Every. Day.
“People complained, and loudly, after my mother’s death, that my father didn’t source a replacement wife immediately.” Zatar shook his head, his keffiyah moving in the slight breeze. “There is an insatiable thirst for queens. And between seeing my parents’ marriage and existing in my own, my advice to you is to only take a queen if you truly want one. Don’t do it just to placate the masses.”
“Exactly.” Finally, a voice of reason in the sea of wife-hungry constituents. “I know most people find my current living arrangement a bit bizarre as well, but I’m not willing to move full time to Al Qalb. This is my home.” He gestured to the patio in front of them. A gardener began his rounds with the watering can, starting first with the gardenias. “I can’t just leave this place.”
“Nor should you be expected to. You spend three weeks of every month there. That is more than fair.”
“Thank you.” He sighed. Maybe all he’d needed was to have someone agree with him for once. The past two months had practically been a three-ring circus of assistants, advisors, and a sideshow of hangers-on soliciting advice and educating Dakaric on “how things were done.” Nobody seemed to really care that Dakaric didn’t plan on continuing his uncle’s xenophobic rule. He planned to open Al Qalb up, remind the world that it was there. “So that’s that, then. The next time I’m pestered, I’ll just say she’s not planning on coming back for a while. Maybe they’ll eventually forget.”
Zatar studied him as he stroked his chin, a gleam in his eye. “Or…maybe you could just give them what they want.”
Dakaric’s face fell. “I thought you just said I shouldn’t take a queen unless I wanted one.”
“No, of course. But while you’re here at the inn, away from Al Qalb for this next week…why not let a little something leak to the tabloids?” Zatar lifted a brow. “One night out is all it might take. Enough to satisfy their appetites, convince the media, and…then you go back to focusing on what’s really important.”
Dakaric blinked. “Which, for them, will mean focusing on when the wedding is.”
“But them simply knowing that there is a woman in the picture will be more palatable than nothing at all.” Zatar clapped him on the shoulder. “It buys you time, my friend.”
Dakaric grumbled as he turned the idea over in his head. Zatar had a point, but making the leap to roping in an unsuspecting person seemed too far. Even for someone as desperate as him.
Dakaric and Zatar said their goodbyes a bit later, since Zatar needed to head back to the palace to tend to a pregnant Alexis and preparations for a big party at the palace the following day. The old friends hugged before Zatar left, and in the quiet of the ample foyer, Dakaric’s mind went back to Zatar’s idea.
Maybe it really wouldn’t be that hard. He could find a woman, have a simple night out, let it circulate through the tabloids. And when the marriage issue came up, he could say he was waiting on her final answer. That should buy him at least a few weeks of relative peace and quiet. And when he’d stretched it out to the max, he could tell the papers she changed her mind and said no.
That would neatly resolve the lie, no consequences. And a few weeks of peace and quiet were looking very appetizing.
He turned on his heel to head back toward the patio but noticed a sconce light that had burnt out. He frowned and turned for a small storage closet tucked off to the side of the foyer to get his ladder. He was owner of the inn and also head maintenance man. The inn generated enough money to outsource these tasks, but he liked staying on top of it himself. It was his baby, his homestead. His responsibility.
The heavy wooden door creaked open behind him just as he reached the top of the ladder. Surely a guest coming to check in, or maybe just one of the curious children coming in off the street to wander the premises in awe. At least daily, some new person came in to take a look at the famous Kattaharan Inn. After being the feature in a variety of widely circulated international magazines, he was used to the curiosity and wonder.
“Hello?”
A wafting, feminine voice. Clear English. A ripple traveled up his spine. He twisted to look down at the foyer. Through the cracked front door, a woman poked her head inside, looking everywhere but up. Golden brown hair cascaded around her shoulders, offsetting creamy white skin that told him she wasn’t from anywhere around these parts.
“Is anyone here?” she continued in English, jolting him out of his observations. He hurried down the ladder, clearing his throat once his feet touched the cobblestone of the foyer. He wiped his palms on his linen trousers.
