Kitabı oxu: «Mills & Boon New Voices: Foreword by Katie Fforde»

Mills & Boon New Voices

featuring

Lynn Raye Harris
Nikki Logan
Molly Evans
Ann Lethbridge

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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“What Do Mills & Boon Novels Mean To Me?”

by Katie Fforde

The simple answer is, I became addicted. I started reading Mills & Boon® novels when my life was quite stressful. My husband and I were running a pair of narrow boats as a hotel, we started at Easter and we didn’t have a day off until we closed for the season in October. Having a book you could pick up and put down and keep abreast of the plot, where you didn’t have to read through a lot of dull stuff before you got to the “good bits” (Mills & Boon® novels are all “good bits.”) was a real prop. Two or three minutes reading, away from cooking, passengers, manhandling the boat, kept me sane.

And, oh, how I related to them! I loved the thought of meeting a sexy millionaire who would “take me away from all this.” I used to imagine a car stopping as I carried bags and bags of provisions back along the road to our boats, and somehow sweeping me away from my cares and responsibilities.

When we gave up our boat business and bought a house in Wales, I had babies. My time was even more limited and, with my husband away at sea a lot of the time, I was also lonely.

I found companionship in those books. If I had a little pile of them waiting to be read, I knew I could be transported in an instant, away from the nappy bucket, the coal shed and the chicken house.

Later, when my children slept better and I read with more discernment, I realised the books were not all the same. There were some writers I looked out for, Sara Craven, Penny Jordan, Sophie Weston, Betty Neels. I began to notice the different sorts of books and develop favourites. This was when I thought that I wanted to write one. I wanted to give to others the escape, the pleasure and the missing romance (my husband was a sailor!)that I had had from Mills&Boon® novels.

I also thought (in my naivety) that, as they were only half the length of most novels around at the time and they published many, many more of them each month than mainstream publishers, my chances of success must be better.

Eventually, when we got to Stroud, and after I’d had my third child, I started writing.

I loved it! I joined the Romantic Novelists’ Association and found other mad, totally committed, die-hard romantic women who only wanted to write novels for Mills & Boon and I made eight attempts. And failed.

It took me eight years to find out I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t create characters, plot and a stonking romance and fit it all into fifty thousand words and it was a sad revelation. But I learnt so much about writing I look at those eight years of failure as my apprenticeship. All writers should try and write for Mills & Boon and when they don’t make the grade they mustn’t fool themselves that their writing is “too good” for genre fiction. The fact is, they are extremely hard to get right and I salute all the authors who made it. I also thank them deeply, for all the happiness, escape and pure pleasure they have given me over the years.

Consequently, I am delighted to applaud and introduce to you four writers who got their personal camels through the eye of the needle and produced fantastic stories for Mills & Boon this year. Lynn Raye Harris, Nikki Logan, Molly Evans and Ann Lethbridge have all done a brilliant job, achieving publication in the Modern™, Romance, Medical™ and Historical series. (I’m only slightly jealous!) If you love romance, you’ll love Mills & Boon New Voices and, if you haven’t read a Mills & Boon romance for a while, this collection should make you remember just how good falling for a gorgeous man can make you feel. You can travel from an Arabian principality to Queensland, Australia to New Mexico’s Santa Fe and back in time to Regency England, all without moving from the safety of the sofa. There’s a desert prince, a rugged Aussie, a handsome ER doctor and a Regency earl all waiting to please you – irresistible? I hope so. It certainly works for me!

Love and best wishes,

Katie Fforde

To LB. I miss you.

And to Mike. My everything, times two.

LYNN RAYE HARRIS read her first Mills & Boon® romance when her grandmother carted home a box from a sale. She didn’t know she wanted to be a writer then, but she definitely knew she wanted to marry a sheikh or a prince and live the glamorous life she read about in the pages. Instead, she married a military man and moved around the world. These days she makes her home in North Alabama with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Writing for Mills & Boon is a dream come true. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com

Lynn Raye Harris now writes for Mills & Boon®

Modern™; her latest novel, The Devil’s Heart, was available in July 2010 and she plans to have a new book out in early 2011.

Kept for the Sheikh’s Pleasure

Dear Reader,

I read my very first Mills & Boon® novel when I was about ten years old. I don’t remember anything about it, really, except that it featured a desert sheikh, a beautiful Englishwoman and a lot of emotional scenes that made me worry whether or not everything would work out in the end.

Naturally, the romance did work out and the beautiful English heroine got to stay with the handsome desert sheikh who loved her so passionately. Oh, swoon. I was hooked. For the next several years, I read every Mills & Boon romance I could get my hands on. But if there was a sheikh in any of the books, that was the one I read first.

Fast-forward many years, and I am now a Mills & Boon® author writing my own stories of passion and happy-ever-after. It’s truly a dream come true to follow in the footsteps of my favourite authors. I have written stories featuring an ex-bullfighter, princes and even an ex-mercenary – but until now, I’ve not written a sheikh.

