THE DESERT

Sheikh’s

INNOCENT QUEEN

King of the Desert, Captive Bride

Jane Porter

The Sheikh’s Secretary Mistress

Lucy Monroe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

King of the Desert, Captive Bride

JANE

PORTER

About the Author

JANE PORTER grew up on a diet of Mills & Boon® romances, reading late at night under the covers so her mother wouldn’t see! She wrote her first book at age eight, and spent many of her school and college years living abroad, immersing herself in other cultures and continuing to read voraciously. Now Jane has settled down in rugged Seattle, Washington, with her gorgeous husband and two sons. Jane loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 524, Bellevue, WA 98009, USA. Or visit her website at www.janeporter.com

Don’t miss Jane Porter’s exciting new novel, A Dark Sicilian Secret, available in May 2011 from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

PROLOGUE

SHEIKH Khalid Fehr read the message posted on the Internet bulletin board again.

American Woman Missing in the Middle East.

Help desperately needed. My sister disappeared two weeks ago without a trace.

Her name is Olivia Morse. She’s twenty-three years old, five-four, 105 pounds, blond, blue eyes. She speaks with a Southern accent and is on the shy side. If anyone has seen her or knows her whereabouts, please call or e-mail me. Her family is frantic.

In his tent, sitting at his laptop computer, Khalid reread the last sentence—her family is frantic—and felt a heavy weight lodge in his gut.

He knew what it was like to be frantic about a family member. He knew how it felt to be an older brother panicked about a sister. He’d once had two younger sisters and then one day they were gone.

He scrolled back through the message on the Internet bulletin board and discovered an earlier message from the same Jake Morse.

Missing American woman! If you’ve seen this woman please call or e-mail immediately.

There was a photo attached and Khalid clicked on the attachment and waited for the photo to open.

It finally did, although slowly due to the connection being via satellite phone, and Khalid found himself looking at a black-and-white photo that had to be a passport photo. White-blond hair. Light, light eyes. Pale, translucent skin. She was definitely pretty. But what really held his attention was her expression, the tentative smile and the look in her eyes—shy, curious, hopeful.

Hopeful.

His chest tightened and he leaned back in his chair, away from his desk.

His sister Aman used to look at the world that way. She was so much shyer than Jamila, the more outgoing twin. Aman’s tenderness and quiet sense of humor always brought out the best in him, brought out the best in everyone, and when she died a week after Jamila he’d felt his heart break. His heart had never been the same.

Frowning at the computer screen, he ran his palm slowly along his jaw, the short, rough bristles biting at his skin. And again he looked into this missing Olivia’s eyes and tried to imagine where she was, tried to imagine her circumstances. Was she sick, hurt, dead?

Had she been kidnapped? Murdered? Raped?

Or had she disappeared by choice? Was there someone, something, she was running from?

It was none of his business, he told himself, rising from his computer. He’d left city life and civilization behind to live in the desert, far from violence, noise and crime. He’d chosen solitude because he hated how most people lived.

But what if this were his sister?

What if Aman or Jamila had gone missing?

They wouldn’t, he brusquely reminded himself. They’d been princesses—royal—and security detail had followed them everywhere.

He didn’t know this Jake, didn’t know anything about the man, but he could still see the words he’d written, could still hear the plea for help echo in his head.

Turning at the edge of his tent, Khalid looked back at his computer, at the enlarged black-and-white photo. Olivia Morse, twenty-three years old, five foot four, and one hundred and five pounds—if that.

With a snap of his wrist he flung the tent flap back, exited his tent and called for one of his men.

He might live in the middle of the Great Sarq Desert and he might be a nomadic sheikh, but he was still a king, one of the royal Fehrs, blessed with power, wealth and infinite connections. If anyone could locate this American, he could.

CHAPTER ONE

HE’D found her.

It’d taken three weeks, a small fortune, two private investigators, the help of Sarq’s secretary of state, a lot of secret handshakes, deals and promises—as well as some threats—but at last he was going to see her.

Sheikh Khalid Fehr ducked to enter through Ozr Prison’s low threshold. He was escorted past the men’s wing to the women’s side of the prison, the foul smell of overflowing toilets and unwashed bodies so overpowering his stomach rose in protest.

At the entrance to the women’s prison wing his male guard handed him over to a female guard who examined Khalid’s paperwork.

The female guard, covered head to foot by her black robe, took her time reading through his paperwork, and Khalid stifled his impatience. Ozr had the reputation for being one of the worst prisons in the world—it was a place notorious for the lack of human rights—but finally the female guard looked up, nodded curtly. “Follow me,” she said.

He followed her through one low arched corridor after another, deeper beneath the old fortress which had been turned into Ozr Prison a half century ago.

As they walked through the corridors, hands reached out, and voices in Arabic, Egyptian, Farsi and even English begged for help, for mercy, for a doctor, a lawyer, anyone, anything. Ozr was the last place on earth any man would want to be. God only knew how it was for a woman, as once you entered through the prison’s gates, you discovered you’d earned a one-way ticket. Once you were in, you never came out again.

One of Khalid’s friends from high school had gotten into trouble in Jabal and after being arrested was tossed into Ozr was never heard from again. Khalid’s father, the King of Sarq, had made enquiries and then entreaties on his son’s friend’s behalf all to no avail.

Jabal, bordered by four countries including Egypt and Sarq, remained a dangerous dictator state, with international travel warnings in place, warnings that Olivia Morse had obviously ignored.

The guard stopped before a cell that was empty except for a woman sitting on a narrow cot, her knees drawn to her chest, wisps of blond hair escaping from her black veil.

Olivia.

Khalid’s chest tightened, a visceral reaction to seeing her for the first time.

In her passport photo she’d been pretty, fresh-faced, a hopeful light in her blue eyes. But the young woman sitting inside the cell didn’t look like the photo anymore. The woman inside the cell appeared vacant, even half-dead.

“Olivia Morse,” he asked, stepping toward the bars.

Her head briefly lifted but she didn’t look at him.

“You are Miss Olivia Morse, aren’t you?” he persisted, his voice pitched low.

Liv sat on the cot, legs pulled up against her, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, trying to make herself smaller.

Maybe she wasn’t really here, and maybe there wasn’t another bad man standing outside her cell demanding information, threatening another interrogation, interrogations that always ended with a beating.

Didn’t they understand yet that she had no answers? Didn’t they understand she was as confused as they were? She’d been had. Duped. Destroyed.

Liv closed her eyes, bent her head and pressed her forehead against the bony curve of her knees. Maybe if she just kept her eyes closed she’d disappear. Dissolve. Wake up in Alabama again.

God, she missed home. God, she missed Jake and Mom and everyone.

She should have never dreamed of pyramids and beautiful waves of sand, shouldn’t have wanted to ride a camel or explore the ancient tombs.

