Читать книгу Midnight in the Desert Collection - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 45

RASHAD WATCHED THE GREAT ORANGE-RED BALL sink below the horizon. It wouldn’t take long for there to be a drop in temperature that would continue to fall. Night descended fast in the desert. He had no concern. This had been his playground as a boy. He knew all of it. Should the unimaginable happen, such as another sandstorm, the GPS transponder he wore on his wrist would bring help.

He had no idea why Lauren wanted to visit the Garden of the Moon, but before the night was over, he would have his answer. She’d been quiet during their journey from the palace. Too quiet.

He looked back. Her white cloak flapped behind her as the wind blew here and there, tousling her blond curls. She rode as though she’d been born on a horse and allowed her mare, Zia, to follow behind his stallion. Smart woman, smart horse.

Zia was a product of the desert and had learned early to plant her hooves where Jabbar had already displaced the sand. That way she preserved her strength. Both horses had been packed with everything Rashad required for them to spend the night together.

His gorgeous tent intruder was out to seduce him in earnest. When he’d found her waiting in the sitting room, seduction had been on her mind. Unshed tears of a devil or an angel. It made little difference at this point.

Because she desired him on top of the mission she had yet to carry out, he was looking forward to the experience more than anything he’d anticipated in his life. Tonight there’d be a three-quarter moon. By the time they reached their destination and made camp, the lesser light would appear in the black canopy enveloping them.

Halfway there Rashad pulled back on the reins to allow Lauren time to come alongside him. He darted her a searching glance. Heat rising from the sand wafted before their faces. “Would you like to rest?”

“If you’re worried I’m tired, I’m not. But if you want to stop for a minute, that’s fine.”

“I think I do.” He reached for his water bag and drank his fill. She followed suit with her own.

Rashad had made camp hundreds, maybe thousands of times in his life, but never with a woman because he and his men always had to be on their guard. Having her along was an entirely new experience, and it raised the stakes.

As she lowered her bag, their eyes met. He could no longer see the color in hers, but the luminescence still shone through in the darkness. An enchantress. That’s what she was.

Eager to make camp, he tucked in his water bag and rode on without saying anything to her. She caught up to him again and stayed at his side. From time to time he gave her covert glances. To his continual amazement she looked around with an air of suppressed excitement. She seemed too happy. Nothing had ever twisted his insides like this before.

“We’re almost there. After we ride this long dune to the top, we will have arrived.”

“I can’t wait—” she cried, then raced up the slope ahead of him. She rode hard. The sight of her cloak flying behind her was like poetry in motion. Poor Zia had to be in shock.

None of his bodyguards had sounded an alarm. Clearly there were was no one out here tonight except the two of them. On a burst of exhilaration because he had another twelve hours alone with her, Rashad charged after her, bursting the bonds that had held him back.

Just once she looked behind her. When she saw him gaining on her, she laughed and urged Zia on. He overtook her before she reached the top. Feeling like a schoolboy, he leaped from the saddle.

While he waited for her to appear, he drew two parts of one of his tent poles from the camping gear and connected them. Once he’d buried the end of it in the sand, he tethered his horse’s reins to it.

In another minute she came riding up the crest. He walked toward her and reached for Zia’s bit to slow her down.

“That was wonderful!”

She dismounted without his help, sounding winded and carefree. If he hadn’t held her sobbing body in his arms several times, he wouldn’t know this laughing, happy woman was the same person. “What can I do to help?”

Rashad smiled as he led Zia to the pole to attach her reins. “We’ll unload the horses and put up our tent first.”

He’d purposely said our tent, not surprised he didn’t meet with any modest protest. They worked in harmony to get it erected. She exclaimed over the beautiful rug he’d brought to put on the floor of their small tent. More sounds of excitement poured out of her as he layered the rug with silk duvets and pillows.

“Those are going to feel good. You were right. It’s already getting chilly.” While they were watering the horses she said, “Are we going to make a fire?”

“No. It would spoil the effect.”

“What effect?”

“Moonlight. The essential ingredient to bring the garden to life. Didn’t Mustafa tell you?”

“No,” came her subdued response.

But someone else had.

“In the beginning, our tribe worshipped the moon god because they were a pastoral people who kept watch over their flocks at night. This garden you’re going to see represents the moon god’s abode. It’s a sacred place and ancient as time itself. The nearby oasis is the moon god’s gift to the tribe to make sure there’s an abundance of water to keep it green year-round. The palace was built there for that reason.”

