by Laura Wright
She turned around. “Yes?”
“I wish to thank you.”
“For what?”
“Making this trip with me. It has been many years since I have been back to Emand. It will be a strange homecoming.”
Sakir clipped her a nod, then returned to his meal, seemingly unaffected. But Rita was sure she’d seen a trace of vulnerability flashing in those green eyes—a foreign emotion to the cool sheikh, she assumed—and couldn’t help but be intrigued.
He stared at his work, seeing nothing but a jumble of lines and shapes that seemed to be forming the outline of a woman on a bed.
With a growl of frustration, Sakir tossed the papers aside and reached for the little gold case on the table beside him. He rarely indulged in fine cigars, but the special blend of herbs that came from his country called to him now as he imagined Rita slipping out of her clothes and crawling into his bed.
He lit the thin cheroot, inhaled deeply and relaxed back in his chair, as outside the plane’s thick window the black night flashed by.
He was going home.
After too many years incommunicado, he was not entirely sure what to expect. No doubt, his brother would scorn him, but that mattered little. Sakir wanted only to win this account and, in the process, prove to his eldest brother, the reigning crown prince of Emand, that he had been mistaken in thinking Sakir wouldn’t amount to anything outside his country.
Sakir switched off the overhead lights, sat in the darkness and watched the smoke from his cigar drift upward toward the vent, making the shape of a woman’s curves.
She slept in his bed, between his sheets.
His wife.
He shook his head, took another drag of his cigar. She was not his wife. She was his business associate.
No woman would claim him that way.
Since leaving Emand, Sakir had become cold and hard—in body and in spirit. He wanted only to be immersed in his work and to build an empire of his own. When his body ached, he took a lover, but he gave himself to no woman.
In his mind’s eye, he saw Rita and felt her mouth beneath his as he kissed her once, quickly and without passion, at the altar. She had wanted more; he knew the taste of desire on a woman’s lips—and, God help him, he had wanted to give it to her. But he would not. He had grown to depend on her and he was not about to allow his desire to overshadow his responsibilities.
His manservant entered quietly. “Do you need anything, Your Highness?”
The woman who lay sleeping in his bed.
“No.”
When his servant left, Sakir took another drag of his cigar and reveled in the peace of the darkness.
Five
The Emand airport buzzed with activity. Tourists and locals bandied about looking for luggage and unoccupied taxis, while airport personnel shouted at them for not having the proper tickets and identification.
But for Rita Thompson, or rather Rita Al-Nayhal, things were far simpler. Meeting her and Sakir at their private gate were ten guards and four attendants, all ready to do as the sheikh and his wife bid them.
Within ten minutes of landing, she and Sakir were whisked out of the airport and deposited in separate limousines. Rita had little time to be shocked, not to mention annoyed, by the strange gesture, because in seconds the door to her limousine opened and Sakir stepped inside, wearing a white caftan with gold trim and a staid expression on his handsome face.
An enormous guard with wide brown eyes and olive skin stood in the doorway. “Your Highness, this isn’t wise.”
“I did not ask for any of this, Fandal,” Sakir said, irritation threading his voice. “I did not come to Emand on ceremony.”
“Yes, Your Highness, I understand this, but you see His Royal Highness—”
Sakir shot the large man a look so paralyzing he actually took a step back. “I see only that my brother has a hand in this. And I do not accept.” Sakir reached out, grabbed the handle and shut the door.
“Drive on,” he commanded the chauffeur.
Rita watched Sakir as they took off down the city streets. His face showed little emotion as he seized several documents from his briefcase and began to study them. In his offices in Texas, Sakir was a serious and intense businessman, granted; but in his country, he seemed rigid. He looked as though he needed to lighten up a little before he cracked in the desert heat.
“You know, I’m really flattered, Sakir,” Rita said, her tone relaxed, almost playful.
“Why is that?”
“Well, you wanted to ride in my car and not one of your own.”
He glanced up from his work, his gaze impassive. “It is tradition for royalty to ride separate from their family.”
She grinned broadly. “I like a man who breaks with tradition.”
A hint of a smile ruffled his sensuous mouth and his eyes softened—just a touch. “I ride here with you because I must make a statement to my family. I am no longer one of them.”
“A member of the family or a royal?”
“Both.”
“You might reject that notion, Sakir, but look at this.” She gestured about. “Limo, private plane, bodyguards— I’m afraid you’ll always be a prince.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I may have been born to this life, Rita, but I am not a part of it. Not anymore.”
“Does that mean I won’t be meeting your brother?” she asked as outside the desert landscape whizzed by.
“I imagine you will meet him.”
He didn’t sound pleased about the introduction and Rita couldn’t help but wonder what in the world had happened between Sakir and his family that had driven him out of Emand and driven the people closest to him out of his heart.
“Do you have other family besides your brother?” she asked.
“I have a nephew.”
She was surprised. “Your brother’s married?”
“No. He fathered a child. The woman did not want the boy, she wanted financial freedom instead.”
“How horrible.”
Sakir didn’t agree or disagree, just explained. “Zayad gave her riches in exchange for his child.”
