The Desert Rogues Part 1
The Sheik’s Kidnapped Bride
The Sheik’s Arranged Marriage
The Sheik’s Secret Bride
The Sheik and the Runaway Princess
The Sheik & the Virgin Princess
Contents
The Sheikh’s Kidnapped Bride
The Sheikh’s Arranged Marriage
The Sheikh’s Secret Bride
The Sheikh and the Runaway Princess
The Sheikh and the Virgin Princess
The Sheikh’s Kidnapped Bride
by Susan W. Macias
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter One
A bride?
Prince Khalil Khan stared out onto the tarmac and told himself what he saw was nothing more than a mirage. He was familiar with the phenomenon, having experienced it both times he’d been stupid enough to get lost in the vast desert of El Bahar. He knew the telltale signs of shimmering heat, a wavering image, the sensation of pain pounding at the back of his eyes.
Unfortunately none of those symptoms occurred at this moment. It was January, not mid-July, and piles of dirty snow stood at the edge of the runway. So much for the shimmering heat. He had no headache—at least not one from staring at the mirage. The image in question neither wavered nor disappeared. It approached steadily in a determined fashion. There was also the small detail of this not being El Bahar. Instead, he found himself in the middle of an airfield in Kansas.
If this wasn’t a mirage, then a dark-haired woman in an ill-fitting wedding gown really walked toward him.
“I’ve committed a grievous sin,” he muttered to himself. “In a past life, if not in this one.”
The woman stopped in front of him. Her eyes, a nondescript shade of brown, were red-rimmed from crying. He bit back a sigh and a curse. He loathed weak females.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice husky, most likely from her emotional outburst. “I’ve been stranded here.” She motioned to the small airport that primarily served corporate jets. “This is going to sound a little strange, but I need a ride.”
He stared down at her, giving her what his grandmother, Fatima, referred to as his imperious look, although to him it felt no different from any other expression. “You don’t know where the plane is headed.”
The woman swallowed. Two bright spots stained her pale skin, making her look feverish and unattractive. “I know, but it’s not here. I need to get to a city.” Her fingers twisted together. “I’ve been stranded. I don’t have any luggage or regular clothes.” She tugged at the waist of her wedding gown.
He was almost curious enough to ask how she came to be left at the Salina Airport in a wedding gown in the winter. She had no coat, or if she did, she wasn’t wearing it. Perhaps she was unbalanced.
Just then, one of the glass doors opened and a tall, statuesque blonde came out of the terminal carrying a cup of coffee. Her short skirt exposed long, perfect legs, while her too-tight sweater outlined full breasts that jiggled with each step. When she saw Khalil, she waggled her fingers at him and smiled.
“I got some coffee,” she said, as if he couldn’t figure out what was in the clearly marked cup.
Again he wondered what trick of fate had brought him to this place in his life. What was supposed to have been a simple three-week business trip to the United States had turned into a hellish journey. His assistant, a pleasant and efficient young man, had been forced to return to El Bahar when his mother took ill. Both of the hotels Khalil had stayed in had lost his reservations, forcing him to sleep in a regular room instead of a suite. His jet had developed mechanical trouble, and the plane he’d chartered as a replacement didn’t have the fuel capacity to fly from Los Angeles to New York, hence the stop in this outpost of an airport. Last but certainly not least, his temporary secretary had an intelligence level in direct contrast to the size of her breasts. She seemed convinced that all she’d been hired to do was smile and preen. He’d made dozens of attempts to explain that he had actual work for her, but it was all beyond her capacity.
Now he stared at a lost bride who wanted his help. So ended his first week. He could only wonder what the other two would bring.
A steady throbbing began at his temples. “There are extra seats,” he said at last. “We are going to New York. You may come if you’d like, but please do so silently. If you so much as sniffle, I will put you out of the plane myself, regardless of our altitude.”
With that, he turned on his heel and crossed to the small corporate jet.
Dora Nelson stared after the stranger. He certainly didn’t understand the meaning of the word gracious, but then she was in no position to complain. Besides, if she was going to be critical about anyone’s behavior on this bright, sunny afternoon, what about her own? She was currently the reigning Queen of Stupid.
As far as she could tell, she’d only been really dumb twice in the past four or five years. Unfortunately both events had occurred within a few weeks of each other. Her first mistake had been believing that Gerald cared about her. Her second had been refusing to get back on his plane that morning. She supposed that a part of her hadn’t thought that her boss and soon-to-be ex-fiancé would really fly off and leave her stranded without her luggage, her purse, or even a coat. She had no money, no wallet, and most likely, no job.