When my editor asked me if I wanted to write a sheikh for this story, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. I immediately could see the desert, the swirling sands, the heat and a gorgeous man dressed in the traditional white robes and flowing headdress. But who was his heroine? Finally, it came to me. This was a story about a second chance at love.

King Zafir bin Rashid al-Khalifa once had a passionate affair with American archaeologist Dr Geneva Gray. But the relationship didn’t work out for many reasons, not the least of which was the fact they came from two different worlds and had different expectations of what a life together might be like. Ten years later, when they meet again, circumstances have changed quite a bit. The one thing that hasn’t changed, however, is their need for each other.

I had so much fun writing Zafir and Genie’s story and I hated letting them go in the end. I hope you’ll agree that it’s a passionate and beautiful love story when you’ve finished. So sit down, get comfortable and let yourself be swept into the desert for a few hours. Feel the heat, see the sand, smell the spices. Enjoy.

Visit me at www.lynnrayeharris.com to learn more about my forthcoming books. Or just stop by and say hello. I’d love to hear what you think about my stories!

Best wishes,

Lynn Raye Harris

Chapter One

DR. GENEVA GRAY was asleep in her tent when the ruckus outside awoke her. Last night she’d fallen into bed so exhausted that she’d not undressed. Consequently she had nothing to pull on except her shoes before she stumbled outside in the pre-dawn darkness to see what the commotion was.

A group of riders in traditional desert garb whirled their mounts through the encampment, poking into bags and boxes and upending all the work the team had done in the last several days. Genie cried out as a box broke open and precious artifacts spilled onto the sand.

One of the men on horseback looked up sharply at her cry. A moment later he spurred his horse forward. Genie was riveted to the spot as the horse pounded toward her. It was like a dream, where she was being chased by a huge monster and couldn’t seem to move. Her heart thudded, her brain screamed for her to run, but her feet wouldn’t work.

Until he was nearly upon her.

Her feet came unglued and she spun to dash behind one of the tents. Behind her, the horse’s hooves churned up the sand, coming closer and closer. She managed to duck under a tent flap, then stood and listened carefully for any movement outside. The horse circled the tent. Genie crossed to the other side and waited until she could hear the horse opposite before she made a run for it.

People were screaming and yelling in the night—male voices speaking English, Arabic and Egyptian. If she could just get to one of the Land Rovers she’d be safe. The keys were usually inside—who would steal a Land Rover in the middle of the desert?—and if she could start one up she could use it as a weapon against these intruders. At the very least she could help some of her team to escape.

She could see the cars glinting in the increasing light as she ran.

Almost there, almost there…

Genie had her fingers on the door handle when she was ripped backward and hauled up against a wiry body. Sharp, warm steel rested in the hollow of her throat, and a man spoke in an Arab dialect that it took her a moment to place.

When she did, the pain of bittersweet memories and regret flooded her. She barely had time to remember before everything went black.

She did not know how far they had traveled, or how long she had been unconscious, but when Genie awoke she was surrounded by sound. Soft, lilting sound that grew more excited as she opened her eyes and blinked. A face came into view, hovering over her. And then another.

Women, she realized, with a profound sense of relief.

The women urged her up, then took her to a basin filled with fragrant water. Despite her protests, they undressed and washed her, then refused to let her put her own clothes back on. Instead, they produced a sky blue robe and veil made of silk and tissue and embroidered with gold thread. Genie gave up and pulled the garments on, since hers seemed to have disappeared in the interim. She was thankful, at least in some respects, for the soft material against her skin instead of the coarse cotton of her work clothes.

“Where am I?” she asked, once she’d finished.

But the women could only shake their heads and speak in the dialect she’d earlier recognized as Bah’sharan.

Could she be in Bah’shar? That thought terrified her—and not because she was a prisoner here and had no idea when or how she would escape.

No, it terrified her because of a man. A man whose memory she’d been running from for the past ten years.

The women gave her food and water and left her. By the time they returned at least an hour had passed. They formed a phalanx around her and herded her toward a big goat-hair tent in the center of the cluster. She had no choice but to pass inside. The tent was large, with ornate carpets blanketing the floors and walls. Men in traditional desert garb reclined on the floor, lounging against tufted cushions. A servant moved between them, filling cups from a hammered copper pot.

One of the men began to speak as they walked in. Genie’s attention was riveted on him, because he seemed to be talking about her. He was old, with stained teeth and graying hair, and he addressed another man who sat a little higher, and whose place seemed more ornate than the others surrounding him.

Genie followed the old man’s hand gestures from her to the other man—

Her heart stopped. Time stood still. The man on the dais gazed at her indifferently, his black eyes and handsome face so cold and hard that she might not have recognized him if she hadn’t known him so well.

Used to know him, Genie.

She hadn’t seen him since college. She blinked, wondering if her eyes were fooling her—but no, it was Zafir.

He was still as exotic and compelling as that last day she’d seen him. The day he’d shattered her heart with the truth. She took a halting step forward. Could she possibly face him again?

She had to. Her freedom—maybe even her life—depended on it.