She should have been happy staying home. She should have been happy just being a travel agent, booking other people’s exotic vacations.

“Olivia.”

The man spoke her name quietly, urgently, and fear rose up in her, fear that something bad was going to happen again.

Turning her head away, she choked in broken Arabic, Arabic she’d learned to protect herself from another blow during the endless interrogations, “I don’t know. I don’t know who she was—”

“We’ll discuss the charges later,” he interrupted, speaking flawless English, English without a hint of an accent. “There are a few things we need to settle first.”

Liv shivered. The fact that he spoke English only made her more afraid, and fear and fatigue were the only things she understood anymore.

“If I knew who she was, I’d tell you, I would. Because I want to go home—” She broke off, took a quick, unsteady breath, exhausted from the interrogations. The guards came for her at all hours of the night and then they’d skip her meals, trying to break her, trying to get the information they wanted. “I want to help you. I’m trying to help you. Believe me.”

“I do,” he said almost gently, and his tone, so different from the others, was her undoing.

Scalding tears filled her eyes, tears so hot they stung and burned as if filled with salt and sand.

Reaching up, she swiftly wiped her eyes dry. “I want to go home,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

“And I want to see you return home.”

No one had said that to her since she arrived. No one had given her the slightest bit of hope that she’d ever leave this horrible place.

Liv slowly turned her head and looked at him. The corridor was dark, shadowy, but the shadows couldn’t hide his height or size. He wasn’t a small man, or a stout man, not like the ones who’d interrogated her before. He was considerably younger, too.

He was robed, but his robe was black and embroidered heavily with gold. His head covering was white, pristine-white, and while the cloth concealed much of his hair it only served to emphasize his hard, strong features.

“I’m here to get you out,” he continued, “but we don’t have much time.”

Torn between hope and dread, Liv clutched her knees to her chest, her thin back robe rough against her skin. All of her clothes had been confiscated with the rest of her things at the time of her arrest. In place of her skirts and jeans and T-shirts she’d been given this robe, and the thin, stiff linen garment she wore beneath the robe, which was little more than a slip. “Who sent you?”

The man’s expression was neither friendly nor encouraging. “Your brother.”

“Jake?”

“He asked me to check on you.”

She lurched to her feet and then grabbed the wall for support. “Jake knows I’m here?”

“Jake knows I’m looking for you.”

Liv exhaled in a dizzy rush, her fingers pressed to the damp stone wall. “They said I’d never leave here. They said I’d never get out, not until I confessed, and gave up the names of the others.”

“They didn’t know you were connected to powerful people,” he replied.

Liv blinked, her head swimming. “Am I?”

“You are now.”

She moved to the front of the cell and grabbed the bars. “How? Why?”

“I am Sheikh Khalid Fehr, and I’m here representing the royal family of Sarq.”

“Sarq borders Jabal,” she said.

“And Egypt,” he answered. “It will be a diplomatic feat to get you out of here today, and time is short. I need to have the paperwork finalized, but I will return—”

“No!” Liv didn’t mean to shout, she hadn’t intended her voice to be loud at all, but panic melted her bones, turning her blood to ice. “No,” she said more softly. “Please. Don’t leave me here.”

“It’s just for a few minutes, maybe a half hour at the most—”

“No,” she begged, her voice breaking, her hand snaking through the bars of the prison cell to clasp the sleeve of his robe. “Don’t leave me.”

For a long moment he said nothing, just stared down at her hand, his thick black lashes fanning the hard thrust of cheekbone, his skin the color of burnished gold. “They won’t free you without my completing the necessary paperwork.”

Her fingers tightened in his robe. “Don’t go.”

“I’ll be back, I promise.”

“I’m afraid here,” she whispered. “I’m afraid of the guards. I’m afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of what happens when prisoners disappear.” Her gaze clung to his, desperate, pleading. “The prisoners don’t come back sometimes. They don’t and I hear screaming, terrible screaming.”

“I’m only going down the hall,” he said. “I will be back soon.”

“But they won’t let you back. They won’t. I know how this place works. The American ambassador came once and he never returned.”

“There is no American ambassador in Jabal,” he answered. “It was a trick they played on you, a trick to try to break you.”

She gripped his robe tighter. “Are you a trick, too?”

Deep grooves bracketed his mouth. For a long moment he didn’t speak and then when he did, his voice dropped, deepened. “It depends on your definition of a trick.”

An icy shaft chilled her. She jerked her head up, stared at him, stared hard as if she could somehow see the truth. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Just know I will be back. As soon as I can.”

“Don’t forget me,” she whispered.

“I won’t, and I will be back sooner than you think.”

She couldn’t look away from his eyes, couldn’t look away in case he was making promises he didn’t intend to keep. She’d been duped once more. She was beginning to think she’d never leave Ozr, never see her family again. “What if they take me away first?”

“They won’t.”

“They have other entrances, and different rooms. They might take me—”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know?”

His gaze fell to rest again on her hand, where it clutched his sleeve. “They’d be fools to try that now, with me here. They know I’ve seen you, they know we’ve spoken.”

She nodded stiffly, her insides cold. She heard his words but they did little to comfort. She’d been here too long, seen too much. The guards did what they wanted when they wanted without fear of retribution.

He pulled free and was gone, disappearing down the dark corridor and all she could think as he walked away was Come back. Come back. Please.

Although the wait seemed endless, the sheikh did return, and with him were two prison officials.

She didn’t know what to think when one of the officials unlocked her cell door and called her forward. But once the door was open, she didn’t hesitate, moving quickly towards Sheikh Fehr, blindly putting her trust in him. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t stay here. Anything would be better than Ozr.

Liv walked close to Sheikh Fehr back through the narrow tunnels and out the door into the dazzling sunshine. It was astonishingly hot out, and bright, and the fierce light sent her reeling backward, her legs crumpling beneath her.

Sheikh Fehr was there as she stumbled, swooping to catch her before she fell to the stone steps.

Liv had instinctively thrown her arm out to break the fall and her hand ended up being crushed to Sheikh Fehr’s chest, her palm flat against his hard body, his chest a thick, dense plane of muscle.

“Oh,” she choked, her fingers lifting sharply, and yet she couldn’t move her hand away, her arm trapped, locked, between his broad chest and her body.

“Did you twist your ankle?” he asked, his voice so deep and husky that it made her think of the sun-drenched pyramids with their elaborate hidden treasures.

She shook her head and struggled to free herself, needing to be on her own feet again and away from this dark, silent man who filled her with both awe and terror.

“It’s just so sunny,” she answered unsteadily.

He placed her on her feet even as he kept one hand on the small of her back. With his other hand he removed his sunglasses and put them on her face, carefully sliding the glasses onto her nose. “You haven’t been outside in a while.”

It was a statement, not a question, and Liv didn’t know if it was the sudden and strange intimacy of being so close to this fiercely intimidating man or the intensity of the sun, but she felt weak all over again, her legs like jelly beneath her.

