Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6

by Jennifer Lewis

  “I hope you’re right.” Aliyah smiled shyly. It was a lot to hope for when she’d already been blessed more than she could imagine. “Nasri and Parsia have already begged me for a little sister or brother.”

  “I admit I’m totally bummed that you’re all moving so far away.”

  “It really isn’t that far!” she protested. “And Gibran bought me a very fast car so it’s even closer now. I’m going to teach my new mother-in-law to drive, too. She’d never done it either. For some reason Gibran never thought to teach her.”

  “I heard you guys get along really well.”

  “She’s fantastic. We have a lot in common—beyond the obvious!—and she has a great sense of humor. My kids adore her. We’re really going to enjoy living with her, so I won’t miss the palace as much as I thought I would. I will miss you and Sam and I promise to visit at least once a week, if not more. And of course all of us will be staying at the palace for the upcoming games.”

  The event they’d carefully planned was only a few weeks away. Gibran looked forward to finally ending the violence, but he wouldn’t discuss his plans with anyone—even her. “What you don’t know won’t kill you,” he teased.

  “Wow, I guess Gibran doesn’t need his crutch any more.”

  Aliyah turned to follow her gaze and was horrified to see her fiancé striding toward her, barely limping, in a blue ceremonial robe with a dagger tucked into the sash at his waist.

  “He’s not suppose to put weight on that leg! Oh, this husband of mine is impossible.”

  Ronnie laughed. “That seems to be an Al Kilanjar trait. I suspect he’ll be running around long before the doctors predicted, too. Sam and I have just learned to go with the flow.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to do the same.” Aliyah smiled. Gibran looked impossibly handsome and barely winced when Nasri rushed up to him and tugged at his robe.

  “Sweetheart! Don’t pull on him like that.”

  “No worries.” He swept her up into his arms, making Aliyah cringe at the extra weight he was putting on his injured leg. “I’ve never felt better in my life than I do today.” He kissed Nasri on the cheek. “But I have to put you down because I need my hands for something important.”

  Gibran reached into his pocket and pulled out the traditional necklace of coins that a man presented to his new bride.

  “Ooh, it’s so pretty!” Nasri stared at the bright gold.

  Aliyah smiled as he fastened it around her neck. During her first marriage, the moment had felt tawdry, like the aging king was paying with gold for his young and innocent bride.

  This time she felt like just another one of those excited and hopeful young girls at the annual marriage ceremony in Nabattur, embarking on an adventure with a handsome young man who intended to cherish and protect her.

  Gibran offered his arm and they walked, rather slowly so as not to aggravate his injuries, to a rose-covered arch set up in the garden. They both knew the ancient vows that children learned at their mother’s knee, and that were repeated in the local songs and stories they’d both grown up with.

  Their voices mingled as together they pledged to care for each other, to share the joys and burdens of raising children together, and to celebrate each day as if it was their first, or their last.

  Aliyah’s heart thumped as Gibran lifted her hands in his for the final promise. “Bakar neris ilyrimas,” he murmured his eyes locked on hers. I trust you to carry my heart.

  She drew in a shaky breath as emotion roamed through her, and she repeated the same words, meaning them with every bone in her body. Then, eyes shining, they both spoke the final vows: “Ilyrimar fasir meris”–Your heart is safe with me.

  “I love you,” whispered Gibran. Aliyah’s heart squeezed. That declaration wasn’t in the ancient Ubarite ceremony, because usually the couples hadn’t known each other long enough to develop strong feelings and were just promising to be kind and thoughtful to each other.

  Although she knew it was “wrong” for them to have already kissed and made love, somehow the intimacies they’d shared made these promises so much sweeter and more meaningful. Neither of them was a wide-eyed innocent, and they’d both been through so much that they truly knew what it meant to promise to be careful with someone else’s heart.

  “I love you, too, Gibran.” Emotion swelled inside her until she felt a hot tear run down her cheek. “I love you so much.” Her whisper faded as his lips pressed to hers and they celebrated their love with a long and joyful kiss.

  THE END

  DESERT KINGS

  Amahd

  Captivated by the Sheikh

  By Jennifer Lewis

  In Captivated by the Sheikh

  Amahd Al Kilanjar is all work and no play. Yes, he needs to choose a sensible wife and produce an heir, but he’ll fit that into his schedule when the time is right…or so he thinks.

  Mackenzie “Mac” Malone travels to Ubar for a job in the oil fields, and is startled when an innocent flirtation with a handsome stranger leads to an explosive kiss. A Texas country girl and a prince from an ancient dynasty? Impossible, surely…or is it?

  CHAPTER ONE

  “His bite is worse than his bark.”

  “What? Isn’t it supposed to be the other way round?” Mackenzie Malone did not like the sound of her new boss.

  “Thing is…” Bubba, the burly foreman who’d hired her, leaned in to whisper. “He’s a man of few words, so there ain’t much barkin’ to warn you. But he don’t suffer fools gladly, I’ll tell you that.”

  “I’m no fool.” She squared her shoulders.

  “Wouldn’t have hired you if you were. Wait here ’til I call you in.” He rapped twice on the door then stepped into the boss’s office, leaving Mackenzie alone in the marble-oilfloored hallway.

