The Desert Sheikh's Innocent Queen: King of the Desert, Captive Bride

CHAPTER FIVE

KHALID was woken by the sound of his phone ringing. Groaning as it continued to ring, he reached out and grabbed the small wireless phone from the table beside his bed.

He recognized the number immediately. His eldest brother, Sharif.

Answering, he rolled over onto his back. “You’re a king and a newlywed,” Khalid said, his deep voice husky with sleep. “What are you doing calling so early?”

“You promised me you wouldn’t break any laws.”

Khalid rolled his eyes. “I didn’t.”

“The president of Jabal wants her back.”

“He’s not the president, he’s a dictator, and the Red Cross and United Nations are both extremely concerned by his regime’s disregard for human life.”

“Khalid, this is serious.”

“I know it is,” Khalid answered mildly, but both of them knew that Khalid was the Fehr brother least likely to compromise. “And Olivia’s not going back. Not now, not ever.”

Sharif sighed heavily. “You freed her by illegal means.”

“I rescued her from Ozr, which is synonymous with hell and you know it.”

“You claimed her. You claimed her as your fiancée.”

“Yes, I did.” “That’s a lie—”

“Not if I marry her.” Khalid nearly smiled at Sharif’s sharp intake.

“That’s ridiculous,” Sharif protested tersely. “You’ve spent the past ten years making it clear that you’re not interested in people, or relationships or emotions. You’ve pushed everyone close to you away. You don’t even return phone calls—”

“She’s in trouble.”

“The world’s in trouble, Khalid. That doesn’t mean you can save everyone.”

“I’m not trying to save everyone.”

“No?”

“No.”

Sharif muttered something unintelligible before adding, “They believe your Miss Morse is part of a huge drug ring.”

“She’s not,” Khalid answered flatly.

“But what if she is?”

Khalid fell silent. He’d considered the very same point. What if Olivia wasn’t innocent? What if she was part of this drug smuggling ring? What if the others were just better at the game and she was the one who got caught?

What if there weren’t any others involved?

What if she’d lied to everyone about everything?

“I’ve run a background check on her,” he answered after a moment. “There is nothing in her past that indicates she has the experience, or worldliness, to pull something like this off. She lives in the middle of nowhere—a small town in the south—and it’s a genuine small town, population thirteen thousand.”

“Just the kind of girl to crave fame and fortune.”

“Her mom’s a homemaker, her older brother is a carpenter and builds houses.”

“Khalid,” Sharif said, a caution in his voice. “You can’t mean to marry her—”

“Why not? You married a schoolteacher. I can marry a travel agent.”

“Not funny. I knew Jesslyn for years. She was best friends with our sisters. Furthermore, she wasn’t a criminal.”

Khalid, uncomfortable with the mention of Aman and Jamila, rolled into a sitting position, naked save for the sheet partially covering his lap. “I won’t marry a criminal.”

“Not even to save her. Because I know you. You have this thing about rescuing broken creatures, but marriage is different. You can’t damage your name—our name—for someone like that. It’s not fair to my children, or our brother—”

“I know,” Khalid interrupted, smothering his irritation. Sharif had always played the heavy. It was a role he seemed to relish. “I’ve a week to uncover the truth, and I promise you, I intend to do everything I can to uncover the truth.”

“What if a week isn’t enough, brother?”

Khalid ran his hand through his short hair, trying to comb it flat. “Then we’re all in trouble.”

Hanging up, Khalid stepped into a loose pair of cotton pajamas and walked to the balcony, where he drew the curtains open, revealing the pyramid bathed in pink morning light.

One week, he thought. One week wasn’t long. He had a lot to do in seven days, a lot to learn, and the best way to learn was to observe.

He needed to get Olivia alone, away from the crowds and noise and distractions of Cairo. He needed to find out just what happened that day she was arrested. He also wanted to find the group she’d been traveling with, including the elusive Elsie, who’d allegedly given the drugs to Liv to carry.

So the first order of the day’s business was to ensure Liv had phoned home last night as she’d promised she would before she went to bed.

The second was to make their engagement official—which included putting a ring on Liv’s finger.

And the last was to learn more about this fiancée of his, and the best way to do it was to leave urban Cairo behind for the old Egypt, the one of pharaohs, temples and archaeological digs.

Liv was already awake and dressed in a pretty blue-and-white seersucker sundress when Khalid appeared. She’d been sitting in the living room having coffee and flipping through one of the many newspapers the butler had presented her earlier.

“It’s everywhere,” she said, looking up when Khalid entered the room. “It’s in every paper, on the front page, and again inside other sections. Your engagement is front page news.”

“Our engagement,” he corrected evenly, reaching for one of the papers off the table. He was dressed very casually in a European wardrobe of dark slacks and a long-sleeved white shirt with the cuffs folded back.

