God. Marcus.
Fresh tears swelled and she swung away again. To stare out at the water. Maybe she could swim for it. They were only what, a hundred miles from the shores of the UAE. Ugh. No. Swimming wasn’t her forte. Typing, now that was something she did well. It relaxed her. Too bad she’d had to turn over all her gadgets to that man at the desk. Why hadn’t she read that stupid contract more closely?
She waved her arms again to release some of the tension in her shoulders and the handsome stranger backed up a step.
“If you are thinking of flying,” he said, his voice low and deep and tinged with a slight accent. “I don’t believe the air currents are presently strong enough to take you far.”
Ani stopped and gave him a flat look. “Very funny. I’m burning off energy.”
“Right.” He clasped his hands in front of him, as if he was in the boardroom of a Fortune 500 company and not trapped in some tropical paradise. “And what is your name, little bird?”
She raised her chin and looked him up and down. “Anastasia Brightbridge. What’s yours?”
A small muscle ticked near his tight jaw, as if revealing something about himself took great effort. “Rehaj. Rehaj Nazari.”
“Well, Rehaj.” She took a deep calming breath and let her arms drop to her sides. “Looks like we’re stuck here for the long haul.”
He looked around and once again she was struck by how tall he was. Tall and graceful. A bit too lean, perhaps, given the slight hollow in his cheeks, but overall just her type. If she was looking. Which she wasn’t. Nope. “Yes,” he said at last. “It appears we are.”
Turning, he grabbed the handle to his wheeled suitcase and started back up the path toward the shuttles. “Have you checked into your accommodations yet, Miss Brightbridge?”
“I’ve been here to two hours already, so yeah.” She found herself trailing along beside him. “You haven’t though yet, obviously.”
“I was trying to figure out where exactly to go from here.”
“Ah, I can help you there. Are you in the hotel or a private villa?”
“Villa.”
“Me too.” She moved ahead of him to lead him toward a waiting shuttle. “I’ll show you.”
“Thanks.”
As they slid onto the last empty bench seat together at the back of the shuttle, Ani caught a whiff of his cologne—mint and spice and a hint of soap. Nice. And helping people always made her feel better. Good thing too, considering she’d practically grown up taking care of her mother.
She shook off those thoughts. That was neither here nor there and she came to this island to forget anyway. Forget her past with her mother. Forget the horrific break-up with Marcus. Forget all of her problems and just concentrate on herself for once.
As the shuttle took off and the jostling of the wheels caused Ani to bump into Rehaj, she couldn’t help wondering what had brought such a gorgeous, successful man to this island and what exactly he needed to forget.
He turned to her once they were under the shade of the surrounding palm trees and removed his glasses. Man, oh man. Those were some beautiful eyes he had. Light green and piercing, as if he could see through to Ani’s very soul. “So, what bring you to Amour Island?”
Ani swallowed hard and looked away from his too-perceptive gaze. She’d been wrong. He was wasn’t just gorgeous, he was stunning.
“Same old, same old,” she said, trying to brush off the waves of attraction threatening to draw her under. It was heartache, loneliness for Marcus, right? That had to be it. It had only been eight months since their break-up. She was still grieving, wasn’t she? If the pounding of her heart was any indication, maybe not.
“I have a secret,” he said, flashing a small smile, his teeth even and white against his tanned skin. “Want to see?”
“If that’s a pick-up line, it’s probably the worst ever.” Ani snorted. “Seriously. I think I see why you’re here now. You need help with your game.”
Rehaj shook his head and reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “My game is fine, Miss Brightbridge. But if you’re nice, I might let you use this.”
Ani glanced over to see him waggling a burner phone between his fingers. “Oh! Where did you get that?”
“I’m a man of many talents.” Rehaj grinned and slid the phone back into his pocket. “Now we shall see if we can actually get any cell service out here in the middle of the ocean.”
“We’re not that far out.”