“What a fascinating story. Thank you for enlightening me.”

For a long time she’d been playing her game with the expertise of a master, but once she saw the garden, he would bring it to an end. In a lithe movement he pulled a little pouch out of his saddlebag and handed it to her. “Here. Have some qandi.”

“What is that?”

“Candy. You Americans borrowed the word.”

He felt her smile as she dipped her hand inside and withdraw some sugar-coated almonds. “Um. These are delicious.” She took a few and gave him back the bag. He tossed several in his mouth before putting it inside the opening of the tent.

Rashad glanced up at the eastern sky. While they’d been busy, the moon had been making her ascent. It was time. “Walk with me up to the curl of the dune.” He reached for her hand. As their fingers entwined, he felt that same quickening in his blood, but it was much stronger than on the day of the sandstorm.

With each step of their short trek, he realized he’d been tempting fate all along. It was far too late to turn back now. He didn’t want to. In fact no power could make him. That was the terrifying part.

Lauren’s grandmother had told her that the sheikh had taken her to the Garden of the Moon, but she’d only talked to her about Malik and what had happened with him, not about the garden itself.

When they reached the edge and Lauren looked down, she could never have conceived of the sight that met her eyes. The man at her side squeezed her hand tighter, conveying emotion she thought she understood, but still waters ran deep inside him.

A drastic change had occurred in the landscape. The dune served as an escarpment. Below she saw fantastic formations laid out so perfectly, she let out a cry of astonishment. They looked like huge, fat topiary trees, the kind you see in the parterre gardens of the Orangerie at Versailles in France. Only they were made of sand sculpted by strange wind currents favoring this particular area of the dunes.

She was so staggered, it took her a long time to take it all in. Finally she exhaled a breath. “This is the most extraordinary, beautiful, out-of-this-world sight I’ll ever see in my lifetime. No wonder your tribe has always held this spot sacred. So do I,” she whispered.

It explained the half moon on the medallion King Malik had given her grandmother. Everything made sense. Her hand went automatically to her throat to feel it, forgetting it was no longer there. The same wind that had torn it off her had carved this monument. There were forces here she didn’t understand. Hairs lifted on her arms that had nothing to do with the chill of the night.

“Cold?” he inquired in a quiet voice, never letting go of her hand.

She was running hot and cold at the same time. “Yes.”

“It’s late. You go back to the tent. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Her pulse quickened as she started back. Already the wind, dancing about, had erased the footprints they’d made coming up. It is written in the wind was a phrase she’d heard many times. Now she understood what it meant.

The wind had changed her life. She wasn’t the same woman who’d flown to El-Joktor on a quest to know more about her grandfather. That woman had been buried in the sand. After her body had been transported to Al-Shafeeq, a new woman had been brought back to life by forces greater than she knew, by a man greater than any other.

Taking advantage of being alone, she lifted the tent flap and tossed her cloak inside, then went around the back. When she’d refreshed herself, she moved to the front and sat down inside the doorway to pull off her boots. After she’d held them over the sand and tipped them upside down, she emptied her socks and stashed everything in a corner with her cloak.

The wind blew enough that she lowered the flap to keep out the sand. It was pitch-dark inside, but she loved it. Still in her jeans and cotton top, she picked her side and climbed under one of the puffy quilts. Tucking the nearest pillow beneath her head, she lay there and waited while he did whatever needed doing to make their camp secure.

Soon she saw a small glow and watched his shadow as he moved about. After a few minutes the flap went up. He’d lit a lantern beneath an overhang with sides that prevented the wind from coming in. He set it on a rug he’d rolled out. Next to it sat a bowl of water and a pile of hand towels. He’d already removed his cloak and boots.

Her gaze flew to his in surprise. The black fires in his eyes started her body trembling. She lay there entranced. “Are you thirsty?”

“A little.”

He handed her the water bag. After she’d drunk from it, he put his mouth to the same place and drank. The gesture wasn’t wasted on her. She watched the way the cords worked in his throat. His male beauty captivated her.

“Hand me your boots. I’ll put them with mine.” She did his bidding. “Now stretch your hands toward me.”

She got to her knees and put out her hands. He knelt before her and dipped a towel in the water before washing them. The water was warm and scented with the faint fragrance of rose.