“When does this end?” she choked, sitting up taller. “How does it end?”

“It doesn’t. We’re in this together. For better or worse,” Khalid said, shooting her a hard, narrowed look. He’d just showered and his hair was still damp, his jaw freshly shaven. “It could be worse, too. You could still be in Ozr.”

She just looked at him, her stomach a bundle of nerves. Perhaps he didn’t find the idea of a marriage of convenience intolerable, but she did. She wanted to love the man she married. She wanted to be wooed and won, swept off her feet, and fall head over heels in love.

She wanted a proper wedding, too, but then, didn’t every girl? Over the years Liv had imagined her wedding in detail, from the white silk dress to the pale pink floral swags in the white steepled church.

“I’m not marrying a man I don’t love,” she said almost fiercely, her cheeks burning. “And when I do meet him, Sheikh Fehr, I’m not getting married without my mother attending.”

“I appreciate your romantic sentiments,” he answered, dropping one paper and reaching for another. “I do. And as a man who had two younger sisters, I understand how important romance is for you women. But romance isn’t practical. And romance isn’t going to save you so I suggest letting go of the fairy tale to focus on reality. By the way,” he continued, “how did you sleep last night?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” she answered hesitantly. “Why?”

“No bad dreams?” he persisted.

She frowned at him, trying to remember if anything had disturbed her sleep. “I don’t think so.”

“All right. Good. And you do look better today. You still have those shadows under your eyes, but at least you’ve got some pink in your cheeks. Yesterday you were very pale.”

“I was exhausted,” she admitted.

“Were you able to call your family before you went to bed?”

She nodded, recalling the brief five-minute conversation. Her mom and brother were on the phone at the same time and her mother still found it difficult to speak for too long without getting winded, so Liv and Jake did most of the talking, but even then, they were both quite careful to say nothing that would upset their mother.

“It was fine,” she said. “I was tired and not as talkative as I could be. But at least they know I’m safe, and, well … and they don’t have to worry anymore.” She hesitated. “I was surprised, though, that Jake didn’t mention your call to him, but maybe he didn’t feel right talking about it with Mom on the phone.”

“I imagine he’s doing his best to protect your mom.” The edge of his mouth curved. “It’s what men want to do for their women, whether it’s their wife or their mother.”

Intrigued by this revelation, she probed for more information. “Are you close with your mother?”

“No,” he answered, and instead of elaborating glanced at his watch. “Feel like shopping?”

Liv wrinkled her nose. “Not particularly.”

“You don’t enjoy shopping?”

“We shopped yesterday.”

He looked at her strangely, deep grooves forming on either side of his full mouth, his upper lip slightly bowed, but not quite as full as his sensual lower lip. For the first time she noticed he had a hint of a cleft in his chin. Definitely handsome, if not completely overwhelming.

“Women love to shop,” he said.

“I don’t, unless I’m buying travel books or history books or something that I can read.” She watched his face, trying to gauge his reaction, but his expression was perfectly blank. “I was actually hoping we could go sightseeing.” She hesitated. “See the pyramids or visit the Sphinx.”

Before Khalid could answer, the suite’s doorbell chimed and the butler emerged from a back room to go to the door. Liv could hear the door open, and then listened as he greeted someone and then the door closed again. The butler entered the living room with an older Egyptian in a dark suit following close at his heels, a large leather briefcase in one hand.

“Your Highness,” the older Egyptian said, greeting Khalid with a deep bow. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Not at all,” Khalid answered. “We were just discussing the day.”

The man bowed again. “Is there someplace in mind you’d like to do this? Shall I join you there in the sitting area, or would you prefer to move to the dining room?”

Khalid glanced at Liv where she sat, and then into the dark dining room. “I think the light is better here,” he answered, “and Olivia is already comfortable. Let’s just do this where we are.”

“Excellent.” The man carried his briefcase to the low coffee table between the upholstered pieces of furniture and set his briefcase down. It wasn’t until he placed the briefcase on the table that she noticed it was handcuffed to his wrist.

Shocked, she watched him take a tiny key from another pocket and undo the clasp on the handcuff, before turning his attention to the locked briefcase.

Glancing at Khalid, she realized he wasn’t at all surprised by the elaborate security measures. Then when the man opened the briefcase, she understood why.

It was filled with diamond rings. Rows and rows of diamond rings in the velvet-covered, foam-lined briefcase. There had to be at least twenty rings, maybe thirty, and the diamonds were enormous. They started in the three-or four-carat range and went all the way to three or four times that size.

But not all the diamonds were the traditional clear stone. Parts of the rows glittered with pastel light, and a dozen rings featured the incredibly rare and costly pink and yellow diamonds.

Each diamond was cut differently, too, and the shapes and styles dazzled her—marquise cut, emerald cut, oval, pear. The settings were all unique, too, with prongs inset with diamonds, the bezels paved, every setting glittering with fire and light.