Dipping her head, the glasses, which had already been too big for her small face, slid to the tip of her nose. “You’d better take them,” she said, reaching up to remove them. “They’re too big for me.”

But Sheikh Fehr didn’t take the sunglasses. Instead he returned them to her face and firmly pushed the frame onto the bridge of her nose. “They might be big but they’ll give your eyes a chance to adjust,” he said flatly, his flinty tone discouraging argument, even as a series of dark cars appeared, heading toward them.

A group of robed men emerged from one of the cars and Liv shrank closer to Sheikh Fehr’s side, moving so close she could feel his solid frame and the warmth emanating from his body.

He extended a protective arm, keeping her there at his side. “Do not fear. They are my men and they’re here to make sure we get to the airport safely.”

She nodded but her fear and worry didn’t go away, and wouldn’t until she was back home with Jake and her mom. There was too much here that felt foreign and unfamiliar. She’d wanted the unfamiliar, it’s why she’d traveled to Middle East in the first place, but she hadn’t expected problems, nor danger, not like this.

She’d chosen Egypt and Morocco because they looked unique and picturesque in the travel brochures. She’d poured over the travel brochures, too, lingering over photos of the pyramids in the late afternoon sun, camels setting across the desert at sunset, and treasures and artifacts on display at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo.

She’d read and reread the itineraries of the Nile cruises, imagining stopping at each of the different ports with a different temple and excursion for every day. She’d shop in the souks, purchase practical wool rugs, buy kebabs from the street vendors and have the adventure of a lifetime.

She’d never seriously considered the possibility of getting into trouble. But then, she’d never been in trouble before. Liv had always been the good girl, the one that followed all the rules and did everything she was told.

One of Sheikh Fehr’s guards opened the back door of the tinted-windowed sedan, and Liv turned to Sheikh Fehr, her gaze searching the hard, expressionless features. She was putting her life in his hands and she didn’t even know him. “Can I trust you?” she asked, her voice all but inaudible.

His dark eyes bored into hers, his high cheekbones creating shadowed hollows above a firm, unsmiling mouth. “Perhaps I should be the one to ask that question. I’ve put my name, and my reputation, on the line for you. Can I trust you, Olivia Morse?”

Something in his dark, shuttered gaze sent shivers racing through her. She had the distinct feeling she was dealing with an altogether different sort of man than she’d ever dealt with before. The problem was, her experience with men was limited, and the one man she was close to—her brother, Jake—was as uncomplicated as a man could be.

Sheikh Fehr, on the other hand, struck her as quite complicated.

“Yes. Of course you can trust me,” she answered huskily, trying to ignore the sudden rush of butterflies in her middle.

“Then we should go,” he answered, gesturing to the open car door, “because you’re not safe here, and you won’t be safe until we reach my country.”

In the close confines of the car, Liv dipped her head, tucking dirty blond hair back behind her ears. She was filthy, and was certain she smelled even worse. She craved a shower or bath, had never wanted to bathe as much as she did right now.

“I’m sorry,” she said, realizing that the sheikh was watching her as the car sped along the road through the desolate countryside to the capital. “I know I’m in desperate need of a shower….” Her voice drifted off apologetically.

“I was thinking that your brother will be so glad when you call him later.”

“Yes,” Liv agreed, eyes suddenly stinging as intense emotion rushed through her. “I was beginning to lose hope that I’d ever get out of there.”

“You’re lucky,” Khalid answered. “Most don’t.”

“Why don’t they?”

“They don’t have the power.”

“I didn’t have any power,” she said, voice soft.

“No. But I did.”

“You’ve done this before … helped people like me?”

“Yes.”

Her lips parted to ask him more, to find out who he was, and why he’d risk his own safety to help others, but he’d turned his head away to stare out the tinted window and the hard set of his features discouraged further conversation.

Almost everything about him discouraged conversation. Dark, big and powerfully built, she found him incredibly intimidating.

Sheikh Fehr had towered over her when they stood side by side waiting for the car and she had to believe he was at least six feet tall, if not taller. He was also quite broad-shouldered, with an athletic build. His skin was deeply tanned, with strong, rugged features that spoke of sun and wind and hot, stinging sand.

“We’re approaching Hafel, the capital city of Jabal,” Sheikh Fehr said. “Did you see any of the city before your arrest?”

Liv shook her head and, glancing down at her lap, she glimpsed the inside of her wrist where yellow and blue bruises remained. She also had more bruises high on her arms, but her robe covered those. “I never got as far as Hafel.”

“Where were you arrested?”

“On the main road between the border and Hafel.” She made a faint sound, part misery, part disbelief. “One moment I was on the bus, and the next I was on my way to Ozr.”

When the sheikh didn’t answer Liv looked up at him. “Are we stopping in Hafel now?”

“No,” Khalid answered as the capital city, a city thousands of years old, appeared before them. The city boasted relatively new modern office buildings that rose over and between crumbling Roman ruins. “Although it’s a fascinating city, a city most of the Western world knows nothing about.”

“Have you spent much time here?” she asked.

“Once upon a time.”

“What changed?”

“Everything.” He hesitated. “When I was a boy my father had a close friendship with the Jabal king, but the king was overthrown twenty years ago and the country is ruled by someone far different now.” His lips twisted cynically. “This is the first time I’ve been here in four years and until last night, I wasn’t even sure they’d allow me in.”

“Why not?”

“I get people out of prison, whisking them off to safer places. The government here doesn’t like it.” He shrugged. “They don’t like me.”

Liv’s stomach did a peculiar somersault. “So why did they let you in?”

He briefly glanced out the window, his shoulders shifting carelessly before glancing back at her. “I paid off several high-up officials.”

Drawing a quick breath she felt her stomach fall again and wondered if she’d ever feel safe again. “You bribed them?”

“Didn’t have much of a choice.” He dark eyes rested on her face, his expression grim. “It was either that, or allow you to go before the Ozr Prison judge in two days’ time, and believe me, you wouldn’t have survived the sentence.”

Liv bit her lip and looked away, out the window. They were approaching the city center, which was far more cramped than the modern neighborhoods. Smoke rose from food stands on the street corners. “It would have been harsh,” she said.

“It would have been deadly,” he agreed.

“And I just wanted to have an adventure,” she said, her voice low. “I never imagined this nightmare.”

The driver slowed, then braked to a complete stop. The sheikh’s wireless phone suddenly rang and he answered it, his eyes on the line of police cars ahead.

“The nightmare,” he said, echoing her words as he hung up the phone, “isn’t over yet.”

Liv leaned forward to get a look at the police officers ahead. “What’s happening?”

“We’re to be questioned,” he answered shortly, his features hardening. Turning his head, he looked at her, a close, ruthless inspection that was as thorough as it was critical.

