Zahkim Sheikhs Series: The Complete Series

by Leslie North

  He kept one hand on her chin and the other on the rug to anchor himself. That kiss—something so simple—seemed to set him on fire. He had kissed her last night as a promise. But this was more. He drank her down like a man parched by the desert, exploring her mouth with his tongue, taking his time, drawing a moan from her that had him hard in an instant.

  Pulling back, he could see that her breathing had quickened and her pulse beat in her throat. He wanted to press her back against the rug, strip her clothes off one by one and take her here and now. But there were the servers to consider. He would do nothing to embarrass them or his Christine.

  Instead, he pulled a ring from his little finger, a square-cut sapphire set flush in gold. He glanced down. His Christine had strong hands—large for her size. He judged the ring would fit. He put it onto her finger—not her ring finger, but the third finger of her right hand. "When you are ready, move this to your left hand, and I will know you are willing to be my wife."

  Her cheeks pinked. She touched a finger to the ring. "I couldn't possibly accept this. It's…it must be worth a fortune."

  "A prize beyond price for a woman beyond measure. Please, you must. It’s a perfect fit, which is a sign that we are indeed meant to be."

  Looking up, eyes bright, she shook her head and gave a small laugh. "More like a coincidence. I don't believe in fate, karma, or what you might call luck. I've found hard work gets you ahead in this life."

  He pulled back slightly. "How can you say that? Did not fate bring you to your friend's wedding so I might meet you? Did not fate have a say in your friend's becoming Sheikha of Zahkim? Some things cannot be altered—including our destiny."

  Shifting away from him a little, she tore off a chunk of bread and asked, "How early can I get started in the archives tomorrow?"

  Arif almost groaned. It seemed his Christine was even more hard-headed and practical than his cousin had ever been. And she would be satisfied with nothing less than just what she wanted. Well, it was his pleasure to give her what she wished. The next trick would be to make certain she started wishing for him.

  He didn't ravish me. The thought kept popping up at every quiet moment, and she still wasn't sure if she was happy about that or not.

  Staring out of her balcony window, Christine rubbed her arms against the chill of the dawn. Her oversized T-shirt that served as a nightgown was a little too thin for a desert night, it seemed. The sun wasn't up yet, and she was still wondering why Sheikh Arif hadn't invited himself into her bedroom last night. Had she done something wrong? Or was he starting to realize—like her other two boyfriends eventually had just before they'd bailed—that she had a life that involved her own pursuits?

  Or was he just that much of a gentleman?

  With a sigh, she turned away from the brightening sky and headed for the shower. A hot bath last night after they'd ridden back from the oasis had prevented too many stiff muscles—she tried to work out three times a week, but it seemed riding used a whole different set of muscles. A shower this morning would keep her from walking like a cowboy. She dried off and dressed in loose khaki trousers and a black, long sleeve linen top. And then the ring flashed up at her, winking in the dawn's light.

  The stone was spectacular—a square cut that wasn't very common these days—and the setting wouldn't catch on papers. But she couldn't keep it. She'd return it to him once she finished her research—and once Sheikh Arif realized she was not going to marry him. She had a life back in New Hampshire, a teaching job to get back to after her sabbatical ended, and…well, just and. She wasn't cut out to be sheikh's wife.

  Oddly, the ring didn't feel strange on her hand. If anything, it was…comforting. Which was an odd notion. She didn't wear jewelry very often. She'd never had her ears pierced, and only had one necklace, which had been her mother's.

  Touching the ring brought back memories of the sheikh's kiss. It hadn't been a demanding kiss, but somehow it still felt as if he'd marked her. His lips had been soft, the scrape of his beard had been exciting, and the touch of his tongue to hers had set her heart pounding.

  "I'm here to do research for Dad." She said the words again to herself, but at the same time, she wondered if Arif had fallen asleep thinking of her. Had he been up, remembering that kiss? Had it gotten him excited? She'd felt his erection yesterday, pressing into her, and now her nipples tightened, and a tingle spread upward from low in her belly. An image of Arif naked flashed in her head. She pushed it away, but it popped back up. Would he be huge? Big hands, big feet, big…well, all over.

