The Sheikh Who Married Her: One Desert Night / Strangers in the Desert / Desert Doctor, Secret Sheikh
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A slim-built young man with watchful amber eyes, dressed traditionally in a jalabiya and a headdress with a colourful agal rope securing it round his head, stood waiting patiently as the two Europeans ogled a sight that for him was no doubt commonplace. His name was Jamal, and he was proud to call himself a servant of Sheikh Kazeem Khan, he told them. He had met them at the foothills of the city, where the taxi that had waited for them at the airport had left them, and had then accompanied them up the mountain in a cable car. From there, a comfortable horse-drawn buggy, with ravishing silk curtains and cushions, had transported them to the palace.
Gina was tired, travel-worn and melting in the heat, yet an undeniable excitement thrummed in her veins, making her not want to miss anything if she could help it.
‘We must not linger here in the afternoon heat. We should go inside now. This way.’ Jamal made a sweeping motion towards a vaulted sandstone passageway. ‘Another servant will show you to your rooms, where you can rest for a while. Then, later, you will make preparations to meet with His Highness.’
Gina’s tiredness vanished completely when she was shown to her guest quarters. She’d been absolutely charmed by the comfortable adobe style house that she’d lived in when she’d stayed with the Husseins, but this … this was like walking into the sumptuous boudoir of an eastern princess. The furnishings were lush, with ravishing silk brocades of every imaginable hue and colour, and floor-to-ceiling voile drapes fell in a sensuous sunburst from two slim windows. An azure-coloured blind was partially unfolded behind the curtains, to keep out the heat and glare of the sun, and the floor was made from blissfully cool white marble. A generous-sized Persian rug picked out in sensuous gold and bronze threads was spread out at the foot of the bed … the bed.
If Gina had been inclined to write poetry she would have composed a veritable sonnet to such a bed. It was vast in every sense, with the broad-clawed feet of a sphinx and intricate Arabian carvings inlaid in a rosewood headboard that appeared magical and ancient at the same time. It practically drowned beneath a sea of silk and brocade cushions of every conceivable shape and colour.
Throwing herself down amongst them, she sighed with pleasure. A delicious if bittersweet daydream about Zahir drifted into her mind. Was there some way she could get to see him? she wondered. Was she crazy to even hope he might agree to a meeting?
She would have broached the subject to Mrs Hussein on that morning before she’d left for the airport to return home—asked her hostess if she could elaborate on who he was and where he lived. But Clothilde had seemed busy and preoccupied, and it just hadn’t felt right or proper to ask about the charismatic male guest that Gina knew simply as Zahir.
He’d left early the next morning, even before she’d risen to dress for the airport. His parting embrace had filled them both with intense longing all over again, but she’d given him her phone number and he’d promised to call her the very next day. It had been the hardest thing she’d ever done to kiss him goodbye and then watch him walk away, with the only remaining evidence of his presence the scent of warm aroused male he’d left on her body and the tingling ache between her thighs. She had surrendered her innocence to him—surrendered it with full heart and a fervent pledge to love him for ever … no matter what.
It was said that a woman never forgot her first love. In Gina’s case her only love. That was why she could never give up her precious memories of that night. But she’d made sure all she would ever have was memory when, incredibly, she’d rejected Zahir’s invitation to go back to Kabuyadir and be with him. Even now she couldn’t believe she’d done it. Grief over her mother and worry over her father must have temporarily made her lose her mind. The thought of the pain and disbelief in Zahir’s proud voice had gone round and round in Gina’s head for three impossible years.
Turning her face into a plump silken pillow, she felt stinging tears of regret and longing wash into her eyes as she whispered his name … whispered it like a prayer …
At last Farida had retired to her quarters, and Zahir could safely entertain his guests from England. She would only become agitated and tearful if she knew of his intention to sell the Heart of Courage—the jewel that she seemed convinced was possessed of some kind of prophetic power when it came to their family’s marriages. But when sufficient time had passed and she was more like herself again he was certain he could persuade her that the sale was for the best.