“Pull your headscarf forward,” he directed. “Hide all your hair and wrap the fabric across your mouth and nose so that as much of your face is covered as possible.” He retrieved the sunglasses from the seat and handed them to her. “And keep these on. Don’t take them off unless I tell you to.” Then he opened the car door and stepped out, slamming it shut behind him.

CHAPTER TWO

THE nightmare isn’t over yet.

Sheikh Fehr’s words rang in her ears as he walked from the car. The driver had locked the car doors the moment the sheikh left the vehicle and she watched Sheikh Fehr now, heart in her throat, as a group of uniformed officers approached him.

From inside the car she could hear their muffled voices outside. The officers practically surrounded the sheikh, but he appeared unruffled.

They were speaking Arabic and she understood nothing of what they were saying other than there seemed to be a problem, and from the way the officers kept gesturing to the car, their voices growing louder, she had a sick feeling that the conversation had something to do with her.

Several long minutes passed and then Sheikh Fehr turned to the car and opened the back door. Liv ducked her head as the officers crowded around to get a look inside. Terrified, she kept her head down, her eyes closed behind the oversized pair of sunglasses.

After what seemed like eternity the car door slammed shut and shortly after the sheikh climbed back in the car. The chauffeur immediately started the ignition and pulled away.

Liv nervously laced and unlaced her fingers. “Is everything okay?” she asked, as they left the narrower, old city streets behind for the wide boulevard that ran along the North Africa coast.

“Yes.”

When it became clear he didn’t intend to say more she added, “What did they want?”

“They wanted to know if I’d legally entered their country and if I’d done anything illegal while here.”

“Have you?”

“No and yes, but that’s not what I told them. I couldn’t tell them that or you’d be in one of their cars heading straight back to Ozr.”

“So what did you tell them instead?”

He hesitated a moment, then plucked the sunglasses from her face, calmly pocketing them inside his robe. “That I was escorting a female member of my family home.”

But he wasn’t, she thought, her uneasiness growing. “Did they believe you?”

His expression turned mocking. “They know who I am, and they saw I had the proper paperwork. There wasn’t much they could do at that point.”

He was setting her newly heightened inner alarm, the one that should have been working when she agreed to carry Elsie’s bag in her backpack.

Her inner alarm hadn’t been attuned to danger then, but it was now, and Liv knew from Sheikh Fehr’s tone, as well as his evasive answers, that there was something he wasn’t telling her. Something wasn’t right. She didn’t know what it was and she very much wanted to know. “The officers were upset about something,” she persisted.

He shrugged. “It’s a cultural thing.”

She leaned forward. “Tell me.”

“We’re a man and woman traveling alone together.”

“So?”

“We’re not actually related, which is illegal in Jabal.”

Liv sat back against the seat, her fingers curling into her palms. “So they could rearrest me,” she whispered.

“Not if we get out of here first.”

They reached the small business airport in less than thirty minutes, the airport built on the outskirts of the capital city. The chauffeur drove them through the airport gates and right out onto the deserted tarmac, pulling close to the jet’s stairs.

The jet was long, sleek and narrow, the body a shiny silver with a discrete gold-and-black emblem on the tail. Sheikh Fehr walked Olivia to the jet’s stairs. “Go ahead and board,” he told her. “I need to speak with the pilot about our flight plan.”

She nodded and, holding on to the handrail, climbed the steps. A flight attendant greeted Liv as she entered the plane.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” the flight attendant said, leading Liv to the grouping of four enormous club-style leather chairs that made up one of the plane’s sitting areas. “Do you have any bags or luggage for me to stow?”

Liv shook her head as she sat down. “I don’t have … anything,” she said, reaching for the seat belt.

“So your luggage has been sent ahead?” the flight attendant asked.

“Unfortunately, I’ve lost everything,” Liv answered, and suddenly, remembering how she’d been callously stripped and searched, she shivered. They’d confiscated everything that first night. Her backpack, her passport, her clothes, her makeup bag. All of it. The only thing she had was what she wore, and even that was a prison-issued robe and headscarf.

The flight attendant saw Liv shiver. “Cold?”

“A little,” Liv admitted, still chilled from the weeks and weeks in the dark, dank cell. It’d been so awful, so unbelievable. She still couldn’t understand how she’d ended up at Ozr. She’d never broken a law in her life—well, except for driving over the speed limit, and even then, it had been five miles over the limit, not twenty.

“Would you like a blanket?”

“Please.” Liv smiled gratefully.

“Poor thing. Have you been sick?” the flight attendant asked sympathetically as she crossed to the wood-paneled cabinet and retrieved an ivory cashmere throw and small pillow, the ivory blanket the same color as the supple leather seats.

Returning, the flight attendant unfolded the blanket and draped it across Liv’s legs. “And just between you and me, I think the air conditioner is a little too efficient. Now, how about something warm to drink? Coffee, tea?”

“Coffee, with milk and sugar. If that’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all.”

The flight attendant disappeared into the jet’s galley kitchen and Liv sank deeper into her seat. This was surreal, she thought, tugging the blanket up to her shoulders. An hour ago she was still locked up in Ozr and now here she was, on a private jet, being waited on hand and foot.

While Liv sipped her coffee on the plane, Khalid joined his pilot in the final preflight inspection.

“We’ve a change of plans,” Khalid told the pilot.

The pilot looked up from his clipboard. “We’re low on petrol. The airport refused our request to refuel.”

“I’m not surprised. We had a little problem on the way here.”

“Is that why we’re not going straight to Sarq?”

Khalid nodded. “Can’t risk involving my brother in this. There’s enough tension between Sarq and Jabal already. I won’t drag Sharif, or my people, into an international incident.”

The pilot’s attention was suddenly caught by a line of cars on the horizon. “Police,” he said, nodding at the line of cars racing toward them. “Are they coming for you?”

“That, or my guest, or us both,” Khalid replied, dispassionately watching the cars grow closer.

The pilot patted the side of the plane. “Then maybe it’s time to go.”

Liv looked up as Sheikh Fehr and the pilot boarded, the pilot drawing the folding stairs up and then securing the door. Sheikh Fehr stopped to speak to the flight attendant and then continued down the aisle to take a seat across from Liv.

“Are you not feeling well?” he asked Liv, seeing the blanket wrapped around her.

“I was cold,” she answered, feeling the engine turn on, a low vibration that hummed through the entire plane.

Sheikh Fehr’s eyes narrowed as he inspected her. “You are quite pale. I wonder if you’re coming down sick.”

“I’m not sick. Just chilly. But I’m getting warmer.” She started to fold the blanket up, but the sheikh put out a hand to stop her.

“Don’t,” he said. “If the blanket is keeping you warm, there’s no need to put it away.”

As the jet began to taxi toward the runway, she resettled the blanket on her lap and glanced at him from beneath her lashes. Against his white head-covering, his skin was a tawny gold, while his eyebrows were inky slashes above long-lashed eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate.

