by Kim Lawrence
It was only when he’d stopped kissing her, when she’d realized they were in what must be his private tent, that she’d asked herself what the blazes she was doing. She’d been about to negate ten years of her life with that single act. To propel herself back in time and into the arms of the man she’d never really stopped loving.
Never depend on a man, Genie. Make your own career, your own life, and find a partner to share it with. But don’t give up your goals for him. Because he might just leave you with nothing but broken dreams in the end.
Genie shivered. Her mother had said those words to her so often that she could repeat them in her sleep. Zafir was exactly the kind of man her mother had warned her about.
She’d loved him, but he hadn’t loved her. She’d realized it that night when he’d asked her to come to Bah’shar. She’d thought he was asking her to marry him, but she’d been confused because he hadn’t said the words. He’d never said he loved her, had always pushed aside questions of his feelings with more kisses and more lovemaking. And just when she’d thought he’d asked her to share his life, her dreams had been crushed into dust by the realization that he was expected to marry another.
It had been cruel, too ironic, that she should find herself in the situation of loving a man who could never marry her.
She’d known his culture was different, that what he asked was not wrong or immoral to him and his world, but there had been no way on earth she could subject herself to the humiliation. She’d seen firsthand what loving a man who would never be yours did to a woman.
To her mother.
And she was not about to endanger her heart and her hard-earned independence by falling into bed with Zafir bin Rashid al-Khalifa ever again.
“I want the commission, Zafir. But not at the price you’re asking.”
“And what price is that, Genie? I am asking you to share my bed—something you’ve done many times before.” He paused, let his gaze slide down her body. “Or have I erred? Do you have a lover? Someone to whom you wish to be faithful?”
She dropped her eyes from his and shook her head. She should lie, but she found she could not. “There is no one right now.”
“Then there can be no problem, can there?”
What could she say? Yes, there is a problem! The problem is that I still care for you and I’m afraid what will happen if I succumb to my desire instead of listening to my head!
“The answer is still no, Zafir.”
His gaze was laser-sharp. “You would really give up this commission for something so simple?”
“It’s not simple in the least, and you know it.”
“Why is that, I wonder?” He closed the distance between them, tilted her chin up with a finger. “It is simply sex between two adults who want each other. How can there be a problem with that?”
“I’ve traveled this road with you before, Zafir. I’m not prepared to do it again.”
“And I thought you would sell your soul to the devil himself for the sake of your career.”
“That’s not fair and you know it. It wasn’t my career that ruined it between us.” Her breath caught at the silky stroking of his fingers along her jaw.
Apprehension whispered over her like a caress as he smiled. “No, but you will share my bed again. Willingly, eagerly, and without hesitation. I guarantee it.”
Genie awoke in the middle of the night, shivering. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. But then it all came crashing back.
The desert. Zafir. Shock. Desire. Anger. Hurt.
Loneliness.
She sat up, her eyes adjusting to the dim light from the brazier in the middle of the tent. She lay on a large feather mattress, piled high with furs, but she’d somehow managed to kick them all away in the night.
Reaching for a fur, she realized there was a large shape in the bed with her. A man.
Zafir.
He’d left her here last night, telling her to get some sleep. She’d thought she might be shown to her own tent, but he’d informed her there was no other place to go—unless she wanted to go to Sheikh Abu Bakr’s harem.
She definitely did not.
So she’d climbed into this bed and fallen asleep, never realizing he’d returned. And she could clearly see what the problem was now that he was here. Zafir had always stolen the covers.
She tugged the fur away, putting as much distance between them as possible.
“What is wrong, Genie?” he asked, his voice gravelly with sleep.
“You took the covers.”
“Never.”
She could almost laugh if this situation weren’t so surreal. Because he’d always denied stealing the covers when she’d awakened in the night in his apartment.
“It’s a bad habit of yours, and you know it.”
His laugh sent heat spiraling through her. “So you have always said. My wife said the same, so perhaps it is true.” Now, why was her heart throbbing at the thought of another woman knowing him so intimately? It wasn’t a surprise, after all. A wife would notice those things. She didn’t bother asking which wife.
He propped himself on an elbow. There was the gulf of the bed between them, but still it felt too intimate to be here like this. Too right and too wrong at the same time.
“Has there been anyone special in your life?” he asked, almost as if he could see the wheels turning in her head as she thought about him with a wife.
“Yes,” she said automatically, because she couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. That he had been the only special man in her life.
“Then I am sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Me too.” Now, why did that bring a well of tears to her eyes? And why did she have to work so hard to keep them from falling?
“Much has happened in the last ten years, has it not? Have you been as successful as you’d hoped?”
“I’ve done well enough,” she said. But what was success, really, when she spent her days poring over old documents and maps, living in harsh conditions while she dug pottery shards from ancient dirt? It was what she’d wanted, what she’d worked for, and yet there was something empty about it too.
