Heart of a Desert Warrior
Heart of a Desert Warrior
LUCY MONROE
The rich tones that still had the power to send her heart on a drumroll and little pops of awareness sparking along her every nerve-ending belonged to a man she had truly believed she would never see again.
Iris stopped and stared.
Asad looked back at her, his dark gaze so intense she felt the breath leave her lungs in a gasp.
Despite his European designer suit and their civilized surroundings, he looked like a desert warrior. Capable. Confident. Dangerous.
His brown eyes stayed fixed firmly on her. Serious and probing. The humor that had used to lurk there was nowhere in evidence. He’d filled out since university days too—his body more muscled, his presence every bit that of a man of definite power. At six feet three inches he had always been a presence hard to ignore, but now …?
He was a true warrior.
Wishing, not for the first time, that she could ignore this man, she forced herself to incline her head in greeting. “Sheikh Asad.”
About the Author
LUCY MONROE started reading at the age of four. After she’d gone through the childrens’ books at home, her mother caught her reading adult novels pilfered from the higher shelves on the bookcase … alas, it was nine years before she got her hands on a Mills & Boon® romance her older sister had brought home. She loves to create the strong alpha males and independent women who people Mills & Boon books. When she’s not immersed in a romance novel (whether reading or writing it), she enjoys travel with her family, having tea with the neighbours, gardening, and visits from her numerous nieces and nephews.
Lucy loves to hear from her readers: e-mail LucyMonroe@LucyMonroe.com, or visit www.LucyMonroe.com
Recent titles by the same author:
FOR DUTY’S SAKE
THE GREEK’S PREGNANT LOVER
THE SHY BRIDE
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Heart of a Desert Warrior
Lucy Monroe
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Helen Bianchin …
it is said that good writing inspires good writers.
Your writing has inspired me
both in my life and in writing for years.
I thank you from the bottom of my heart
for the many hours of pleasurable reading,
the wonderful bits of advice and kind words
when I was the new kid on the block.
Your stories continue to inspire,
your books are my dear friends and
your characters beloved to my heart. Thank you.
CHAPTER ONE
“YOU LOOK like you’re ready to face a firing squad.”
Her field assistant’s words stopped Iris at the top of the grand palace staircase.
Suppressing a grimace at what she could not doubt was his all too accurate assessment, she turned to face the college intern and forced a smile. “You look hungry.”
“Seriously, this is just dinner right?”
“Of course.” Just dinner.
Where they were supposed to meet their liaison while in Kadar; Asad, Sheikh Hakim’s second cousin, or something, and sheikh himself to a local Bedouin tribe, the Sha’b Al’najid. Asad was a fairly common Arabic name, meaning lion. An appropriate name for a man destined to be sheikh. Right? There was no reason to think that the man was her Asad.
No reason other than this awful sinking feeling that had not gone away since Sheikh Hakim had mentioned the liaison’s name earlier. Ever since agreeing to this Middle Eastern assignment, she’d had a feeling of foreboding that she’d done her best to ignore.
But it was getting harder with every passing moment.
“I’m not feeling reassured here,” Russell said as he stepped onto the stairs, his tone only half joking. “Dinner isn’t a euphemism for kidnap and sell to white slavers, is it?”
The ridiculous assertion shocked a laugh out of Iris. “You’re an idiot.”
Still, her legs refused to move.
“But a charming one. You’ve got to admit it. And who wouldn’t want to kidnap this?” he asked with a wink, having stopped to wait for her.
With his shaggy mop of red hair and pale skin, he could have been her baby brother. If only. Her childhood would have been a lot less lonely with a sibling. Her parents hadn’t been cruel, only supremely uninterested. Their lives were complete with each other. They worked together, they played together, they traveled together and none of it included her.
She’d never understood why they’d had a child at all and had long since decided her advent into the world had been one of those “accidents” of faulty birth control. Though nothing had ever been said.
She couldn’t imagine what they would have done with a child like Russell; he didn’t fade into the background with grace.
No, no matter how many surface resemblances they shared, he would have been an even bigger cuckoo in their family nest than she’d been.
Nevertheless, Iris and Russell really did look like they could have come from the same gene pool. Oh, he had freckles and she didn’t, and his eyes were green rather than her blue. However, they both had curly red hair—like her mother—slightly squared chins—like her father—and skin as pale as the white sands of New Mexico. At five foot ten, Russell was average height for a man, just like she was for a woman at five-five.
They both tended to dress like the science geeks they were, though tonight she’d donned a vibrant blue sheath dress and a black pashmina. Instead of her usual ponytail, she’d pulled her hair back in a loose knot and even gone so far as to put on mascara and lipstick, though she almost never wore makeup. She was dining with a sheikh and his family after all.
Two sheikhs, her worried brain reminded her.
Russell was in his own version of dress formal, khaki slacks and a button-down oxford instead of his usual T-shirt and cargo pants.
Still, neither of them were all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips.
She groaned at his humorous conceit. “Anyone with half a brain would know better than to go through the trouble of kidnapping you.”
He laughed, not taking offense and not entirely masking a concerned expression she didn’t want to see.
No matter what, she would be fine. She would. She was no longer a naive university sophomore, but a professional geologist with an eminent private survey firm.
“So, why the long face?” Russell asked, taking another step down as if coaxing her to do the same. “I know you tried to get out of doing this assignment.”
She had, but then she’d realized how foolish she was being. She couldn’t go through her career refusing lucrative assignments in the Middle East just because she’d once loved a man who came from this part of the world. Besides, her boss had made it clear that this time, she didn’t have a choice.
“I’m fine. Just a little jet-lagged.” Forcing her feet to move, she started down the stairs.
Russell fell into step beside her when she reached him. He put his arm out for her and she took it.
She wasn’t dwelling on the possibility that Sheikh Asad was her Asad. Not at all.
After all, what were the chances it was the same man who had done such a good job decimating her heart six years ago that she hadn’t gone on another date until after she graduated? That it was the one man that she had hoped to live the whole rest of her life without ever seeing again?
Small. Almost nonexistent.
Right? Right.
So, her Asad had been part of a Bedouin tribe and, as she’d found out at the end, slated to be sheikh one day.
It didn’t have to be the same man. She was praying it wasn’t the same man.
If it was her Asad—or rather the Asad: he’d never really been hers and she had to stop thinking of him that way—she didn’t know what she would do. Working toward the coveted position of senior geologist with Coal, Carrington & Boughton Surveyors, Inc., she couldn’t refuse this assignment based on personal reasons. Not when she had been back in the office and definitely not now that she was already in the country.
She wasn’t about to commit career suicide. Asad had taken enough from her. Her faith in love. Her belief in the rosy, bright future she’d ached for and dreamed of. He didn’t get her career, too.
“What did the diamond say to the copper vein?” Russell’s youthful voice pulled her out of her less than happy thoughts as they made their slow way down the stairs.
She rolled her eyes. “That joke is as old as the bedrock in Hudson Bay. The answer is—nothing, minerals don’t talc.”
It was a hoary old joke, but when he laughed, she found herself joining him.
“I’m glad to see you still have a sense of humor.” The deep voice coming from the hall below didn’t sound happy at all.
In fact, it sounded almost annoyed. But Iris didn’t have the wherewithal to worry about that little inconsistency. Not when the rich tones that still had the power to send her heart on a drumroll and to spark little pops of awareness along her every nerve ending belonged to a man she had truly believed she would never see again.
She stopped her descent and stared. Asad looked back at her, his dark chocolate gaze so intense, she felt the breath leave her lungs in a gasp.
He’d changed. Oh, he was still gorgeous. His hair still a dark brown, almost black and with no hint of gray, but instead of cropped close to his head like it had been back in school he wore it shoulder length. The different style should have made him seem more casual, more approachable. It didn’t.
Despite his European designer suit and their civilized surroundings, he looked like a desert warrior. Capable. Confident. Dangerous.
His brown eyes stayed fixed firmly on her. Serious and probing. The humor that used to lurk there nowhere in evidence.
He had close-cropped facial hair that only added to his appeal, as if he needed any help in that department. He’d filled out since university days, too, his body more muscled, his presence every bit that of a man of definite power. At six feet three inches, he had always been a presence hard to ignore, but now? He was a true Middle Eastern sheikh.
Wishing, not for the first time, that she could ignore this man, she forced herself to incline her head in greeting. “Sheikh Asad.”
“This is our liaison?” Russell croaked, reminding her that he was still there.
It didn’t help. The young intern was no competition for her attention to Asad and the feelings roiling up from the depths where she’d buried them when he left her.
Putting his arm out to Iris, Asad showed no sign of noticing Russell at all. “I will escort you to the others.”
Her frozen limbs unstuck and Iris managed to descend the remaining stairs. Giving in to her urge to ignore at least his suggestion, she stepped around his extended arm and headed to where she’d met earlier with Sheikh Hakim, his wife and their adorable children. If she was lucky, the dining room would be in the same part of the palace.
“Do you know where you are going?” Russell asked from behind her, sounding confused.
Asad made a sound that almost sounded like amusement. “I do not believe Iris has ever let a lack of certainty stop her from going forward.”
She spun around and faced him, long-banked fury unexpectedly spiking and with it not a little pain. “Even the best scientist can misinterpret the evidence.” Taking a deep breath, she regained the slip in her composure and asked with frigid politeness, “Perhaps you would like to the lead the way?”
Once again, he offered his arm. Again she pushed the bounds of polite behavior and ignored it, simply waiting in silence for him to get on with showing them where they were going.
“Just as stubborn as you ever were.”
And she wanted to smack him, which shocked her to her core. She was not a violent person. Ever. Even in the past, when he’d hurt her almost beyond bearing, she’d never had a violent thought toward him. Just pain.
“That’s our Iris, as immovable as a monolith.”
Asad didn’t ignore Russell this time. He gave the younger man a look meant to quell.
Seemingly oblivious, the college intern grinned and put his hand out to shake. “Russell Green, intrepid geological assistant, one day to be a full-fledged senior geologist with my own lab.”
Asad shook the younger man’s hand and inclined his head slightly. “Sheikh Asad bin Hanif Al’najid. I will be your team’s guide and protector while you are in Kadar.”
“Personally?” Iris asked, unable to keep her disquiet out of her voice. “Surely not. You are a sheikh.”
“It is a favor to my cousin. I would not consider relegating the duty to someone else.”
“But that’s unnecessary.” She wasn’t going to survive the next few weeks if she had to spend them in his company.
It had been six years since the last time she’d seen this man, but the pain and sense of betrayal he’d caused felt as fresh as if it had happened only the day before. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but hers were still bleeding hurt into her heart.
She still dreamed about him, though she called the images she woke to in the dark nightmares rather than dreams.
She’d loved and trusted him with everything inside her, believing she finally had a shot at a family and a break from the loneliness of her upbringing. He’d betrayed both her emotions and her hopes completely and irrevocably.
“It is not up for discussion.”
Iris shook her head. “I … no …”
“Iris, are you okay?” Russell asked.
But she had to be okay. This was her job. Her career, the only thing she had left in her life that mattered, or that she could trust.
The only thing Asad’s betrayal had left her with. “I’m fine. We need to join Sheikh Hakim.”
Something glimmered in Asad’s dark chocolate gaze, something that looked like concern. She wasn’t buying it, not even if someone else gave her the money to do it.
He hadn’t been concerned about her six years ago when they had been lovers; it was too far a stretch to think he was worried about her now, when they were little more than strangers with a briefly shared past.
Asad did not offer his arm again, but turned and began walking in the direction she’d been going to begin with.
So she had guessed right in this instance.
Go her. Sometimes her intuitive thoughts were on target, at least when it didn’t come to people.
“So Asad tells us you went to the same university.” Catherine smiled without malice, genuine interest shining in her gentian-blue eyes.
Nevertheless, the memories her words evoked were not happy ones for Iris. Iris forced something that resembled a smile and a nod. “Yes.”
“It’s funny you should have met.”
At the time Iris had believed it destiny. She’d been studying Arabic as her second language, a common practice for those in her field, but it had felt like more. Studying the language of his birth had felt like a common bond between them, as if they were meant to be together.
She had believed him to be an incredible blessing after nineteen years of feeling like she never really belonged to, or with, anyone. She’d thought she’d belonged to Asad; she’d been convinced he belonged to her.
She’d been spectacularly wrong. He didn’t want her, not for a lifetime, or even beyond their few months together. And he was not hers, not in any sense.
