by Kim Lawrence
Duty. It was a word he sometimes wished he’d never heard.
Her head snapped up. “Of course,” she said, the tremble of her lips gone in an instant.
He’d wanted to hurt her and he’d succeeded. But now he felt guilty—as if he’d kicked a puppy. “My first wife died,” he said evenly. “I am divorced from the second.”
Genie blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry,” she added.
Zafir shrugged. It was what people always said, and yet he could not accept it without feeling the usual well of loneliness—and guilt—within. He’d been alone most of his life; being married had not changed that. In some ways it had actually made it worse.
Jasmin had died because of him. And Layla? Layla had surely done what she had because of him as well.
Death, it seemed, followed him.
“These things happen,” he said, because he had to say something. “And my second wife would have made a terrible queen, so divorce was not such a bad choice in that case.”
Though he certainly hadn’t divorced Layla for her inability to be a queen.
Genie’s eyes widened. “Qu-queen? But you weren’t…”
“The Crown Prince?” he finished. “No, I was not.”
Once again death had played its part in forcing his life along paths he would not have chosen.
“My brother has been gone for a year now. My father died a month ago. I am now King of Bah’shar.”
She looked stunned. Yes, he could well imagine. It was not what he’d ever expected to do. Not what he’d wanted or studied so hard for. He’d gone for an engineering and architecture degree so he could build things while his older brother prepared to be king. Together they would take Bah’shar into the future, make her bigger, better, more capable than she had been under the rule of their father.
Now he had to do it alone. Always, always alone.
Genie dipped her chin to her chest and swallowed. When she looked up again, her eyes were clear. “I’m sorry for your loss, Zafir. For both your father and your brother.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve taken enough of your time,” she continued. “If you could return me to my camp now, I’d be grateful.”
Resentment flared to life inside him. She’d been the only woman—the only person, really—he’d ever felt close to. The only one who’d ever seemed to stem the tide of loneliness within him. But to her it had meant nothing. Like every other woman he’d ever known, she’d been with him because of what he was, not who he was inside.
She’d seemed different from the others, but the reality was that he’d been too taken with her to see the truth. She was no different than Jasmin or Layla or any of the women he’d ever dated.
He stewed with hate, regret, and, yes, even desire—and she stood there, completely unaffected. He had a sudden urge to punish her, to show her what she’d given up and could never have again. “How grateful?”
She blinked. “I’m sorry?”
He climbed to his feet. She took a step back as he moved toward her. He refused to let it bother him. Once she would have rushed into his arms. Once she would have melted beneath him.
He stopped in front of her. Her head tilted back, her gray eyes searching his. For a moment he could almost think he was somewhere else. Another time, another place.
Zafir couldn’t stop himself from touching her hair. The contact was brief, but her mouth opened, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. Need rocketed through him. Need he forced away.
“And how well do your pickaxes and pottery shards keep you warm at night, habiba? Is it all you thought it would be?”
She glared at him. “You know that’s not the only reason why it didn’t work out between us. You lied to me, Zafir.”
He almost laughed. No one dared to talk to him the way she did—certainly not now that he was king. “I told you the truth, habiba.”
“You should have told me from the beginning.”
“We did not know each other well enough.”
She looked outraged. “You were engaged, Zafir, and you slept with me for six months without ever letting me know that fact. I don’t think knowing each other had anything to do with it! You didn’t want anything to interfere with your ability to get me into bed.”
He couldn’t stop the smirk that crossed his face. “As if that was so difficult, Genie.”
She blushed, and he knew she was remembering their first night together. Their first date. She hadn’t been a virgin, but she hadn’t been experienced either.
“I’d like to go back to my camp now,” she said primly.
“Of course you would,” he said, coming to a decision. “And yet I am afraid this is not possible.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing suddenly. “What do you mean, not possible?”
He almost had fun saying the next part. Almost, but not quite.
“Because I have need of you here.”
CHAPTER TWO
GENIE’S heart dropped to her toes. Next came rising irritation. He was toying with her, punishing her for what happened between them ten years ago. The sex between them had been great, yes, but hers was the only heart that had been affected. She’d been in love with him, and all he’d wanted was to take her to Bah’shar and keep her as a plaything while he married someone else.
Even had he not been engaged she’d been right to break it off between them. He would have prevented her from making something of herself, from pursuing the career she’d always wanted. He would have stifled her freedom and bound her up in a perfumed prison. She was glad she’d refused to go with him. He hadn’t loved her and would have discarded her as soon as he’d tired of her. It’d been the hardest thing she’d ever done, walking away from him, but it had been right.
And now he was a king, and trying to use that power to prevent her from returning to her job, her life. Fury whipped through her.
“This is beneath you, Zafir,” she said, as coldly as possible.
One dark eyebrow arched. My God, how could the man still be so absolutely breathtaking—especially when he was being so arrogant? And how could she want him as much as she ever had?