And then he opened his mouth to speak the moment their gazes connected. Her slate blue eyes rooted him to his spot. So vibrant and unique, practically purplish in the gauzy light of the foyer. His mouth hung open, hand extended. Absolutely nothing coming out of him. No words. Not even a squeak. Speak, Dakaric.
“Uh…is this the Kattaharan Inn?” The newcomer took his hand hesitantly, her gaze raking over him. Words would be great now. He drew a deep breath, the gears of his mind finally rumbling to life. She was too beautiful, too magnetic to even think straight.
“Yes.” The simple English word sounded funny on his tongue. He suspected it had everything to do with the newcomer. “Yes. It is. Were you looking for me? I mean, this place. The inn. The Kattaharan Inn.” First no words, now too many words. He was still shaking her hand. He dropped it suddenly, clearing his throat and clasping his hands behind his back for good measure. “How may I help you?”
“I read about this place.” Her wide eyes grew even larger now, that fairy-eyed gaze sweeping across the foyer. She drew a reverent breath. “I didn’t have time to make a reservation, but I was hoping there might be room for me. Do you have an open room? Or is there a receptionist I should speak to?”
Even if I didn’t, I would personally evict a paying guest so that you could stay. Luckily, he wouldn’t need to take such drastic measures. “No, no, I can help you. Please, follow me.”
He gestured toward the sweeping wooden reception desk that looked out over the foyer. Behind the desk, a two-story-tall stone backdrop glimmered with a barely perceptible waterfall cascading down it, one of his favorite recent improvements.
As she crossed the foyer, the wheels of her suitcase bumped over the uneven cobblestone floor. He lurched toward her, suddenly desperate to help her with the suitcase. This woman sent him out of orbit. He’d dated an international model, the CEO of a hair care product start-up, even a politician’s daughter. But this total stranger from some English-speaking country? He might as well be trembling at the feet of God.
Pull it together. “Let me help you.” He reached for her bag, their fingers brushing as he took the handle. Heat shivered through him, the wheels clacking against the cobblestones. “Now, how long will you be staying?”
“Two weeks,” she said, pressing her palms against the shiny surface of the desk. She pursed her full lips together, one eye pinched shut as she thought. “Until the twelfth, actually.”
“Hmmm.” He thumbed through the planner at the front desk. This was low season, the hottest part of the year. She could have her pick of the rooms practically, but he’d put her in the most opulent suite he had. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I have a very lovely room available as well. With a balcony and garden views.”
When he looked up, her face was tight with uncertainty. She bit her bottom lip, making it plump and red. His heart skipped a beat. “That sounds expensive. How much is it per night?”
“The same as all our other rooms.” He fished out the appropriate antique key from the heavy-duty ring hanging near the planner. “Think of it as a low-season discount. You came at the right time.”
His heart thudded as he looked up and caught her shy gaze on him. Those slate-almost-violet eyes swirled with something he was desperate to know more about.
This stranger. This foreigner. Two minutes in, and he was ready to cast aside his long-held rule that stated no fraternizing with the guests.
>
But what if she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on?
As the boss, maybe he could make an exception.
3
Christina followed the Middle Eastern Adonis through the inn, taking quick, dainty steps in the thick wake of his masculinity.
She certainly hadn’t come to Kattahar to think about sexy men, but now that she was here…maybe she could indulge a little.
He moved purposefully, with long strides that left her struggling to keep up. When they came to a winding staircase set in stone, he lifted her suitcase like it wasn’t just shy of the fifty-pound airline limit. Biceps swelled under the tight sleeves of a simple black T-shirt. She’d flown halfway around the world under the guise of a librarian convention, and here she was, ogling a man who was fit for the romance-novel covers inside her own library.