Rita couldn’t imagine such a thing. “Your brother sounds like a good man.”
Sakir’s eyes darkened, as did his mood. “Perhaps we should talk of protocol now.”
“Getting too personal, am I?” she said in jest, determined to keep the mood as light as possible.
“You are.” Sakir gave her a dangerous smile, his gaze intense. “But I was prepared for personal.”
Butterflies in the belly, she thought drily. Well, she hadn’t felt that in years. “You were saying something about protocol?”
He nodded. “You are my wife, Rita. This does not mean the same here as it does in America.”
“Is this about my clothes,” she asked, smoothing down her blue silk dress. “Do I need to be wearing something more traditional?”
“No. You look—” he paused, his gaze moving over her, slowly, intently “—very beautiful. The color of your dress is magnificent with your eyes.”
She felt her cheeks warm. “Thank you.”
His gaze remained fixed. “No, this is about behavior.”
She laughed with piqued amusement. “I’m not curtsying or kissing your feet or anything, Sakir, so you can just forget it.”
“There will be no curtsying.”
“Good to know.”
He shot her a penetrating stare. “And I would never ask you to kiss my feet, Rita.”
Heat coiled within her at his gaze. How did he do it? How did he make her weak and wanting with one look? It wasn’t fair.
“What are you asking of me, then?” she asked.
“I would wish for you to treat me with respect, that is all.”
“Of course. And you will do the same?”
He nodded.
Rita’s gaze suddenly shifted out the window and to the view of a lifetime. Breath rushed out of her lungs. “Holy cow.”
“What is wrong?
”
“Wrong?” She pointed past him. “Look at that. I’ve never seen such an amazing hotel.”
Surely Aladdin must’ve asked the genie in the lamp to conjure him up such a place, Rita thought, completely stunned. Situated high on a rugged desert landscape, with mountains behind it, sat an enormous fortress. Domes and balconies stretched high into the cloudless blue, the exterior brilliant in shades of gold and terracotta. “It’s like something out of a fairy tale,” Rita said with deep awe threading her voice.
Sakir didn’t even glance over his shoulder. “That is not a hotel.”
“What? It’s got to be—”
“That is my family home, Rita.”
She turned, stared at him. “You’re kidding?”
“No.”
“But it’s so beautiful and…”
“And?”
She laughed. “Well, enormous for such few to live there.”
He shrugged. “It is comfortable.”
She laughed again, this time at his apathy. “Just like the plane, right?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “I don’t get it. You left all of this for Texas?”
His gaze remained shuttered. “I left what is inside.”
Curiosity curled within her. His words were so daunting, so mysterious. More than anything in the world, she wanted to know what had happened here, happened to him and his family. But she seriously doubted that Sakir would ever share his past history with her. He was far too proud a man to let her see his scars, emotional or otherwise.
But she could, perhaps, scratch the surface.
“There’s something I don’t understand, Sakir,” she said.
“What?”
“You don’t want to be a part of this—of this royal life—yet we’re staying in the palace?”
He sighed. “I would not wish it. There are many places for us to stay. But for our clients, I’m afraid the palace is the only option. They are traditional. They would not understand my staying at a hotel when my family is here. Their trust in me would be compromised.”
“So you’re willing to toss out your principles for this deal?”
Sudden anger lit his eyes. “Do not speak to me of principles. Was it not you who fabricated an entire ceremony for the sake of your sister?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“It was a sacrifice. For her happiness.”
“You lied to many. Principles were tossed out, yes?”
“Yes, okay.” She shifted in her seat, faced him dead on. “So who are you making happy in this deal besides yourself, Sakir?”
His nostrils flared. “You could not possibly understand.”
“No, I think I understand pretty well,” she countered. She knew in her gut that he was back for more than scoring a major business deal, though she was pretty sure he wouldn’t acknowledge that fact.
“I see you wish to debate, Rita. And on most occasions I would be pleased to accommodate you.” His cool stare drilled into her. “But not today.”
“Fine.” Rita said nothing else, just eased back against the seat and watched Sakir’s family home grow closer. She wouldn’t push him for more—not right now. He had demons to wrestle with, a history she didn’t know anything about, and he had a right to his privacy.
For now.
They drove through three gates, each with several armed guards until finally they rolled up into a circular drive. A man waited at the top of the steps, handsome and almost familiar in his looks and manner. He wore a crisp white caftan and stood with his hands behind his back, very tall and proud as he watched the car approach.
Fandal, the olive-skinned uniformed servant who resembled an oak tree, opened the door, bowed low. “Your Highness.”
“He was not to be here,” Sakir hissed at the man as he stepped out of the car.
“He insisted, Your Highness.”
Sakir said no more. He helped Rita out of the limousine and then walked up the steps.
“Hello, Zayad,” Sakir said, his tone cool and his hand outstretched.
Zayad grasped his hand. “Hello, brother. It has been a long time.”
Sakir nodded, then turned to Rita. “I would like to introduce you to—”
“Your wife. Yes, I know.” Zayad grinned at Rita, then reached for her hand. “A pleasure.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Your Highness.”