“It was one of those things….” Asad had come on to her in the Student Union. He’d flirted, charmed and when he asked her out, she hadn’t even considered saying no.
“The Student Union building knew no class distinctions,” Asad added when it was clear Iris wasn’t going to say anything else.
“Not in age or social standing,” Russell agreed. “I met a billionaire’s daughter in the Student Union at my university.”
And Iris had met a sheikh. Not that she’d known it. Back then, he’d just been plain Asad Hanif to her. Another foreign student availing himself of an American university education.
“She was sweet,” Russell continued, “but she doesn’t know the difference between sedimentary and igneous rock.”
“So, not a friendship destined to prosper,” Sheikh Hakim observed, his tone tinged with undeniable humor.
“Our friendship prospered.” Asad gave her a look as if expecting Iris to agree, even after the way their friendship had ended. “Though I knew little of geology and Iris had no more interest in business management.”
“The friendship didn’t last, which would indicate our differences were a lot more important than they seemed at first.” She’d managed to say it without a trace of bitterness or accusation.
Iris had never really considered herself much of an actress, but she was channeling Kate Winslet with her performance tonight. She’d managed to get through predinner drinks and the first course of their meal without giving away the turmoil roiling inside her to her hosts, the Sheikh of Kadar and his wife, just Catherine please.
Asad laid his fork across his empty salad plate. “Youth often lacks wisdom.”
“You were five years older than me.” And worlds wiser and more experienced.
He shrugged, that movement of his shoulders she knew so well. It was his response to anything for which there was no good, or easy to articulate, answer.
“Anyway, I hope my words haven’t made it seem I’m looking to renew any old friendships.” Chills of horror rolled down her spine at the thought. “I’m not. I’m here to work.” It was her turn to shrug, though it was more a jerk of one shoulder.
She’d never done casual well when it came to Asad, but it didn’t matter. She was in Kadar to work and then she would be out of his life once again, just as fully and completely as before. As she was sure he would prefer.
And she was never returning to Kadar. Not ever. No matter how lucrative a promotion depended on it.
“It would be a shame to travel so far from your home and spend no time experiencing the local culture.” Asad’s gaze bored into hers with predatory intent.
She remembered that look and her heart tightened at receiving it here, in this place, after everything that had passed between them and in his life particularly since their breakup.
“I’m sure living amidst your tribe will give both Iris and Russell the perfect opportunity to experience much of our culture,” Catherine said with a smile aimed first at Asad and then Iris. “I love staying with the Bedouin. It’s such a different way of life. Though why it always seems there’s more trouble for our children to get into in the city of tents than at home, I don’t know.”
She winked at her husband and Sheikh Hakim gave her such a look of love and adoration, it was both wonderful and painful to see. Here was a couple who loved each other every bit as much as Iris’s parents, but who adored their offspring with equal, if different, intensity.
Then the full import of Catherine’s words hit Iris. “We’re staying with Sheikh Asad’s tribe?” she asked in shock. “But I thought this would be our home base.”
The beautiful Middle Eastern palace that still managed to feel like a home for all its glamour and size.
“Our current encampment is far closer to the mountainous region you will be surveying,” Asad said, an inexplicable tone of satisfaction lacing his words.
CHAPTER TWO
“STAYING WITH the Sha’b Al’najid will save you a lot of time in travel,” Sheikh Hakim added.
“But …”
“You’ll love it, trust me,” Catherine said. “While Asad has taken the tribe in a different direction than Hakim’s grandfather did, their way of life has much in common with that found millennia ago. It will be an amazing experience, believe me.”
Iris would be in purgatory, but at least the encampment would only be their home base, she tried to tell herself. “I’m sure I will enjoy it very much,” she lied through her teeth. “What time we spend there, at any rate.”
Catherine looked inquiringly. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“When we’re in the field doing the type of survey Kadar has requested of CC&B, a team spends most of its time in a portable camp,” Iris explained. “It really wouldn’t make much of a difference if we maintained a home base here, or in the Bedouin encampment.”
“You are not staying alone in a camp with nothing but this pup for company.” Asad’s voice, laced with possessive bossiness, brooked no argument.
And shocked Iris to the core. She didn’t understand why it mattered to him. And that possessiveness was completely at odds with a man already taken himself. She must have imagined it.
The first to admit that reading people was not her strong suit, she nevertheless felt a shiver of apprehension skate along her spine.
“It’s not as if we share a cot, just a tent,” Russell said, no doubt trying to assuage any conservative sensibilities.
And doing a really bad job of it, Iris thought.
Asad’s features set in a mask she was sure had more in common with his warrior ancestors than modern man. He gave Russell a look that made her self-defined intrepid field assistant shrink into his chair.
“Not acceptable.” Just two words, but spoken with absolute authority in a tone she’d heard only once from Asad.
When he was telling her they had no future in words that could not be denied.
Russell squeaked. Catherine’s look tinged with concern. Iris’s heart ached with memory while she fought to maintain a facade of indifference.
Sheikh Hakim frowned. “My cousin is correct. It would be neither safe, nor appropriate for you to camp in such a manner.”
Iris could see her escape route disappearing in front of her eyes while the chilly sense of dread inside her grew. She couldn’t give up without a fight, though. “I assure you, I’ve been on several field assignments, in the States and abroad, and never had a problem with it.”
Just not in the Middle East.
“Nevertheless, I am responsible for the safety of those within my borders,” Sheikh Hakim said with a shake of his head. “Asad is right, a two-person camp in the mountains is an unacceptable option.”
Asad simply looked at her with an immovable expression she would never forget. He’d used it also when he said goodbye. “As I told you earlier, I will see to your safety.”
“My safety isn’t your responsibility.”
“On the contrary. I have decreed that it is.” Sheikh Hakim’s friendly manner dissipated in the face of his arrogant assurance.
Right. And Sheikh Hakim was a very important client. His country was paying CC&B a great deal of money for this survey. She was compelled to accept the way he wanted the field work handled. Either she backed out of the assignment, or accepted the constraints surrounding it, including Asad as her liaison.
She’d accepted that backing out of the assignment wasn’t an option before she ever left the States.
“Not having a moving camp could make the initial sample gathering and measurements take significantly longer,” she said by way of her final sally.
“Swift is not always better,” Sheikh Hakim said implacably. “Your safety must come first.”
“Would you be more comfortable with a male team lead?” she asked, seeing a possible way out. If the sheikh asked for it, her career wouldn’t be affected adversely. It was understood that some parts of the world did not deal as well with female geologists. “My superiors could arrange for my immediate replacement if that would make you more comfortable.”
“Not at all. I am confident your work will be more than acceptable,” Sheikh Hakim said smoothly.
Russell was staring at her like she’d offered to dance naked on the tabletop. Okay, so normally, she’d bristle and fight tooth and claw to avoid being replaced simply on the basis of gender, but these were special circumstances.
“It surprises me you would make the offer.” Asad sounded just as disbelieving of her words. “I remember a woman who would not stand for the idea that men made better geologists than their female counterparts.”
“I didn’t say he would be a better geologist.”
“Naturally not. You graduated at the top of your class, did you not?”
“I’m surprised you know that.” But then it might well have been included in the information CC&B had supplied about her to Sheikh Hakim.
Asad shrugged again. “I kept up with you.”
No, really, he hadn’t. She’d never heard from him again after he left, though a mutual friend had told Iris when Asad had married a year after returning to his home. She’d spent the weekend crying off and on, for once Iris’s studies unable to assuage the ache of loneliness and grief.
Then she’d buckled down, determined not to let anyone or anything stand in the way of the one dream she had left. She’d even continued her studies in Arabic, though until this assignment, she’d had no chance to use them in more than a few written translations and phone calls.
“I’m surprised your wife isn’t with you,” she said to change the topic and to remind herself forcibly why this man could not be allowed past her defenses.
No matter what the circumstances she would be forced to live in over the coming weeks.
And really? Where was the man’s wife? What woman would prefer to stay at a Bedouin encampment when she could be visiting the local palace? And how did his wife feel about Asad promising protection and guidance to his former girlfriend?
But then, that at least, was an idiotic question. No way did the princess know anything about Iris.
Iris certainly hadn’t known anything about Princess Badra when she’d been dating and sleeping with Asad.
Asad had known, though. He’d known he had no intention of spending his future with Iris. He’d known he planned to marry the virginal princess, not the American geology student who spent every night in his bed for ten months.
He’d seduced her anyway, treating Iris like his girlfriend when she was nothing but his mistress.
An old-fashioned word for an ugly, outdated position she would never have willingly taken. Or so she told herself.
The most painful truth of all, the one that had woken her in nighttime sweats more than once, was that even had she known he would never be hers, Iris was not sure she would have been able to walk away from what he offered her naive, love-struck, nineteen-year-old self.
“My wife died two years ago.” Asad’s voice pushed into Iris’s raw thoughts.
She met his eyes in genuine shock and polite words tumbled out of her mouth in stark reaction. “I’m sorry.”
Asad didn’t reply, but looked back at her with an expression both predatory and implacable.
The room and people around them faded from her awareness for a frozen moment as she met his gaze, her body frozen in shock, her mind blank with reaction and her heart stuttering in horror.
A married Asad was bad enough, but a widower? The thought sent terror shaking through her not-so-mended heart.
The helicopter blades whirled overhead, making discussion within the bird impossible except over the shared radio pieces. Asad had his fill of public discourse the night before when all he’d wanted to do was drag Iris out of the dining room and take her somewhere they could be alone.
He could not pretend what he wanted to do was talk, either, though it was not entirely off the agenda.
It had taken considerable self-control to stop himself from going to visit her in her room, but he needed to follow his plan. A plan that had a better chance of success once she was living in his encampment, not minutes from the royal airfield at the palace.
The level of animosity in Iris’s expression and voice when she wasn’t doing her best to suppress it, surprised him. It had been six years since he’d returned home. Surely she was not still angry at the admittedly abrupt end to their association.
Had he to do it over again, he would have handled it differently. But when they’d been together, he hadn’t realized she’d been thinking in terms of the future, either. He’d assumed from her actions and circumstances that she knew nothing they did together could be permanent. He hadn’t counted on her Western viewpoint on feminine sexuality, or her ignorance of his status.
In his arrogance, he’d believed everyone knew he was a future sheikh. It was no secret after all. But Iris did not gossip, and she was a geology student who, he learned later, knew next to nothing about the students in her own discipline, much less the others that attended the large university with her.
When she’d told him she loved him, he’d taken it as his due. The usual response of a female in a sexual relationship with a man, but he hadn’t believed she meant it.
He still wasn’t sure he bought the idea of everlasting love, though his cousin’s marriage to Catherine was something special. Even Asad could see that.
Nothing like his own marriage, which had been nothing more than a series of lies and subterfuge.
Still, he could have been kinder when he had to end their months-long affair. He realized that now.
He would never admit to anyone but himself that his harsh and immediate withdrawal had been the result of feelings he wasn’t used to dealing with. He’d become more attached to Iris than he’d expected to. And much to his chagrin, had realized at the end of their time together, that she, more than anyone or anything else, had the possibility of undermining his carefully laid plans.
So, he had walked away. And stayed away.
And had forced his mind to shut down every time he thought of her until his ill-fated wedding night, when inevitable comparisons and conclusions had to be drawn. Conclusions that had destroyed what was left of his own naive beliefs about women and sex.
Iris hadn’t been a virgin, but she’d been honest, loyal and surprisingly innocent. He’d believed Badra untouched, but that had been a lie of monumental proportions, as was so much about her. The woman who had considered herself too good for a Bedouin sheikh had traded on deceit and Asad had not even had a glimmer until their wedding night.
Even so, his anger at Badra had muted over time to be replaced with indifference. So that when she had died all he had felt was relief to be free of her, only marginally tinged by sadness for their daughter, who saw less of her mother than the Parisian clothiers Badra favored.
Once married, he’d been unable to keep thoughts of Iris completely banked. Though that surprised him, he chalked it up to the fact that they had been even better friends than they were lovers. He’d kept up with her academic and work career, but had stayed away from her personally. He was not Badra. Asad did not cheat.
He did not understand this passionate fury barely contained in Iris, not after so much time. He slid a glance at her only to find her looking out the window of the helicopter, her eyes too unfocused to be seeing anything of real interest in the desert below.