She took another step, but one of the women grabbed her robe from behind and held it fast.

Desperation drove Genie forward. Zafir was her salvation, her hope. He would not harm her—not again. He no longer had the power to hurt her the way he had years ago. For that she would need to love him. And she most definitely did not.

Genie ripped the veil from her head.

King Zafir bin Rashid al-Khalifa did not care for surprises. He especially didn’t care for surprises like this. Many of the desert chieftains still clung to the old ways—he expected that, and he expected to be given gifts they deemed worthy of his station as their king. He’d even expected to be given women, though he did not desire to start a harem. And he’d always known how he would deal with it since to refuse would cause insult.

Later, he might not care whether he caused insult or not. But right now, with his reign so new, he needed these sheikhs to stop feuding and unite behind him. The future of Bah’shar depended upon it.

Yes, he’d expected women. And he’d expected he would take them back to the royal palace and give them jobs in his household. What he had not expected was a woman who clearly did not belong here. A woman who made the past crash down on him like an imploding building.

He blinked, but she did not fade away. She stood with her chin thrust up defiantly, her veil clutched in one hand while the other women melted away.

Genie Gray—here in the flesh. The one woman he’d thought understood him.

She hadn’t, of course. He’d been taken by her beauty and intelligence, and by the life he’d led for a brief time in an American university. He’d let himself forget that he was a prince of the desert. She had never forgotten.

His gaze slid over her. Her hair, which had always been the color of new copper, was now cropped shockingly short. A memory of him winding it around his fist while he made love to her in his apartment came to him. He shoved it away.

Surprisingly, the short hair suited her—made her seem more feminine rather than less. Heat uncoiled inside him, but he ruthlessly stamped it down. They’d said all they’d needed to say ten years ago.

Sheikh Daud Abu Bakr didn’t seem to realize at first that his prize had removed her veil. When he did, however, he began to lumber to his feet.

Zafir stopped him with a word. He wanted them all gone before he confronted this particular djinn. “I accept your gift, Sheikh Abu Bakr.”

The old man sat back down with a huff. No one said anything else. There was nothing more to say. Zafir waved them all away. They rose and made their bows before filing from the tent.

Genie stood in the same spot she’d occupied since she removed her veil, her gray eyes huge as she watched him.

Zafir leaned back against the cushion. “Well, Genie, what brings you to Bah’shar? I seem to remember you refused my invitation once.”

“We were on a dig,” she said, ignoring the jibe. “Across the border. Our camp was overrun and I was taken hostage. I have no idea what happened to the others.”

“Ah, so it was work. Of course. I should have known.”

Work. With her it was always her work. He’d offered her so much more—a life with him as a cherished companion—but she’d refused. He should have known she would do so. He could still remember the look in her eyes when he’d explained why he couldn’t ever marry her.

He’d lived in America long enough to know better, but he’d been convinced she loved him. Convinced that she understood—that she would give up everything and come with him.

Her expression hardened. “Yes. Important work. I—”

“Do not worry,” Zafir said, cutting her off. “I will find out what happened to your people and make sure everyone is well.”

A breath huffed out of her. “Thank you.” She twisted the fabric of the veil between her fingers, her eyes dropping away from his for a moment. “And how is your wife?”

“I’m sure you mean wives,” he said coolly. Yes, he’d had to tell her that his father had arranged a marriage when he was a child and that he was expected to honor the agreement. It had nothing to do with love, and everything to do with duty. She hadn’t understood.

Duty. It was a word he sometimes wished he’d never heard.

Her head snapped up. “Of course,” she said, the tremble of her lips gone in an instant.

He’d wanted to hurt her and he’d succeeded. But now he felt guilty—as if he’d kicked a puppy. “My first wife died,” he said evenly. “I am divorced from the second.”

Genie blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry,” she added.

Zafir shrugged. It was what people always said, and yet he could not accept it without feeling the usual well of loneliness—and guilt—within. He’d been alone most of his life; being married had not changed that. In some ways it had actually made it worse.

Jasmin had died because of him. And Layla? Layla had surely done what she had because of him as well.

Death, it seemed, followed him.

“These things happen,” he said, because he had to say something. “And my second wife would have made a terrible queen, so divorce was not such a bad choice in that case.”

Though he certainly hadn’t divorced Layla for her inability to be a queen.

Genie’s eyes widened. “Qu-queen? But you weren’t…”

“The Crown Prince?” he finished. “No, I was not.”

Once again death had played its part in forcing his life along paths he would not have chosen.

“My brother has been gone for a year now. My father died a month ago. I am now King of Bah’shar.”

She looked stunned. Yes, he could well imagine. It was not what he’d ever expected to do. Not what he’d wanted or studied so hard for. He’d gone for an engineering and architecture degree so he could build things while his older brother prepared to be king. Together they would take Bah’shar into the future, make her bigger, better, more capable than she had been under the rule of their father.

Now he had to do it alone. Always, always alone.