“True.” The shuttle emerged out onto the beach and drove a bit far down the sand to where a jumble of thatched roof huts were nestled amongst the foliage, some on stilts, some nearly at the water’s edge. Ani thought it was beautiful, but the man beside her was frowning. “This is not what I expected.”
“What?” Ani asked as the shuttle pulled to a halt and they got out. The sand felt warm and squishy beneath her feet and she kicked off her sandals. “All the villas are adjoined. Each has a private entrance, but we’re all together. Mine’s the corner one over there on the left. Let me see your keycard.” He pulled it out and handed it to her. “Cool! We’re neighbors. Yours is right next door to mine. C’mon. I’ll help you get settled.”
When he didn’t follow right away, she stopped to look back at him. “I promise I don’t bite. You act like all this is a huge shock. Didn’t you read the brochures before you came?”
“I could ask you the same thing, Miss Brightbridge,” he said, tromping through the sand in his expensive handmade loafers.
“Ani, please. It’s what everyone calls me.” She held her hand over her eyes to block the brilliant rays of the setting sun. “And touché. I didn’t read the brochures because my sister planned this trip for me. Thought it would do me good to get away.”
“What a coincidence,” Rehaj said, stalking past her toward his villa. “Mine did the same for me.”
Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s Island Fling
Available June 28, 2018
www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
BLURB
Shiekh Tarek of Zahkim doesn't believe in superstitions or hunches, so when an old woman tells him an angel will fall from the sky and save him and his kingdom, he ignores such a prophecy—until Tess Angel crashes into his life.
Literally.
Now he's struggling with an attraction to this very modern woman—but her life is worlds away from his own. There’s no chance of a future for them, but in the present moment, he can't keep his hands off her.
After her jet crashes, Tess Angel is stuck in Zahkim with a gorgeous sheikh, and she has a hunch they could be soulmates. But he's a rational man who doesn’t believe in true love, and while his grandmother is scheming to keep Tess stuck in Zahkim, Tess can’t see a future for them—despite the heat raging between them. Can she convince him there's more to this world than facts and numbers—and that true love can overcome any obstacles?
Grab your copy of The Sheikh's Captive American from www.LeslieNorthBooks.com
* * *
EXCERPT
Tarek Rahim watched as his cousins and friends, Nasim and Arif, leaped with a whoop down the curved steps of the Sheldonian Theatre, their academic gowns flapping behind them. He followed at a more dignified pace.
"We're free, lads!" Nasim shouted.
Tarek shook his head. Happy as he was to have completed his Oxford education, he couldn't quite bring himself to crow. Other graduates laughed and jostled around them, greeting their families, and Tarek pressed his lips together. For a moment, he could only think of his parents. Five years ago, an automobile accident had taken their lives. He wished they could see him now.
Blinking, he pulled himself back to the moment. He could already hear the rattle of shackles coming to bind him to the th
rone of Zahkim, inherited from his father. His grandmother, Amal, had been acting as regent until he finished his education. Tomorrow he must become Sheikh Tarek of Zahkim, and the thought wasn't appealing.
Nasim jabbed an elbow into his ribs. "We are going to party right up until we have to pour you onto the plane home. Let's get rid of these robes and head to the Sunset Lounge."
Arif chuckled. "You only want to go there because of that bartender who gives you doubles. It's amazing you got your degree, given how much attention you paid to women and drink instead of your studies."
"I had to make up for you," Nasim said, slapping Arif on the back. Tarek smiled. They did tend to give Arif a hard time about his resistance to hedonistic delights.
Tarek thumped his cousin's back as well. "Don't worry, Arif. I'm sure we can find a woman to interest you tonight. It's our last chance in England to live like the English."
An hour later, they crossed the street and headed to the upscale bar they’d made their own over the last four years. Arif had his eyes on his mobile, as usual.
The Sheikh's Tempting Assistant: Sheikh's Meddling Sisters: Book One Page 11