“I know you said you don’t enjoy shopping, but I do think you should pick the ring you’ll wear,” Khalid said.

“It’s not just a ring,” the Egyptian jeweler said soberly, “it’s a symbol of your commitment, and you’ll want a ring that will always remind you of your love and vows—”

“Khalid,” Liv murmured, rising to her feet. “May I please have a word with you?”

“Of course,” he answered, “but we can speak freely here. Mr. Murai is an old friend of my family’s and has been in the jewelry business a long time. You are not the first jittery bride-to-be he has helped.”

Liv’s frustration grew. Khalid was deliberately misunderstanding her. “I’m just overwhelmed,” she said. “I don’t think I can make this decision today. Perhaps at the end of the week …?”

“I want my ring on your finger,” Khalid answered bluntly. “It’s important to me. It’s important to my people, and it’s important to my family.”

“But I don’t know anything about diamonds or jewels—”

“Which is why Mr. Murai is here. He’s not just the best in Cairo, he’s one of the best jewelers in the world. Most of the royal families use him.”

But she didn’t want to wear a ring, especially not a ring like this. None of these was just a simple band, but a statement of wealth, a statement of style and lifestyle—all things Liv wasn’t comfortable with.

“I understand you want me to wear a ring,” she said, swallowing with difficulty, “but these rings are too much. They’re so elaborate, and large and more than I need.”

“Miss Morse, I understand this can be overwhelming,” Mr. Murai said kindly. “Selecting one’s ring is often a very emotional decision and it requires time and thought. Please, won’t you sit down again and tell me a little about what you’d like? There’s no hurry, no pressure. We shall take as much time as you need, we will try every ring, and if nothing pleases you, I shall go, search out more beautiful choices and bring them back to you.”

Liv looked up at Khalid as the jeweler spoke and she stared at him hard, wanting to tell him that she still wasn’t happy even as she knew that Khalid would have his way.

She couldn’t fight with Khalid in front of the jeweler. Khalid had said appearances mattered. He said everything they did would be scrutinized, including her wardrobe, her jewelry, and what she wore—or didn’t wear—on her ring finger.

Slowly she sat back down on the couch. “I don’t know very much about diamonds,” she said, her voice pitched low.

“That’s fine, I can teach you what I know.”

She nodded, aware of Khalid standing behind the jeweler, aware that he’d hardly glanced at the case of jewels. Instead his entire focus seemed to rest on her.

“Do you have any favorite pieces at home?” the jeweler persisted.

She blushed shyly. “I don’t own very much jewelry, just an opal ring my brother’s former girlfriend brought me back from Australia, and a pearl necklace my father gave me when I turned eighteen.”

“No diamonds?” the jeweler asked.

“No diamonds.”

“Well, then, we will make sure your first is exactly right for you.” Mr. Murai gestured to the front row of diamonds. “I don’t know if diamonds are truly a girl’s best friend, but I do know diamonds are timeless. The popularity of the cut might come and go, but the stone itself remains the most popular of all gemstones.

“There are three very popular cuts at the moment,” he continued. “The marquise, rose and cushion. All the rings in this front row are one of those cuts. As you can see,” he said, lifting one of the rings and tilting it to catch the light, “the marquise cut is boat-shaped, pointed at both ends and one of the most popular cuts today although it dates back to the 1700s.”

She watched him tip the ring this way and that, amazed at how the ring glowed all the way through, glinting with bits of fire and light. “It’s very pretty.”

He glanced up at her. “But not right for you?”

“It’s very dramatic,” she answered.

Smiling, Mr. Murai replaced the large marquise cut diamond ring and picked up another. “This is a rose cut, and the rose cut was developed in the sixteenth century. As you can see, it’s a very glamorous, very elegant look. Some people think it’s classic Hollywood, others see it and think of the crown jewels. You’ll notice there’s a flat base and all the facets radiate from the center.”

It was beautiful, but not her. The setting was beautiful, too, but it just felt too … old, too much like what a grandmother might wear. Not that her grandmother had ever owned a diamond bigger than a half carat.

“Not for you,” the jeweler guessed, slipping the ring back and reaching for another. “This one dates to the 1600s and it’s known as the cushion cut. Note the square or rectangular shape and the rounded corners. Many people think a diamond’s brilliance is particularly enhanced by this cut.”

“That’s gorgeous, too,” she said, but there was no way she’d ever wear a ring that big, or a stone that large. “How big a carat is that?” she asked, just out of curiosity.

“Just under twelve carats.”

“Heavens,” she choked, recoiling. “Twelve carats? Who could afford that?”

“Your fiancé,” Mr. Murai answered evenly, putting the ring back. “His brothers. Their friends.”