Genie dipped her chin to her chest and swallowed. When she looked up again, her eyes were clear. “I’m sorry for your loss, Zafir. For both your father and your brother.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve taken enough of your time,” she continued. “If you could return me to my camp now, I’d be grateful.”

Resentment flared to life inside him. She’d been the only woman—the only person, really—he’d ever felt close to. The only one who’d ever seemed to stem the tide of loneliness within him. But to her it had meant nothing. Like every other woman he’d ever known, she’d been with him because of what he was, not who he was inside.

She’d seemed different from the others, but the reality was that he’d been too taken with her to see the truth. She was no different than Jasmin or Layla or any of the women he’d ever dated.

He stewed with hate, regret, and, yes, even desire—and she stood there, completely unaffected. He had a sudden urge to punish her, to show her what she’d given up and could never have again. “How grateful?”

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

He climbed to his feet. She took a step back as he moved toward her. He refused to let it bother him. Once she would have rushed into his arms. Once she would have melted beneath him.

He stopped in front of her. Her head tilted back, her gray eyes searching his. For a moment he could almost think he was somewhere else. Another time, another place.

Zafir couldn’t stop himself from touching her hair. The contact was brief, but her mouth opened, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips. Need rocketed through him. Need he forced away.

“And how well do your pickaxes and pottery shards keep you warm at night, habiba? Is it all you thought it would be?”

She glared at him. “You know that’s not the only reason why it didn’t work out between us. You lied to me, Zafir.”

He almost laughed. No one dared to talk to him the way she did—certainly not now that he was king. “I told you the truth, habiba.”

“You should have told me from the beginning.”

“We did not know each other well enough.”

She looked outraged. “You were engaged, Zafir, and you slept with me for six months without ever letting me know that fact. I don’t think knowing each other had anything to do with it! You didn’t want anything to interfere with your ability to get me into bed.”

He couldn’t stop the smirk that crossed his face. “As if that was so difficult, Genie.”

She blushed, and he knew she was remembering their first night together. Their first date. She hadn’t been a virgin, but she hadn’t been experienced either.

“I’d like to go back to my camp now,” she said primly.

“Of course you would,” he said, coming to a decision. “And yet I am afraid this is not possible.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing suddenly. “What do you mean, not possible?”

He almost had fun saying the next part. Almost, but not quite.

“Because I have need of you here.”

Chapter Two

GENIE’S heart dropped to her toes. Next came rising irritation. He was toying with her, punishing her for what happened between them ten years ago. The sex between them had been great, yes, but hers was the only heart that had been affected. She’d been in love with him, and all he’d wanted was to take her to Bah’shar and keep her as a plaything while he married someone else.

Even had he not been engaged she’d been right to break it off between them. He would have prevented her from making something of herself, from pursuing the career she’d always wanted. He would have stifled her freedom and bound her up in a perfumed prison.

She was glad she’d refused to go with him. He hadn’t loved her and would have discarded her as soon as he’d tired of her. It’d been the hardest thing she’d ever done, walking away from him, but it had been right.

And now he was a king, and trying to use that power to prevent her from returning to her job, her life. Fury whipped through her.

“This is beneath you, Zafir,” she said, as coldly as possible.

One dark eyebrow arched. My God, how could the man still be so absolutely breathtaking—especially when he was being so arrogant? And how could she want him as much as she ever had?

“Beneath me? Interesting choice of words, habiba.”

She folded her arms over her chest. There wasn’t much she could control here, but she had to insist on that which she could. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

He laughed. “Does it bring up bad memories?”

“No,” she said automatically. And then, realizing what she’d admitted, followed it with an emphatic, “Yes.”

“Interesting. I do not remember you objecting when you screamed my name in pleasure, or afterward when I held you close and called you habiba.”

A sliver of desire sizzled to life inside her. She’d been with a few men in the last ten years, but none had ever affected her the way Zafir had. The way he was affecting her now.

But she’d never seen him like this either. Surely that was what had her blood pumping into her veins like a runaway train? Though she’d known he was a desert prince, he’d never dressed in the tradition of his home when they were together.

He was truly magnificent in the white dishdasha. A gold igal held his headdress in place, and at his waist was a curved ceremonial dagger with a jeweled hilt.

He was exotic and forbidden in a way he never had been when he’d worn jeans and button-down shirts. When he’d simply been handsome and sexy and she hadn’t been able to believe he was hers. That she was the one he spent time with when there were so many gorgeous women he could have chosen instead.

Except he hadn’t really been hers, had he?

“That’s in the past,” she forced out. A past that had never really stopped haunting her.

He turned away in a swirl of robes. “I did not say, by the way, that I would never let you return to your dig.”

Genie shook her head. “I don’t understand, Zafir. What do you want from me?”

“The short answer is that my father had trouble with warring tribes in this region. I am here because I intend to put a stop to it once and for all. Since you were a gift from the chieftain of one of the tribes, I can hardly let you leave.”

Genie’s jaw went slack. “A gift? Like a goat or a camel or a jeweled dagger?”