Her body and attention turned from him, but he would change that. It had been six years. Two years since his wife’s death. Enough time for all that he had planned. He would wait no longer.
The low mountains loomed much closer than at the palace when the helicopter made its descent for landing.
“Hey, where are the camels?” Russell asked as he climbed out of the helicopter right after the pilot.
Asad did not answer. He had not liked the way the field assistant referred to Iris proprietarily, and with such familiarity, the night before. Though he doubted very much that the two shared a relationship outside of work, Asad felt possessive of the friendship that had not been allowed to flourish by his marriage.
He offered his hand to help Iris alight. After a moment of inaction while she stared at his hand as if it were a snake set to strike, she very clearly gritted her teeth and then reached out to take it.
He smiled into her lovely sky-blue eyes, carefully blanked of emotion. “Welcome to the Bedouin of the twenty-first century.”
Iris looked around them at the landing pad and the SUV parked on its edge. “I understand camels are not quite the mode of transport they once were.” She met his gaze again and choked out a laugh which he enjoyed hearing very much. “But a Hummer?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? Our tribe is more affluent than most.”
“Why is that?”
“My great-grandfather purchased land rights in three adjoining countries along our usual travel route so our tribe would always have a place to camp. At the time, political unrest dictated the move, but we rarely avail ourselves of that land for encampment anywhere but in Kadar.”
“But the land in the other countries, it’s making money for you?”
“It is.” The once-beautiful landscape was marred by oil rigging that pounded away with a noise that others might learn to sleep through.
He never would. “Oil.”
“Lucky you.”
“Some might say so.”
“I think pretty much everyone would say so.”
He didn’t reply, but turned to give instructions to the tribesmen waiting for them to move the geologists’ luggage and equipment to the Hummer. Asad made sure Russell ended up in the other SUV for the drive.
The Sha’b Al’najid encampment was nothing like Iris expected. Erected in the shadows of the small mountain range in the southernmost part of Kadar, it truly looked like the “city of tents” Catherine had referred to.
“You must have high-producing wells.”
“They are sufficient as a base for our needs.”
“A base?”
“My grandfather invested intelligently if modestly on behalf of our people. I have continued that tradition, though perhaps not as modestly.” Satisfaction glowed in Asad’s dark gaze. “We continue to do what we are best at as a people, as well.”
“What’s that?” she asked, her curiosity stronger than her desire to avoid conversation with him.
“The Bedouin are known for their hospitality. Our tribe offers the opportunity to live the Bedouin life for tourists from the cities of Kadar and abroad. The Sha’b Al’najid still run trading caravans across the desert and for a sufficient fee, one may join in this venture, also.”
“Like a Dude Ranch?” she asked in disbelief.
“I have never been to a Dude Ranch, but I believe the intent is similar. Others of my brethren tribes do this, as well. It provides our people the opportunity to continue with millennia of cultural and living traditions while others are afforded the opportunity to experience this unique way of life.”
“You sound like a travel brochure.”
“I have written more than one of them.”
A grin sneaked up on her, despite her feelings toward him. “It can’t be too traditional with Hummers instead of camels.”
“We still have many camels, I assure you.”
“Do you still move camp?”
“Twice a year, rather than seasonally, but yes.”
“Do you stay in Kadar?”
“We do. This too is different, but preferable to other tribes who have settled permanently on lands granted by the government.”
“I see.” Though she wasn’t really sure she did and was afraid he could hear it in the uncertainty of her tone.
“Within our encampment you will find modernizations mixed with traditions that are thousands of years old.” And he was clearly proud of that fact.
“Are those electric cords?” she asked in shock as she noticed the thick black rubber-coated cords snaking through the sand.
“They are. We have a bank of solar panels strategically placed five hundred yards in that direction.” He pointed away from the mountains to a spot that was no doubt ideal for sun exposure.
Incredible. “So, I can use my laptop?”
“It is better for you to charge your battery between uses. Our power is limited and certain measures must be taken, but there is even a television in the communal tent.”
“I didn’t know there was such a thing in a Bedouin encampment. I thought most of the socializing happened in individual homes.” Or outside in the courtyard-like areas between the tents.
At least according to the research she’d done on Bedouin living back when she’d thought she’d had a reason to do so.
“The communal tent was created for the tourists to gather in groups, but my people have found they enjoy its use, as well.”
“And its television.”
“Some British and American programs are very popular.” His shrug said some things must change, but others would remain the same. “I confess to a craving for Law & Order when I returned home six years ago.”
They’d used to watch it together. He’d called the crime drama his weekly mindless entertainment. She never quite got that, but she’d suffered through the program’s dark plots and emotional angst for the sake of spending that time with him.
“Do you still watch it?” he asked.
“No.”
“It was never your favorite.”
“No.” Though she hadn’t stopped watching until the series was canceled.
“Yet you watched it, for me.”
This trip down memory lane was getting distinctly uncomfortable.
“I’ll admit this is not what I expected.” She waved her hand, indicating the encampment around her.
“You had expectations?”
“Naturally. It’s a poor geologist who doesn’t do her homework on the area she’ll be surveying.”
“But you had no idea you would be coming to a Bedouin encampment.”
“You never know.” It was not quite a lie, but not the admission he was looking for, either.
“This is true. Six years ago, neither of us would have suspected you would be here.”
Actually, she had … right up until he’d broken up with her. She had no more interest in rehashing that particular bit of history than anything else about the months they’d been together. “You said some things are still traditional?”
“Many things.”
She saw what he meant when they entered a huge tent toward the center of the encampment. A curtain bisected the area horizontally from the entrance. In the center, was a single overlapping panel embroidered with two giant peacocks, their feathers fanned out in a display of the beautiful jeweled tones the birds were known for.
The curtain created the public reception area the Bedouin homes were known for, but it was much larger she was sure than the average tent boasted. With no evidence of the famed television, Iris had to assume this wasn’t the communal tent he’d mentioned earlier.
Rich Persian rugs covered the ground of the main area, but instead of chairs, there were luxurious pillows in silks, velvets and damasks with lots of gold, purple, teal and a dark sapphire blue. Low tables dotted the expansive area and while the outer walls were the typical woven black goat hair, inside the walls were covered in richly colored silks.
“Russell and I are staying here?” she asked with a sense of foreboding.
This was no normal Bedouin tent. Situated where it was in the compound and considering the luxury of the interior, she had no doubts who this particular dwelling belonged to. Sheikh Asad bin Hanif Al’najid.
“You are, yes. Russell will stay in the tent with your equipment.”
“What is this tent, a harem, or something?” she asked in faint hope.
“This is my home.”
CHAPTER THREE
“I’M NOT staying in your tent.”
“It has been arranged. Your accommodations are behind that partition.” He pointed at a blue silk hanging. “My late wife insisted on a nontraditional division of the women’s area of the tent. So, you will have your own room rather than sharing the entire space with the other single women of my family.”
“Other single women?” she asked faintly.
“My daughter and a distant cousin.”
“I can’t stay here with you.”
“I assure you, you can.”
“I’ll share the tent with Russell.”
Oh, Asad did not like that suggestion. Not at all. His expression went very dark very quickly. “You will not.”
“But it makes the most sense.” And might actually save her sanity, not to mention her heart.
“It is not acceptable.”
“You and your cousin, Sheikh Hakim, have an affinity for that word,” she grumbled, feeling like the Persian rug beneath her feet was actually quicksand.
“You will stay here.” There was no give in Asad’s voice or his posture.
“How is it better for me to stay here with you than to share a tent with Russell?”
“As I said, my daughter and cousin share this tent, as well, but so do my grandparents.”
Her whirling brain latched onto the plural grandparents and she asked, “Your grandfather is still alive?”
“Of course.”
“But you’re sheikh.”
“What did you think, I had to kill my predecessor to take over for him? It was much more prosaic. He retired and enjoys the increased freedom of his days like any other man who has well earned such.”
“He retired?”
“Yes.”
“That’s just …”
According to what Iris had read, the concept of the next generation taking over the majority of sheikh responsibilities when the current holder of the office became very old was not completely unheard of. But to refer to it as retirement? It was just so, so … modern.
“The way of things.” The words were spoken by an elderly woman carrying a tray with tea things on it as she entered through an opening in the blue silk partition.
Dressed in traditional Bedouin garb, the older woman’s hair peeked from under a heavily embroidered and beaded sheer scarf that did not completely hide the long white tresses. Her face, though showing the wear of sun and years, was still beautiful, though paler than Asad and more Gallic in bone structure.
“Grandmother, may I present Miss Iris Carpenter.” Asad bowed his head toward his grandmother while indicating Iris with his right hand. “Iris, my grandmother, the Lady bin Hanif.”
“You will address me as Genevieve.”
“Thank you. That is French, isn’t it?” Iris asked, pretty sure the woman’s accent was Gallic, as well.
“It is. Though my family has made its home in Switzerland for nearly two centuries. My husband found me when we were both attending university in Paris and convinced me to leave all I knew to share his life here among his Bedouin tribe.” She smiled as she set the tea tray on one of the low tables. “I have never regretted it. The Sha’b Al’najid soon became my people.”
“And Grandmother became the favorite lady to them in generations.”
Iris smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Genevieve.”
“Come, sit.” The older woman indicated the cushions on the floor with a flick of her elegant wrist. “It is always a pleasure to meet an old friend of my grandson.”
About to deny the classification, Iris thought better of it. She suspected that the Lady bin Hanif was the type of woman who would demand an explanation.
“We knew each other only for a few short months at university,” she said to downplay the relationship as much as possible.
Genevieve poured tea into fine china cups painted with Arabic design. “And yet those short months were particularly impacting for my grandson, I believe.”
Iris turned to glare in shock at Asad. He’d told his grandparents about their affair? Heat crawled into her cheeks while her stomach rolled in humiliation.
Asad’s eyes widened at her glare and then narrowed in what seemed like comprehension. He shook his head just slightly, as if saying he had not told them the intimate details of the friendship.
“Oh my, yes. Our boy, he spoke of hardly anyone from his university days. But Iris, the budding geologist? We heard much of her academic and career exploits.” Genevieve serenely sipped her tea. “His late wife did not enjoy Asad’s university reminiscences, I think. She had attended only a year of finishing school in Europe you see.”
Completely flabbergasted by the idea that Asad had kept track of her like he claimed, Iris could think of no other response than to nod and sip her own tea. Hot, very strong and almost equally sweet, it had a smoky flavor something like Earl Grey and yet not. There was almost a flavor of sage in the blend, as well.
“This is delicious. I can see why the Bedouin tea is so famous.”
“Yes. There is a knack to making it. You must brew it over a wood fire, not on the hob.”
Iris’s gaze flicked to the silk divider. There was a wood fire burning behind that, inside the goat hair dwelling?
“Not to worry, the cooking fire is under the open awning behind our tent,” Asad said, showing more disconcerting proof that he could still read her all too well.
When they had been together, he had known her better than anyone else, though she’d kept her secret shame to herself and never admitted to him the extent of her parents’ indifference.
Genevieve smiled and reached out to pat Iris’s arm. “Do not worry. You will soon grow accustomed to our ways.”
“My favorite mentor always said that one of the marks of a good field geologist is the ability to acclimate to different surroundings so nothing can get in the way of accuracy in one’s fieldwork.”
“A wise man,” Asad said, “was Professor Lester.”
“How did you know I was talking about.” Iris let her voice trail off as Genevieve laughed softly.
“Oh, my grandson, he remembers everything, does he not?”
“Yes.” Asad’s eidetic memory was one of the reasons they’d had as much time together as they did.
When he had almost perfect recall of everything he heard, read and saw, the need to study for tests or reread information for papers was severely mitigated. He’d even helped Iris study for her own exams.
Genevieve’s eyes glowed with pride as she looked at her grandson. “It makes him a very good sheikh and political advisor to my great-nephew, Hakim, ruler over all Kadar.”
“You’re one of Sheikh Hakim’s official advisors?” Iris asked Asad, storing the information on their actual family relationship for future reference.
He merely nodded before taking a drink of tea.
But Genevieve was more forthcoming. “Of course, they are family. However, Asad has proven himself wise in the ways of our people and the modern world we must live in, as well. Hakim listens with a bent ear to our Asad. It was his idea, after all, to get your company to do the mineral survey and to request you be the on-site geologist.”
Asad’s jaw tautened, as if he was trying not to frown, but the look he gave his grandmother was tinged with something that looked very much like exasperation.