He had dark eyes that seemed to penetrate her whenever his gaze landed on her, a shade of umber that she’d never seen in her life. His shoulders were squared over top a body that looked cut from muscle. A chiseled jaw with the shadow of a beard forming. She clenched her thighs together. He cleared his throat as they approached an arched wooden door. He jiggled the key inside the lock for a moment, and then it clicked.
“I hope this room is to your liking,” he said as he pushed the door open. He gestured for her to step across the threshold. Inside, a king bed sat shrouded in gauzy material, looking out toward a balcony door. Cushions lined one corner of the room, a nook set lowered into the floor. Golden rugs covered dark wooden floors; crimson edged every pillow she could see. Jasmine wafted through the air, and the burbling of water came from…somewhere. She gasped.
“Absolutely,” she breathed, walking slowly through the room. Every step brought something new that snagged her attention: a floor to ceiling wardrobe, almost straight out of the Chronicles of Narnia. Soft twinkle lights strung along the upper edge of the room. This room was Pinterest worthy, and it made her forget momentarily why she’d come.
“I want to live here,” she said without meaning to. Her sexy hotel guide chuckled softly.
“That could be arranged,” he said, something flashing in his eyes. She swallowed hard. Was that heat there, or was she just under the spell of an extremely sexy, exotic, hospitable man? She jerked her gaze away, fingering the tassels of a tapestry hanging on the wall.
“I was just kidding,” she clarified, straightening her back. “I have a lot to do while I’m here, and then it’s absolutely, one hundred percent necessary for me to return home.” Why did she feel like she was trying to convince herself? What she’d seen of Kattahar so far was fascinating, exotic even, but she’d been here less than three hours. This was probably the jetlag speaking. “I have a really important mission here.”
Sexy Tour Guide lifted a brow. “And what’s that, if I may ask? Kattahar is off the beaten path for most.”
Christina drew a deep breath. She’d been running through her game plan nonstop since purchasing her plane ticket, but the reality of this trip still hadn’t totally sunk in. It still seemed so wild. But then again, she’d never pulled the trigger so quickly on something like this before.
Six thousand miles traveled, and she’d only made the decision two days ago. In fact, she still hadn’t decided if this whole trip was a big mistake. Chasing after a fantasy. Hoping for something that might not truly even exist.
“I’m here to solve a mystery.” She tried to exude confidence she didn’t quite feel. Maybe acting sure of herself would help the rest of this trip click into place.
“Hmmm.” His deep rumble ignited heat in her. “A mystery in Kattahar. Can I help?”
“I don’t know.” Her shoulders sagged briefly, but then she straightened her back again. “I found out recently that my older sister was adopted. Most likely adopted, that is. You see, I found a secret box in my mother’s attic, and it had letters from a woman in Kattahar. Sabrina.”
Beautiful Doorman nodded, his dark gaze riveting on her. “And you want to find this person?”
“I have to. Or at least find her family. Because my niece, Sabrina’s biological granddaughter, is at risk of dying if she doesn’t get a kidney transplant. Nobody in my family qualifies as a donor. And Hope needed a kidney weeks ago. Time is running out.”
Gorgeous Stranger nodded, his jaw flexing as he studied her. His gaze practically sizzled over her. “I can help. I would love to. I’ve lived in Kattahar my whole life and have many connections here, so maybe this will assist in some way.”
Christina sucked in a sharp breath. His offer to help relieved a burden she hadn’t been aware of; all the future unknown obstacles suddenly felt surmountable. She had somebody she could turn to for translations, questions, general advice. And he was hotter than sin.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to help; you hardly know—”
“I insist. Do you know who you might be looking for?”
Christina fumbled with her purse to retrieve the old picture she’d brought along. She showed it to him, hoping he didn’t see the slight tremble in her hand. Damn his heat, his penetrating masculinity. Maybe it had been too long since she’d shacked up with someone. This could be her body responding to starvation, the physical effects before her womanhood shut down for good. “This is Sabrina. I don’t expect you to recognize her, but—”
“Sabrina, you said?” His voice was sharp. She nodded.
