Chosen by the Sheikh (12 page)

But he glanced over at her and smiled. “The donuts, of course.”

“That was a simpler time,” she said softly, not looking at him. Simpler because she hadn't known what was expected of him, because she'd believed they shared something deep and meaningful. How wrong she'd been.

“Indeed. But everyone grows up, Genie. Life does not sit still because we wish it to.”

“No.”

He stopped and turned toward her. His face was limned in
the dawn light, the hard planes and angles both harsher and more beautiful because of it. Dark eyes gazed at her intently.

“There is no reason why we can't recapture some of that feeling,” he said.

Her heart thudded in her throat, her temples. A few hours ago she'd been Dr. Geneva Gray, renowned archaeologist. Now, she was Genie Gray, the lovesick student who'd once had a passionate affair with a desert prince.

And he was tempting her with the promise of more. How could she want him again when he'd hurt her so deeply?

“I'm not sure that's wise,” she said.

But he closed the distance between them, his body so close, so vibrant in the cool morning air. “Why wouldn't it be, Genie? We are adults, and we still want each other. This is not a crime.”

“No, but it feels too much like digging up the past.”

His smile was almost mocking. “Ah, but isn't this what you like to do? Dig up the past?”

“Not all things need to be dug up,” she replied, her pulse hammering in spite of how calm she tried to sound.

His head dipped toward her in slow motion. She knew she should move away, but she closed her eyes automatically, waited for the touch of his lips against hers.

It didn't happen.

She opened her eyes again, to find he'd stopped only inches from her mouth.

“I do not believe what you say, Genie Gray. And neither, it seems, do you.” He straightened and turned toward his mount. “Come, we must return to the camp before the sun is up.”

G
ENIE
had never been to Al-Shahar before. Though the city was ancient, and rife with ruins to be explored, Zafir's father had not allowed any excavation to take place. Nor had the previous kings before him. Zafir was the first to suggest it was possible, and she had to admit that the prospect excited her. She had to hope that he would still allow her to do so, regardless that he'd claimed she first had to sleep with him in order to get the commission.

He'd not mentioned it since last night, and she wondered if perhaps he'd merely been angry and acting on emotion from the past instead of truly intending to force her into his bed.

Not that it would take much to force her, she thought disgustedly. In spite of everything—the hurt and pain and anger—she still felt something in his presence. Something she'd never felt with anyone else. Was she adult enough to handle a casual affair? To know he was a king and that he could never, ever have a real relationship with her beyond the physical?

She turned her attention to the city as they passed through the ancient gates at one end. The ruins of the old temples sat on a point that was higher than the rest of the city, with the exception of the palace. She could see them clearly in the distance as she sat up straighter and pressed her face to the glass.

“You want very much to get your hands into the dirt there, don't you?”

She turned to the man sitting beside her. He was still dressed in the robes of the desert, but the ceremonial dagger was gone.
And he was still as breathtaking as he had been from the first moment she'd seen him again.

“You know I do. It's a fabulous opportunity, Zafir.”

She expected him to tell her that she knew what she had to do to gain the commission, but he said nothing of the sort.

“I would not have offered it to just anyone—no matter that it's past time this city's history was explored and preserved for future generations.”

Warmth blossomed. “I appreciate your confidence in me.”

He shrugged and turned away. “You must be very good at what you do.”

“Must be?” she asked. “Shouldn't you find out before you hand over this commission to me?”

His gaze was sharp, assessing. “Should I give you this commission, there will be no need.”

“I'm not sure how you can say that. It's important work, and you should get the best to do it.”

And why was she saying this? Why place any doubt in his mind?

Because she wanted him to
know
she was the best, not just to give it to her because she was the only archaeologist he knew. Assuming he did so, of course.

Zafir gave her a hard look. “Your work is the most important thing in the world to you. More important than anyone or anything. No one would sacrifice so much without being determined to succeed.”

A pang of hurt throbbed to life inside her. “It's not the most important thing. There's my mother, my friends—”

“But not a lover, yes?”

“I don't need a lover to prove I care about things other than work.”

He merely shrugged again. “As you say, then.”

“
Are
you going to give me the job?”

“That depends on you, Genie.”

Genie tamped down on the irritation uncoiling within her. She wasn't about to ask him what he meant. She didn't need to.