“You’re the reason I wasn’t given the option of refusing this assignment?” Iris demanded, catching on quickly even if her memory wasn’t precisely eidetic.
Asad shrugged.
She opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t a good enough answer. Not this time, but his grandmother forestalled Iris. “But why should you wish to?”
And Iris remembered where she was and why she was here, despite the helpless fury burning in her chest. “I have yet to do any survey work in the Middle East. Another geologist would have been a better choice.”
“Nonsense. If Asad believes you will do the best job, then I am quite confident you will. Surely it is time you expanded your vita to include work in the Middle East.”
Iris could not deny it. She would never be promoted to senior geologist while she lacked field experience in the Middle East, which was one of the points her boss had made when insisting Iris take this assignment.
That didn’t make her feel any better about the revelation that Asad was responsible for getting Iris to Kadar. He was a man who always had an agenda. If she had only realized that when they’d been dating, she would not have been so sideswiped by the knowledge he was already practically engaged to the Princess Badra.
What was his plan now?
Iris had the awful feeling it had something to do with her. And since the only thing he’d wanted from her was her body, she didn’t think she was too far outside the realm of probability to believe he had his sights set on renewing their affair.
For a short time anyway.
Why not? She’d fallen into his bed with barely a push back in the day. Practically a virgin, she’d still allowed him to make love … or have sex rather … with her on their first date. She’d been overwhelmed by her reaction to him and thought he felt the same. She knew better now, but wasn’t entirely sure it would make any difference in the outcome.
“Where is your father?” she asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject and get her mind on a different pathway. Why hadn’t he taken over the sheikh role?
And then she considered the possibility that the older man was deceased and wished she could bite the words back. Particularly after her similar faux pas the night before when asking about Asad’s wife. It was too late, however, to do anything but hope she would not be given the same answer.
Thankfully, Asad did not look like he was remembering a traumatic loss. “He does not live with the tribe. He oversees our European interests from his home in Geneva.”
“Your father lives in Switzerland?” Considering they clearly had family there, that was not entirely surprising. Still, it seemed odd that Asad would be sheikh to the nomadic Sha’b Al’najid while his father lived in one of the most sophisticated cities of Europe.
“As do his mother, sister and two brothers.” Genevieve’s tone did not sound altogether pleased by that fact.
Iris gave Asad a look in which she felt incapable of hiding her abject shock. “You have siblings?”
He had never mentioned it, but then he’d left a lot out of their discourse six years ago. So, the fact that none of them lived among the Bedouin tribe was even more surprising to her than their existence.
“It is so.”
“But …”
Genevieve refilled the teacups without asking if Iris or Asad wanted more. Something about the set of her features told Iris this conversation was no easier on her than the earlier topic had been on Iris.
Asad leaned back on the cushion, looking like a pasha and said, “You wonder why they do not live with the Sha’b Al’najid.”
“If your parents live in Geneva, I suppose it’s natural that your sister and brothers would, as well.”
“They are all of an age to make their own decisions about how and where they live.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She could understand that the Bedouin way of life might not work for everyone, but for all of them to turn their backs on thousands of years of tradition seemed wrong somehow.
“In order to gain permission to leave the tribe, my father had to allow my grandfather to raise me here as his own son to take over leadership of the tribe.” Asad said it so casually, it took a moment for the import of his words to sink in. “It is why I am called bin Hanif instead of bin Marghub. Not that my father uses his tribal name. He goes by Jean Hanif.”
In Western culture such a name similarity would show the family connection, but in Kadar, Asad not carrying his father’s name was as good as disowning him. Though it sounded like the decision had been made for him.
“That’s barbaric.” Iris slapped her hand over her mouth, unable to believe she’d said that out loud, no matter how much she thought it.
She looked askance at the tea; was there something in there that she didn’t know about?
Genevieve smiled reassuringly, clearly having taken no offense. “Jean found much about the Bedouin way of life to be barbaric. He never wished to return from our visits to Geneva to my family. He insisted on attending an American university and ended up married to a European like his father.”
If they no longer lived among the tribe, Iris thought that Western origin could be the only thing Asad’s mother had in common with Genevieve.
“Celeste and Jean came here to live after their marriage, but neither were happy. Eventually, Jean told us that he had no desire to follow his father as sheikh to the Sha’b Al’najid. My husband could have named a cousin or nephew as his successor. It is how he became sheikh himself, but he saw the fire of the Bedouin burning brightly in our grandson and offered the alternative of us raising him here instead.”
“How old were you when your parents left?” Iris asked.
“I was four.”
And they had seen the Bedouin spirit burning bright in him? At such a young age? Iris supposed it was possible, but it was still barbaric. “How old were your siblings?”
“My sister was two. Mother was pregnant with my younger brother, as well.”
“She did not want to give birth in the encampment.” Genevieve shrugged, the movement exhibiting her Gallic ancestry. “All of her children were born in a Genevan hospital after Asad.”
Despite their past, Iris could not help the rush of pity and understanding she felt for Asad in that moment. She knew exactly how it felt not to be necessary to one’s parents.
Asad shook his head at her. “I know how you are thinking. Stop it. My parents did not abandon me. We continued to see one another often and I always had my grandparents. I had the Sha’b Al’najid. Doing things in such a fashion was necessary. My father did not want the less luxurious life of the Bedouin and my grandfather knew one day I would make an excellent sheikh.”
No arrogance there. Not at all. She almost smiled. “It looks luxurious enough to me.”
“We have satellite access to the internet for four hours in the afternoon only. We do not have modern kitchens, appliances or bathrooms.”
She knew what he meant and shrugged. “I’m sure your facilities are better than what I have on most of my camping field assignments.”
“No doubt.” He smiled as though her words had pleased him, then the smile melted away as if it had never been. “What we have now is beyond what my father experienced in the encampment. Though when he and the others visit, they still find it abysmally rustic.”
“All of them?”
“All but my youngest brother. He was born four years after they moved to Geneva.” Asad’s lips twisted wryly. “An unplanned blessing added to my parent’s family. He has said he plans to make his home here once he finishes university.”
“And your parents are okay with that?”
“Naturally. My father relies on the tribe’s business investments for his income. He knows better than to reject our way of life completely.” So, regardless of how unaffected Asad would like to appear regarding his father’s rejection of his way of life, there was something there.
“He gave up his oldest son to the tribe,” Genevieve chided. “Any parent would feel that was a sufficient sacrifice.”
Iris begged to differ, but she wasn’t about to say so out loud. Her parents would have happily given her up if it meant getting what they wanted. In fact, they had often made the trade-off of time with her for travel on their own. She’d never told Asad that she’d been sent to boarding school at age six, but then the fact had always shamed her.
She’d thought there was something wrong with her that her parents had preferred to have her live with them only on school vacations. And even then, they weren’t always “at home” when she was.
“Perhaps,” Asad replied to his grandmother, not looking particularly convinced. “I do not know how difficult the decision was for them. I know only that they made it, choosing life outside of the encampment rather than living here to raise me.”
Genevieve clicked her tongue twice, as if gently chiding her grandson without saying anything overt.
“You never told me this.” And Iris wasn’t sure that hadn’t been for the best.
She’d been head over heels in love with Asad, but how much worse it would have been for her if she’d believed they had this pain in common and allowed herself to identify with him on such a deep level?
“There was much we did not talk about.”
“True. I didn’t even know you were going to be sheikh one day.” And he knew nothing of her childhood or her parents’ supreme indifference. She’d never told him the story of how she’d lost her virginity. Asad was oh so right; there was a lot they’d never spoken of. “Looking back, I realize I should have guessed based on your bearing alone.”
“I did not mean to hide that from you.”
She believed him. He had been so certain she knew the score, she did not believe he’d meant to hide anything from her. For the first time in six years, she admitted to herself that they’d both been spectacularly wrong in reading the situation between them. Not just her.
That didn’t do a thing to alleviate her current anger with him for manipulating her into coming to Kadar, however.
Genevieve rose gracefully to her feet. “I will refresh the tea.”
Iris went to stand, intent on helping, but the older woman placed a staying hand on her shoulder. “No. Another time, I will teach you to make tea the proper way. Now you must stay here and renew your acquaintance with my grandson. He has so looked forward to seeing you again.”
Nonplussed, Iris could do nothing but nod with as much graciousness as she could muster. She didn’t think it would do her company’s relationship with Kadar a good turn if Iris admitted she would rather renew the acquaintance of the rattlesnake she’d met on her last field survey than Asad’s.
Asad waited until his grandmother had gone to say, “I never lied to you. I thought you knew I was meant to be a sheikh.”
“I heard you the first time.” She glared at him, her current anger sufficient to fuel the nasty look, their past notwithstanding.
“And?”
What? Was he expecting her to congratulate him or something?
“Do you believe me?” he asked with a tinge of frustration in his usually urbane tones.
“Yes.”
“Then why the look when grandmother left us to talk?”
Really? He could not be that dense. “I guess an eidetic memory does not equate to people smarts.”
His eyes narrowed in affront at her sarcasm. “You have changed.”
“Yes.” She was no naive idiot anymore. “But seriously? How could you think knowing you would be a sheikh one day would have made a difference to me back then? I wouldn’t have been any more prepared to be dumped like I was.”
“I did not dump you.”
What happened to that famed honesty of his? “Excuse me, you did.”
“I had obligations, a plan for my life I could not abandon.”
“You didn’t want to abandon it. You didn’t leave me out of duty—you left because you never wanted me for a lifetime. I was just stupid enough to believe you did. That’s all.” And equally painful, she’d lost her best friend.
“I am sorry.”
He had said that six years ago too, with pity in his eyes. But not regret. If there was regret there now, she wouldn’t let herself see it.
“It’s in the past.”
“Yet I still see pain in your eyes when you talk about it.”
She couldn’t deny it, but she sure wasn’t going to admit to it, either. She’d had all the pity she could stand from this man when she’d been that foolishly naive nineteen-year-old. Besides, she had something much more recent to deal with.
“I can’t believe you engineered me coming to Kadar.” She made zero effort to hide how much knowledge of his manipulation infuriated her.
He looked shocked by her anger. “I was doing you a good turn, making up for my abrupt departure from your life, if you will.”
“You have absolutely got to be kidding me. You think being forced to work in close proximity to you is in some way a good thing?”
“I am no monster. You used to enjoy my company very much, and I do not just mean in the bedroom.”
“We were friends. We aren’t anymore!” She swallowed her next words and fought for control of her vocal cords. The last thing she wanted was for Genevieve to return to Iris shouting at the man she was beginning to realize was more dense than metamorphic rock.
“We could be again.”
“Why?” Why would he want to be?
“I missed you. You missed me.”
And to him, it was that simple. Never mind the fact she’d been so totally in love with him that she’d felt like her heart had been ripped from her chest when he left. “You could have just called.”
“You needed the Middle East experience to move forward with your career.”
“Just how close tabs have you been keeping?” she demanded.
“Close enough.”
“So, you thought you’d do me a favor?” Why did she think it hadn’t all been altruism on his part? Oh, yes, because she no longer trusted him and never would again. “Didn’t it occur to you that not coming to the Middle East had been my decision?”
“No.”
She dropped her head in her hands and groaned, her fury losing its heat. The man just had no clue, none whatsoever.
And there was no point in continuing this discussion. He was never going to get it, but he wasn’t going to drop the subject unless she did.
So she observed, “You said you share this tent with your family.”
“I do.”
“Where is everyone else?” Were the tent walls so thick, they would mask the sounds of a child?
It was surprisingly quiet, no sounds from outside filtering through, nor from any other part of the tent.
“My grandfather spends this time each day with the other old men, drinking coffee and telling stories. No doubt he would have stayed to meet your arrival, but my grandmother knows how to get her way and she wanted to meet you first,” Asad revealed in a fond tone.
“Where is your daughter? In school?” Iris guessed.
He shook his head. “She will be playing with other small children under the watchful eye of my cousin.”
Since, presumably, if his grandparents had more children than Asad’s father, the barbaric bargain would not have been made, he didn’t mean cousin literally, but referred to a female relative. “She’s not old enough for school?”
“We do not run a school precisely, though the concept is similar. We train our children in every aspect of life, not merely to read, write and cipher, though we do not neglect their book learning. Some will want to attend university one day.” He reached out as if to touch Iris and let his hand fall, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. “But you are right, my daughter is too young for any formalized training.”