They had had a tumultuous time of late. Their parents had left this world one after the other, and then Azhar—Farida’s husband—had lost his life in an automobile accident in Dubai. The only thing his beloved sister needed right now, Zahir believed, was peace and plenty of time to heal. The presence of a family heirloom that he privately thought of as a curse would not help her achieve that. And for him it would only act as a painful reminder of all he had lost. It mocked his once fervent belief in it himself. He’d rejected the prophecy when the woman he had fallen in love with callously turned down his plea for her to be with him.
The money he received from the sale of the jewel he would give to Farida, to do with what she willed, he decided. He certainly didn’t need it.
There was plenty of evidence in palace records to vouch for the authenticity of the jewel, but as he planned to sell it abroad he’d needed to have that evidence corroborated by a respected independent source. The auction house in Mayfair had an internationally respected reputation. His two guests were a male historian and his female colleague who specialised in the study of ancient artefacts. Zahir hadn’t seen their names—he’d left the details to his personal secretary and lifelong friend Masoud, who had now unfortunately been taken ill—but he had ensured that out of respect and deference the female would have one of the best staterooms in the palace.
Now, as he waited in the main salon where he received visitors, he didn’t know why but an odd sense of foreboding gripped him. Telling himself that he was becoming as bad as his sister, believing in all kinds of supernatural phenomena, he impatiently shook away the unwelcome frisson that shivered down his spine. Lifting the sleeve of his jalabiya, he glanced down at the linked gold watch circling his tanned wrist. The ornate twin doors at the end of the long stately room suddenly opened and his servant Jamal appeared.
‘Your Highness.’ He bowed respectfully. ‘May I present Dr Rivers, and his colleague Dr Collins?’
Already walking forward with his hand outstretched, Zahir felt his footsteps come to a frozen standstill. Beside a slim-built man with sandy-coloured hair who wore glasses stood a woman with elegantly upswept blonde hair, her svelte figure dressed in a long, flowing silk kaftan in stunning aquamarine. But it was her beautiful face and riveting long-lashed blue eyes that made his heart almost stop.
Gina … Was he dreaming?
He could hardly believe it. Everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to speak, but just then to him that was akin to growing wings and flying. Clearing his throat, Zahir moved towards the man first. Even as he was shaking his hand his mouth dried and his chest tightened. He knew he would slip his hand into Gina’s next. She was clearly as shocked and startled as he was. Her cool, slim palm trembled slightly beneath his touch. Their gazes locked, and it was as though the room and everyone else in it apart from the two of them simply melted away.
‘Dr Collins,’ he heard himself intone gruffly, ‘I am honoured to meet you.’
Only too aware that they were being observed, Zahir withdrew his hand and gestured towards the rectangle of Arabian couches positioned round a carved dark wood Moroccan coffee table a few feet away.
‘We should sit and make ourselves comfortable. Jamal, you may serve coffee and refreshments now.’
‘Of course, Your Highness.’ The servant bowed and moved smoothly back towards the double doors, careful not to show his back to Zahir as he did so.
‘Your rooms are comfortable and to your liking?’ Moving his gaze from Jake Rivers to Gina, then back again to the man, Zahir settled himself on one of the longer couches and hoped the smile he’d arranged on his face was polite and relaxed—that it did not give rise to suspicion that he and Gina had met before and that the mere sight of her had all but undone him.
It was a most delicate predicament, and he would have to draw upon all his powers of diplomacy and tact to deal with it, he thought. But every time he found his glance returning to hers he wished they could be alone together, so that he could demand to know the real reason she had rejected him. Had it been because there was someone else waiting for her back home in England? How many times had he tortured himself with that thought over the years? Too many. One thing Zahir was certain of: before she left he would know everything.
‘The palace is truly amazing, and our quarters more than comfortable—thank you,’ Jake Rivers answered, linking his hands across his knees as he sat next to Gina. How old was he? Zahir wondered. He’d imagined that someone expert in their field, as he was supposed to be, would be older and more distinguished-looking. He could almost hear Farida teasing him. That’s because you watch too many old films where every English professor is a caricature, she’d say. A sigh escaped him.