“Precisely. And until I conclude this meeting I require your presence.”

For the moment, she could only focus on the fact that she’d been given to him. “How can someone give away a human being? What kind of king are you to allow such a thing to happen?”

His jaw was firm. “I am the king of a very old and traditional nation. The ways of the desert are ancient and cannot be changed overnight.”

“But you could have refused.”

He crossed his arms, one eyebrow arching. “Indeed I could have. And you would now likely be back in Sheikh Abu Bakr’s harem, awaiting his attentions.”

She thought of the old man who’d been speaking earlier and shivered. “That’s barbaric.”

“It is the custom.”

“You have a lot of customs, don’t you?” she said bitterly. Like keeping mistresses while marrying another woman and having children with her.

“Indeed—which is why you will remain.”

“And what if I don’t want to stay?”

His dark eyes glittered. “You do not have a choice.”

“You would force me to stay here against my will?”

He inclined his head. “To prove I am not such a barbarian, I will compensate you in the end. This is not a bad deal, Genie.”

For who? Staying here for even a minute longer than she had to was dangerous. Because in spite of everything—all the hurt and pain and agony of the past—her heart was soaring with every minute she stood near him.

“I don’t want money.”

He looked skeptical. “Really? Aren’t archaeological digs expensive?”

“I have funding for my projects.” Not as much as she’d like, but she wasn’t admitting that to him.

“Then I will give you something better than money, Genie. Something you want very much.”

Genie’s knees felt suddenly weak. She had a vision of him naked, of his beautiful mouth on her flesh, taking her to heaven. No. “How could you possibly know what I want?”

His smile was so self-assured she itched to slap him.

“I will give you permission to excavate in Al-Shahar.”

Her heart nearly stopped. “The old temples?”

No one had ever been given permission to excavate the Temples of Al-Shahar. It would be a coup, a crowning achievement. Her career would never be the same.

And he knew it. His smile was predatory, as if he knew she would not refuse. Just as he’d believed she wouldn’t refuse his proposition ten years ago because he’d been rich and handsome and she’d loved him desperately.

Did she have the strength to turn him down this time? The strength to walk away from the Temples of Al-Shahar? But how could she accept? Staying with him now, even for something so wonderful as those temples, would test her in ways she wasn’t sure she was prepared to endure.

But he would keep her here regardless, wouldn’t he? He had the power to do it, and the will.

“I would not refuse this, were I you,” he said softly. “Don’t be a fool because of your wounded pride, Genie.”

She stiffened. “You are quite mistaken if you still think that affects me, Zafir. It was ten years ago.”

“Then what will it be?” Again that predatory gleam. “Because turning down the jewel in the crown of your precious career would be extremely foolish. And you know it quite well.”

She hated that he had her right where he wanted her. Because he was right, and she wasn’t going to refuse. No matter how dangerous staying with him would be to her heart, she had to do it. It was only temporary. It would take weeks to gather what she needed to excavate in Al-Shahar, so she would have time to recover from this experience. And she need not see him when she returned. He was a king now, and she was an archaeologist who would be on a dig in his city. She had a team who would coordinate with whomever in his government handled these things.

They would not meet again. And, even if none of that were the case, she couldn’t let him see that, contrary to what she said, she was still very much affected by the past.

“Very well,” she said, holding out her hand. “I accept.”

Zafir took her hand in his. Instead of giving a firm shake, he turned her palm up and brought it to his lips. A shiver trickled across her nerve-endings on tiny feet, bringing goosebumps to the surface.

“A wise decision,” he said softly.

And then he tugged her into his arms and kissed her.

In the space of a few moments he’d decided he was going to have her again. This need buffeting him was stronger than he remembered. He’d always been enchanted with her body, but had he always felt this reckless desire to possess her no matter the cost?

Surely not. Because right now he wanted to rip the turquoise abaya from her body and lower her onto the furs in his tent. He wanted to lose himself in her, and he wanted to remember what it had been like between them.

The heat, the passion, the pleasure.

She’d filled that hole inside him that no one ever had, and yet he couldn’t call it love. He hadn’t been in love with her. But he’d needed her.

He didn’t need her anymore, but he wanted her.

Her mouth parted, whether in surprise or compliance he did not know. But he took advantage of the situation, slipped his tongue against hers—and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. Her arms went around him, her body pressing to his so sweetly. If not for the dagger she would be able to feel the effect she still had on him.

He held her close, slanted his mouth over hers to take as much as she would give.

And she gave far more than he would have believed. Proud, beautiful Genie kissed him like a woman starved. Like a woman who’d suffered drought and deprivation and had finally stumbled into an oasis of plenty.

She still wanted him, and the knowledge fired something primal in his blood.

Zafir cupped one of her breasts beneath the soft fabric, groaned low in his throat. He wanted to bare her body and feast his eyes and senses upon her. But he could not do so here—not in the reception tent. He swept her up into his arms and strode toward his sleeping quarters.