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LUCY MONROE
The rich tones that still had the power to send her heart on a drumroll and little pops of awareness sparking along her every nerve-ending belonged to a man she had truly believed she would never see again.
Iris stopped and stared.
Asad looked back at her, his dark gaze so intense she felt the breath leave her lungs in a gasp.
Despite his European designer suit and their civilized surroundings, he looked like a desert warrior. Capable. Confident. Dangerous.
His brown eyes stayed fixed firmly on her. Serious and probing. The humor that had used to lurk there was nowhere in evidence. He’d filled out since university days too—his body more muscled, his presence every bit that of a man of definite power. At six feet three inches he had always been a presence hard to ignore, but now …?
He was a true warrior.
Wishing, not for the first time, that she could ignore this man, she forced herself to incline her head in greeting. “Sheikh Asad.”
About the Author
LUCY MONROE started reading at the age of four. After she’d gone through the childrens’ books at home, her mother caught her reading adult novels pilfered from the higher shelves on the bookcase … alas, it was nine years before she got her hands on a Mills & Boon® romance her older sister had brought home. She loves to create the strong alpha males and independent women who people Mills & Boon books. When she’s not immersed in a romance novel (whether reading or writing it), she enjoys travel with her family, having tea with the neighbours, gardening, and visits from her numerous nieces and nephews.
Lucy loves to hear from her readers: e-mail LucyMonroe@LucyMonroe.com, or visit www.LucyMonroe.com
Recent titles by the same author:
FOR DUTY’S SAKE
THE GREEK’S PREGNANT LOVER
THE SHY BRIDE
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Heart of a Desert Warrior
Lucy Monroe
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Helen Bianchin …
it is said that good writing inspires good writers.
Your writing has inspired me
both in my life and in writing for years.
I thank you from the bottom of my heart
for the many hours of pleasurable reading,
the wonderful bits of advice and kind words
when I was the new kid on the block.
Your stories continue to inspire,
your books are my dear friends and
your characters beloved to my heart. Thank you.
CHAPTER ONE
“YOU LOOK like you’re ready to face a firing squad.”
Her field assistant’s words stopped Iris at the top of the grand palace staircase.
Suppressing a grimace at what she could not doubt was his all too accurate assessment, she turned to face the college intern and forced a smile. “You look hungry.”
“Seriously, this is just dinner right?”
“Of course.” Just dinner.
Where they were supposed to meet their liaison while in Kadar; Asad, Sheikh Hakim’s second cousin, or something, and sheikh himself to a local Bedouin tribe, the Sha’b Al’najid. Asad was a fairly common Arabic name, meaning lion. An appropriate name for a man destined to be sheikh. Right? There was no reason to think that the man was her Asad.
No reason other than this awful sinking feeling that had not gone away since Sheikh Hakim had mentioned the liaison’s name earlier. Ever since agreeing to this Middle Eastern assignment, she’d had a feeling of foreboding that she’d done her best to ignore.
But it was getting harder with every passing moment.
“I’m not feeling reassured here,” Russell said as he stepped onto the stairs, his tone only half joking. “Dinner isn’t a euphemism for kidnap and sell to white slavers, is it?”
The ridiculous assertion shocked a laugh out of Iris. “You’re an idiot.”
Still, her legs refused to move.
“But a charming one. You’ve got to admit it. And who wouldn’t want to kidnap this?” he asked with a wink, having stopped to wait for her.
With his shaggy mop of red hair and pale skin, he could have been her baby brother. If only. Her childhood would have been a lot less lonely with a sibling. Her parents hadn’t been cruel, only supremely uninterested. Their lives were complete with each other. They worked together, they played together, they traveled together and none of it included her.
She’d never understood why they’d had a child at all and had long since decided her advent into the world had been one of those “accidents” of faulty birth control. Though nothing had ever been said.
She couldn’t imagine what they would have done with a child like Russell; he didn’t fade into the background with grace.
No, no matter how many surface resemblances they shared, he would have been an even bigger cuckoo in their family nest than she’d been.
Nevertheless, Iris and Russell really did look like they could have come from the same gene pool. Oh, he had freckles and she didn’t, and his eyes were green rather than her blue. However, they both had curly red hair—like her mother—slightly squared chins—like her father—and skin as pale as the white sands of New Mexico. At five foot ten, Russell was average height for a man, just like she was for a woman at five-five.
They both tended to dress like the science geeks they were, though tonight she’d donned a vibrant blue sheath dress and a black pashmina. Instead of her usual ponytail, she’d pulled her hair back in a loose knot and even gone so far as to put on mascara and lipstick, though she almost never wore makeup. She was dining with a sheikh and his family after all.
Two sheikhs, her worried brain reminded her.
Russell was in his own version of dress formal, khaki slacks and a button-down oxford instead of his usual T-shirt and cargo pants.
Still, neither of them were all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips.
She groaned at his humorous conceit. “Anyone with half a brain would know better than to go through the trouble of kidnapping you.”
He laughed, not taking offense and not entirely masking a concerned expression she didn’t want to see.
No matter what, she would be fine. She would. She was no longer a naive university sophomore, but a professional geologist with an eminent private survey firm.
“So, why the long face?” Russell asked, taking another step down as if coaxing her to do the same. “I know you tried to get out of doing this assignment.”
She had, but then she’d realized how foolish she was being. She couldn’t go through her career refusing lucrative assignments in the Middle East just because she’d once loved a man who came from this part of the world. Besides, her boss had made it clear that this time, she didn’t have a choice.
“I’m fine. Just a little jet-lagged.” Forcing her feet to move, she started down the stairs.
Russell fell into step beside her when she reached him. He put his arm out for her and she took it.
She wasn’t dwelling on the possibility that Sheikh Asad was her Asad. Not at all.
After all, what were the chances it was the same man who had done such a good job decimating her heart six years ago that she hadn’t gone on another date until after she graduated? That it was the one man that she had hoped to live the whole rest of her life without ever seeing again?
Small. Almost nonexistent.
Right? Right.
So, her Asad had been part of a Bedouin tribe and, as she’d found out at the end, slated to be sheikh one day.
It didn’t have to be the same man. She was praying it wasn’t the same man.
If it was her Asad—or rather the Asad: he’d never really been hers and she had to stop thinking of him that way—she didn’t know what she would do. Working toward the coveted position of senior geologist with Coal, Carrington & Boughton Surveyors, Inc., she couldn’t refuse this assignment based on personal reasons. Not when she had been back in the office and definitely not now that she was already in the country.
She wasn’t about to commit career suicide. Asad had taken enough from her. Her faith in love. Her belief in the rosy, bright future she’d ached for and dreamed of. He didn’t get her career, too.
“What did the diamond say to the copper vein?” Russell’s youthful voice pulled her out of her less than happy thoughts as they made their slow way down the stairs.
She rolled her eyes. “That joke is as old as the bedrock in Hudson Bay. The answer is—nothing, minerals don’t talc.”
It was a hoary old joke, but when he laughed, she found herself joining him.
“I’m glad to see you still have a sense of humor.” The deep voice coming from the hall below didn’t sound happy at all.
In fact, it sounded almost annoyed. But Iris didn’t have the wherewithal to worry about that little inconsistency. Not when the rich tones that still had the power to send her heart on a drumroll and to spark little pops of awareness along her every nerve ending belonged to a man she had truly believed she would never see again.
She stopped her descent and stared. Asad looked back at her, his dark chocolate gaze so intense, she felt the breath leave her lungs in a gasp.
He’d changed. Oh, he was still gorgeous. His hair still a dark brown, almost black and with no hint of gray, but instead of cropped close to his head like it had been back in school he wore it shoulder length. The different style should have made him seem more casual, more approachable. It didn’t.
Despite his European designer suit and their civilized surroundings, he looked like a desert warrior. Capable. Confident. Dangerous.
His brown eyes stayed fixed firmly on her. Serious and probing. The humor that used to lurk there nowhere in evidence.
He had close-cropped facial hair that only added to his appeal, as if he needed any help in that department. He’d filled out since university days, too, his body more muscled, his presence every bit that of a man of definite power. At six feet three inches, he had always been a presence hard to ignore, but now? He was a true Middle Eastern sheikh.
Wishing, not for the first time, that she could ignore this man, she forced herself to incline her head in greeting. “Sheikh Asad.”
“This is our liaison?” Russell croaked, reminding her that he was still there.
It didn’t help. The young intern was no competition for her attention to Asad and the feelings roiling up from the depths where she’d buried them when he left her.
Putting his arm out to Iris, Asad showed no sign of noticing Russell at all. “I will escort you to the others.”
Her frozen limbs unstuck and Iris managed to descend the remaining stairs. Giving in to her urge to ignore at least his suggestion, she stepped around his extended arm and headed to where she’d met earlier with Sheikh Hakim, his wife and their adorable children. If she was lucky, the dining room would be in the same part of the palace.
“Do you know where you are going?” Russell asked from behind her, sounding confused.
Asad made a sound that almost sounded like amusement. “I do not believe Iris has ever let a lack of certainty stop her from going forward.”
She spun around and faced him, long-banked fury unexpectedly spiking and with it not a little pain. “Even the best scientist can misinterpret the evidence.” Taking a deep breath, she regained the slip in her composure and asked with frigid politeness, “Perhaps you would like to the lead the way?”
Once again, he offered his arm. Again she pushed the bounds of polite behavior and ignored it, simply waiting in silence for him to get on with showing them where they were going.
“Just as stubborn as you ever were.”
And she wanted to smack him, which shocked her to her core. She was not a violent person. Ever. Even in the past, when he’d hurt her almost beyond bearing, she’d never had a violent thought toward him. Just pain.
“That’s our Iris, as immovable as a monolith.”
Asad didn’t ignore Russell this time. He gave the younger man a look meant to quell.
Seemingly oblivious, the college intern grinned and put his hand out to shake. “Russell Green, intrepid geological assistant, one day to be a full-fledged senior geologist with my own lab.”
Asad shook the younger man’s hand and inclined his head slightly. “Sheikh Asad bin Hanif Al’najid. I will be your team’s guide and protector while you are in Kadar.”
“Personally?” Iris asked, unable to keep her disquiet out of her voice. “Surely not. You are a sheikh.”
“It is a favor to my cousin. I would not consider relegating the duty to someone else.”
“But that’s unnecessary.” She wasn’t going to survive the next few weeks if she had to spend them in his company.
It had been six years since the last time she’d seen this man, but the pain and sense of betrayal he’d caused felt as fresh as if it had happened only the day before. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but hers were still bleeding hurt into her heart.
She still dreamed about him, though she called the images she woke to in the dark nightmares rather than dreams.
She’d loved and trusted him with everything inside her, believing she finally had a shot at a family and a break from the loneliness of her upbringing. He’d betrayed both her emotions and her hopes completely and irrevocably.
“It is not up for discussion.”
Iris shook her head. “I … no …”
“Iris, are you okay?” Russell asked.
But she had to be okay. This was her job. Her career, the only thing she had left in her life that mattered, or that she could trust.
The only thing Asad’s betrayal had left her with. “I’m fine. We need to join Sheikh Hakim.”
Something glimmered in Asad’s dark chocolate gaze, something that looked like concern. She wasn’t buying it, not even if someone else gave her the money to do it.
He hadn’t been concerned about her six years ago when they had been lovers; it was too far a stretch to think he was worried about her now, when they were little more than strangers with a briefly shared past.
Asad did not offer his arm again, but turned and began walking in the direction she’d been going to begin with.
So she had guessed right in this instance.
Go her. Sometimes her intuitive thoughts were on target, at least when it didn’t come to people.
“So Asad tells us you went to the same university.” Catherine smiled without malice, genuine interest shining in her gentian-blue eyes.
Nevertheless, the memories her words evoked were not happy ones for Iris. Iris forced something that resembled a smile and a nod. “Yes.”
“It’s funny you should have met.”
At the time Iris had believed it destiny. She’d been studying Arabic as her second language, a common practice for those in her field, but it had felt like more. Studying the language of his birth had felt like a common bond between them, as if they were meant to be together.
She had believed him to be an incredible blessing after nineteen years of feeling like she never really belonged to, or with, anyone. She’d thought she’d belonged to Asad; she’d been convinced he belonged to her.
She’d been spectacularly wrong. He didn’t want her, not for a lifetime, or even beyond their few months together. And he was not hers, not in any sense.
“It was one of those things….” Asad had come on to her in the Student Union. He’d flirted, charmed and when he asked her out, she hadn’t even considered saying no.