‘That is good. As to the palace’s origin, we believe it was erected in the ninth century, when the Persian and Byzantine wars were over. For the people of this region it has always been a powerful stronghold, and a symbol of strength to see off any foe. They have always helped maintain it, and take a pride in its beauty as well.’
Helplessly and hungrily, his gaze moved back to Gina. What was she thinking? he wondered. Was she shocked to learn his true identity at last? Would she curse her folly in turning him down? It was a bitter straw he would willingly grasp—a salve to his wounded pride that he’d never thought he’d receive.
‘And your expertise is in antiquities, is it not, Dr Collins?’ he asked. He saw her take a breath in and out again, then briefly fold her hands in her lap as if to compose herself.
‘Classical antiquities and ancient artefacts. My colleague Dr Rivers is the historian in our team, Your Highness.’
‘So you are equally qualified?’
‘More or less.’ Jake shrugged, throwing Gina an easy smile.
A stab of jealousy seared through Zahir’s insides, his spine stiffening in protest at the envied familiarity. ‘So Dr Collins is not your assistant?’ he remarked, with a touch of mockery in his tone.
‘My assistant?’ Now the young man’s lips split into a wide grin. ‘I mean no disrespect, sir, but she is far too independent and bossy for that!’
‘Is that so?’ Zahir leant forward, his glance falling into a slow, leisurely examination of a pair of flawless china-blue eyes. ‘How interesting … how interesting indeed …’
CHAPTER THREE
IF THEY had been with anyone but the Sheikh of Kabuyadir, Gina would have elbowed Jake in the ribs hard for his inappropriate teasing. He was developing into quite a brilliant historian, but he scored very few points for tact. Still, it really wasn’t Jake at all who interested her in this discussion.
How could it be? It was the astounding discovery that it was Zahir who was ‘His Highness’—handsome Sheikh of a historically once powerful Arabian kingdom and owner of the ancient and beautiful Heart of Courage. Never in her wildest dreams had she envisaged that that title belonged to him.
Why had he not told her the truth about who he was that night they’d spent together? And afterwards, when she’d returned home, he’d had ample opportunity to tell her when he phoned—but he hadn’t. Had he feared that her decision to return would be swayed only by his exalted position and not the incredible man that he was?
‘Dr Rivers and I are a team, Your Highness.’ She blushed when she said his title, because it felt so surreal, yet her eyes hungrily cleaved to his strong tanned face and the long ebony hair that swung round his shoulders when he moved. He was dressed in traditional male clothing, and it was easy to see that the materials were much finer than anybody less privileged could afford. With his broad shoulders and natural air of command Zahir was every inch the esteemed ruler of his people, and seeing him again was like receiving a fresh supply of oxygen—as if for so long her ability to breathe freely had been compromised and Gina hadn’t even known it.
‘And we hope that our individual fields of expertise complement each other when it comes to undertaking our research,’ she finished with a strained smile.
Making no immediate comment, Zahir continued to steadily hold her gaze. Gina prayed that he couldn’t see the longing, regret and dashed hopes reflected there. Thankfully she heard the doors open behind her and guessed that Jamal had returned with their refreshments.
As he placed the large handmade brass tray down on the coffee table, the air was suddenly filled with the tantalising aroma of cardamom-spiced coffee. It was a delicacy that Gina had enjoyed when she was previously in Kabuyadir. Beside the small gold-rimmed cups, next to the coffee pot known as a dallah, on an ornate brass dish was an array of appetising-looking sweetmeats. One by one, Jamal served them their coffee. When he would have gone to Zahir first, his esteemed boss redirected him to Gina.
‘We have lots to tell you about the Heart of Courage, Your Highness,’ Jake piped up as Jamal bowed to Zahir, then discreetly left them to talk.
‘Positive things, I presume?’
‘Without a doubt … Its history is incredible. It’s not every day that a historian is privileged enough to research an artefact that has its roots in the ancient Persian Empire.’