His features were almost too angular, too strong. His forehead was high, his cheekbones were prominent, even his nose was a trifle too long. It should have made him unattractive. Instead it gave him a rugged, and very primitive, appeal.

As she looked at him, a window behind his shoulder, she caught sight of a flashing red-and-blue light.

Her eyes widened as she spotted the line of cars trailing the jet.

The sheikh glanced out the window. “Police,” he said matter-of-factly.

She looked at him, her stomach tumbling, the fear returning. “What do they want now?”

“Us,” he answered.

Us, she repeated silently, as the jet began racing down the runway, faster and faster until they were off the ground and soaring up, up, into the air.

Liv sat glued to the window.

Within ten minutes they had lifted high above the congested streets of the capital, and as they climbed higher, green fields came into view before the green faded to a khaki gold, and then even the gold hue faded, leaving just pale khaki.

“What happened in Ozr?” Sheikh Fehr asked abruptly. “What did they do to you?”

Liv jerked her attention away from the landscape below. “Nothing,” she answered quickly, too quickly, and from the creasing of the sheikh’s eyes, she knew he knew it, too.

“Ozr isn’t a nice place,” he said. “I can’t imagine they were nice to you.”

She suddenly pictured her life of the past four long weeks. The terrible food, the lack of sunlight, the lack of exercise, the taunts, the accusations and the endless middle-of-the-night interrogations. “I’m here now.”

His jaw tightened. “Barely,” he answered quietly, his gaze meeting hers.

She suppressed a shiver and turned away, unable to hold his intense gaze, or dwell on her weeks in Ozr. She was out now. That’s what mattered. She was out and soon she’d be going home.

“The view is beautiful from here,” she said, determinedly turning her attention to the landscape below.

He gestured toward the stretch of brown and beige beneath them. “That’s the Great Sarq Desert. It begins in Southern Jabal and stretches through much of Sarq, my country, and is one of the largest deserts in Northern Africa, consisting of thousands of miles.”

“I’ve read quite a bit about the Great Sarq Desert,” she said shyly but eagerly. “I read that thousands of years ago the desert was once a lush tropical landscape, that there are elaborate rock paintings in the mountains depicting everyday life. Is that true?”

He nodded. “Yes, and scattered oases are all that’s left of that ancient tropical landscape.”

“Oases used by traders and their caravans,” she added, her gaze glued to the empty plains below. “Before the trip I was reading a book on the area, and it said that in ancient civilization the desert here was the corridor that linked Africa with the coast, and the world beyond. Everyone utilized the desert corridor. The Romans, the Phoenicians, as well as the early Greek colonists—” She broke off, flushing. “But of course you know all that. It’s just … new … to me.”

The look her gave her was frankly appraising. “I didn’t know American women cared about geography so far from their own homes.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “You can’t judge America, or Americans, by what you read in the news.”

“No?” he mocked.

“No.” She held her breath for a moment, battling her temper. “Just like it’d be unfair of me to judge all the countries in this area by what happened to me in Ozr.”

The rest of the flight passed in silence. Liv tried to blank her mind, desperate to ignore the questions and worrying thoughts racing through her head. She leaned back in her chair and turned her attention to the landscape below and for a short while, it provided the much-needed distraction.

The vast desert, with its contrasting hues of tan and orange, burnt amber and rust, maroon and even a few shades of purple, held her captivated as flat expanses of sand gave way to gently rising sand dunes, which led to even higher hills. She’d never thought the desert could have so many contrasting colors. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

Before long the hills completely disappeared and desert sand gave way to the Red Sea, the deep turquoise colors a vivid contrast to the view they had left behind. Liv was again craning her head to see out the window as they flew over the coast of the African continent. Brilliant blue water sparkled below as it suddenly dawned on her that they weren’t headed to Sarq but a different destination.

It had to be Dubai, she thought. It was one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the Middle East and a place very far removed from Jabal. “Are we headed to Dubai?” she asked, as the plane tilted slightly, giving her a wider view of the Arabian Peninsula looming on the horizon.

“No, we’re going to Baraka. I have friends there and you’d be safe. But tell me, how is it that a girl from a small Southern town knows so much about the Middle East?”

“I pour over travel brochures all day,” she said, but from his expression she could see he didn’t understand. “I’m a travel agent,” she added.

“So you’re a world traveler.”

She shook her head regretfully. “No. I don’t usually travel. I just book trips for other people. This is my first real trip. Until now I’d never been out of the U.S.”

Suddenly the nose of the plane tipped and they seemed to be changing direction again. Sheikh Fehr frowned and reached for his seat belt. The flight attendant moved toward them at the same time.

She knelt at his side and spoke quietly in Arabic. “The pilot said we’ve a problem. We’re dangerously low on petrol. We need to land almost immediately. Fortunately we’ve been given permission to land in Cairo.”

“Good. Thank you,” Khalid answered, glancing at Olivia, knowing that things were beginning to get a little more complicated than he liked.

By being diverted at the last minute from Baraka to Egypt he wouldn’t be able to process Olivia swiftly. He’d planned on having her checked out by a doctor then put on a private jet to New York tonight. Instead they were landing in Cairo, which meant they’d need to find a place to stay, and since he couldn’t use his preferred pilot and jet, nor the doctor he normally used, he’d need to find another way to get her quickly and quietly attended to. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be today, or tonight.

Olivia turned just then to look at him, her blue eyes wide, almost pinched, in her pale oval face. She was still wearing her headscarf, but the fabric was loose around her neck, exposing her delicate features.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, fear in her voice, the same fear that made her eyes turn to lapis.

“We’ve had a change of plans,” he answered.

Her forehead creased. “Another? Why? What’s happened?”

“Out of petrol, or as you Americans call it, gas. So we’re landing in Egypt instead of Baraka.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but her sudden smile stunned her, her blue eyes widening with excitement. “Egypt?” she repeated. “I was on my way to Egypt when I was arrested. Will we have time to see the pyramids in Giza?”

“Unfortunately not. We’ll be landing and hopefully taking off as soon as we refuel. We need to get to Baraka tonight.”

Her gaze searched his as if trying to see what he wasn’t telling her. “Why?”

“You want to go home, don’t you?”

She nodded slowly, clearly puzzled. “But if we don’t make it out tonight, we’ll just go tomorrow, right?”

He wasn’t ready to tell her that things were a lot more complicated than she knew.

For the past ten years he’d operated his version of an underground railroad. He specialized in rescuing innocent people and he’d enlisted some powerful friends to help him. People like Sheikh Kalen Nuri, the younger brother of Baraka’s King Malik Nuri, and Sheikh Tair, leader of the independent state Ouaha.

In the past few years Kalen and Tair had helped him with dozens of impossible rescues, and they’d pledged to help with Olivia’s, but first they had to get to Baraka.