At least she had a ride, she reminded herself as she picked up the trailing skirts of her wedding gown and walked toward the waiting corporate jet. Once in New York, she could phone her bank and get them to wire her some money. Which only solved one of her problems. She didn’t have identification, so flying a commercial plane was out of the question. Then there was that pesky detail of canceling her wedding. It was supposed to be in four weeks. Two days before, she’d been excited to mail out three hundred invitations. She was an idiot.
Dora climbed up the stairs of the jet. Her gown slipped off one shoulder, and she had to stop to jerk it back into place. It wasn’t enough that she didn’t have any regular clothes with her, but just to add to that particular humiliation, her dress was too small. The seamstress had delivered it that morning with a promise it would be perfect. Dora hadn’t been able to stand waiting so she’d tried it on during the flight. The seamstress had been wrong. The cool air nipped at Dora’s bare back, where the buttons couldn’t be fastened.
She entered the cabin, taking in the plush leather seats, matching sets faced each other. The incredibly beautiful young blonde woman she’d noticed earlier glanced up and frowned.
“Who are you?”
Dora tried to think of a witty response, but there wasn’t one. She muttered, “Nobody,” as she made her way down the aisle and collapsed into a seat at the rear of the plane.
The man, the tall, dark, incredibly handsom
e stranger who was her rescuer, sat directly in front of her. She leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Excuse me. I know you wanted me to be quiet, and at the risk of being asked to leave the plane, would you mind if I made some coffee?”
The man turned and stared at her. “You know your way around the galley?”
She resisted the urge to say “Well, duh.” After all, it wasn’t hard. But his brown-black eyes didn’t contain a lick of humor, and this had not been her day. She allowed herself a simple “Yes,” and waited.
He waved toward the tiny kitchenette. “Please. I would like some as well. Can you make it strong?”
“I can make it anyway you’d like.” She figured she would use two of the premeasured bags, then cut hers with hot water.
“I would ask you to show my assistant, but I suspect the details of the process would be beyond her.”
Dora stared at him, not sure he was kidding, yet knowing there was no way he was telling the truth. Anyone could learn to make coffee. She glanced up toward the beautiful blue-eyed blonde in her clinging clothes, and perfect makeup. Or maybe almost anyone.
Dora stood up, yanked her dress into place and made for the galley. Three minutes later, she had the coffeepot brewing. She took her seat, fastened her seat belt, and closed her eyes. Her life had taken a disastrous turn. Somehow she was going to have to get it back on track. Easier said than done.
She drew in a deep breath and then released it. The pilot made an announcement, which she ignored, then the plane began to move toward the runway. In a couple of minutes, they were airborne. Dora didn’t bother looking out the window. Flying in corporate jets had been a part of her job, and it no longer impressed her.
When they’d reached ten thousand feet, she got up and poured herself a half cup of coffee, filled the rest of it with water and popped it into the microwave. She took the man his cup. He thanked her absently. She supposed that some other time she might have been insulted to be treated like a piece of furniture, but today it suited her mood. She wanted to disappear. What she didn’t want to have to do is deal with the mess that was her life.
Why hadn’t she waited to mail the invitations? Why had she fallen for such a jerk? She should have known about Gerald, she told herself as she carried her steaming mug back to her seat. Maybe that was the problem, she thought sadly. Maybe some part of her had always suspected he was little more than a snake, using her to protect himself.
She continued to stare out the window, not really seeing anything, thinking and planning, wishing the next couple of weeks were already behind her. They’d been in the air nearly forty minutes when a heated exchange broke through her thoughts.
“I told you to line up these figures,” a frustrated male voice said. “You’re not doing it right.”
“Don’t be mad, Khalil,” the woman purred. “I’m trying.”
“Trying is not good enough. I need this report before we land. Never mind. When we get to New York, get off this plane and get out of my sight.”
Dora glanced up in time to see Khalil wrestling a laptop computer from the blonde. At least he hadn’t asked the woman to leave right now, she thought with a slight smile. She should be grateful.
Khalil turned to go back to his seat. When he saw Dora watching, he grimaced. “I suppose you think I’m unnecessarily cruel.”
Dora shrugged. “Not if she can’t work a spreadsheet program and that’s what you hired her for.”
“I was promised an efficient temporary assistant,” he said. “This is what I received instead.” He pointed to the woman in question.
The blonde was about as dumb as she was pretty. She half stood and waved at Dora. “I’m Bambi.” She smiled at Khalil’s retreat. “He’s a prince.”
Prince was not the word Dora would have used to describe the man, but he had given her a ride. “What computer program are you in?” she asked.
He glared suspiciously, then told her.
She shifted to the aisle seat and held out her hand for the computer. “Trust me,” she said when he hesitated. “If you don’t like my work, you can always personally escort me off the plane.”