No one had ever washed her hands for her before. When he reached for another towel, she got a fluttery feeling in her chest. This time he began washing her face. With slow gentle strokes he covered her forehead and cheeks, her nose and mouth. With the tenderest of touches he wiped her neck and throat, even her ears.

Once he put the towel aside, she took a clean one. Imitating his actions, she washed his hands and forearms, wanting to bring him the same exquisite pleasure. His body was a miracle to her. She relished being able to touch him like this.

Another dip in the water and she was able to bathe his face to her heart’s content, from his widow’s peak to the crease in his bold chin. He’d shaved before coming. She marveled over his incredible olive skin burnished by the elements. His black eyebrows were beautifully shaped. His nose—every bold, rugged feature—was perfect to her.

Then there was his mouth. Like the mesmerizing dunes, its shape changed with his mood. Hard, soft, brooding, compelling. Sensuous. She put the towel aside, needing to feel it beneath hers. She ran her thumb across it, aching with need.

“Oh, Rafi,” her voice shook. “If you don’t kiss me again, I think I’m going to die.”

“I’ve already died several deaths because of you,” he whispered against her lips. “What a perfect mouth you have. I came close to eating you alive at the cabaret. That’s why I forced us to leave. I didn’t trust myself.”

He cupped her face in his hands and began with a series of light kisses he pressed to all the places he’d washed, barely grazing her mouth.

She wasn’t satisfied and protested with a moan. “Don’t tease me. I can’t take it.”

“Then show me what you want,” he said in a voice of velvet.

“You know what I want. This.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and covered his mouth with her own, not allowing him any hiding place. A profound hunger had grown inside her. She was after his soul and his mouth was the conduit.

“Lauren—“ he cried her name. His hands roamed her back and waist, drawing her into him as they drank both deeper and deeper. Her passion for him was so intense, her body quivered.

He lay her back down and followed her, giving her the kiss she’d been dying for. He was starving for her, too. She knew he was, but after a few minutes she seemed to be doing most of the work.

While the cold wind blew against the tent, a fire roared inside her. Her body, her senses yearned for him. Every kiss had grown more intoxicating, yet she felt he was still holding back and couldn’t understand it. Was something wrong?

“I want you, Rafi, and know you want me. I want you to love me all night,” she cried from the depths of her being. “What’s stopping you? Have I grown less desirable?”

“No.” He sounded so distant. How could that be when only a little while ago he’d washed her hands and face in a ceremony so erotic, she would never be the same again. “You’re infinitely desirable and you know it.”

“Then—”

“Tell me who you are, Lauren Viret,” he broke in.

“Who am I?” she whispered dazedly. She didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“The Garden of the Moon is a sacred place of the royal family no one knows about, yet you admit you had knowledge of it before you came here. You claim that it was Mustafa who informed you. But if that’s really true, then he will have to be punished.”

“What?” Her intoxication had been so complete, she could scarcely comprehend he’d brought an end to their rapture. She sat up to clear her head.

“Mustafa knows there’s a penalty for divulging that information.”

“No—” she cried out, putting her hands on his arm. “He wasn’t the person who told me. I swear it! He’s a good man who saved me from the storm.”

Rashad raised up on one elbow. That mouth she loved had tightened to a thin line. She felt his body go rigid beneath her fingers. “Who then?”

He was deadly serious, sending her into shock. “Someone else told me about it.”

“Was it Prince Faisal?”

At the mention of the name, she drew in a surprised breath.

“You do know him—” Suddenly Rafi sat up and became the forbidding chief of security.

“No—” she cried, shaking her head.

His hands circled her arms. “Don’t lie to me, Lauren.”

She could hardly swallow. “I’m not, but I did recognize the name just now. Paul, the man who wanted to marry me, told me he’d met a minor prince from the northern Arabian kingdom at the casino in Montreux. He’d said his name was Faisal.”

“When was this?”

“A month ago, maybe less. He got an interview with him and some pictures.”

“Go on.”

Lauren moistened her lips nervously. “There isn’t much to tell except that he told Paul there were photographic opportunities in the Nafud where he would rule supreme one day. When Paul came back to the apartment, he begged to come with me to the desert, but I’d already told him no. Why did you bring up his name to me?”

Lines bracketed Rafi’s mouth. “He’s the son of King Umar’s brother, a man out to cause trouble within the Shafeeq family. It’s no secret he intends to become king when King Umar dies.”