“I’m sorry, but I find it almost offensive—” She broke off apologetically. “I just couldn’t in good conscience ever wear something like that when I know half the world is starving. It doesn’t seem right.”

Khalid abruptly moved forward, leaned over the open briefcase and searched the trays of rings. “That one,” he said, pointing to a two-and-a-half-carat yellow pear-shaped diamond in a platinum band. Smaller diamonds sparkled at the prongs.

Mr. Murai took the ring out of the case. “One of my favorite rings,” the jeweler said, twisting it to capture the light. “Very classic, and very, very elegant.”

It was beyond beautiful, and it wasn’t something she would have ever chosen to try, but there was something in the shape and the design that captured her imagination.

“Try it on,” the jeweler encouraged.

Uncertainly Liv slid the ring onto her left hand and gazed down at the flawless diamond, the palest yellow. The ring made her skin look creamy, while the stone itself reminded her of sun and sweet, ripe fruit and lemon meringue.

She turned her hand to the light, then dropped her hand low and finally brought the ring up near her face to inspect the exquisite setting more closely.

“It suits you,” Khalid said quietly.

She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed. “It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.”

“Is there anything else you’d like better?” he asked.

“No,” she answered breathlessly, curling her fingers, feeling the weight of the stone against the back of her finger and the smooth warm fit of the platinum band on her skin. “But it’s too much, far too much—”

“That is the ring,” Khalid said, turning to Mr. Murai. “Can we have it sized this morning and returned to us before our noon flight?”

Mr. Murai nodded. “Not a problem.”

“We’ll leave for the airport at eleven-thirty,” Khalid added.

Liv looked at him, and then back at the ring, which was still enormous at two and a half carats, and yet it was also beautiful, beyond beautiful, and she couldn’t believe it was going to be hers.

It shouldn’t be hers. She wasn’t really going to marry Khalid. She was going to go home and get back to her job and become just Liv Morse again, but until then, would it be so awful to actually wear something this lovely? God knows, she’d never have anything like this again.

Girls like her didn’t own jewels. Girls like her just admired them in magazines.

“I’ll have the ring sized immediately,” the jeweler answered, “and will personally bring it back to you.”

After Mr. Murai left with his briefcase of rings, Liv stood at the window with the view of the Great Pyramid, feeling increasingly pensive.

She shouldn’t have said yes to the ring. It wasn’t proper. Nice girls—good girls—didn’t accept expensive gifts from men, much less from men like sheikhs and desert princes.

Her mother would have another heart attack if she knew Liv was even wearing a ring like that.

“It’s just a ring,” Khalid said flatly, standing not far behind her. “You haven’t damned your soul yet.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Yet.”

His generous mouth with that slightly bowed upper lip curved in amusement. “Most women love trinkets.”

“Sheikh Fehr, yellow diamonds aren’t trinkets.”

“I don’t think you can continue with the Sheikh Fehr title now that we’re engaged.”

“But we’re not really engaged.”

His faint smile disappeared, and his chiseled features grew harder, fiercer. “On the contrary, we really are, and in just a few hours you’ll have the ring to prove it.”

CHAPTER SIX

MR. MURAI returned to the hotel by eleven with the sized ring and by eleven-thirty she and Khalid were in the car, heading for the airport.

At Cairo’s executive airport they boarded the royal jet for Aswan, the southernmost outpost of ancient Egypt, a city five hundred and fifty miles south of Cairo.

During the first half hour of the flight, Khalid stared out the window, reflecting on the early morning phone call from his brother.

Sharif had been wrong about several things, but he had been right when he said that Khalid had pushed people away and severed relationships. Khalid didn’t want anyone dependent on him, much less emotionally dependent. He needed space—freedom—and he wasn’t ready to give it up.

He’d do what he had to do to get Olivia home, but this wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about emotion. It was duty. Pure and simple.

The flight attendant appeared to tell them she would soon be serving lunch, and proceeded to set up a table that locked into the floor in between their club chairs, turning the sitting area into a cozy dining room.

Liv glanced at Khalid as the flight attendant spread a pale gold linen cloth over the table. She didn’t want to be intimidated by him but there was something overwhelming about him. She didn’t know if it was his silence, or the stillness in his powerful frame, but he reminded her of the desert he lived in. Remote, detached, aloof. A desert—and a man—she wanted nothing to do with.

Horrifying tears suddenly started to her eyes. She reached up and knocked them away with a knuckle. She hadn’t cried in Ozr. She certainly wasn’t going to cry now, but she’d gotten her hopes up. She’d thought—imagined—she was free. She’d thought that once she left Jabal with Khalid she was just one step away from home. But instead of home, they were setting off on a different journey. A new journey. A journey she wasn’t ready, or willing, to take.

The flight attendant served their first course, sizzling prawns, on the Fehr royal china, with its distinctive geometric gold-and-black pattern that struck Liv as exceptionally Egyptian.