She’d thought, after Zafir, she might meet a man who shared her love of ancient history—a fellow archaeologist who wanted all the same things she wanted.
And yet though she’d met plenty of men who might fit those criteria, none of them had touched her heart the way Zafir had.
“You will be pleased to know, by the way, that everyone on your team is accounted for. The men who attacked your camp have been disciplined. Unfortunately you were caught between those warring factions I told you of earlier.”
Her guilt at nearly forgetting about her colleagues when her senses were so overwhelmed with Zafir was somewhat allayed by the news that they were all well.
“I should be there to help them collect everything. It will need to be catalogued again, and—”
“They are aware that you are a guest of the King of Bah’shar.”
The King of Bah’shar. It gave her a chill to think of Zafir as king, and yet it seemed appropriate too. He’d always been larger than life—and he’d been the only person she’d ever known who had a security detail in college. She’d never been able to forget he was someone important. Imagining a life with him had been impossible. How true that had turned out to be.
“And how much longer am I to remain your guest?” In her earlier excitement about the temples she’d forgotten to ask how long he intended to keep her here. Stupid, Genie.
“A few days, no more.”
“What am I supposed to do for a few days? Stay in this tent? Isn’t there another way?”
“We will not be staying. Tomorrow we return to Al-Shahar.”
“But I thought you had to stay here…”
“I am the King, habiba. I go where I wish. Tomorrow I wish to return to Al-Shahar. My meeting with the Sheikhs will continue there.”
“Why can’t you just tell them to do what you want? You are the
King, after all.”
His sigh was audible. “Yes, one would think it should work that way. But Bah’shar is an ancient country, and things have always been done a certain way. Blood feuds often go back many generations. My father tended to ignore the violence so long as the Sheikhs paid their obeisance.”
“Why can’t you do the same?” Not that she thought violence should be ignored, but she wanted to know why it was important to him.
“I could, I suppose. But then things happen—like border raids, where old fools let their men kidnap Western archaeologists. It makes us look bad in the eyes of the world. I wish us to move forward as a people, not wallow in the past.”
“Isn’t tradition important?”
“Of course. But so is progress. And I believe we can have both—though there are those who resist.”
“I remember that you were going to build skyscrapers. Do you ever get to do that?”
He sighed again. “I did, for a while. Perhaps once I’ve settled into this new role as king I will be able to do so again.”
They’d only been together six months, but she remembered his enthusiasm for building—his sketches and grand plans. He’d been in love with the idea of creating and she’d been in love with him. God.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you’d hoped,” she said.
“It is as it was intended to be. I accept that.” He threw back the covers and sat up. “Are you tired?”
“Not really.” Too much adrenaline in one day. And too much shock.
“Then come. I wish to show you something.” He hesitated a moment. “You once told me you could ride. Was that the truth?”
“Yes, but I won’t be joining the Olympic equestrian team anytime soon.”
His teeth flashed white in the dim light as he stood and held out his hand. “That is sufficient.”
Genie stared at his outstretched fingers. Did she really want to go anywhere with him? To risk even a moment more in his company than absolutely necessary?
But what was the alternative? Refuse and have him climb back into the bed with her?
She put her hand in his. Electricity snapped along her nerve-endings, sizzling into her core.
No matter how she sliced it, she was in big trouble here. A few days might as well be an eternity.
“What do you think?” Zafir asked.
Genie could only stare at the undulating sand dunes—no, mountains—spreading as far as the eye could see. She’d excavated in the desert before, she knew what sand dunes looked like, but she’d never seen anything so beautiful as the pink-tinged dawn sky, the red sand that glistened with moisture which would soon be burned off by the hot rays of the sun—and she’d certainly never witnessed it from the back of a white Arabian mare.
The horse’s delicately arched neck belied her strength. She’d run up this mountain of sand as fleet-footed as a gazelle. Now she stood, her nostrils flaring, her proud head held high, her bridle dripping with tassels that shook with each prancing movement.
Genie turned in the saddle. Zafir was staring at her. He sat his mount so easily, the white fabric of his dishdasha a sharp contrast with his stallion’s bay flanks. He looked at home here, regal and otherworldly—like someone she should never have met in a million years.
“Well?” he prompted.
“It’s amazing, Zafir.”
He turned his head, his profile to her as he gazed over the dunes. It stunned her to realize that he very much looked like a king. How had she never noticed that royal bearing of his?
“I wanted to show you this before, but it was not possible. I am glad you are here to see it now, despite the circumstances.”
Her heart throbbed. Why did he have to do this to her? Why did he have to remind her of how much she’d once loved him?
“I’m glad too,” she said, though she wasn’t really sure if that was the truth. Far better to be over the border, still in her encampment, digging through sand and rock and not knowing Zafir was here—so close and yet so far. In many ways, though he sat beside her now, he was farther from her than he’d ever been.