“But King Umar has a son! Princess Farah said he would be king some day.”

“Yes. But that won’t stop Faisal from staging a coup.” Rafi let go of her arms. “He’s waiting for news of the king’s illness and how close he is to death, but his informers can’t get into the palace. Since you refuse to tell me the name of the person who told you about the Garden of the Moon, I made an assumption that there was a connection between you and Faisal. Only a handful of people know about the Garden of the Moon.”

“You think I’m a spy? “

His eyes glittered dangerously. “Given the facts, what am I supposed to think?”

She couldn’t believe this conversation was taking place. “The person who told me about the garden is dead now.”

“If you’re not working for Faisal, then what’s the real reason you’ve come to Al-Shafeeq?”

“I’ve already told you,” she said in a low voice. “Yes, but how do I know you were telling me the truth?”

Lauren moaned. Don’t ask me any more questions. She knew he was only doing his duty for King Umar, but it hurt her so badly she didn’t want to talk anymore. He was torturing her. “Why don’t you answer me?”

“With your intelligence-gathering team, it would be a simple matter to find out.” She was getting in too deep and wanted to howl because it seemed her night of ecstasy wasn’t going to happen.

“You lied about Mustafa. Why?”

Help. “To protect someone.” Me. My grandfather. The royal family.

“You refuse to tell me who it is?”

“I can’t tell you,” she cried in anguish. “Have you never made a promise to someone you swore to keep to the death?”

He examined her upturned face, searching for any sign of weakness. After a tension-filled silence he said, “One.”

“So have I, Rafi. One promise in the whole of my life. I can’t break it, not even for you.”

“Why?”

“Because it could hurt certain people.” She drew in a fortifying breath before removing her hands to hug her upraised knees. “Believing that I have lied to you all along, why did you bring me here?”

“To uncover your secret.” His voice sounded like the lash of a whip.

“I see.” Her heart almost failed her. “Thank you for being honest with me. I thought you wanted to make love to me.”

“I do.”

“I wanted it, too,” her voice throbbed, “more than anything you could imagine. But this thing is between us now. I can’t get past it.”

“You lived with it before I asked for the truth,” he reminded her. That tone of mockery was back.

“I know this won’t help, but I’m going to say it anyway. The person who told me about the garden didn’t know this place was sacred. Now that you’ve explained, I’ll make you a promise. No one will ever hear about it from me. When I fly away from Al-Shafeeq, the desert wind will sweep all memories from my mind.”

She moved away from him and pulled the quilt over her. Beyond tears, she clutched the pillow, praying for sleep to come and bring this bittersweet night to a close.

Outside the tent she heard movement. She could have sworn he said something to the horses, then the light went out. While she lay there holding herself taut, he got in beside her, rustling her covers. He reached over and rolled her into him.

“After being outside, I need your warmth.” His mouth descended once more. It was a kiss hot with desire.

Her body quivered before she tore her lips from his and buried her face against his throat. “It’s too late. I’m a liar. You hate me for it.”

“I would love to hate you,” his voice grated, running his hands through her blond silk curls. He wrapped his arms around her. “Your body gives off heat like a furnace. Lucky is the man who warms himself next to you. I’m looking forward to holding you all night.”

Being in his arms like this was divine torture. “I’m not going to ask about the women in your life because we’ve already had that discussion.”

“You have an excellent memory.” She felt his lips kiss her hair and brows. “What will you do when you’re back in Geneva?”

“I’m not sure.” The idea of going to America and starting a new life sounded absurd now. In fact, the thought of leaving this tent was anathema to her.

“Have you no relatives to go to?”

“No. My parents died six months after I was born.” Ask me to stay, Rafi, and I will. “But I have friends and plenty of money from my grandmother.”

“Tell me how she came by her money.”

“She was a Melrose from New York. They were in the manufacturing business and they made a fortune before they sold the company, granting my grandmother an income for life. Did I tell you she was a fabulous horsewoman?”

“She taught you well. You ride like one of my countrymen.”

“I believe you just paid me a compliment.” She would always cherish it. “In New York, we rode all the time and traveled everywhere together. She willed me everything including the apartment in Montreux.”

“Why Switzerland?”

“Because it’s so beautiful. Have you ever been there?”

“Yes.”

“If I’d known you sooner, I would have invited you to the apartment. I can tell you’re a horse lover. My grandmother would have loved talking horses with you.”