“Hm. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but she does look familiar. Let me go look at some files I have downstairs. When you come down, we can review.” He began to turn but then shook his head and stepped toward her, offering his hand. “Excuse my manners. I’m Dakaric. And you are?”
“Chr- Christina.” She took his hand hesitantly, as if it might burn her. His grip was warm and rough. Sparks skated over her skin.
“Christina. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and let me know whenever you need assistance. I’ll help in every way I can. And who knows…perhaps I can count on you to return the favor sometime, if I need any help of my own.”
“Of course.” The words tumbled out of her. If he was willing to make such a large offer to a relative stranger, shouldn’t she do the same? Besides, having an excuse to be around this man was very appealing. These next two weeks might be more satisfying than she bargained for. “Whatever you need. I’m really great with words, so I could help with editing or making signs or ads…”
He sent her a mysterious smile, one that made her heart thud. “I’ll see what I might need and let you know. But I’ll let you get settled in now. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.”
Dakaric let himself quietly out of the room, and she stared at the shut door for what felt like an eternity before sinking onto the king-size bed. It was impossibly plush and comfortable. She groaned, letting the mattress absorb her, take her weight and shape until she felt she’d disappeared into it. Yes, this trip was going to be much better than she imagined. She hadn’t known what to expect, and already this felt like a VIP vacation.
Except she had work to do. And she couldn’t forget that, either.
Christina rummaged around in her luggage, placing underwear on one shelf in the wardrobe, short-sleeve shirts on another, shorts and long pants on the last. And then she took a long, cool shower, Dakaric’s face popping up too many times as her mind wandered under the mesmerizing hum of the water.
After she’d towel dried her hair and put on a fresh coat of lip gloss, she wandered downstairs. Her belly grumbled; her last meal had been breakfast on the plane just before arriving in Kattahar. She needed lunch, and she needed to talk to Dakaric about where to start her hunt. Maybe they could eat lunch together. Strictly for work purposes, of course.
Voices ricocheted through the main corridor of the inn as she descended the stairs. A female voice…shouting. She spoke in Arabic, so Christina couldn’t tell what was really being said, whether that was anger or just an impassioned conversation about recent gas prices. As she rounded the corner into the foyer, Dakaric’s
eyes widened over the shoulder of the woman he was talking to. He said something to her—spat it, more like—and then hurried toward Christina, his handsome features wrought into tension.
“I need to redeem this favor sooner than I thought,” he said in a low voice, gripping the sides of her arms. Heat shot through her, all the way down to her toes. She tipped her head back to look up at his chiseled face. From this close, she could see the sprinkle of stubble gracing his chin. His scent swarmed her, something woody and citrusy. “Will you play along with me?”
She nodded before she could think better of it, and then Dakaric turned around, squeezing his arm over her shoulders.
“Tirsa,” he declared in a loud, bright voice. “I would like you to meet my fiancée. Christina.”
Christina’s eyes widened, but she snuffed the reaction as the woman turned to face them, her perfectly made-up face the epitome of boredom and disgust. Dark brows, so immaculate they looked painted on, formed a hard line as her gaze swept over Christina. Even from here, Christina could taste the disdain and contempt.
She swallowed, Dakaric’s words rattling in her head.
Play along.
Christina mustered a smile, heart hammering as the word fiancée replayed incredulously in her head over and over again.
Maybe she’d gotten in over her head here in Kattahar. But now, there was no way to go but forward.
4
Dakaric fought to keep his smile steady as he watched Tirsa’s condescending gaze sweep over Christina as if she were a child. Tirsa had to buy this. As his PR advisor and general media relations guru, she was in charge of making sure everyone knew about Christina as his love interest.
But since he’d decided on a total whim to use Christina as his decoy, he hadn’t quite worked out some of the smaller details. Like whether or not Tirsa should know this was a ploy. Or whether or not Christina would recoil with outrage the second he took her into a private room.
The Sheikh’s American Fiancée: Desert Sheikhs Book Three Page 2