Genie clung to him, still kissing him, her passion as hot and intense as ever. He didn’t break the kiss, though he had to keep his eyes open to see where he was going. Her skin was flushed a pretty pink, and her long auburn lashes fanned across her cheeks. He wanted her to open her eyes, to look at him with those deep pools of rainwater-gray, to see the passion flaring in them as he made love to her.

A guard stood at attention as Zafir passed into the interior of his private quarters. He set Genie on her feet. She seemed suddenly wild-eyed as her gaze darted around the room—as if she’d awakened in a prison cell instead of a palace.

“Patience, little one,” he murmured as he unhooked the ceremonial dagger and tossed it aside.

But when he took her in his arms again she stiffened, her hands coming up to brace against his chest. “No, Zafir,” she gasped. “I can’t.”

Frustration and disappointment spiraled through him at once.

“Ah, so this is how it will be. I should have known.” He loosened his hold and she jerked away, wrapping her arms around herself as if she were chilled.

“What’s that mean?” she snapped.

“You know what it means, Genie. You tell me one thing with your body and another with your mouth.”

Her chin tilted up, her eyes flashing. “I agreed to stay for the chance to excavate in Al-Shahar. I did not agree to sleep with you ever again.”

His body pounded with the need for release, and she looked at him as if she’d not just been wrapped around him, wanting him as much as he wanted her.

She was very much the ice-cold scientist she’d always wanted to be. And that infuriated him. How dared she think she was the one in control here?

“Perhaps I wish to attach new conditions to the agreement.”

Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

He took a step toward her, fury whipping him. “Do not presume that you know me any longer, habiba. The man I was back then is dead.”

“You would blackmail me into your bed simply to get back at me? To punish me because I didn’t want to be your plaything for however long you wanted me?”

Her words stung his conscience. And yet…he didn’t care. He was angrier than he’d been in a very long time. Angry with fate, with her, and with the stubborn sheikhs who argued over territory and made his life difficult when all he wanted was the best for his people.

He focused on the woman before him. She tried hard to hide it, but she was flushed, her lips moist and plump from kissing, her nipples jutting through the soft fabric of the abaya. Not the ice-cold scientist after all.

He was tired of games, tired of lies.

“It is hardly a punishment, habiba. Not when we both know what we want.”

Chapter Three

GENIE couldn’t stop the tremor that slid along her spine. But was it the excitement of what he offered her with the temples, or the thrill of knowing that with one word she would share his bed again?

No. She would not do so. Could not.

“Not everything we want is good for us,” she said. “Bacon double cheeseburgers with chili-cheese fries, for instance. All that fat and cholesterol.” She was babbling, for God’s sake, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

Zafir merely shot her that sexy grin that had always been her undoing. “Do you or do you not want the exclusive right to excavate the temples?” he said silkily. “No other archaeologist has ever been allowed to do so.”

Genie swallowed. With one kiss he’d stolen her breath, her sense, her will. She’d turned into a needy animal, wanting—no, craving—what he offered. If he’d pushed her down on the carpets there and then and lifted her abaya, she’d have been helpless to refuse.

It was only when he’d stopped kissing her, when she’d realized they were in what must be his private tent, that she’d asked herself what the blazes she was doing. She’d been about to negate ten years of her life with that single act. To propel herself back in time and into the arms of the man she’d never really stopped loving.

Never depend on a man, Genie. Make your own career, your own life, and find a partner to share it with. But don’t give up your goals for him. Because he might just leave you with nothing but broken dreams in the end.

Genie shivered. Her mother had said those words to her so often that she could repeat them in her sleep. Zafir was exactly the kind of man her mother had warned her about.

She’d loved him, but he hadn’t loved her. She’d realized it that night when he’d asked her to come to Bah’shar. She’d thought he was asking her to marry him, but she’d been confused because he hadn’t said the words. He’d never said he loved her, had always pushed aside questions of his feelings with more kisses and more lovemaking. And just when she’d thought he’d asked her to share his life, her dreams had been crushed into dust by the realization that he was expected to marry another.

It had been cruel, too ironic, that she should find herself in the situation of loving a man who could never marry her.

She’d known his culture was different, that what he asked was not wrong or immoral to him and his world, but there had been no way on earth she could subject herself to the humiliation. She’d seen firsthand what loving a man who would never be yours did to a woman.

To her mother.

And she was not about to endanger her heart and her hard-earned independence by falling into bed with Zafir bin Rashid al-Khalifa ever again.

“I want the commission, Zafir. But not at the price you’re asking.”

“And what price is that, Genie? I am asking you to share my bed—something you’ve done many times before.” He paused, let his gaze slide down her body. “Or have I erred? Do you have a lover? Someone to whom you wish to be faithful?”

She dropped her eyes from his and shook her head. She should lie, but she found she could not. “There is no one right now.”

“Then there can be no problem, can there?”

What could she say? Yes, there is a problem! The problem is that I still care for you and I’m afraid what will happen if I succumb to my desire instead of listening to my head!

“The answer is still no, Zafir.”

His gaze was laser-sharp. “You would really give up this commission for something so simple?”