  With a growl, she dug her fingers into her hair. "Enough. Time to get to work." And time to stop thinking of his beautiful body and those charming gray eyes. Grabbing her tablet computer, she headed for the archives.

  It seemed as if she had the palace to herself. She didn't meet any servants, didn't hear any other footsteps, and made it to the archives without the sheikh waylaying her with the idea of another ride or any other adventures.

  However, it seemed Sahl ibn Harun was also an early riser. He met her at the main entrance as if he'd been waiting there all night. She tried a smile and a “Good morning,” in Arabic.

  Arms folded, he looked her up and down. She thought he was about to deny her access or read her a long list of rules. Instead, he turned on his sandaled foot and led the way into the archives.

  Squaring her shoulders, Christine followed. She'd met stuffier librarians and archivists, but not many. "I'd like access to the oldest parchments and scrolls. Anything you have copied from the Library of Alexandria."

  Sahl ibn Harun gave what might have been a snort—she couldn't see his face. He stopped next to a large, bare desk.

  "Sheikh Arif said to give you full access and I was not to hinder you in any fashion. Enjoy your day." With that, he left, his sandals slapping against the tiles. Christine glanced around the archive, both thrilled and daunted. At last, she had access to some of the oldest documents in the world. But it seemed she was also on her own here.

  Four hours later, her stomach rumbled. She pulled off the loose cloth gloves that kept her skin oils from contaminating the aged parchment and blew out a breath. Her temper had frayed to a fine thread, and if Sahl ibn Harun had poked his nose in, she would have punched it for him. What kind of archivist was he that he didn't have any organizing system? Nothing was cataloged—just stored. Shelves and shelves of material without so much as a label as to what was where left her furious—and itching to get in here and start establishing proper records. She was here to do research, however, not catalog this…this amazing mess. She'd spent the morning trying to get a handle on what was here. She had found one tantalizing book that at least referenced older histories and seemed to be a rough list of materials in the archives, but of course it couldn’t tell her where to find anything in the chaos.

  She'd skipped breakfast, and now she had to get some food before her blood sugar totally crashed. She already had a faint pounding in her temples and a temper on edge.

  Heading out of the archives, she decided on a quick detour into the gardens. She needed air as much as she wanted some lunch. She actually found both waiting for her, along with a card with a flowing script on it.

  Shahia tayebah—A.

  “Please enjoy,” she translated. She could guess the A stood for Arif. He'd set this out for her.

  For a moment, her eyes stung and her nose burned. She gave a sniff. No one had ever set out a meal for her. Her father buried himself even deeper than she did in work, and both her boyfriends had thought she should be the one to cook and clean. She stared at the plate of sliced fruit, cheese, and bread. A teapot sat next to it, and next to that a china coffee pot gave off a tempting aroma of a strong Kona blend. Touching them, she found them both hot, meaning someone had been keeping this ready for her. All on the sheikh's orders. She glanced around but saw no one. So she sat down, ate, drank the coffee, wolfed down flatbread, fruit, and tangy goat cheese, and then headed back to tackle the archives again.

&
nbsp; At dusk, Sahl ibn Harun showed up with an electric lamp in his hands and jingling keys. Christine looked up from the notes she'd been taking. Several works here looked promising, but she had considerable translation work ahead of her. Sahl ibn Harun simply stared at her, and she got the idea it was closing time.

  She gave him a brilliant smile and stood. If he wanted to be crusty, she wasn't going to join him in that game of rudeness.

  "I'll be back tomorrow. Please leave these works out for me." She strode out of the archive, her back straight. It wasn't until the door closed behind her that she sagged against it and rubbed her neck. She'd been sitting still for far too long. Stiff muscles, a cramp in her right hand, and that headache told her as much.