“We want to reach Baraka tonight,” he said tersely, unwilling to give up his initial goal. “I need to make a few calls,” he added, rising from his seat. “Relax, try to get a little sleep. I will be able to tell you more once we’re on the ground.”

Twenty minutes later they touched down, the jet landing so smoothly that Liv didn’t even realize they were on the ground until the pilot began to brake, slowing the jet’s speed.

After taxiing to the terminal the jet sat on the tarmac, not far from the executive terminal. Khalid didn’t appear and the pilot hadn’t emerged from the cockpit.

Liv, seeing the flight attendant on the plane phone, flagged her down. “Are we refueling?” she asked.

But before the flight attendant could answer, Sheikh Fehr walked from the cockpit back to Liv’s seat.

“We’re staying in Cairo tonight,” he said. “I’ve a car waiting. Let’s go.”

Liv shot him an uneasy glance. He was angry. She felt his tension wash over her in dark brooding waves. Something had happened. Something not good.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, unbuckling her seat belt and rising to her feet. From her window she could see a black car outside, waiting not far from the plane.

“We can talk later,” he answered, extending a hand, his black robe with the gold embroidery swirling. “Come. Traffic will be heavy. We need to go.”

She put her fingers in his, shuddering at the sharp hot spark that passed between them. She wanted very much to take her hand back but was afraid of upsetting him.

Once seated in the car, their driver sped on and off highways and Liv marveled at the way Sheikh Fehr traveled.

She’d never met anyone who owned his own jet and employed his own pilot and flight crew. Even though she worked in the travel industry, she thought of flying as booking a ticket on a commercial airline, then going to a crowded airport for an endless wait in a long security line. Maybe it was just the U.S., but modern travel meant canceled flights, missed connections, lost luggage, no meal service and irritated flight attendants. In short, flying was far from luxurious, and definitely not glamorous. But Sheikh Fehr’s jet was sumptuous, as was his fleet of cars.

The fact that he had access to a fleet of cars in different countries, never mind the security, made her wonder about him, and his power.

What kind of man could accomplish the things he did?

What kind of man risked life and limb for a stranger?

Unless he did it for money.

Hiding her worry, she shot another glance his way. Could he be a mercenary of sorts?

The thought made her skin crawl, nearly as much as her disgusting black prison-issued robe and lank headscarf did.

Self-consciously she reached up and touched the headscarf she still wore. The flight attendant hadn’t worn one and Liv wondered now if it was still necessary. “Can I take this off?” she asked.

“Please. In Jabal we didn’t have a choice, but here in Egypt, and my country of Sarq, it’s optional.”

“Some women want to wear the veil?”

“They view it as protection, shielding them from leering eyes and inappropriate advances.” His gaze swept over her. “You will need something else to wear though. That’s obviously a prison-issued robe.”

Liv plucked at her robe’s stiff, coarse fabric. “I can’t stand this thing,” she confessed, her voice dropping. “It’s all I’ve worn since they arrested me and I hate it. I never want to put it on again.”

“You won’t have to. And once we’re at the hotel, I’ll make sure the robe’s properly disposed of.”

“Thank you.” Tears inexplicably burned the backs of her eyes and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to hold the emotion in. She was just tired. Overwhelmed by the day. There was no reason to cry. She’d be home soon. If not tonight, then tomorrow. And everything would be all right. She just needed to call her mom, or Jake. Once she heard their voices she knew she’d be okay.

“So we are staying in Cairo overnight?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He shifted, shoulders shrugging impatiently. “My pilot was concerned about the plane. He was afraid there was a fuel leak and wanted it checked out before we flew again.”

“Sensible.”

“Yes.”

But from his tone, she knew the sheikh didn’t agree and she was hit with another wave of homesickness. She was tired of strangers, tired of short-tempered men and women. She just wanted to go home. Back to the people who knew her and loved her, and back to people she loved.

“Can I call my brother now?” she asked, her voice wobbly with the threat of tears.

“Maybe we should wait a little longer, until you’ve seen the doctor.”

His words were a one-two punch and Liv stiffened. “A doctor? Why?”

“It’s routine. Standard practice whenever someone’s been released—”

“How often do you do this?” she interrupted.

“Often enough to know that you need to be checked out and cleared for travel.”

“But I’m fine,” she insisted. She didn’t want anyone touching her, didn’t want anyone looking at her or poking at her or coming near her. She’d had enough of that at Ozr. “I’m fine.”

His dark gaze pierced her. “It’s not an option, Miss Morse.” His tone hardened. “You have to. I can’t take any chances. You’ve been in Ozr for weeks. The place is a breeding ground for all sorts of diseases.”

“I doubt I’ve caught anything and if I have, I’ll deal with it at home.” With my doctor, she silently, furiously added.

Sheikh Fehr might have rescued her from Ozr, but she couldn’t completely trust him. She didn’t trust anyone here anymore. These countries and cultures were far too different from hers.

Her longing for home had become an endless ache inside her. She missed her mom and brother. She wanted her mother’s delicious Sunday pot roast, and her melt-in-your-mouth mashed potatoes and the best brown gravy in the world.

She wanted Pierceville with its sleepy Main Street and big oak trees and the old Fox theater where they still showed movies. She missed Main Street’s angled parking and the drugstore on the corner and the two bakeries with their cake displays in the window.

“You won’t be given permission to leave the country if you’re not cleared for travel.” He spoke slowly to make sure he was heard. “And if you’re not cleared for travel, you don’t go home.”

Home.

That word she understood, that word cut through her fog of misery.

Turning away to hide the shimmer of tears, Liv stared out the car window, the stream of traffic outside a blur.

“Whose rule is that?” she asked thickly. “Yours, or the government’s?”

“Both.”

Biting her lip, it crossed her mind that maybe, just maybe, she’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

Khalid Fehr watched Olivia turn her face away from him. She was upset but that was her choice. He had to be careful. He took tremendous risks in helping people. At the end of the day, once someone was safe and en route to their home, he wanted to go home himself, back to his beloved desert.

The desert was where he belonged.

The desert was where he found peace.

“The doctor’s a personal friend,” he said quietly, only able to see the back of her head, and then when the sun struck the outside of the window, it turned the glass into a mirror, giving him an almost perfect reflection of her pale, set face.

She looked lost, he thought. Gone. Like a ghost of a woman.

Her fear ate at him all over again, stirring the fury in him, the fury that was only soothed, calmed, by acts of valor.

It was ridiculous, really, this need of his to save others, this need to unite families torn apart, to return missing loved ones to those who waited, grieved.

He wasn’t a hero, didn’t want to be a hero, and this wasn’t the life he’d ever wanted for himself. He’d loved his studies, had enjoyed his career, but that all ended when his sisters died.

Thinking of his sisters reminded him of Olivia and her brother Jake and all her family had gone through in the past five or six weeks since she disappeared. “I’m trying to help you,” he said quietly.