“It’s not simple in the least, and you know it.”

“Why is that, I wonder?” He closed the distance between them, tilted her chin up with a finger. “It is simply sex between two adults who want each other. How can there be a problem with that?”

“I’ve traveled this road with you before, Zafir. I’m not prepared to do it again.”

“And I thought you would sell your soul to the devil himself for the sake of your career.”

“That’s not fair and you know it. It wasn’t my career that ruined it between us.” Her breath caught at the silky stroking of his fingers along her jaw.

Apprehension whispered over her like a caress as he smiled. “No, but you will share my bed again. Willingly, eagerly, and without hesitation. I guarantee it.”

Genie awoke in the middle of the night, shivering. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. But then it all came crashing back.

The desert. Zafir. Shock. Desire. Anger. Hurt.

Loneliness.

She sat up, her eyes adjusting to the dim light from the brazier in the middle of the tent. She lay on a large feather mattress, piled high with furs, but she’d somehow managed to kick them all away in the night.

Reaching for a fur, she realized there was a large shape in the bed with her. A man.

Zafir.

He’d left her here last night, telling her to get some sleep. She’d thought she might be shown to her own tent, but he’d informed her there was no other place to go—unless she wanted to go to Sheikh Abu Bakr’s harem.

She definitely did not.

So she’d climbed into this bed and fallen asleep, never realizing he’d returned. And she could clearly see what the problem was now that he was here. Zafir had always stolen the covers.

She tugged the fur away, putting as much distance between them as possible.

“What is wrong, Genie?” he asked, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“You took the covers.”

“Never.”

She could almost laugh if this situation weren’t so surreal. Because he’d always denied stealing the covers when she’d awakened in the night in his apartment.

“It’s a bad habit of yours, and you know it.”

His laugh sent heat spiraling through her. “So you have always said. My wife said the same, so perhaps it is true.”

Now, why was her heart throbbing at the thought of another woman knowing him so intimately? It wasn’t a surprise, after all. A wife would notice those things. She didn’t bother asking which wife.

He propped himself on an elbow. There was the gulf of the bed between them, but still it felt too intimate to be here like this. Too right and too wrong at the same time.

“Has there been anyone special in your life?” he asked, almost as if he could see the wheels turning in her head as she thought about him with a wife.

“Yes,” she said automatically, because she couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. That he had been the only special man in her life.

“Then I am sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Me too.” Now, why did that bring a well of tears to her eyes? And why did she have to work so hard to keep them from falling?

“Much has happened in the last ten years, has it not? Have you been as successful as you’d hoped?”

“I’ve done well enough,” she said. But what was success, really, when she spent her days poring over old documents and maps, living in harsh conditions while she dug pottery shards from ancient dirt? It was what she’d wanted, what she’d worked for, and yet there was something empty about it too.

She’d thought, after Zafir, she might meet a man who shared her love of ancient history—a fellow archaeologist who wanted all the same things she wanted.

And yet though she’d met plenty of men who might fit those criteria, none of them had touched her heart the way Zafir had.

“You will be pleased to know, by the way, that everyone on your team is accounted for. The men who attacked your camp have been disciplined. Unfortunately you were caught between those warring factions I told you of earlier.”

Her guilt at nearly forgetting about her colleagues when her senses were so overwhelmed with Zafir was somewhat allayed by the news that they were all well.

“I should be there to help them collect everything. It will need to be catalogued again, and—”

“They are aware that you are a guest of the King of Bah’shar.”

The King of Bah’shar. It gave her a chill to think of Zafir as king, and yet it seemed appropriate too. He’d always been larger than life—and he’d been the only person she’d ever known who had a security detail in college. She’d never been able to forget he was someone important. Imagining a life with him had been impossible. How true that had turned out to be.

“And how much longer am I to remain your guest?” In her earlier excitement about the temples she’d forgotten to ask how long he intended to keep her here. Stupid, Genie.

“A few days, no more.”

“What am I supposed to do for a few days? Stay in this tent? Isn’t there another way?”

“We will not be staying. Tomorrow we return to Al-Shahar.”

“But I thought you had to stay here…”

“I am the King, habiba. I go where I wish. Tomorrow I wish to return to Al-Shahar. My meeting with the Sheikhs will continue there.”

“Why can’t you just tell them to do what you want? You are the King, after all.”

His sigh was audible. “Yes, one would think it should work that way. But Bah’shar is an ancient country, and things have always been done a certain way. Blood feuds often go back many generations. My father tended to ignore the violence so long as the Sheikhs paid their obeisance.”

“Why can’t you do the same?” Not that she thought violence should be ignored, but she wanted to know why it was important to him.

“I could, I suppose. But then things happen—like border raids, where old fools let their men kidnap Western archaeologists. It makes us look bad in the eyes of the world. I wish us to move forward as a people, not wallow in the past.”

“Isn’t tradition important?”

“Of course. But so is progress. And I believe we can have both—though there are those who resist.”