His hands stopped roving over her back. “How do you know about my love of them?”

“I see the special way you care for them. A little while ago I heard you talking to them outside. There’s a bond some people have with their horses. My mother had that same bond. She and my grandmother were very close. Now they’re all buried next to each other in Montreux.”

“That’s where your roots are.”

Some of them.

“I was born in New York, but we left for Switzerland when I was a child. I suppose that when I go back, I’ll finish working on Richard Bancroft’s journals. One day they’ll be ready for the publisher.”

“The way you refer to him, I take it Richard wasn’t your grandfather.”

She swallowed hard. “No.”

“Then who was your mother’s father?”

“That was my grandmother’s secret.” Like grandmother, like granddaughter. “Celia came from a time when you didn’t talk about certain things.” Lauren had already told him much more than she should have. “Goodnight, Rafi.”

When she tried to turn away, he kept her held against him and locked his legs around hers. She was so on fire for him, she was afraid she’d stay awake the rest of the night. But she hadn’t counted on how wonderful it was to lie in his arms where she could feel his heart pounding against hers. He was a bastion of safety. The sense of being protected came as a revelation. She nestled closer to him and knew nothing more until the smell of coffee brought her awake.

Lauren sat up with a start because Rafi wasn’t still holding her. Outside the tent, the sky was blue. Inside was warm. She didn’t need her covers. No telling how long the sun had been up.

“Rafi?” She hurriedly reached for her socks and boots and put them on. He’d already been doing housekeeping chores. She wanted to help.

“Good morning, Lauren,” he said in a voice an octave deeper than usual. His penetrating black gaze took in her complete disarray. He on the other hand looked magnificent as always. “Sleep well?”

The wind had died down. She pushed the errant curls out of her face. “What do you think?”

His lips twitched. When they did that, she almost had a coronary. “I think you should sleep with a man more often.” But Rafi didn’t mean himself. This was his goodbye speech and it hurt so terribly she wanted to cry it to the desert surrounding them. “Nine hours has done you a world of good.”

“Nine? I slept that long? When did you wake up?”

“Half an hour ago.” He handed her a mug of coffee he’d heated on a little burner.

She took a few sips. “Ambrosia. My compliments to the chef.” She looked around and decided to walk up to the edge of dune, but Rafi stopped her.

“Don’t.”

Lauren turned to face him. “Why?”

“Let the picture of last night be the one to fill your mind when you leave for El-Joktor tomorrow morning. Without the moonlight, its impact is lost.”

Tomorrow morning?

Pain caused her to take a deep breath. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“Try this.” He handed her a roll from one of the bags. “It’s sweet and will take the edge off your appetite until we return to the palace.”

“Do we have to get right back?” Then she shook her head. “Wait—don’t answer that. Duty calls and I’ve taken up too much of your time.” She finished her food before returning to the tent to roll up the quilts and carry everything out to the horses for Rafi.

He was in a mood she couldn’t decipher. Lauren knew that in his mind she had lied to him and continued to do so, but she felt no hostility from him. She sensed he had worries on his mind that had nothing to do with her.

Life without Rafi. It is what it is, Lauren.

Unlike her grandmother so many years ago, she wouldn’t be going home pregnant with her lover’s child. How much she suddenly longed to leave pregnant with Rafi’s baby. He would never know and she could never tell him.

She worked faster to stave off her pain. Without his asking, she helped him dismantle the tent. Once the stakes and poles were packed, they were ready to leave. She threw on her cloak and headscarf before mounting Zia, but inside she was groaning from unbearable heartache.

He approached her side on his stallion and flicked her a glance. Their eyes clung for a moment. “Ready?” She nodded. They started out, making faster progress than they had last night. The horses knew where they were going. Zia was happy to have free rein.

Lauren purposely fell behind Rafi so she could feast her eyes on him in his robe and headdress for as long as possible. This episode in her life was fast coming to an end. She didn’t want to miss a second of it.

Every so often they stopped to drink from their water bags, then pushed on without talking. They’d said it all last night in the tent. Rafi wanted to hate her for lying to him. She could never get past that with him.

Before long they came in sight of the Oasis. Lauren had once read that a Bedouin burst into poetry and song when he saw the greenness after being many weeks in the sand-drenched wilderness. She’d thought it such an odd thing to do until she too had been out in it.