“The Student Union building knew no class distinctions,” Asad added when it was clear Iris wasn’t going to say anything else.
“Not in age or social standing,” Russell agreed. “I met a billionaire’s daughter in the Student Union at my university.”
And Iris had met a sheikh. Not that she’d known it. Back then, he’d just been plain Asad Hanif to her. Another foreign student availing himself of an American university education.
“She was sweet,” Russell continued, “but she doesn’t know the difference between sedimentary and igneous rock.”
“So, not a friendship destined to prosper,” Sheikh Hakim observed, his tone tinged with undeniable humor.
“Our friendship prospered.” Asad gave her a look as if expecting Iris to agree, even after the way their friendship had ended. “Though I knew little of geology and Iris had no more interest in business management.”
“The friendship didn’t last, which would indicate our differences were a lot more important than they seemed at first.” She’d managed to say it without a trace of bitterness or accusation.
Iris had never really considered herself much of an actress, but she was channeling Kate Winslet with her performance tonight. She’d managed to get through predinner drinks and the first course of their meal without giving away the turmoil roiling inside her to her hosts, the Sheikh of Kadar and his wife, just Catherine please.
Asad laid his fork across his empty salad plate. “Youth often lacks wisdom.”
“You were five years older than me.” And worlds wiser and more experienced.
He shrugged, that movement of his shoulders she knew so well. It was his response to anything for which there was no good, or easy to articulate, answer.
“Anyway, I hope my words haven’t made it seem I’m looking to renew any old friendships.” Chills of horror rolled down her spine at the thought. “I’m not. I’m here to work.” It was her turn to shrug, though it was more a jerk of one shoulder.
She’d never done casual well when it came to Asad, but it didn’t matter. She was in Kadar to work and then she would be out of his life once again, just as fully and completely as before. As she was sure he would prefer.
And she was never returning to Kadar. Not ever. No matter how lucrative a promotion depended on it.
“It would be a shame to travel so far from your home and spend no time experiencing the local culture.” Asad’s gaze bored into hers with predatory intent.
She remembered that look and her heart tightened at receiving it here, in this place, after everything that had passed between them and in his life particularly since their breakup.
“I’m sure living amidst your tribe will give both Iris and Russell the perfect opportunity to experience much of our culture,” Catherine said with a smile aimed first at Asad and then Iris. “I love staying with the Bedouin. It’s such a different way of life. Though why it always seems there’s more trouble for our children to get into in the city of tents than at home, I don’t know.”
She winked at her husband and Sheikh Hakim gave her such a look of love and adoration, it was both wonderful and painful to see. Here was a couple who loved each other every bit as much as Iris’s parents, but who adored their offspring with equal, if different, intensity.
Then the full import of Catherine’s words hit Iris. “We’re staying with Sheikh Asad’s tribe?” she asked in shock. “But I thought this would be our home base.”
The beautiful Middle Eastern palace that still managed to feel like a home for all its glamour and size.
“Our current encampment is far closer to the mountainous region you will be surveying,” Asad said, an inexplicable tone of satisfaction lacing his words.
CHAPTER TWO
“STAYING WITH the Sha’b Al’najid will save you a lot of time in travel,” Sheikh Hakim added.
“But …”
“You’ll love it, trust me,” Catherine said. “While Asad has taken the tribe in a different direction than Hakim’s grandfather did, their way of life has much in common with that found millennia ago. It will be an amazing experience, believe me.”
Iris would be in purgatory, but at least the encampment would only be their home base, she tried to tell herself. “I’m sure I will enjoy it very much,” she lied through her teeth. “What time we spend there, at any rate.”
Catherine looked inquiringly. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“When we’re in the field doing the type of survey Kadar has requested of CC&B, a team spends most of its time in a portable camp,” Iris explained. “It really wouldn’t make much of a difference if we maintained a home base here, or in the Bedouin encampment.”
“You are not staying alone in a camp with nothing but this pup for company.” Asad’s voice, laced with possessive bossiness, brooked no argument.
And shocked Iris to the core. She didn’t understand why it mattered to him. And that possessiveness was completely at odds with a man already taken himself. She must have imagined it.
The first to admit that reading people was not her strong suit, she nevertheless felt a shiver of apprehension skate along her spine.
“It’s not as if we share a cot, just a tent,” Russell said, no doubt trying to assuage any conservative sensibilities.
And doing a really bad job of it, Iris thought.
Asad’s features set in a mask she was sure had more in common with his warrior ancestors than modern man. He gave Russell a look that made her self-defined intrepid field assistant shrink into his chair.
“Not acceptable.” Just two words, but spoken with absolute authority in a tone she’d heard only once from Asad.
When he was telling her they had no future in words that could not be denied.
Russell squeaked. Catherine’s look tinged with concern. Iris’s heart ached with memory while she fought to maintain a facade of indifference.
Sheikh Hakim frowned. “My cousin is correct. It would be neither safe, nor appropriate for you to camp in such a manner.”
Iris could see her escape route disappearing in front of her eyes while the chilly sense of dread inside her grew. She couldn’t give up without a fight, though. “I assure you, I’ve been on several field assignments, in the States and abroad, and never had a problem with it.”
Just not in the Middle East.
“Nevertheless, I am responsible for the safety of those within my borders,” Sheikh Hakim said with a shake of his head. “Asad is right, a two-person camp in the mountains is an unacceptable option.”
Asad simply looked at her with an immovable expression she would never forget. He’d used it also when he said goodbye. “As I told you earlier, I will see to your safety.”
“My safety isn’t your responsibility.”
“On the contrary. I have decreed that it is.” Sheikh Hakim’s friendly manner dissipated in the face of his arrogant assurance.
Right. And Sheikh Hakim was a very important client. His country was paying CC&B a great deal of money for this survey. She was compelled to accept the way he wanted the field work handled. Either she backed out of the assignment, or accepted the constraints surrounding it, including Asad as her liaison.
She’d accepted that backing out of the assignment wasn’t an option before she ever left the States.
“Not having a moving camp could make the initial sample gathering and measurements take significantly longer,” she said by way of her final sally.
“Swift is not always better,” Sheikh Hakim said implacably. “Your safety must come first.”
“Would you be more comfortable with a male team lead?” she asked, seeing a possible way out. If the sheikh asked for it, her career wouldn’t be affected adversely. It was understood that some parts of the world did not deal as well with female geologists. “My superiors could arrange for my immediate replacement if that would make you more comfortable.”
“Not at all. I am confident your work will be more than acceptable,” Sheikh Hakim said smoothly.
Russell was staring at her like she’d offered to dance naked on the tabletop. Okay, so normally, she’d bristle and fight tooth and claw to avoid being replaced simply on the basis of gender, but these were special circumstances.
“It surprises me you would make the offer.” Asad sounded just as disbelieving of her words. “I remember a woman who would not stand for the idea that men made better geologists than their female counterparts.”
“I didn’t say he would be a better geologist.”
“Naturally not. You graduated at the top of your class, did you not?”
“I’m surprised you know that.” But then it might well have been included in the information CC&B had supplied about her to Sheikh Hakim.
Asad shrugged again. “I kept up with you.”
No, really, he hadn’t. She’d never heard from him again after he left, though a mutual friend had told Iris when Asad had married a year after returning to his home. She’d spent the weekend crying off and on, for once Iris’s studies unable to assuage the ache of loneliness and grief.
Then she’d buckled down, determined not to let anyone or anything stand in the way of the one dream she had left. She’d even continued her studies in Arabic, though until this assignment, she’d had no chance to use them in more than a few written translations and phone calls.
“I’m surprised your wife isn’t with you,” she said to change the topic and to remind herself forcibly why this man could not be allowed past her defenses.
No matter what the circumstances she would be forced to live in over the coming weeks.
And really? Where was the man’s wife? What woman would prefer to stay at a Bedouin encampment when she could be visiting the local palace? And how did his wife feel about Asad promising protection and guidance to his former girlfriend?
But then, that at least, was an idiotic question. No way did the princess know anything about Iris.
Iris certainly hadn’t known anything about Princess Badra when she’d been dating and sleeping with Asad.
Asad had known, though. He’d known he had no intention of spending his future with Iris. He’d known he planned to marry the virginal princess, not the American geology student who spent every night in his bed for ten months.
He’d seduced her anyway, treating Iris like his girlfriend when she was nothing but his mistress.
An old-fashioned word for an ugly, outdated position she would never have willingly taken. Or so she told herself.
The most painful truth of all, the one that had woken her in nighttime sweats more than once, was that even had she known he would never be hers, Iris was not sure she would have been able to walk away from what he offered her naive, love-struck, nineteen-year-old self.
“My wife died two years ago.” Asad’s voice pushed into Iris’s raw thoughts.
She met his eyes in genuine shock and polite words tumbled out of her mouth in stark reaction. “I’m sorry.”
Asad didn’t reply, but looked back at her with an expression both predatory and implacable.
The room and people around them faded from her awareness for a frozen moment as she met his gaze, her body frozen in shock, her mind blank with reaction and her heart stuttering in horror.
A married Asad was bad enough, but a widower? The thought sent terror shaking through her not-so-mended heart.
The helicopter blades whirled overhead, making discussion within the bird impossible except over the shared radio pieces. Asad had his fill of public discourse the night before when all he’d wanted to do was drag Iris out of the dining room and take her somewhere they could be alone.
He could not pretend what he wanted to do was talk, either, though it was not entirely off the agenda.
It had taken considerable self-control to stop himself from going to visit her in her room, but he needed to follow his plan. A plan that had a better chance of success once she was living in his encampment, not minutes from the royal airfield at the palace.
The level of animosity in Iris’s expression and voice when she wasn’t doing her best to suppress it, surprised him. It had been six years since he’d returned home. Surely she was not still angry at the admittedly abrupt end to their association.
Had he to do it over again, he would have handled it differently. But when they’d been together, he hadn’t realized she’d been thinking in terms of the future, either. He’d assumed from her actions and circumstances that she knew nothing they did together could be permanent. He hadn’t counted on her Western viewpoint on feminine sexuality, or her ignorance of his status.
In his arrogance, he’d believed everyone knew he was a future sheikh. It was no secret after all. But Iris did not gossip, and she was a geology student who, he learned later, knew next to nothing about the students in her own discipline, much less the others that attended the large university with her.
When she’d told him she loved him, he’d taken it as his due. The usual response of a female in a sexual relationship with a man, but he hadn’t believed she meant it.
He still wasn’t sure he bought the idea of everlasting love, though his cousin’s marriage to Catherine was something special. Even Asad could see that.
Nothing like his own marriage, which had been nothing more than a series of lies and subterfuge.
Still, he could have been kinder when he had to end their months-long affair. He realized that now.
He would never admit to anyone but himself that his harsh and immediate withdrawal had been the result of feelings he wasn’t used to dealing with. He’d become more attached to Iris than he’d expected to. And much to his chagrin, had realized at the end of their time together, that she, more than anyone or anything else, had the possibility of undermining his carefully laid plans.
So, he had walked away. And stayed away.
And had forced his mind to shut down every time he thought of her until his ill-fated wedding night, when inevitable comparisons and conclusions had to be drawn. Conclusions that had destroyed what was left of his own naive beliefs about women and sex.
Iris hadn’t been a virgin, but she’d been honest, loyal and surprisingly innocent. He’d believed Badra untouched, but that had been a lie of monumental proportions, as was so much about her. The woman who had considered herself too good for a Bedouin sheikh had traded on deceit and Asad had not even had a glimmer until their wedding night.
Even so, his anger at Badra had muted over time to be replaced with indifference. So that when she had died all he had felt was relief to be free of her, only marginally tinged by sadness for their daughter, who saw less of her mother than the Parisian clothiers Badra favored.
Once married, he’d been unable to keep thoughts of Iris completely banked. Though that surprised him, he chalked it up to the fact that they had been even better friends than they were lovers. He’d kept up with her academic and work career, but had stayed away from her personally. He was not Badra. Asad did not cheat.
He did not understand this passionate fury barely contained in Iris, not after so much time. He slid a glance at her only to find her looking out the window of the helicopter, her eyes too unfocused to be seeing anything of real interest in the desert below.
Her body and attention turned from him, but he would change that. It had been six years. Two years since his wife’s death. Enough time for all that he had planned. He would wait no longer.
The low mountains loomed much closer than at the palace when the helicopter made its descent for landing.