  The whole building was new, along with the oil field they were here to develop. Everything was big and expensive looking. Built to last, too, unlike the portable structures from her last job in Midland, Texas.

  “A female mechanic?” The deep male voice boomed loud enough to travel right through the tall wood door to the hallway outside. Where Mac braced herself. Another arrogant male who didn’t think a woman could turn a wrench. She should be used to it by now.

  She heard Bubba protesting that she had oil field experience and had passed his tests with flying colors. It warmed her heart to hear him stand up for her. He was the kind of blustering good ole boy who usually called her darlin’. She hadn’t expected him to hire her and she still suspected he’d never have interviewed her if she didn’t call herself Mac on her résumé rather than the obviously feminine Mackenzie.

  The Boss, as Bubba always referred to him, spoke English but with a foreign accent. He was one of the royal princes she’d caught a glimpse of at the big wedding she’d attended when she came to interview. In a way it surprised her that someone like that even bothered to show up at the office. They were apparently richer than God.

  “Bring her in,” growled the faceless voice of the big boss again.

  Mac felt her stomach shrivel. She hoped he wasn’t about to send her packing. She’d just finished telling her whole extended family about her new job. She sure as heck didn’t want to tell them she’d been laid off.

  The door opened and she squared her shoulders and strode boldly in. Years of standing up to her brothers had taught her how to stick up for herself, if nothing else.

  Then she saw him.

  No way. No one’s luck is that bad. I must be mistaken.

  She blinked. Maybe it was a trick of the light. She couldn’t really see his face with all that sunshine blazing from the big window behind him. She drew in a shaky breath and thrust out her hand.

  She watched—everything seemed to be happening in slow motion—as he lifted his big arm. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal a tanned, muscled forearm.

  It has to be a different guy.

  Has to be.

  Then his fingers touched hers and a jolt of electricity
rocked her.

  Nope. Same guy.

  Her heart started pounding and she attempted to shake his hand while adrenaline rushed through her body and her blood heated to one thousand degrees.

  She’d kissed the boss.

  Kissed the prince.

  Kissed the man who held her future in his hands.

  Kissed him!

  Thoughts tangled in her brain and she wondered if she should make light of it—I believe we’ve met!—or something like that.

  But the frown that clouded his brow, and the grim expression that flashed in his dark eyes, stilled her tongue. She swallowed, hard.

  Finally he pulled his hand back and she jerked hers away and managed not to rub it hard on her pants to remove the burning wisps of heat that clung to her skin.

  “Miss…” He glanced down at the dossier on his desk. “Mackenzie.”

  She nodded. “That’s me!” It came out in a foolish chirp.

  And this was a guy who didn’t suffer fools.

  It was her fault, too. He was so handsome and serious, she couldn’t resist flirting with him. How was she supposed to know who he was?

  Her mind raced—along with her pulse—as he stared hard at the paper for a long moment. Probably trying to conjure a reason to fire her.

  “I’m excited to be working here,” she stammered. “I have a lot of oil field experience and I look forward to being a valuable part of your team.” She had to salvage the situation. This job was too good to lose. It paid almost three times as much as the equivalent in Texas and offered free Montessori day care for her daughter.

  He held her gaze for a breath stealing instant. “Your responsibilities will be demanding.”

  “I look forward to the challenge.” She jutted her chin at him. Did he recognize her? Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he was just pretending not to. Both possibilities were surprisingly disappointing.

  “Good.” His phone rang and he looked down at his desk, which caused her to sag with relief. He picked up his phone and started talking in another language, then nodded at Bubba, who gestured for her to head for the door.

  Once they were out in the hallway Bubba clapped her on the back. “See? He’s gruff but you won’t feel his bite if you do your job.”

  “I intend to make him very satisfied.” She swallowed.

  “He knows what he’s doing, too. Studied engineering at MIT and started his own oil exploration company before he turned twenty.”

  “Impressive.” What would Bubba say if he knew she’d flirted with Amahd Al Kilanjar at his own brothers’ wedding? That she’d approached him and even kissed him? She thought he was just another guest, since he’d been standing alone like her, looking awkward.

  And she’d done it in front of whoever happened to be watching, so sooner or later someone might recognize her as the woman who’d kissed him.

  Until then she’d do her best to pretend the flirting, the dance and the kiss had never happened.

  Amahd arrived at the palace just as his brothers and their wives sat down to dinner. Usually he ate alone in his own house, catching up on some work, but tonight he wanted the distraction of their babbling conversation, the bubbling palace fountains and bustling servants.

  He tried to remind himself that the red-haired woman was simply another employee. He’d worked hard to put her out of his mind the moment after their oddly unexpected kiss. He had no reason to think of her at all.

  “Amahd! I’m so glad you’re here.” Sam gestured to him. His brother Osman’s wife was always trying to rope him into family events. “We can talk about the tent-pegging contest. Zadir was telling me it’s tradition for the host to provide horses for all the contestants. Do we have enough?”

  Amahd eased into his seat and took a piece of fresh hot bread from a passing platter. “I’ll bring mine here. We must give all our guests the finest horses.”