“Beneath me? Interesting choice of words, habiba.”
She folded her arms over her chest. There wasn’t much she could control here, but she had to insist on that which she could. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
He laughed. “Does it bring up bad memories?”
“No,” she said automatically. And then, realizing what she’d admitted, followed it with an emphatic, “Yes.”
“Interesting. I do not remember you objecting when you screamed my name in pleasure, or afterward when I held you close and called you habiba.”
A sliver of desire sizzled to life inside her. She’d been with a few men in the last ten years, but none had ever affected her the way Zafir had. The way he was affecting her now.
But she’d never seen him like this either. Surely that was what had her blood pumping into her veins like a runaway train? Though she’d known he was a desert prince, he’d never dressed in the tradition of his home when they were together.
He was truly magnificent in the white dishdasha. A gold igal held his headdress in place, and at his waist was a curved ceremonial dagger with a jeweled hilt.
He was exotic and forbidden in a way he never had been when he’d worn jeans and button-down shirts. When he’d simply been handsome and sexy and she hadn’t been able to believe he was hers. That she was the one he spent time with when there were so many gorgeous women he could have chosen instead.
Except he hadn’t really been hers, had he?
“That’s in the past,” she forced out. A past that had never really stopped haunting her.
He turned away in a swirl of robes. “I did not say, by the way, that I would never let you return to your dig.”
Genie shook her head. “I don’t understand, Zafir. What do you want from me?”
“The short answer is that my father had trouble with warring tr
ibes in this region. I am here because I intend to put a stop to it once and for all. Since you were a gift from the chieftain of one of the tribes, I can hardly let you leave.”
Genie’s jaw went slack. “A gift? Like a goat or a camel or a jeweled dagger?”
“Precisely. And until I conclude this meeting I require your presence.”
For the moment, she could only focus on the fact that she’d been given to him. “How can someone give away a human being? What kind of king are you to allow such a thing to happen?”
His jaw was firm. “I am the king of a very old and traditional nation. The ways of the desert are ancient and cannot be changed overnight.”
“But you could have refused.”
He crossed his arms, one eyebrow arching. “Indeed I could have. And you would now likely be back in Sheikh Abu Bakr’s harem, awaiting his attentions.”
She thought of the old man who’d been speaking earlier and shivered. “That’s barbaric.”
“It is the custom.”
“You have a lot of customs, don’t you?” she said bitterly. Like keeping mistresses while marrying another woman and having children with her.
“Indeed—which is why you will remain.”
“And what if I don’t want to stay?”
His dark eyes glittered. “You do not have a choice.”
“You would force me to stay here against my will?”
He inclined his head. “To prove I am not such a barbarian, I will compensate you in the end. This is not a bad deal, Genie.”
For who? Staying here for even a minute longer than she had to was dangerous. Because in spite of everything—all the hurt and pain and agony of the past—her heart was soaring with every minute she stood near him.
“I don’t want money.”
He looked skeptical. “Really? Aren’t archaeological digs expensive?”
“I have funding for my projects.” Not as much as she’d like, but she wasn’t admitting that to him.
“Then I will give you something better than money, Genie. Something you want very much.”
Genie’s knees felt suddenly weak. She had a vision of him naked, of his beautiful mouth on her flesh, taking her to heaven. No. “How could you possibly know what I want?”
His smile was so self-assured she itched to slap him.
“I will give you permission to excavate in Al-Shahar.”
Her heart nearly stopped. “The old temples?”
No one had ever been given permission to excavate the Temples of Al-Shahar. It would be a coup, a crowning achievement. Her career would never be the same.
And he knew it. His smile was predatory, as if he knew she would not refuse. Just as he’d believed she wouldn’t refuse his proposition ten years ago because he’d been rich and handsome and she’d loved him desperately.
Did she have the strength to turn him down this time? The strength to walk away from the Temples of Al-Shahar? But how could she accept? Staying with him now, even for something so wonderful as those temples, would test her in ways she wasn’t sure she was prepared to endure.
But he would keep her here regardless, wouldn’t he? He had the power to do it, and the will.
“I would not refuse this, were I you,” he said softly. “Don’t be a fool because of your wounded pride, Genie.”
She stiffened. “You are quite mistaken if you still think that affects me, Zafir. It was ten years ago.”
“Then what will it be?” Again that predatory gleam. “Because turning down the jewel in the crown of your precious career would be extremely foolish. And you know it quite well.”
She hated that he had her right where he wanted her. Be cause he was right, and she wasn’t going to refuse. No matter how dangerous staying with him would be to her heart, she had to do it. It was only temporary. It would take weeks to gather what she needed to excavate in Al-Shahar, so she would have time to recover from this experience. And she need not see him when she returned. He was a king now, and she was an archaeologist who would be on a dig in his city. She had a team who would coordinate with whomever in his government handled these things.