Ah, Rafi … I can’t bear to lose you.

The palace loomed ahead. They made their way to the west entrance where Nazir and two other staff were waiting for them.

“I’ll contact you later.” As Rafi dismounted, she scanned his face, which had been scarfed the whole time except for his eyes. With the bearing of a prince, he walked away from her and disappeared. Naturally his first priority was to report for work, but she almost begged him not to leave her.

Needing an outlet for her emotions, she leaned forward to pat Zia, then dismounted quickly.

“Welcome back, mademoiselle. A hot bath and a meal are awaiting you.”

“Thank you, Nazir.” While he escorted her inside, the two other men took care of the horses.

He left her outside the door of her suite and she hurried inside. After removing her cloak and boots, she quickly discarded her clothes and stepped into the bath. Rafi had ordered it especially for her because he knew how good it would feel after riding beneath a blistering sun.

But wonderful as the scented water felt lapping around her head and body, she’d sell her soul for another night like last night. She closed her eyes, replaying every second from the moment he’d started washing her hands with the towel.

He’d created a world of beauty for her inside that tent. They were the acts of a man who worshipped the woman he loved. If there were no lies to have destroyed his trust, would he have worshipped her enough to ask her to stay here at Al-Shafeeq because he couldn’t live without her?

She knew what her answer would be, but realized the question would never pass his lips.

After his shower, Rashad hitched a towel around his hips and drank a cup of black coffee. He’d had his sources checking on facts for him since early morning. So far everything Lauren had told him was the truth.

There had indeed been a Melrose family from New York that had made a fortune in manufacturing. Certain other facts had also been verified. As for Mustafa, she’d even admitted lying about him in order to protect him because she didn’t want the poor man punished. She’d convinced him Faisal hadn’t been involved, too.

He tossed the medallion and chain in his palm. The gold he held in his hand proved she’d come to Al-Shafeeq on a mission she still refused to talk about. But even not knowing the reason hadn’t mattered to him last night. He’d wanted to make love to her and would have, but for the one thing his father had engrained in him from the time he’d come of age.

“You’re a prince, destined to be king, Rashad. Enjoy our women at your discretion, but stay away from forbidden fruit. The strongest man can be tempted to take a bite. Once he does, he will eat the whole and lose his way because of it.

“You, my son, don’t have that luxury. For that to happen to you will bring disappointment to your mother and me, but that is nothing compared to the shame and dishonor you will bring upon yourself. You cannot reclaim your honor once it is gone, therefore you cannot be an honorable husband and father to your children, let alone serve a nation that needs its strongest son to rule.”

When Rashad would have lost his head at the last moment, a picture of his wedding night to an innocent Princess Azzah in a month’s time wouldn’t let go of him and cooled his blood.

Tomorrow morning Nazir would accompany Lauren to El-Joktor. As he should have done yesterday, but for Rashad’s need of her. It was so great, he’d gone off with her instead. Now his agony was at its zenith.

Today he would fly to Raz and immerse himself in work. He might even stay over in order to avoid further temptation and not return to the palace until tomorrow after she’d gone. It was a lame plan, but he was a desperate man.

Even if he pressured her enough to know the whole truth, it would change nothing. His life’s path had been set from the moment he was born. She was the forbidden fruit. The ultimate test. He checked his watch. Twenty hours from now, she’d be gone. Forever. That word was so hideous, he couldn’t dress or get away from the palace fast enough.

Once he reached Raz, he drove the Jeep to the outskirts where the foundation of the new refinery would be built. After levering himself from the seat, he walked around the perimeter, wanting to get a feel for it before the actual work began.

His plan for a new era of prosperity was about to get underway. In time they’d make enough money to build more infrastructure. The list of things to be done stretched from one end of the kingdom to the other.

He looked all around, brushing the sweat off his brows with his forearm. On the one hand, Rashad had been blessed in abundance. On the other, he was denied the one thing that brought a man true happiness.

According to his father, Rashad couldn’t have that. He was a prince, and that kind of happiness was for ordinary men like Tariq. His assistant couldn’t wait to go home every night to his bed where he found the woman he loved waiting for him.

Rashad’s father had been right about one thing. He’d tasted Lauren last night and her fruit had been so sweet, he knew he would crave it over and over again for the rest of his life. That was his penance.

How many years was he going to be tortured by her taste? One misstep had already eaten away at his soul. His eyes smarted.