Untouchable. Unapproachable. A king.
Genie sucked in a cool breath. The desert air was frigid at night, but it was beginning to warm as the sun crept upward in the sky. Soon it would be too hot ever to believe it had been cold only hours before.
Zafir threw one leg over his horse’s head and jumped to the ground. “Let us walk before we return to the camp,” he said.
Genie dismounted and fell in beside him. They walked along the top of the dune without speaking. The sand made it difficult to go fast, so they took their time—almost as if it were a companionable morning stroll.
Like they’d used to do when they’d get up early and make the walk to the bakery first thing in the morning. “Should we get the donuts or the sunflower bread?” she said, and then wished she hadn’t. How ridiculous to bring that up!
But he glanced over at her and smiled. “The donuts, of course.”
“That was a simpler time,” she said softly, not looking at him. Simpler because she hadn’t known what was expected of him, because she’d believed they shared something deep and meaningful. How wrong she’d been.
“Indeed. But everyone grows up, Genie. Life does not sit still because we wish it to.”
“No.”
He stopped and turned toward her. His face was limned in the dawn light, the hard planes and angles both harsher and more beautiful because of it. Dark eyes gazed at her intently.
“There is no reason why we can’t recapture some of that feeling,” he said.
Her heart thudded in her throat, her temples. A few hours ago she’d been Dr. Geneva Gray, renowned archaeologist. Now, she was Genie Gray, the lovesick student who’d once had a passionate affair with a desert prince.
And he was tempting her with the promise of more. How could she want him again when he’d hurt her so deeply?
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” she said.
But he closed the distance between them, his body so close, so vibrant in the cool morning air. “Why wouldn’t it be, Genie? We are adults, and we still want each other. This is not a crime.”
“No, but it feels too much like digging up the past.”
His smile was almost mocking. “Ah, but isn’t this what you like to do? Dig up the past?”
“Not all things need to be dug up,” she replied, her pulse hammering in spite of how calm she tried to sound.
His head dipped toward her in slow motion. She knew she should move away, but she closed her eyes automatically, waited for the touch of his lips against hers.
It didn’t happen.
She opened her eyes again, to find he’d stopped only inches from her mouth.
“I do not believe what you say, Genie Gray. And neither, it seems, do you.” He straightened and turned toward his mount. “Come, we must return to the camp before the sun is up.”
CHAPTER FOUR
GENIE had never been to Al-Shahar before. Though the city was ancient, and rife with ruins to be explored, Zafir’s father had not allowed any excavation to take place. Nor had the previous kings before him. Zafir was the first to suggest it was possible, and she had to admit that the prospect excited her. She had to hope that he would still allow her to do so, regardless that he’d claimed she first had to sleep with him in order to get the commission.
He’d not mentioned it since last night, and she wondered if perhaps he’d merely been angry and acting on emotion from the past instead of truly intending to force her into his bed.
Not that it would take much to force her, she thought disgustedly. In spite of everything—the hurt and pain and anger—she still felt something in his presence. Something she’d never felt with anyone else. Was she adult enough to handle a casual affair? To know he was a king and that he could never, ever have a real relationship with her beyond the physical?
She turned her attention to the city as they passed through the ancient gates at one end
. The ruins of the old temples sat on a point that was higher than the rest of the city, with the exception of the palace. She could see them clearly in the distance as she sat up straighter and pressed her face to the glass.
“You want very much to get your hands into the dirt there, don’t you?”
She turned to the man sitting beside her. He was still dressed in the robes of the desert, but the ceremonial dagger was gone. And he was still as breathtaking as he had been from the first moment she’d seen him again.
“You know I do. It’s a fabulous opportunity, Zafir.”
She expected him to tell her that she knew what she had to do to gain the commission, but he said nothing of the sort.
“I would not have offered it to just anyone—no matter that it’s past time this city’s history was explored and preserved for future generations.”
Warmth blossomed. “I appreciate your confidence in me.”
He shrugged and turned away. “You must be very good at what you do.”
“Must be?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you find out before you hand over this commission to me?”
His gaze was sharp, assessing. “Should I give you this commission, there will be no need.”
“I’m not sure how you can say that. It’s important work, and you should get the best to do it.”
And why was she saying this? Why place any doubt in his mind?
Because she wanted him to know she was the best, not just to give it to her because she was the only archaeologist he knew. Assuming he did so, of course.
Zafir gave her a hard look. “Your work is the most important thing in the world to you. More important than anyone or anything. No one would sacrifice so much without being determined to succeed.”
A pang of hurt throbbed to life inside her. “It’s not the most important thing. There’s my mother, my friends—”
“But not a lover, yes?”
“I don’t need a lover to prove I care about things other than work.”