“Hey, where are the camels?” Russell asked as he climbed out of the helicopter right after the pilot.
Asad did not answer. He had not liked the way the field assistant referred to Iris proprietarily, and with such familiarity, the night before. Though he doubted very much that the two shared a relationship outside of work, Asad felt possessive of the friendship that had not been allowed to flourish by his marriage.
He offered his hand to help Iris alight. After a moment of inaction while she stared at his hand as if it were a snake set to strike, she very clearly gritted her teeth and then reached out to take it.
He smiled into her lovely sky-blue eyes, carefully blanked of emotion. “Welcome to the Bedouin of the twenty-first century.”
Iris looked around them at the landing pad and the SUV parked on its edge. “I understand camels are not quite the mode of transport they once were.” She met his gaze again and choked out a laugh which he enjoyed hearing very much. “But a Hummer?”
He shrugged. “What can I say? Our tribe is more affluent than most.”
“Why is that?”
“My great-grandfather purchased land rights in three adjoining countries along our usual travel route so our tribe would always have a place to camp. At the time, political unrest dictated the move, but we rarely avail ourselves of that land for encampment anywhere but in Kadar.”
“But the land in the other countries, it’s making money for you?”
“It is.” The once-beautiful landscape was marred by oil rigging that pounded away with a noise that others might learn to sleep through.
He never would. “Oil.”
“Lucky you.”
“Some might say so.”
“I think pretty much everyone would say so.”
He didn’t reply, but turned to give instructions to the tribesmen waiting for them to move the geologists’ luggage and equipment to the Hummer. Asad made sure Russell ended up in the other SUV for the drive.
The Sha’b Al’najid encampment was nothing like Iris expected. Erected in the shadows of the small mountain range in the southernmost part of Kadar, it truly looked like the “city of tents” Catherine had referred to.
“You must have high-producing wells.”
“They are sufficient as a base for our needs.”
“A base?”
“My grandfather invested intelligently if modestly on behalf of our people. I have continued that tradition, though perhaps not as modestly.” Satisfaction glowed in Asad’s dark gaze. “We continue to do what we are best at as a people, as well.”
“What’s that?” she asked, her curiosity stronger than her desire to avoid conversation with him.
“The Bedouin are known for their hospitality. Our tribe offers the opportunity to live the Bedouin life for tourists from the cities of Kadar and abroad. The Sha’b Al’najid still run trading caravans across the desert and for a sufficient fee, one may join in this venture, also.”
“Like a Dude Ranch?” she asked in disbelief.
“I have never been to a Dude Ranch, but I believe the intent is similar. Others of my brethren tribes do this, as well. It provides our people the opportunity to continue with millennia of cultural and living traditions while others are afforded the opportunity to experience this unique way of life.”
“You sound like a travel brochure.”
“I have written more than one of them.”
A grin sneaked up on her, despite her feelings toward him. “It can’t be too traditional with Hummers instead of camels.”
“We still have many camels, I assure you.”
“Do you still move camp?”
“Twice a year, rather than seasonally, but yes.”
“Do you stay in Kadar?”
“We do. This too is different, but preferable to other tribes who have settled permanently on lands granted by the government.”
“I see.” Though she wasn’t really sure she did and was afraid he could hear it in the uncertainty of her tone.
“Within our encampment you will find modernizations mixed with traditions that are thousands of years old.” And he was clearly proud of that fact.
“Are those electric cords?” she asked in shock as she noticed the thick black rubber-coated cords snaking through the sand.
“They are. We have a bank of solar panels strategically placed five hundred yards in that direction.” He pointed away from the mountains to a spot that was no doubt ideal for sun exposure.
Incredible. “So, I can use my laptop?”
“It is better for you to charge your battery between uses. Our power is limited and certain measures must be taken, but there is even a television in the communal tent.”
“I didn’t know there was such a thing in a Bedouin encampment. I thought most of the socializing happened in individual homes.” Or outside in the courtyard-like areas between the tents.
At least according to the research she’d done on Bedouin living back when she’d thought she’d had a reason to do so.
“The communal tent was created for the tourists to gather in groups, but my people have found they enjoy its use, as well.”
“And its television.”
“Some British and American programs are very popular.” His shrug said some things must change, but others would remain the same. “I confess to a craving for Law & Order when I returned home six years ago.”
They’d used to watch it together. He’d called the crime drama his weekly mindless entertainment. She never quite got that, but she’d suffered through the program’s dark plots and emotional angst for the sake of spending that time with him.
“Do you still watch it?” he asked.
“No.”
“It was never your favorite.”
“No.” Though she hadn’t stopped watching until the series was canceled.
“Yet you watched it, for me.”
This trip down memory lane was getting distinctly uncomfortable.
“I’ll admit this is not what I expected.” She waved her hand, indicating the encampment around her.
“You had expectations?”
“Naturally. It’s a poor geologist who doesn’t do her homework on the area she’ll be surveying.”
“But you had no idea you would be coming to a Bedouin encampment.”
“You never know.” It was not quite a lie, but not the admission he was looking for, either.
“This is true. Six years ago, neither of us would have suspected you would be here.”
Actually, she had … right up until he’d broken up with her. She had no more interest in rehashing that particular bit of history than anything else about the months they’d been together. “You said some things are still traditional?”
“Many things.”
She saw what he meant when they entered a huge tent toward the center of the encampment. A curtain bisected the area horizontally from the entrance. In the center, was a single overlapping panel embroidered with two giant peacocks, their feathers fanned out in a display of the beautiful jeweled tones the birds were known for.
The curtain created the public reception area the Bedouin homes were known for, but it was much larger she was sure than the average tent boasted. With no evidence of the famed television, Iris had to assume this wasn’t the communal tent he’d mentioned earlier.
Rich Persian rugs covered the ground of the main area, but instead of chairs, there were luxurious pillows in silks, velvets and damasks with lots of gold, purple, teal and a dark sapphire blue. Low tables dotted the expansive area and while the outer walls were the typical woven black goat hair, inside the walls were covered in richly colored silks.
“Russell and I are staying here?” she asked with a sense of foreboding.
This was no normal Bedouin tent. Situated where it was in the compound and considering the luxury of the interior, she had no doubts who this particular dwelling belonged to. Sheikh Asad bin Hanif Al’najid.
“You are, yes. Russell will stay in the tent with your equipment.”
“What is this tent, a harem, or something?” she asked in faint hope.
“This is my home.”
CHAPTER THREE
“I’M NOT staying in your tent.”
“It has been arranged. Your accommodations are behind that partition.” He pointed at a blue silk hanging. “My late wife insisted on a nontraditional division of the women’s area of the tent. So, you will have your own room rather than sharing the entire space with the other single women of my family.”
“Other single women?” she asked faintly.
“My daughter and a distant cousin.”
“I can’t stay here with you.”
“I assure you, you can.”
“I’ll share the tent with Russell.”
Oh, Asad did not like that suggestion. Not at all. His expression went very dark very quickly. “You will not.”
“But it makes the most sense.” And might actually save her sanity, not to mention her heart.
“It is not acceptable.”
“You and your cousin, Sheikh Hakim, have an affinity for that word,” she grumbled, feeling like the Persian rug beneath her feet was actually quicksand.
“You will stay here.” There was no give in Asad’s voice or his posture.
“How is it better for me to stay here with you than to share a tent with Russell?”
“As I said, my daughter and cousin share this tent, as well, but so do my grandparents.”
Her whirling brain latched onto the plural grandparents and she asked, “Your grandfather is still alive?”
“Of course.”
“But you’re sheikh.”
“What did you think, I had to kill my predecessor to take over for him? It was much more prosaic. He retired and enjoys the increased freedom of his days like any other man who has well earned such.”
“He retired?”
“Yes.”
“That’s just …”
According to what Iris had read, the concept of the next generation taking over the majority of sheikh responsibilities when the current holder of the office became very old was not completely unheard of. But to refer to it as retirement? It was just so, so … modern.
“The way of things.” The words were spoken by an elderly woman carrying a tray with tea things on it as she entered through an opening in the blue silk partition.
Dressed in traditional Bedouin garb, the older woman’s hair peeked from under a heavily embroidered and beaded sheer scarf that did not completely hide the long white tresses. Her face, though showing the wear of sun and years, was still beautiful, though paler than Asad and more Gallic in bone structure.
“Grandmother, may I present Miss Iris Carpenter.” Asad bowed his head toward his grandmother while indicating Iris with his right hand. “Iris, my grandmother, the Lady bin Hanif.”
“You will address me as Genevieve.”
“Thank you. That is French, isn’t it?” Iris asked, pretty sure the woman’s accent was Gallic, as well.
“It is. Though my family has made its home in Switzerland for nearly two centuries. My husband found me when we were both attending university in Paris and convinced me to leave all I knew to share his life here among his Bedouin tribe.” She smiled as she set the tea tray on one of the low tables. “I have never regretted it. The Sha’b Al’najid soon became my people.”
“And Grandmother became the favorite lady to them in generations.”
Iris smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Genevieve.”
“Come, sit.” The older woman indicated the cushions on the floor with a flick of her elegant wrist. “It is always a pleasure to meet an old friend of my grandson.”
About to deny the classification, Iris thought better of it. She suspected that the Lady bin Hanif was the type of woman who would demand an explanation.
“We knew each other only for a few short months at university,” she said to downplay the relationship as much as possible.
Genevieve poured tea into fine china cups painted with Arabic design. “And yet those short months were particularly impacting for my grandson, I believe.”
Iris turned to glare in shock at Asad. He’d told his grandparents about their affair? Heat crawled into her cheeks while her stomach rolled in humiliation.
Asad’s eyes widened at her glare and then narrowed in what seemed like comprehension. He shook his head just slightly, as if saying he had not told them the intimate details of the friendship.
“Oh my, yes. Our boy, he spoke of hardly anyone from his university days. But Iris, the budding geologist? We heard much of her academic and career exploits.” Genevieve serenely sipped her tea. “His late wife did not enjoy Asad’s university reminiscences, I think. She had attended only a year of finishing school in Europe you see.”
Completely flabbergasted by the idea that Asad had kept track of her like he claimed, Iris could think of no other response than to nod and sip her own tea. Hot, very strong and almost equally sweet, it had a smoky flavor something like Earl Grey and yet not. There was almost a flavor of sage in the blend, as well.
“This is delicious. I can see why the Bedouin tea is so famous.”
“Yes. There is a knack to making it. You must brew it over a wood fire, not on the hob.”
Iris’s gaze flicked to the silk divider. There was a wood fire burning behind that, inside the goat hair dwelling?
“Not to worry, the cooking fire is under the open awning behind our tent,” Asad said, showing more disconcerting proof that he could still read her all too well.
When they had been together, he had known her better than anyone else, though she’d kept her secret shame to herself and never admitted to him the extent of her parents’ indifference.
Genevieve smiled and reached out to pat Iris’s arm. “Do not worry. You will soon grow accustomed to our ways.”
“My favorite mentor always said that one of the marks of a good field geologist is the ability to acclimate to different surroundings so nothing can get in the way of accuracy in one’s fieldwork.”
“A wise man,” Asad said, “was Professor Lester.”
“How did you know I was talking about.” Iris let her voice trail off as Genevieve laughed softly.
“Oh, my grandson, he remembers everything, does he not?”
“Yes.” Asad’s eidetic memory was one of the reasons they’d had as much time together as they did.
When he had almost perfect recall of everything he heard, read and saw, the need to study for tests or reread information for papers was severely mitigated. He’d even helped Iris study for her own exams.
Genevieve’s eyes glowed with pride as she looked at her grandson. “It makes him a very good sheikh and political advisor to my great-nephew, Hakim, ruler over all Kadar.”
“You’re one of Sheikh Hakim’s official advisors?” Iris asked Asad, storing the information on their actual family relationship for future reference.
He merely nodded before taking a drink of tea.
But Genevieve was more forthcoming. “Of course, they are family. However, Asad has proven himself wise in the ways of our people and the modern world we must live in, as well. Hakim listens with a bent ear to our Asad. It was his idea, after all, to get your company to do the mineral survey and to request you be the on-site geologist.”
Asad’s jaw tautened, as if he was trying not to frown, but the look he gave his grandmother was tinged with something that looked very much like exasperation.
“You’re the reason I wasn’t given the option of refusing this assignment?” Iris demanded, catching on quickly even if her memory wasn’t precisely eidetic.