He gave her both the laptop and a slight smile. He was amazingly good-looking, she thought, staring into deep, dark eyes. She didn’t know if it was genetics or sun that had darkened his skin, but it didn’t matter. The color suited him. Even the thin scar on his left cheek added to his appeal.
His chiseled features—straight nose, strong jaw, high cheekbones—made him look like an ancient statue come to life. He wore a gray suit that she guessed cost more than she’d made the entire previous quarter. With his broad shoulders and narrow hips, he was a walking, breathing cliché. She had to admit, she kind of liked that in a man.
Then she reminded herself that she was thirty, not pretty, and that every single one of the extra twenty pounds she carried were firmly planted below her waist. She was, to be slightly euphemistic, pear-shaped. Men like him did not notice women like her. Or to be a little more honest, no man noticed a woman like her. Except Gerald…and she’d discovered that morning that he’d just been pretending. It was all too much to think about right now.
She moved the cursor to the top of the spreadsheet and saw what Khalil was trying to do. “Where’s the raw data?” she asked as she realigned columns.
He reached for a manila folder, then motioned for her to slide back to the window seat. He sat next to her and pulled out several sheets. “I’m doing a comparison. We’re considering purchasing one of two companies. I want to do several cost analyses, then pull apart their income statements.”
Dora glanced over the pages he held, then nodded. She could have done the work in her sleep. “Do you want gross sales to be net of returns or do you want to analyze returns separately?”
Dark eyebrows rose slightly, then he answered her question.
Two hours later, Dora pushed the built-in printer back between the seats and handed Khalil his report. “There are two copies there,” she told him. “And you have the disk.”
Bambi still sat in the front of the cabin. She flipped through a fashion magazine, apparently unconcerned about her loss of a job. Dora wished she could be as blasé about her own circumstances.
The pilot came on over the intercom and informed them they’d been cleared to land. Dora took her seat at the rear of the plane and fastened her seat belt. She glanced at her watch and stifled a moan of dismay. It was after seven in the evening, which meant it was four in Los Angeles. How was she supposed to speak to someone at her bank now? She bit her lower lip. If she’d been thinking, she could have called from the plane, catching someone before the bank closed. But she hadn’t been thinking. It looked as if she was going to spend the night at the airport, sleeping on a bench. What a perfect end to her hideous day.
After they’d landed, she took her time standing up and leaving the plane. There was something especially humiliating about walking around in a wedding dress that didn’t fasten up the back, and she preferred to be humiliated in private. But when she walked down the narrow staircase, onto the field, she found Khalil and Bambi still standing by the jet.
“I said you were fired,” Khalil was saying.
Bambi smiled. “I know. Thank you, Khalil. It was so difficult working for you. Not just because your business stuff is, you know, so complicated, but because I could barely hold myself back.” She pressed her impressive body close to his. “I want you.”
Despite herself, Dora slowed to listen. She thought the only ongoing soap opera had occurred in her life. Apparently other people suffered from the same problem.
“Ms. Anderson, I have no interest in you, personally or otherwise. You are fired. Get out of my sight.”
Bambi pouted. Her lips were a perfect rosebud of bloodred. “You don’t mean that. You’re rich and I’m beautiful. We belong together.”
He stiffened, as if insulted. “I am Prince Khalil Khan of El Bahar. You will not question my word.”
D
ora felt her mouth drop open. Bambi hadn’t been kidding. He was a prince. A real prince. She frantically searched her memory for some information on El Bahar. Not much came to her, except a vague recollection that the country was somewhere on the Saudi peninsula, was ruled by a king with three sons and had long been neutral in political issues.
“But Khalil,” Bambi wailed. “I was Miss July.”
Dora’s gaze settled on Bambi’s body and didn’t doubt the young woman’s statement. She was incredible enough to be a centerfold. While Khalil showed admirable restraint and good taste, they would have made an impressive couple.
Khalil looked at Dora. “I don’t know your name.”
“That’s because you didn’t ask me,” Dora said, stepping toward him and holding out her hand. “I’m Dora Nelson.”
Khalil seemed momentarily startled by her forwardness, then took her hand in his. She’d had a split-second premonition, a voice in her mind calling out a warning, so she was nearly prepared for the jolt of pure heat that slammed through her when they touched. It was all she could do not to jump back. Khalil, of course, was completely unaffected. He released her hand and gave a slight nod.
The perfect ending to a perfect day, she thought, wishing she could laugh, or at least not break down sobbing.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, forcing lightness into her voice. “You’re a real prince.” She paused, pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Sorry. That came out wrong. I’m a little tired. But I am grateful.” She turned to go.
The Desert Rogues Part 1 Page 1