She turned to watch the city glide by. Al-Shahar was more
modern than she'd thought it would be. Cars rolled down wide streets with tall glass and steel buildings. There were sidewalks, manicured trees and plants, and designer shops lining the streets on both sides. It was still early enough that people populated the sidewalks—the men in business suits or traditional robes, the women either wearing colorful
abayas
or Western clothes.

They also passed through an older section of town, where the buildings were mud-brick and she saw more than one donkey pulling a laden cart. The air smelled of spice, exotic and fresh, and she wished she could get out and explore the old bazaars. But the Hummer continued toward the palace, finally passing through the arched gates and pulling to a halt in front of huge double doors that looked as if they were made of gold.

Zafir's door popped open. Someone had unrolled a red carpet, and he stepped out onto it, then turned and held out a hand for her. She accepted, scooting across the seat and joining him on the walkway. The car door slammed again and the vehicle moved away—everything a perfectly coordinated dance of efficiency.

Black-clad men with headsets and Uzis flanked the palace doors, while several other men fanned out behind them.

“Is it so dangerous here you need this many guards?” she asked.

Zafir frowned. “Not at all. It is simply custom.”

Another thought wormed its way into her consciousness. A worrying thought. “Zafir, you said you were putting an end to an old feud in the desert. Are you in any danger from those men?”

The double doors whisked open and they passed inside while men and women bowed low. It was disconcerting to be reminded so forcefully at every turn how exalted a being Zafir now was.

And he'd wanted to renew their physical relationship? With a woman who crawled around in dirt and mud on a regular basis? She was beginning to doubt his sincerity on that score.

He stopped at another ornate door. “I am not in danger,
habiba
. Do not worry yourself.”

“I wasn't worried,” she lied. And she didn't believe him. He'd said there were those who clung to the old ways and didn't want change. When people felt threatened, they were capable of many things. In a volatile environment such as this, would someone go so far as to try and harm the King?

“Go with Yusuf,” Zafir said. “He will show you to your quarters. I will see you for dinner tonight.”

She could only stare after him as he turned to go.

But then he looked back at her. “And be sure to wear something sexy, Genie.”

 

Zafir entered his private office and went to his desk to see what papers his secretary had left for him. But his mind was on the woman he'd left standing in the hall. It was dangerous to want Genie Gray again. He had too many things he needed to do as a new king trying to cement his rule. Distractions were unwelcome.

Most of his father's ministers had accepted him as king, though there were those who grumbled he'd spent too much time in the West, that his education in America was dangerous to tradition and custom. He was careful to pick his battles, and swift to act once he had. This issue with the blood feuds was one he intended to put a stop to as quickly as possible.

Now that he was king, he was also being pressured to marry again. A king needed heirs, and his ministers were anxious he should get started on the task. He would do so in his own time, however.

His experience with marriage thus far had not been the most pleasant. Jasmin's death had shocked him. She'd been impulsive and high-strung, and when she'd threatened to do herself harm he'd not believed her.

He still didn't believe she'd meant to kill herself.

She'd most likely meant to scare him when she'd taken the pills. She'd counted on him to find her, to call an ambulance, but he'd been delayed that day. By the time he'd found her—it had been too late. He still blamed himself for not taking her seriously, for not getting her the help she needed.

Four years after her death he'd bowed to the pressure to marry again. A mistake.

And now Genie was here, back in his life by accident when he'd never expected to see her again. Her presence brought a feeling of normalcy to the circus his life had become. She'd known him before, when he had been simply Prince Zafir, when he'd been excited about his studies and the things he would build.

Perhaps it was wrong to keep her here, but he didn't care. Because she gave him something he'd thought lost, something he hadn't realized he needed until she'd ripped off her veil in the tent.

Genie Gray gave him a sense of himself as he'd used to be. She made him feel less alone in this world, and he truly needed that right now. Oddly enough, he also felt a pang of guilt over the way they'd parted ten years ago. Perhaps he should have told her about his arranged marriage when they'd first met. Perhaps he should have given her the chance to decide for herself if she wanted to take the risk of being with a man who came from a world so different from her own.

And what choice are you giving her now?

He shoved the thought aside brutally. He would not force her into his bed, no matter what he'd told her. He'd been angry, and he'd said things he did not mean. But he
would
bed her again. It was as inevitable as the sandstorms that swept across the desert.