Asad shrugged.
She opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t a good enough answer. Not this time, but his grandmother forestalled Iris. “But why should you wish to?”
And Iris remembered where she was and why she was here, despite the helpless fury burning in her chest. “I have yet to do any survey work in the Middle East. Another geologist would have been a better choice.”
“Nonsense. If Asad believes you will do the best job, then I am quite confident you will. Surely it is time you expanded your vita to include work in the Middle East.”
Iris could not deny it. She would never be promoted to senior geologist while she lacked field experience in the Middle East, which was one of the points her boss had made when insisting Iris take this assignment.
That didn’t make her feel any better about the revelation that Asad was responsible for getting Iris to Kadar. He was a man who always had an agenda. If she had only realized that when they’d been dating, she would not have been so sideswiped by the knowledge he was already practically engaged to the Princess Badra.
What was his plan now?
Iris had the awful feeling it had something to do with her. And since the only thing he’d wanted from her was her body, she didn’t think she was too far outside the realm of probability to believe he had his sights set on renewing their affair.
For a short time anyway.
Why not? She’d fallen into his bed with barely a push back in the day. Practically a virgin, she’d still allowed him to make love … or have sex rather … with her on their first date. She’d been overwhelmed by her reaction to him and thought he felt the same. She knew better now, but wasn’t entirely sure it would make any difference in the outcome.
“Where is your father?” she asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject and get her mind on a different pathway. Why hadn’t he taken over the sheikh role?
And then she considered the possibility that the older man was deceased and wished she could bite the words back. Particularly after her similar faux pas the night before when asking about Asad’s wife. It was too late, however, to do anything but hope she would not be given the same answer.
Thankfully, Asad did not look like he was remembering a traumatic loss. “He does not live with the tribe. He oversees our European interests from his home in Geneva.”
“Your father lives in Switzerland?” Considering they clearly had family there, that was not entirely surprising. Still, it seemed odd that Asad would be sheikh to the nomadic Sha’b Al’najid while his father lived in one of the most sophisticated cities of Europe.
“As do his mother, sister and two brothers.” Genevieve’s tone did not sound altogether pleased by that fact.
Iris gave Asad a look in which she felt incapable of hiding her abject shock. “You have siblings?”
He had never mentioned it, but then he’d left a lot out of their discourse six years ago. So, the fact that none of them lived among the Bedouin tribe was even more surprising to her than their existence.
“It is so.”
“But …”
Genevieve refilled the teacups without asking if Iris or Asad wanted more. Something about the set of her features told Iris this conversation was no easier on her than the earlier topic had been on Iris.
Asad leaned back on the cushion, looking like a pasha and said, “You wonder why they do not live with the Sha’b Al’najid.”
“If your parents live in Geneva, I suppose it’s natural that your sister and brothers would, as well.”
“They are all of an age to make their own decisions about how and where they live.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. She could understand that the Bedouin way of life might not work for everyone, but for all of them to turn their backs on thousands of years of tradition seemed wrong somehow.
“In order to gain permission to leave the tribe, my father had to allow my grandfather to raise me here as his own son to take over leadership of the tribe.” Asad said it so casually, it took a moment for the import of his words to sink in. “It is why I am called bin Hanif instead of bin Marghub. Not that my father uses his tribal name. He goes by Jean Hanif.”
In Western culture such a name similarity would show the family connection, but in Kadar, Asad not carrying his father’s name was as good as disowning him. Though it sounded like the decision had been made for him.
“That’s barbaric.” Iris slapped her hand over her mouth, unable to believe she’d said that out loud, no matter how much she thought it.
She looked askance at the tea; was there something in there that she didn’t know about?
Genevieve smiled reassuringly, clearly having taken no offense. “Jean found much about the Bedouin way of life to be barbaric. He never wished to return from our visits to Geneva to my family. He insisted on attending an American university and ended up married to a European like his father.”
If they no longer lived among the tribe, Iris thought that Western origin could be the only thing Asad’s mother had in common with Genevieve.
“Celeste and Jean came here to live after their marriage, but neither were happy. Eventually, Jean told us that he had no desire to follow his father as sheikh to the Sha’b Al’najid. My husband could have named a cousin or nephew as his successor. It is how he became sheikh himself, but he saw the fire of the Bedouin burning brightly in our grandson and offered the alternative of us raising him here instead.”
“How old were you when your parents left?” Iris asked.
“I was four.”
And they had seen the Bedouin spirit burning bright in him? At such a young age? Iris supposed it was possible, but it was still barbaric. “How old were your siblings?”
“My sister was two. Mother was pregnant with my younger brother, as well.”
“She did not want to give birth in the encampment.” Genevieve shrugged, the movement exhibiting her Gallic ancestry. “All of her children were born in a Genevan hospital after Asad.”
Despite their past, Iris could not help the rush of pity and understanding she felt for Asad in that moment. She knew exactly how it felt not to be necessary to one’s parents.
Asad shook his head at her. “I know how you are thinking. Stop it. My parents did not abandon me. We continued to see one another often and I always had my grandparents. I had the Sha’b Al’najid. Doing things in such a fashion was necessary. My father did not want the less luxurious life of the Bedouin and my grandfather knew one day I would make an excellent sheikh.”
No arrogance there. Not at all. She almost smiled. “It looks luxurious enough to me.”
“We have satellite access to the internet for four hours in the afternoon only. We do not have modern kitchens, appliances or bathrooms.”
She knew what he meant and shrugged. “I’m sure your facilities are better than what I have on most of my camping field assignments.”
“No doubt.” He smiled as though her words had pleased him, then the smile melted away as if it had never been. “What we have now is beyond what my father experienced in the encampment. Though when he and the others visit, they still find it abysmally rustic.”
“All of them?”
“All but my youngest brother. He was born four years after they moved to Geneva.” Asad’s lips twisted wryly. “An unplanned blessing added to my parent’s family. He has said he plans to make his home here once he finishes university.”
“And your parents are okay with that?”
“Naturally. My father relies on the tribe’s business investments for his income. He knows better than to reject our way of life completely.” So, regardless of how unaffected Asad would like to appear regarding his father’s rejection of his way of life, there was something there.
“He gave up his oldest son to the tribe,” Genevieve chided. “Any parent would feel that was a sufficient sacrifice.”
Iris begged to differ, but she wasn’t about to say so out loud. Her parents would have happily given her up if it meant getting what they wanted. In fact, they had often made the trade-off of time with her for travel on their own. She’d never told Asad that she’d been sent to boarding school at age six, but then the fact had always shamed her.
She’d thought there was something wrong with her that her parents had preferred to have her live with them only on school vacations. And even then, they weren’t always “at home” when she was.
“Perhaps,” Asad replied to his grandmother, not looking particularly convinced. “I do not know how difficult the decision was for them. I know only that they made it, choosing life outside of the encampment rather than living here to raise me.”
Genevieve clicked her tongue twice, as if gently chiding her grandson without saying anything overt.
“You never told me this.” And Iris wasn’t sure that hadn’t been for the best.
She’d been head over heels in love with Asad, but how much worse it would have been for her if she’d believed they had this pain in common and allowed herself to identify with him on such a deep level?
“There was much we did not talk about.”
“True. I didn’t even know you were going to be sheikh one day.” And he knew nothing of her childhood or her parents’ supreme indifference. She’d never told him the story of how she’d lost her virginity. Asad was oh so right; there was a lot they’d never spoken of. “Looking back, I realize I should have guessed based on your bearing alone.”
“I did not mean to hide that from you.”
She believed him. He had been so certain she knew the score, she did not believe he’d meant to hide anything from her. For the first time in six years, she admitted to herself that they’d both been spectacularly wrong in reading the situation between them. Not just her.
That didn’t do a thing to alleviate her current anger with him for manipulating her into coming to Kadar, however.
Genevieve rose gracefully to her feet. “I will refresh the tea.”
Iris went to stand, intent on helping, but the older woman placed a staying hand on her shoulder. “No. Another time, I will teach you to make tea the proper way. Now you must stay here and renew your acquaintance with my grandson. He has so looked forward to seeing you again.”
Nonplussed, Iris could do nothing but nod with as much graciousness as she could muster. She didn’t think it would do her company’s relationship with Kadar a good turn if Iris admitted she would rather renew the acquaintance of the rattlesnake she’d met on her last field survey than Asad’s.
Asad waited until his grandmother had gone to say, “I never lied to you. I thought you knew I was meant to be a sheikh.”
“I heard you the first time.” She glared at him, her current anger sufficient to fuel the nasty look, their past notwithstanding.
“And?”
What? Was he expecting her to congratulate him or something?
“Do you believe me?” he asked with a tinge of frustration in his usually urbane tones.
“Yes.”
“Then why the look when grandmother left us to talk?”
Really? He could not be that dense. “I guess an eidetic memory does not equate to people smarts.”
His eyes narrowed in affront at her sarcasm. “You have changed.”
“Yes.” She was no naive idiot anymore. “But seriously? How could you think knowing you would be a sheikh one day would have made a difference to me back then? I wouldn’t have been any more prepared to be dumped like I was.”
“I did not dump you.”
What happened to that famed honesty of his? “Excuse me, you did.”
“I had obligations, a plan for my life I could not abandon.”
“You didn’t want to abandon it. You didn’t leave me out of duty—you left because you never wanted me for a lifetime. I was just stupid enough to believe you did. That’s all.” And equally painful, she’d lost her best friend.
“I am sorry.”
He had said that six years ago too, with pity in his eyes. But not regret. If there was regret there now, she wouldn’t let herself see it.
“It’s in the past.”
“Yet I still see pain in your eyes when you talk about it.”
She couldn’t deny it, but she sure wasn’t going to admit to it, either. She’d had all the pity she could stand from this man when she’d been that foolishly naive nineteen-year-old. Besides, she had something much more recent to deal with.
“I can’t believe you engineered me coming to Kadar.” She made zero effort to hide how much knowledge of his manipulation infuriated her.
He looked shocked by her anger. “I was doing you a good turn, making up for my abrupt departure from your life, if you will.”
“You have absolutely got to be kidding me. You think being forced to work in close proximity to you is in some way a good thing?”
“I am no monster. You used to enjoy my company very much, and I do not just mean in the bedroom.”
“We were friends. We aren’t anymore!” She swallowed her next words and fought for control of her vocal cords. The last thing she wanted was for Genevieve to return to Iris shouting at the man she was beginning to realize was more dense than metamorphic rock.
“We could be again.”
“Why?” Why would he want to be?
“I missed you. You missed me.”
And to him, it was that simple. Never mind the fact she’d been so totally in love with him that she’d felt like her heart had been ripped from her chest when he left. “You could have just called.”
“You needed the Middle East experience to move forward with your career.”
“Just how close tabs have you been keeping?” she demanded.
“Close enough.”
“So, you thought you’d do me a favor?” Why did she think it hadn’t all been altruism on his part? Oh, yes, because she no longer trusted him and never would again. “Didn’t it occur to you that not coming to the Middle East had been my decision?”
“No.”
She dropped her head in her hands and groaned, her fury losing its heat. The man just had no clue, none whatsoever.
And there was no point in continuing this discussion. He was never going to get it, but he wasn’t going to drop the subject unless she did.
So she observed, “You said you share this tent with your family.”
“I do.”
“Where is everyone else?” Were the tent walls so thick, they would mask the sounds of a child?
It was surprisingly quiet, no sounds from outside filtering through, nor from any other part of the tent.
“My grandfather spends this time each day with the other old men, drinking coffee and telling stories. No doubt he would have stayed to meet your arrival, but my grandmother knows how to get her way and she wanted to meet you first,” Asad revealed in a fond tone.
“Where is your daughter? In school?” Iris guessed.
He shook his head. “She will be playing with other small children under the watchful eye of my cousin.”
Since, presumably, if his grandparents had more children than Asad’s father, the barbaric bargain would not have been made, he didn’t mean cousin literally, but referred to a female relative. “She’s not old enough for school?”
“We do not run a school precisely, though the concept is similar. We train our children in every aspect of life, not merely to read, write and cipher, though we do not neglect their book learning. Some will want to attend university one day.” He reached out as if to touch Iris and let his hand fall, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. “But you are right, my daughter is too young for any formalized training.”
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Люси Монро
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Heart of a Desert Warrior, электронная книга автора Люси Монро на английском языке, в жанре современные любовные романы