  “Even if they’re trying to kill us?” Ronnie, his brother Zadir’s wife, lifted a brow.

  “We’re not sure who’s trying to kill us, my love.” Zadir kissed her cheek. “So we have to assume that our guests are our friends and allies—while at the same time also suspecting each and every one of them of the crimes. Our security forces are on high alert.”

  “And will remain so until we figure out who’s behind the attacks,” said Osman. “This whole contest is simply a means to an end. Our sole goal is to identify and deal with the culprit.”

  “And find a suitable bride for Amahd,” said Sam, with a sly smile.

  “What?” Amahd almost spat out his bread. “I’ll be far too busy running the contest. I’m the only one of you who really knows anything about tent-pegging.”

  “It’s too good an opportunity to waste,” said Sam. She sipped her rose water. “The rulers of three surrounding nations will be attending with their extended families, including—Osman assures me—all daughters of marriageable age. What better way to cement an alliance between nations?”

  “And you’re the last of us to take a wife.” Osman leaned in. “Since our father made marriage condition of taking the throne, you have to marry in order to become the true ruler of your territory.”

  “I’m ruling it just fine from behind a boardroom table,” he grumbled. Why did he need a fancy title? He’d never intended to be a monarch. His brother Osman was the firstborn son, but their estranged father had surprised them all by dividing the kingdom into three and splitting it among them.

  “Your people will expect it of you.”

  He couldn’t imagine the few thousand villagers in his unpopulated but oil rich section of the old kingdom could care much one way or the other. But, like his brothers, he’d done much of his growing up abroad so sometimes it was hard to figure out what the local people thought.

  “I’m not going to marry a child.” Some local customs made him shudder.

  “No one wants you to get betrothed to a well-born fourteen-year-old, Amahd.” Zadir laughed. “We want you to find a woman who will make you happy.”

  His brothers were annoyingly smug about their own happiness. Neither of them seemed to think it at all odd that they’d married foreigners—bold American women with their own careers—who knew nothing about their country or customs.

  He intended to make a more suitable choice, someone quiet and serious, who understood Ubarite customs and could help him follow them. On the other hand he wasn’t sure he was quite suited to a woman who’d never lived outside her family home and didn’t have any interests outside of getting married.

  “Who was that girl I saw you dancing with at the wedding party?” Sam looked up from helping herself to some spiced chicken. Mischief danced in her blue eyes—or was that an effect of the light from the hanging lanterns?

  “I have no idea.” What kind of name was Mac for a girl? When he’d seen her resume it hadn’t crossed his mind that the new hire would be female.

  “What nonsense. I introduced you! She was all by herself and I thought she could use a dance. I could swear I saw the two of you dancing together later on.”

  And kissing.

  Thankfully she didn’t mention that part. Hopefully she hadn’t seen it. He’d have to explain it as a trick of the light or confusion caused by the crowd. He certainly didn’t intend to pursue any kind of relationship with a girl who was now one of his employees.

  “Leave Amahd alone,” protested Ronnie. “He’ll find someone when he’s ready.”

  “Thank you.” He nodded to her. She was quieter and more reserved than her new sister Sam. And slim and dark, very elegant. He could see himself with an Ubarite version of Ronnie. He couldn’t see himself with a redheaded mechanic.

  The thought almost made him want to laugh or shake his head or get up and go for a fierce gallop, but he managed to distract himself by spooning roasted meat onto his plate. “We need to practice the tent-pegging games. So we can win.”

  “Wouldn’t it be prudent to let our guests win?” Osman lifted a brow.

  “Let them win?” Amahd
was shocked. “Then it wouldn’t be a contest. That would insult their skill and intelligence.”

  “There can’t be much to it,” said Zadir. “Don’t you jump on a horse, gallop like the clappers and toss a spear into a target, or something?”

  “That’s the gist of it,” Amahd took a deep breath. “But you need to be both the fastest and the most accurate. And as we all know, horses are unpredictable. The faster you ride, the more likely things are to go off the rails. But I have some ideas, some techniques we could practice, if you can make the time to meet me at the stables tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” Zadir beamed. “And it’ll give us a chance to find out which horses are cut out for it.”

  Osman squared his shoulders. “I’ll ride that chestnut I bought at the marriage ceremony.”

  “The one that threw you on the road and nearly killed you?” Sam’s eyes widened.

  “She’s a fine mare. Just needs a little more polish on her training.” Osman grinned. “She’s going to be your horse one day.” He looked at his wife with such love in his eyes that Amahd felt a little residual emotion wash in his direction. “But not while you’re pregnant, or course.”

  Both his brothers’ wives were now expecting. He had to admit they did glow like legend said they should. And there was a lot of talk about nurseries and schooling and big hopes for the future. If he did find himself a wife, or even a date, they’d probably pressure him to have children right away as well.

  And he wasn’t ready for that. Far too busy with work. Having to marry to become king was a serious annoyance. In some ways it would be ideal if he could forge a tidy marriage of convenience with someone who’d stay out of his way and let him get on with his life.

  But he didn’t want that either. When he married it would be for life, and for love.