“Then send me home,” she answered, her voice breaking.

His jaw jutted. She wasn’t the only one who couldn’t go home yet. He couldn’t, either, and he wasn’t much happier about it than she was.

Anytime he took these human rights cases on, he moved swiftly, moved a person in and out in a day. These rescues always took place within twenty-four hours and then he was home again, back in his quiet world of sky and sand. Back in anonymity.

Today was different. Everything about today’s rescue was different. And that didn’t bode well for any of them.

CHAPTER THREE

A HALF hour later they reached the famous Mena House Hotel, a historic hotel on the outskirts of Cairo.

Liv leaned forward to get a glimpse of the historic property but saw little of the hotel’s entrance with the dozen black cars lining the drive and virtually blocking the front door.

“It looks like the President of the United States has arrived,” she said, staring at all the cars and security detail. “I wonder who it’s for?”

“Us,” he answered cryptically, as security moved toward their car, flanking the front and back.

She jerked around to look at him. “Why?”

He shrugged as the door opened.

“Your Highness,” one of the men said, bowing deeply. “Welcome. The hotel is secure.”

Liv didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her body had gone nerveless. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sheikh Khalid Fehr. Prince of the Great Sarq Desert.”

And then it came together, all the missing pieces, all the little things that hadn’t added up. Sarq. Fehr. The family name, Fehr. “Your brother is King Fehr,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“You’re … royalty.”

His broad shoulders shifted. “I didn’t ask for the job. I inherited it.” And then he climbed out of the car.

They were escorted through the opulent, gilded lobby to a private elevator that glided soundlessly up to the royal suite, which occupied the entire penthouse floor.

Their suite consisted of two enormous bedrooms and ensuite baths opening off a central living area. The suite was dark, the windows curtained, but then the butler drew the curtains back and the suite was flooded with late-afternoon sunlight, and the most astonishing view of the Great Pyramid.

“Incredible,” Liv murmured, standing at the window, hands pressed to the glass.

“There’s a balcony in each of the bedrooms,” the butler offered. “Very nice for a morning coffee or evening nightcap.”

She could only nod. She didn’t want to move, or be distracted. She just wanted to stand here and feast on the most amazing thing she’d ever seen.

The golden stone pyramid soared … gigantic, mythic, spectacular.

This is why she’d traveled so far from home. This is what she’d wanted to see. Ancient wonders. Relics of a glorious past.

But then Khalid Fehr spoke. “The doctor is here, Olivia.”

Her insides did a quick freeze and she slowly, reluctantly turned from the window. A woman in a dark slack suit and wearing a dark scarf around her shoulders stood next to Khalid.

“I’m Dr. Nenet Hassan,” the woman said briskly. “I’m a friend of Sheikh Fehr’s from university. The exam won’t hurt, and it won’t take long, either. We’ll just step into your room and get it over, shall we?”

Liv wouldn’t even look at Khalid as she headed for her bedroom with Dr. Hassan close behind. She didn’t want the exam, didn’t need a checkup, but no one seemed to be listening.

Fortunately, the exam was as quick as Dr. Hassan had said and in less than ten minutes the physician was putting her instruments away. “You’re healthy,” Dr. Hassan said. “And I know you’re dying for a bath so go ahead, enjoy. I’ll have a word with Sheikh Fehr and see myself out.”

Khalid was waiting for Nenet as she emerged from Liv’s room. “Well?” he demanded.

“She has some bruises but they’re not specific to any injury.”

“She hasn’t been beaten?” Khalid asked bluntly.

“She does have marks and the odd bruise or cut, but that’s to be expected. It’s a well-known fact that the female guards are far harder on the female prisoners than the male guards are on the men. They’re just more aggressive, although the abuse leans toward the mental instead of the physical.”

“What about drug use?” he asked.

Nenet lifted her head, and her somber brown gaze searched his. “You suspect her of using?”

“No. But you never know.”

The doctor’s expression remained speculative. “I didn’t see needle marks, or anything else indicative of drug abuse.”

“Good,” he answered, turning away to look out the same window that had so completely captured Liv’s imagination earlier.

“Do you really intend to marry her?” Nenet asked, catching Khalid off guard. “Or is it just another baseless rumor?”

His forehead creased and he turned from the window to look at the doctor over his shoulder. “How did you hear?”

“How did I hear? Khalid, it’s all over the news! A highranking Jabal official announced that you’d visited his country today to bring your betrothed home.” Nenet swallowed hard. “And this … this … American … she’s your betrothed?”

None of this was supposed to be happening, Khalid thought. He was supposed to have freed Olivia from prison, zipped to Baraka in his jet, had her cleared by a doctor and then hurried onto a waiting jet provided by Kalen Nuri, and then she’d fly home and he’d fly back to the Sarq desert in his jet and it’d be finished. No naming of names, no police chases, no publicity.

“I don’t know that this is an appropriate conversation for us to be having,” he said flatly.

He’d once dated Nenet Hassan during his second year of graduate school, but the pressures on both of them had been intense, and then when his sisters had died, he’d broken the relationship off. Nenet had written long letters to him, saying she’d wait for him, promising he could take all the time he needed to heal, but Khalid hadn’t wanted time to heal. He hadn’t wanted to heal. He just wanted out. Away. Gone from the life he’d lived and the people he’d known.

“Forgive me, Khalid. Please don’t be angry. I know it’s not my place,” Nenet added quickly, trying to ease the tension and awkward silence, “but I can’t ignore what you’re doing. It wouldn’t be right.”

“And what am I doing?” he asked even more gruffly.

“You know what you’re doing. I know what you’re doing. But stop. Don’t. Don’t sacrifice yourself for her.” Grief darkened her eyes. “You aren’t merely a good man, Khalid, you are a great man, and a man that has suffered enough. You owe her nothing, especially not your future, or your freedom.”

In the bathroom, Liv stood in the middle of the marble tiled floor for what seemed like forever.

The bathroom was beyond decadent. The decor was reminiscent of the Great Pyramid outside, with pale ivory and gold limestone pavers on the floor and more buttery-colored limestone surrounding the deep bathtub.

A series of three glass-covered jars rested on the tub surround. She lifted each of the lids and smelled the different scented bath salts—verbena, orange blossom and hyacinth—and suddenly a lump filled her throat, making it hard to breathe.

She’d been in hell for weeks and just when she thought there was no hope, she was plucked from her cell and rushed to the airport. Now she was in this palatial suite with a palatial bath furnished with thick, plush towels and exquisitely scented bath salts and fragrant designer shampoos.

It was strange. Impossible. Overwhelming.

The transition was too much.

Leaning over the marble surround, she turned on the water. While the tub filled she stripped off her hated robe and the black sheath she wore under the robe and balled the fabric up and smashed it into the rubbish bin beneath the vanity.