  Reaching her room, she half expected to find Arif waiting for her with some plans for an exotic dinner. She rehearsed five ways she could decline and worried that she wouldn't be able to get any of them to stick. Instead, she found a tray for her with chicken, couscous, bread and a lovely mint tea. She wanted to cry again. Okay, this guy knew how to get to a woman.

  She took the meal onto the balcony. In the scented gardens below, someone was playing the oud—a sweet melody filled with longing. Closing her eyes, she touched her fingers to her lips and thought of Arif. The song seemed to echo his kiss—and the poetry he had quoted to her.

  I would split open my heart with a knife, place you within and seal my wound, that you might dwell there.

  What a wildly romantic notion—the idea of being able to keep someone within your heart. Tess might be able to inspire such notions, but Christine knew she was not made of such legendary stuff. Arif was probably interested in her simply because she was different—and she'd said no. He looked the type who would enjoy the chase far more than a relationship. If only…

  No, she wasn't going to start daydreaming. That led to disappointment.

  She gave a shiver and tried to shake off the mood. It was just the music and the moonlight and the perfume from the flowers rising up to her room. That was all. And she was tired. That was an even better reason to start being a little too emotional. Time to shift back to the academic she'd been raised to be.

  She'd gotten a good start today. Tomorrow, she'd do more. She headed back into the bedroom. Changing into her T-shirt, she snugged into bed and fell asleep to the plucking of the oud.

  She managed two more days buried in the archives, but on the third, she stepped out of her room in the morning and almost walked straight into Arif's arms. She fell back and blinked up at him.

  "Uh…is something wrong?" she asked.

  He grinned and shook his head. "Not at all. But this is a deal. You have access to the archives, and in return, I am allowed to court you. And I have this day planned for courtship."

  Christine blinked up at him. This wasn't what she'd planned, and she was having a hard time adjusting. On the other hand, she could actually do with a break—she'd been working too hard and starting to hit dead ends. Meaning she needed to regain some perspective. Sheikh Arif also did not look as if he would take no for an answer.

  She glanced at his clothes—impeccably cut linen trousers in a soft beige, an open-necked polo shirt, loafers that looked soft, sinful, and Italian. She suddenly felt underdressed in her black trousers and the T-shirt she'd thrown on. With a nod, she made up her mind. "Give me ten minutes to change."

  Chapter Six

  Arif paced the hallway. He was tired of waiting. He had given his Christine three days without interruptions. That had been relatively easy, since his government work had demanded his attention. Nasim was supposed to be handling most matters, but his cousin had dumped a pile of documents onto Arif to read and review, saying reports fell under the department of education.

  However, after three nights with an empty bed and Christine so nearby, he knew his control was to the breaking point.

  Last night, he had dreamed of her riding across the desert naked, her body moving with her horse. He had woken with the desire to have her riding him instead. In his dream, she had ridden to the tent where they’d dined, had stepped inside, and had stood naked and pale, silhouetted against the desert heat. She had come to him and spread herself on the carpets, her legs open to him, offering him the most desirable meal ever. In the dream, he had knelt before her, put his mouth onto the honey dripping from between her legs. He had plunged his tongue into her, finding her wet and welcoming.

  He had woken hard and sweating, with only his own hand to please himself. With two fast strokes, he had come with a groan, muttering her name. Lying on his bed, the sweat cooling on his skin, his heart slowing again, he’d decided it was time to move things along a little faster. He needed more than a dream.

  And now he was hoping his Christine would fall in love with him by first falling in love with Zahkim.

  Amazingly, she came out of her room in far less than ten minutes. A vivid blue scarf circled her neck, and she had changed from the T-shirt she'd had on—something with a university logo—to a black silk shirt that fluttered around her hips and thighs. She'd put on her golden sandals as well, and even something on her lips that made them seem even more pink.

  He took her hand and started to lead her to the front doors. "We start with a tour of Al Resab, which is somewhat modern, and then to the old souk to see the spices and clothes."

  Her hand began to drag at him, and he glanced back to see her frowning at him. They'd reached the front doors of the palace, and he stopped to see why she hesitated.