 

Genie stood in the middle of the cavernous quarters she'd been shown to—the old harem, Yusuf had explained—and studied the tilework over her head. The room was vaulted, the mosaic inlaid with gold and precious gems. It was an extraordinary room.

There were marble columns, soaring arches, stained glass, and a crystal chandelier that must stand twice as tall as she if it were lowered to the floor and she could measure herself against it.

This room connected to another—a smaller room this time,
with a large bed on a dais in the center. The furnishings were ornate, more modern than appropriately suited this space, and luxurious. She went through another door and found a bathroom that would more or less be considered a spa where she lived. A cutout high in the roof let natural light in, and it shafted down over a pool—yes,
pool
—from which steam arose.

A natural hot spring. Marvelous.

On a long shelf there were scented oils and cosmetics in an array of delicate blown-glass bottles. She passed into another room, and came up short. This was a dressing room, and one wall was lined with clothes. But whose clothes? His ex-wife's? A mistress's?

She plucked at the first garment. A tag was still attached to the sleeve.
Galliano.
She dropped the tag as if it burned when she saw the price. How many zeroes were possible when you were only talking about a dress?

Genie picked up the next garment, and the next. All had tags. And all had cost far more than a month's wages.

She passed back into the large reception area, to find a woman laying out a teapot along with small cakes and a selection of fruit near one of the divans.

“Please, madam,” the woman said. “His Majesty sends you greetings.”

She indicated an envelope on the table. Genie went over and picked it up.

“Tea?”

“Um, yes. Thank you,” Genie replied. It'd been hours since breakfast, and she had no idea when, or if, lunch would be served.

Ripping open the envelope, she pulled out a piece of heavy cream paper upon which Zafir had scrawled,
‘Choose a dress from the closet. They were sent over for you. Dinner is at eight.'

He'd bought the dresses for
her
? The thought was both disconcerting and warming at the same time. Disconcerting because there were so many, and they were so expensive. Warming because he'd thought to do so.

The afternoon that followed was long and lonely. Though it frustrated her to putter around the harem when she could be working, Genie still managed to soak in the hot spring, take a long nap, and find a suitable dress. The one she chose was a soft blue-gray silk with jeweled spaghetti straps. It fell right above the knee, and though it was very nice she wasn't sure she would call it sexy.

In fact she'd worked hard to find the least sexy dress she could in the lot.

But as she looked at herself in the mirror she began to wonder if she'd succeeded. The color brought out the gray of her eyes, and her coppery hair was curlier than she would have liked due to the steam in the mineral spring. The jeweled straps winked in the light, and her bare shoulders seemed too exposed while the dress clung suggestively to her breasts.

It was too late to change, however, because Yusuf had arrived to escort her to the dining room.

Except it wasn't the dining room he showed her to. Yusuf opened a door and bade her enter, then disappeared before she could ask if there was some mistake.

This room was even more ornate than the harem. There was a living area with couches, chairs, and a flatscreen television on one wall. Off to one side she could see a bedroom, with a large canopied bed. Across the room a series of arched doorways opened onto what looked like a terrace.

She was just wondering what to do when Zafir emerged from one of the darkened entryways. Her breath stopped. He'd changed out of the traditional robes and into a dark tailored suit. He wasn't wearing a tie, however, and he'd unbuttoned the first three buttons of his snowy white shirt.

She had a sudden urge to go to him, to press her mouth into that hollow at the base of his throat, to taste him the way she'd once done. He'd always tasted exotic, spicy. She'd never forgotten the way he smelled, the way his skin felt beneath her fingers. Thinking of it now was not something she wanted to do, and yet her heart wouldn't stop throwing the memories into her head.

Zafir was staring at her, his eyes moving appreciatively over her form. “You look lovely, Genie.”

She tried not to blush. When was the last time she'd been dressed up? The last time a man had complimented her for the way she looked? She couldn't honestly remember. Other than a few social functions tied to funding for her projects, she didn't get out much.

“Thank you. You look pretty good yourself,” she added. “I have to admit that I'm surprised you remembered my size.”

“I remember a lot of things.” His voice was low, suggestive. It stroked across her sensitized nerves, set up a humming in the back of her head.

But she didn't want to know what kind of things he remembered. Her pulse was already going haywire just from being here with him. To hear the things he remembered about her…?