He supposed if there was one mercy, it was that Princess Azzah would have no expectations. Undoubtedly she too had a secret love she would have to say goodbye to in order to obey her own father. Rashad could conceive of no greater hell than to sleep with her when both of them would only be going through the motions in order to produce offspring.

His father had done it. So had his mother. So had his grandparents. Somehow they’d all lived through it and survived.

In the end, was that all it meant? To survive?

His thoughts were so dark and grim, Tariq had to remind him his phone was ringing. He glanced at the caller ID. Why would Farah be phoning him? If it wasn’t about their father, then this had to do with Lauren. He felt a rush of adrenaline before he clicked on.

“Farah?”

“Forgive me for disturbing you. Can you talk?”

“Yes.” He walked a little distance off where the others couldn’t hear him. “Is this about Father?”

“No. It’s about Lauren.”

His body tautened. “Go on.”

“I don’t quite know how to say this.”

He shifted his weight. “Just come to the point.”

“Lauren isn’t like the other women you’ve enjoyed over the years, Rafi. I’m afraid she has taken your attention too seriously.”

His hand formed a fist. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve been with her this afternoon. She told me she’s leaving tomorrow, but she shows all the signs of a woman who doesn’t want to go.”

Tell me something I don’t already know, Farah. The thought of Lauren never coming back was destroying him.

“You’re usually so careful. I think she’s really hurting.”

“What would you have me do?”

“I don’t know. Talk to Father. Tell him you’re not ready to get married and see where this thing leads with you and Lauren. I like her very much.”

“It can’t lead anywhere. You know that.”

“No, I don’t know that! You’ll be king one day. Prevail on father to change the rules. A good king is a better king if he’s happy!”

His throat swelled because Farah was his champion. “You want me to change centuries of tradition to take what I want?”

“Yes—if it means you can live your life with the woman you love.”

“I never said I loved her.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re a different man since you flew her out of the sandstorm. There’s a look in your eyes I’ve never seen before. Our sisters have noticed, too. If you let her go, then you have a stone for a heart. When father’s gone, you won’t have to worry about filling his shoes. Yours will crush his.” She rang off.

The silence on the other end deafened him. He spun around and raced back to his Jeep. Tariq joined him in the front seat. “What’s wrong, Your Highness?”

“You don’t want to know. I have to get back to the palace immediately.”

En route he phoned Nazir and told him to keep an eye on Lauren’s activities. Nazir was able to tell him she was having dinner in Princess Farah’s suite. Rashad gave him further instructions about the plans for her flight to El-Joktor in the morning, then he hung up.

Once he arrived at the palace, he went to his suite for a shower and change of clothes. He decided to wear a suit in a stone-gray color with a white shirt and tie. After a visit to his office to clean up some paperwork, he left for the garden suite with the half dozen newspapers he hadn’t read that morning.

Normally he scanned them before leaving for Raz. He didn’t trust the television to tell the truth about anything. The printed news wasn’t much better, but there were a few editorials that informed to a certain extent.

He let himself inside Lauren’s suite and turned on the lamp at the desk after ordering his dinner and a carafe of hot coffee. While he waited for it to arrive, he made a call to his mechanic to be sure everything would be ready for tomorrow’s flight.

Once he was served his food, he sat down and began reading. By the time he’d gotten to the fourth newspaper, he heard the door open and looked up.

The blonde woman who entered the sitting room wore the sleeveless black dress from her luggage and a pair of black high heels. Between her stunning face and figure, his lungs tightened in reaction.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw him. “Rafi—I didn’t realize you were in here or I would have left Farah’s suite sooner.”

“I only got back from Raz a little while ago.” He put down the paper. “In another minute I would have come looking for you. How was your dinner with Princess Farah?”

“We had a lovely time.”

“What did you do?”

She stood there, rather nervously, he thought. “Mostly she talked about her brother. Their thirty-fifth birthday is coming up and she’s in charge of getting the present for him while her sisters plan the party. We discussed everything from horse blankets and saddles, to a bronze of some kind for his desk. She still hasn’t made up her mind.”

He nodded and got to his feet. “And what did you talk about?”

“This and that.” She rubbed her arms. “Look—I’ve imposed so much on your time I feel guilty. You don’t have to keep me company. I need a good night’s sleep before I leave in the morning. Why don’t we just say goodbye now.”

“You want to say goodnight?”