“Zayad, please.” The handsome man with intense black eyes bent and kissed her hand. “After all, we are family now.”
Rita smiled. “Thanks for having us, Zayad.”
“You are most welcome.” He turned and motioned for them to follow him up the beautiful marble steps and into the palace. “You are a lucky man, Sakir. If I could only find a woman as beautiful as your Rita, perhaps I would take a wife myself.”
Sakir didn’t reply, but his arm snaked around Rita’s waist. “Are our rooms ready?”
“They are.”
“Good.”
The hall they entered was spectacular. It had gilded coffered ceilings with geometric moldings and landscape murals on the walls. Rita simply stared, her eyes widening as she took in the red marble floor that stretched out to meet a gold staircase.
Zayad gave them an easy smile. “I’m sure you would like to relax and perhaps take some refreshment.”
“We would,” Sakir said.
“Gana will take you to your apartments, then.” Zayad inclined his head before turning to leave. “I will see you both at supper.”
Sakir’s voice boomed through the hall after his brother. “We will take our meal in our rooms as you must be busy.”
With a chuckle, Zayad didn’t turn, but called back, “Not tonight, Sakir. Not tonight.”
Rita could feel the stiff annoyance of the man beside her and she reached for his hand. But Sakir moved away, clearly not able to accept her comfort.
A petite, dark-haired woman—very pretty and in her mid-twenties—bowed low and said nothing, but motioned for them to follow her.
They ascended the gold staircase and walked down a long hallway that sported several balconies, heavy with flowers and plants. The warm, jasmine-scented breeze wafted in through the open balcony doors, reminding Rita that she was in a foreign land—traveling and exploring for the first time in her life.
She smiled, said to Sakir, “Your brother’s very charming.”
“Yes,” Sakir said drily. “Women tend to fall in love with him at first sight, so I would ask that you remember you are my wife for the next three weeks. After that, you may do as you wish.”
She tossed Sakir a wry glance. “Is that anger or jealousy in your tone, Sakir? I can’t tell.”
“It is neither,” he muttered, though a nerve jumped in his jaw.
Rita smiled as she followed Gana into the rooms she and Sakir would be staying in for their three weeks of marriage. But her smile quickly faded as the room came into view. It was far too grand for a simple girl from a small ranching town in Texas, that was for sure.
The large living area was both opulent and warm. Painted in pale green and gold, it had an almost Asian flair, with Chinese tapestries and furnishings inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
“This is extraordinary,” Rita said, walking from the living area into a massive bedroom, which boasted a painted domed ceiling, royal-blue silk bed linens and a gold-encrusted canopy.
Rita stopped short. “Ah, Sakir?”
“Yes?”
She turned, saw him in the doorway of the bedroom, his green eyes burning with amusement.
“There’s one bed,” she said.
“I see that.”
Her heart tripped. “I understand that we need to keep up pretenses—”
“We are married, Rita.”
Was it her imagination, or did his gaze caress her? Was it her imagination, or was he implying that they sleep together for their own enjoyment and not because they were thrown together through a business deal?
“And it i
s a rather large bed.” His mouth was so firm, so sensual.
Heat pooled in Rita’s belly, then snaked lower.
He grinned. “Of course, I can sleep on the floor if that would make you more comfortable.”
Why was she so nervous? She was attracted to Sakir and had fantasized about sleeping with him. Rita swallowed hard, opened her mouth to say something, anything; she could barely think.
But before she could get one word out, Gana appeared beside Sakir, her gaze lowered. “Your Highness?”
Rita looked expectantly at Sakir, who in turn grinned at her and said, “She is speaking to you, Rita.”
“Oh,” she said, suddenly a little flustered. She smiled at the young woman. “I’m sorry.”
Gana looked up shyly. “Will you follow, Your Highness?”
“Of course.” Rita walked past Sakir, then paused. “Will I see you later or—”
His eyes burned with intensity as he said, “You will see me soon.”
Attempting to mentally cool her heated skin under such a gaze, Rita took a deep breath and followed Gana into a lavish changing room. There were gold accents and polished antique Chinese porcelain everywhere.
“I have drawn a bath for you, Your Highness,” she said.
The ever-present “Your Highness” title was slowly bringing Rita back to, well, reality—if that were even possible here. Especially as the pretty young woman before her started to remove Rita’s clothing—a very strange feeling, as no one had undressed her since her mother. And that had ended sometime around the second grade.
But Rita didn’t fight with the woman. She was here in this exotic, fantasy world for only three weeks. No matter what oddities turned up, she was going to go with the flow and hopefully have an interesting, educational and fabulous time in the process.
After Gana helped her into a lovely silk robe, she led Rita into a large, pale blue marble bathroom with high ceilings, French doors leading out to a terrace and two dark blue marble tubs, each the size of a small swimming pool.
Rita sucked in a breath at the vision before her, her mouth suddenly dry as the desert outside the open windows.
Rose petals skimmed the surface of one bath, while her gorgeous sheikh husband skimmed the surface of the other.