‘So your own enquiry into its history has corroborated what I already know to be true about its origins? Then I am gratified that you welcomed the opportunity to research it. Were you similarly pleased, Dr Collins?’
‘Of course … It’s the chance of a lifetime for someone in my profession. The kind of thing we all dream of. To finally see the jewel for myself will be something I’ll never forget, I’m sure.’
‘Well, that will not be for a few days yet. You have both come a long way, and I would like you to relax and enjoy the hospitality of my palace first. The journey here was not too arduous for you?’
‘Thanks to your kindness and generosity we travelled first class, Your Highness. I’ve never travelled in such luxury before. The trouble is, given the opportunity I’m afraid I could get used to it!’ Jake answered, smiling.
‘You have spent many weeks researching the jewel’s history and provenance on my behalf, and you have travelled far to tell me what you have found. To make sure that you journeyed in comfort was the least I could do.’
‘Once again, we thank you,’ Gina said quietly.
A wave of heat submerged her when Zahir didn’t seem to want to break his gaze from hers. How was she supposed to bear this? she wondered. How was she supposed to endure being so close to him when his high rank prohibited any possibility that they could enjoy a relationship again, even if they both desired it?
‘Drink your coffee and take some refreshment, both of you. We will have plenty of time for our first discussion on the matter of the jewel tomorrow, after breakfast.’
When he turned his glance towards Gina again, Zahir’s expression was hard to read. A wall had definitely descended, she intuited—a wall that had clearly been erected to prevent her from seeing too much.
‘However, I am afraid I will not be able to join you for dinner tonight. There is a personal matter that takes me away from the palace for a while. I will direct Jamal to show you to the dining room when it’s time, and also show you where to go for breakfast in the morning.’
She soaked in the deep Arabian bath, and scented herself with the exotic oils supplied. A long, lazy bath was a pleasure Gina didn’t allow herself very often. Where had she learned the idea that she must earn the right to personal pleasure? That work must come first? Thinking of her parents, she didn’t need to search hard for an answer. But blaming them wasn’t to be considered—not when the way she wanted to live was in her own hands now.
Sighing, she realised that she’d lingered in the warm scented water a little too long. The water had started to chill and goosebumps dotted her slim upper arms. She stepped out onto the marble-tiled surround to dry herself with a luxurious bathtowel that could have gone round her slim frame twice. Dinner earlier had been impossible. All she’d been able to do was watch Jake tuck into the feast that had been prepared for them with gusto. How could she eat when her stomach kept on roiling and lurching whenever she thought of Zahir?
He’d left them in the salon alone to enjoy their coffee, departing from the room without so much as a backward glance. At dinner, sensing Jamal’s hawk-eyed gaze on her at every turn as she sat at the beechwood dining table inlaid with exquisite mother-of-pearl, Gina had wrestled with double misery at the idea her lack of appetite would cause offence to the household in any way. She’d been utterly relieved to finally escape to her room.
Wrapping herself in the generous white bathrobe she’d found hanging behind the door, she moved back into the bedroom, freeing her hair from its tidy French pleat to let it tumble in buttery blonde waves down to her shoulders as she went.
The knock on the door made her gasp. It was after midnight, and she could only surmise that it was perhaps a maidservant, wanting to find out what time she would be down for breakfast.
Drawing the edges of the voluminous robe together more securely, and tightening the belt, she drew back the door—only to be confronted by the tall, imposing figure of Zahir. In the corridor behind him all the lamps were turned down low, and the soft lighting created an even stronger warrior-like cast to his handsome features—particularly his eyes. They seemed to burn with the intensity of stoked flame as he stared down at her.
‘My apologies for calling on you so late … As I told you earlier, something took me away from the palace for a while and I have only just returned.’
Clutching the sides of her robe tightly to her chest, Gina hardly knew what to think, never mind say. It didn’t help that she was trembling from head to foot.
‘May I step inside for a moment?’
Silently, she held the door wide, then closed it behind him. Glancing round the beautifully appointed room, Zahir sniffed the air and smiled. The gesture reminded her of the first time they had met in the Husseins’ garden. The kindness she’d seen in his eyes then had prevented her from being afraid of him. But right now it wasn’t kindness she saw reflected. There was an edge about him tonight that made her wary.