They would not meet again. And, even if none of that were the case, she couldn’t let him see that, contrary to what she said, she was still very much affected by the past.
“Very well,” she said, holding out her hand. “I accept.”
Zafir took her hand in his. Instead of giving a firm shake, he turned her palm up and brought it to his lips. A shiver trickled across her nerve-endings on tiny feet, bringing goosebumps to the surface.
“A wise decision,” he said softly.
And then he tugged her into his arms and kissed her.
In the space of a few moments he’d decided he was going to have her again. This need buffeting him was stronger than he remembered. He’d always been enchanted with her body, but had he always felt this reckless desire to possess her no matter the cost?
Surely not. Because right now he wanted to rip the turquoise abaya from her body and lower her onto the furs in his tent. He wanted to lose himself in her, and he wanted to remember what it had been like between them.
The heat, the passion, the pleasure.
She’d filled that hole inside him that no one ever had, and yet he couldn’t call it love. He hadn’t been in love with her. But he’d needed her.
He didn’t need her anymore, but he wanted her.
Her mouth parted, whether in surprise or compliance he did not know. But he took advantage of the situation, slipped his tongue against hers—and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. Her arms went around him, her body pressing to his so sweetly. If not for the dagger she would be able to feel the effect she still had on him.
He held her close, slanted his mouth over hers to take as much as she would give.
And she gave far more than he would have believed. Proud, beautiful Genie kissed him like a woman starved. Like a woman who’d suffered drought and deprivation and had finally stumbled into an oasis of plenty.
She still wanted him, and the knowledge fired something primal in his blood.
Zafir cupped one of her breasts beneath the soft fabric, groaned low in his throat. He wanted to bare her body and feast his eyes and senses upon her. But he could not do so here—not in the reception tent. He swept her up into his arms and strode toward his sleeping quarters.
Genie clung to him, still kissing him, her passion as hot and intense as ever. He didn’t break the kiss, though he had to keep his eyes open to see where he was going. Her skin was flushed a pretty pink, and her long auburn lashes fanned across her cheeks. He wanted her to open her eyes, to look at him with those deep pools of rainwater-gray, to see the passion flaring in them as he made love to her.
A guard stood at attention as Zafir passed into the interior of his private quarters. He set Genie on her feet. She seemed suddenly wild-eyed as her gaze darted around the room—as if she’d awakened in a prison cell instead of a palace.
“Patience, little one,” he murmured as he unhooked the ceremonial dagger and tossed it aside.
But when he took her in his arms again she stiffened, her hands coming up to brace against his chest. “No, Zafir,” she gasped. “I can’t.”
Frustration and disappointment spiraled through him at once.
“Ah, so this is how it will be. I should have known.” He loosened his hold and she jerked away, wrapping her arms around herself as if she were chilled.
“What’s that mean?” she snapped.
“You know what it means, Genie. You tell me one thing with your body and another with your mouth.”
Her chin tilted up, her eyes flashing. “I agreed to stay for the chance to excavate in Al-Shahar. I did not agree to sleep with you ever again.”
His body pounded with the need for release, and she looked at him as if she’d not just been wrapped around him, wanting him as much as he wanted her.
She was very much the ice-cold scientist she’d always wanted to be. And that infuri
ated him. How dared she think she was the one in control here?
“Perhaps I wish to attach new conditions to the agreement.”
Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
He took a step toward her, fury whipping him. “Do not presume that you know me any longer, habiba. The man I was back then is dead.”
“You would blackmail me into your bed simply to get back at me? To punish me because I didn’t want to be your plaything for however long you wanted me?”
Her words stung his conscience. And yet…he didn’t care. He was angrier than he’d been in a very long time. Angry with fate, with her, and with the stubborn sheikhs who argued over territory and made his life difficult when all he wanted was the best for his people.
He focused on the woman before him. She tried hard to hide it, but she was flushed, her lips moist and plump from kissing, her nipples jutting through the soft fabric of the abaya. Not the ice-cold scientist after all.
He was tired of games, tired of lies.
“It is hardly a punishment, habiba. Not when we both know what we want.”
CHAPTER THREE
GENIE couldn’t stop the tremor that slid along her spine. But was it the excitement of what he offered her with the temples, or the thrill of knowing that with one word she would share his bed again?
No. She would not do so. Could not.
“Not everything we want is good for us,” she said. “Bacon double cheeseburgers with chili-cheese fries, for instance. All that fat and cholesterol.” She was babbling, for God’s sake, but she couldn’t seem to help it.
Zafir merely shot her that sexy grin that had always been her undoing. “Do you or do you not want the exclusive right to excavate the temples?” he said silkily. “No other archaeologist has ever been allowed to do so.”
Genie swallowed. With one kiss he’d stolen her breath, her sense, her will. She’d turned into a needy animal, wanting—no, craving—what he offered. If he’d pushed her down on the carpets there and then and lifted her abaya, she’d have been helpless to refuse.