“I remember that you were going to build skyscrapers. Do you ever get to do that?”

He sighed again. “I did, for a while. Perhaps once I’ve settled into this new role as king I will be able to do so again.”

They’d only been together six months, but she remembered his enthusiasm for building—his sketches and grand plans. He’d been in love with the idea of creating and she’d been in love with him. God.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you’d hoped,” she said.

“It is as it was intended to be. I accept that.” He threw back the covers and sat up. “Are you tired?”

“Not really.” Too much adrenaline in one day. And too much shock.

“Then come. I wish to show you something.” He hesitated a moment. “You once told me you could ride. Was that the truth?”

“Yes, but I won’t be joining the Olympic equestrian team anytime soon.”

His teeth flashed white in the dim light as he stood and held out his hand. “That is sufficient.”

Genie stared at his outstretched fingers. Did she really want to go anywhere with him? To risk even a moment more in his company than absolutely necessary?

But what was the alternative? Refuse and have him climb back into the bed with her?

She put her hand in his. Electricity snapped along her nerve-endings, sizzling into her core.

No matter how she sliced it, she was in big trouble here. A few days might as well be an eternity.

“What do you think?” Zafir asked.

Genie could only stare at the undulating sand dunes—no, mountains—spreading as far as the eye could see. She’d excavated in the desert before, she knew what sand dunes looked like, but she’d never seen anything so beautiful as the pink-tinged dawn sky, the red sand that glistened with moisture which would soon be burned off by the hot rays of the sun—and she’d certainly never witnessed it from the back of a white Arabian mare.

The horse’s delicately arched neck belied her strength. She’d run up this mountain of sand as fleet-footed as a gazelle. Now she stood, her nostrils flaring, her proud head held high, her bridle dripping with tassels that shook with each prancing movement.

Genie turned in the saddle. Zafir was staring at her. He sat his mount so easily, the white fabric of his dishdasha a sharp contrast with his stallion’s bay flanks. He looked at home here, regal and otherworldly—like someone she should never have met in a million years.

“Well?” he prompted.

“It’s amazing, Zafir.”

He turned his head, his profile to her as he gazed over the dunes. It stunned her to realize that he very much looked like a king. How had she never noticed that royal bearing of his?

“I wanted to show you this before, but it was not possible. I am glad you are here to see it now, despite the circumstances.”

Her heart throbbed. Why did he have to do this to her? Why did he have to remind her of how much she’d once loved him?

“I’m glad too,” she said, though she wasn’t really sure if that was the truth. Far better to be over the border, still in her encampment, digging through sand and rock and not knowing Zafir was here—so close and yet so far. In many ways, though he sat beside her now, he was farther from her than he’d ever been.

Untouchable. Unapproachable. A king.

Genie sucked in a cool breath. The desert air was frigid at night, but it was beginning to warm as the sun crept upward in the sky. Soon it would be too hot ever to believe it had been cold only hours before.

Zafir threw one leg over his horse’s head and jumped to the ground. “Let us walk before we return to the camp,” he said.

Genie dismounted and fell in beside him. They walked along the top of the dune without speaking. The sand made it difficult to go fast, so they took their time—almost as if it were a companionable morning stroll.

Like they’d used to do when they’d get up early and make the walk to the bakery first thing in the morning. “Should we get the donuts or the sunflower bread?” she said, and then wished she hadn’t. How ridiculous to bring that up!

But he glanced over at her and smiled. “The donuts, of course.”

“That was a simpler time,” she said softly, not looking at him. Simpler because she hadn’t known what was expected of him, because she’d believed they shared something deep and meaningful. How wrong she’d been.

“Indeed. But everyone grows up, Genie. Life does not sit still because we wish it to.”

“No.”

He stopped and turned toward her. His face was limned in the dawn light, the hard planes and angles both harsher and more beautiful because of it. Dark eyes gazed at her intently.

“There is no reason why we can’t recapture some of that feeling,” he said.

Her heart thudded in her throat, her temples. A few hours ago she’d been Dr. Geneva Gray, renowned archaeologist. Now, she was Genie Gray, the lovesick student who’d once had a passionate affair with a desert prince.

And he was tempting her with the promise of more. How could she want him again when he’d hurt her so deeply?

“I’m not sure that’s wise,” she said.

But he closed the distance between them, his body so close, so vibrant in the cool morning air. “Why wouldn’t it be, Genie? We are adults, and we still want each other. This is not a crime.”

“No, but it feels too much like digging up the past.”

His smile was almost mocking. “Ah, but isn’t this what you like to do? Dig up the past?”

“Not all things need to be dug up,” she replied, her pulse hammering in spite of how calm she tried to sound.

His head dipped toward her in slow motion. She knew she should move away, but she closed her eyes automatically, waited for the touch of his lips against hers.

It didn’t happen.

She opened her eyes again, to find he’d stopped only inches from her mouth.

“I do not believe what you say, Genie Gray. And neither, it seems, do you.” He straightened and turned toward his mount. “Come, we must return to the camp before the sun is up.”