‘You have been taking a bath?’
‘I had no idea that you were Sheikh Kazeem Khan. It was such a shock to learn that it was you.’ Her voice had a distinct quiver in it. ‘I know it was three years ago, but I take it you haven’t forgotten me?’
‘Of course I haven’t forgotten!’ His glance was pained, his deep, resonant voice clearly irritated. ‘Did you think I could ever forget that night? But to discover that the antiquities expert I hired in London is you is not exactly a delight to me. No, it is not. How could it be when you deceived me so callously?’
Twisting her hands in front of her robe, Gina felt like crying. ‘Deceived you … how?’
‘I fell in love with you that night … I thought you felt the same. I counted the days until you would return. You promised you would. When you told me on the phone that you had changed your mind, that returning was not realistic and you preferred to focus on your career, how do you think that made me feel? It was like a bomb exploding in my face!’
‘It wasn’t just because I wanted to focus on my career. My mother died unexpectedly just a couple of days after she was taken into hospital … I told you, remember? My father needed me to stay at home after that … to give him some support. We were both grieving … I hardly knew what I was doing. Kabuyadir seemed like a dream …’
Observing the harshness of Zahir’s expression, Gina decided right then wasn’t the time to tell him that her father had pleaded with her to stay in the UK and focus on her career in memory of her mother … told her that she shouldn’t trust that life in Kabuyadir, living in a strange culture with a man she barely knew, could yield something better. Gina had buckled under the pressure of guilt and responsibility and agreed to stay, even when it had meant denying her desire to return to Zahir and the extraordinary passion they’d shared.
Now she was reeling at his confession that he’d fallen in love with her. There was a big part of her that could hardly believe such a handsome, charismatic man could truly have cared for her like that. To hear him say the words after all this time, compounding what a colossal mistake she’d made in not coming back to him, was like having her insides scraped raw with a sharpened blade.
‘Whatever happened, clearly you thought my regard for you wasn’t important enough to make you come back to Kabuyadir. Knowing that, I wonder that you have decided to return now three years later? If I had known that you were the antiquities expert I’d hired to research the jewel I would have taken steps to prevent your coming and hired someone else. My secretary Masoud would normally have acquainted me with such details, but he was suddenly taken ill and had to return to his family, otherwise I would have realised.’
‘So … how are we to proceed from here on? Do you want me to act as though I never met you before?’
He abruptly turned away for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts. The sudden motion made the midnight-blue jalabiya he wore swirl round his leather-booted calves. ‘What I want … what I wish … is that you had vanished off the face of the earth, if you want to know the truth! Then I wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that you live and the possibility that you have chosen some other man to spend your life with rather than me.’
Gina gasped at the bitterness and passion she heard in his voice. ‘There is no other man, Zahir … there never was. That’s the truth.’
When he turned his gaze on her again his eyes regarded her with such disdain that she curled up inside. Somehow, no matter how hard she tried, she seemed to have great difficulty in inspiring love in the people closest to her.
‘It is of no account to me any more. It is all too late now.’
Distressed and dry-mouthed at the bleakness in his tone, she darted out her tongue to moisten her lips. She wrapped her arms tightly round herself to subdue the pain that vibrated inside. ‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’ she asked quietly. ‘Have you any idea how hard it is for me to see you again and discover that you’re practically a—a king?’
‘I was not the ruler of Kabuyadir when we met. I knew I would inherit the mantle of Sheikh when my father died—I was trained to do so from a boy—but I was still just Zahir when we were together. I had thought to share some carefree time with you before that happened. When we met that night at the Husseins I, too, was grieving. My mother had died just a month before. To meet you and feel the way I did so instantly … it gave me hope—hope that life would get better despite my losing my beloved mother. However, you declined to come back to me. Just days after I spoke to you on the phone my father’s health started to rapidly deteriorate, and he too died. Any prospect of carefree time had gone. I was now Sheikh of the kingdom and my life would never be the same again.’