  "I'm not really much for shopping." She slipped her hand out of his, bit her lower lip, and then blurted out, "Actually, I'm on a tight budget and didn't bring much cash with me."

  With a laugh, he caught her hand again. "Have you never heard the joys of window shopping? Besides, you are an honored guest of Zahkim. You will find the merchants willing to gift you anything so that they might earn the pleasure of the royal house."

  Eyes wide, she stared up at him. "That sounds even worse. I can't just take things without paying for them."

  He shook his head and led her out to where his car waited. "You will offend everyone if you don't accept graciously. But if you wish it, you have but to take my hand, and I will find a way to both decline the gift and at the same time offer up assurances that it is not due to the quality of the merchandise."

  "You can do that?" she asked. "Okay, that's something I have to see for myself."

  The drive into Al Resab did not take long. Arif liked to drive himself instead of having a driver as so many others in the royal family preferred. He'd acquired a black Tesla Model X, and it never got out of the garage enough. Soon they were swallowed up by traffic and high-rises, the noise of the city kept distant by thick windows and the pop music Arif had playing on the satellite radio. Tess Angel's music had become a huge hit, and her new label was starting to turn out Middle Eastern pop-rock that Arif quite liked.

  Christine glanced out the window, and Arif offered up what he hoped were interesting facts about Zahkim, its hot climate, its lack of access to the shore, the hopes of a stronger economy with better education for the young, the recent reforms enacted by Tarek and Tess. Christine nodded and seemed to be listening, but Arif could tell she was only being polite. Her mind was probably back in the archives with those dusty books.

  He reached his destination—his downtown office—and changed his mind. He had thought to start here and end the day at the old souk—Al Resab's old marketplace. Now he could see that very little of the modern city would catch Christine's attention.

  Driving to a nearby parking garage, he left the Tesla with a valet and took Christine's hand. A few blocks later, they stepped into a narrow lane. Two more turns and they had stepped back centuries. Next to him, he could almost feel Christine's energy pouring out, setting the air tingling. Her eyes had gone wide and bright, and a smile lifted her wide lips.

  She dragged him at once into a bookseller and then to a spice shop, its wares spread out in baskets to catch the eye, the colors dazzling. He pulled
her into a silk shop, but she only glanced at the fabrics and then was out and into the rug shop next door. Discreetly, he accepted the gift of a prayer rug for her in pale pink and gold, arranging for it to be delivered to the palace. She started for a tea shop nearby, its scents strong and alluring, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him into a narrow alley, up a flight of stone stairs, and into a darkened room.

  "What is this place?" she asked.

  An ancient woman stepped from an arch that led deeper into the house. Arif gave her a bow and then waved to Christine. "Nadira, may I make known to you Christine Harper."

  The old woman fixed her dark eyes on Christine and smiled. "Ah, the one has arrived?"

  Christine stiffened, but Nadira was already moving to a brass table, where a pot with cool mint tea and colored glasses stood. As she poured, Nadira asked, "Have you come to set a date?"

  Arif ignored Christine's raised eyebrows and guided her to a seat on a low couch. "We have." Leaning closer to Christine—close enough to catch the scent of honeysuckle from her—he whispered, "Nadira is the most skilled astrologer in Zahkim."

  A laugh sprang to Christine's eyes. She covered a smile with her hand and whispered, "I don't be—"

  He cut off her words by pressing a finger to her lips. "We must honor our elders."

  Christine pressed her lips tight and folded her hands in her lap. Nadira poured tea for them, then pulled out paper and pen and ink. She started to ask Christine questions—where exactly she was born and when. Christine gripped her glass of tea, but gave polite answers. Nadira smiled and nodded.

  "Ah, March the tenth—Pisces, a good match for our Taurus prince." She drew the charts with deft hands and handed the results to Arif. "A full moon is auspicious for the sensual mermaid. The equinox is a date for the earthly Taurus. Between those dates look for fortune to smile on you." She turned to Christine. "A caution, child. In trying to walk the path of another, you will never find your own way."