Naked, she examined herself in the mirror. Even to her eyes she looked too thin, gaunt, with yellow and purple-blue bruises on her arms and legs. Turning part way, she studied her back and spotted a big fading bruise on her hip and a newer bruise on her left shoulder.

But the bruises would go and she’d recover and she’d be home. Soon. Soon, she repeated, dumping in two scoops of the verbena-scented bath salt before sliding carefully into the hot water.

The bath felt like heaven and she soaked until the water cooled, forcing her to action by shampooing and conditioning her hair.

Later, clean and wrapped in the soft white cotton sateen robe found hanging on the back of the door, Liv left the bathroom for her bedroom and then realized she didn’t know what to do next. She had no clothes. She didn’t feel comfortable wandering around the suite in just a robe. The conservative climate of the Middle East made her aware that she shouldn’t be sharing a suite with man she didn’t know.

Fresh anxiety hit and out of an old nervous habit, she began chewing her thumbnail down, chewing it to bits.

She had to go home. She needed to go home, and even thought the hotel was gorgeous, and this was probably the only time in her life that she’d ever stay in a five-star property, she couldn’t enjoy it. Couldn’t appreciate the high ceilings, the tall windows and the exotic decor, not when her mother and her brother were waiting for her and worrying about her.

Crossing to the table near her bed, she picked up the phone and asked the hotel operator to put through a call to the States. The operator answered that she couldn’t make the call for her, but gave Liv the international codes so Liv could dial the call from her hotel room.

Liv was scribbling the codes down when a knock sounded on her bedroom door. Her heart skipped. “Just a minute,” she called, swiftly trying to dial the string of numbers, then making a mistake in the middle and having to start all over again.

“We need to talk.” It was Khalid’s deep voice on the other side of the door.

Fingers trembling, she finished inputting the long sequence of numbers. “Okay,” she called back. “I’ll be out soon.”

There was a pause. “We should really talk before you call home,” he said. “There are things you should know, things that you might, or might not, want your family to know.”

She could hear the ring of her mother’s line. Liv gripped the phone more tightly. She suddenly wanted to hear her mother’s voice more than anything in the whole world.

“Olivia,” Khalid continued, his deep voice unnervingly clear despite the door between them, “you don’t have a passport any longer, and it could be difficult to get another issued soon. Perhaps we should discuss a way to break the news to your family without frightening them?”

She could hear the ringing on the line. Could imagine her mother looking for the phone, wondering where she’d left it this time.

Eyes smarting, emotion thick in her chest, Liv hung up before her mother could answer.

She couldn’t worry her mom. She loved her too much.

Beseiged by conflicted emotions, Liv walked to the bedroom door and opened it. Khalid stood on the other side, his robe discarded in favor of exquisitely tailored European- style clothes: dark slacks, supple black leather belt, crisp long-sleeved cotton shirt the color of espresso and black leather shoes. His dark hair was cut short and sleek, emphasizing the strong lines of his face.

He didn’t even look like the same person and she didn’t know why his transformation felt like one more blow.

Nothing was what she’d expected. Imagined.

Nothing made sense.

Pressing her hands into her robe’s pockets, she took a quick breath for courage. “Sheikh Fehr, in the car, you said to wait to call my brother until after I’d seen the doctor, and I waited. Now you tell me not to call home because I don’t have a passport and I shouldn’t worry my family.” Her eyes met his and held. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Maybe we should sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit. I just want the truth.”

“As you, yourself know, the truth is complicated.”

She blinked, puzzled. “What does that mean?”

“You were charged with smuggling drugs, and the drugs were found on your person—”

“In a bag I was holding for a friend!”

He shrugged. “But it was in your backpack, in your possession, making you responsible. Complicating the truth is the fact that this ‘friend’ disappeared and we have no proof she ever existed.”

“That’s not true! I had her bag. Her cosmetics. Her toiletries.”

“Who is to say they aren’t yours?”

She stared up at him, appalled. “You don’t believe me? You think I did it—”

“I never said that. I was just pointing out that truth isn’t always what it seems, just as my freeing you, isn’t quite what it seems, either.”

She suddenly felt very woozy, her head starting to spin. “I’m beginning to feel dizzy.”

His brows pulled in a fierce line. “I knew you were better off sitting.”

Ignoring her attempt to brush him off, he put one hand to her elbow and the other to the small of her back—a touch that scorched her even through her thick robe—and escorted her to the plump upholstered chair in the living room.

“I’m not going to break,” she said breathlessly, her heart hammering unsteadily as heat washed through her. She could feel his hand despite the plush robe, could feel the press of his fingers against the dip in her spine, and it made her head spin even faster.

“I know you’re not going to break,” he answered, making sure she was safely ensconced in the chair before stepping away, “but you’ve been through a traumatic ordeal, and unfortunately, it’s not over yet.”

Liv stared up at him, battling to get control over her pulse and her thoughts. “I’d think the American embassy would step in now, accelerate the process of getting me home.”

“They’d like to, but they work with the local government, and Jabal is lobbying very hard to have you returned to them for sentencing.”

She made a soft sound of disbelief. “Can the Jabal government extradite me from here?”

“No,” he answered, standing above her, arms folded, his expression downright forbidding. “At least, hopefully not.”

With a trembling hand Liv pushed a damp tendril of hair away from her face, trying to sort out everything he was saying, stress and exhaustion making the task even harder than it should be. “That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” she said hoarsely, blinking back the sting of tears.

“It’s not meant to be. You should know the truth, and the truth is, things are … unpredictable … at the moment.”

His response just added to her fears. “I won’t go back to Jabal,” she choked. “I can’t. I can’t—“

“I know, and I wouldn’t let you go back.”

She looked up at him, scared, so very scared, and bundled her arms more tightly across her chest. “Why are you doing all this? Why are you helping me?”

“Your brother posted a message for help on the Internet. His message came to my attention.”

Her chest felt so hot, and her emotions felt ragged. She didn’t know if she could—should—believe him. “You did all this just because you saw a message on the Internet?”

“Yes.”

Who did things like this? Who broke into prisons and rescued people? “Why?”

His shuttered gaze rested on her face, his expression as blank as the tone of his voice. “Your brother said your family was frantic.” He paused for a split second before adding, “It touched me.”

Her brow wrinkled as she digested his words, thinking it was odd to hear him use the word touched when he struck her as emotional as one of the limestone statues she’d seen carved into the wall of the Ozr fortress turned prison. “And you acted alone?”

“Yes.”

“But if you weren’t working with an embassy or government, how did you get me released?”

He made a rough, mocking sound. “The old-fashioned way. Power. Blackmail. Intimidation.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” she asked, trying to keep the horror from her voice.

“Blackmail is never pretty,” he answered. “But it was you or them, and it’s not as if the guards were good to you. The doctor told me she found bruises on you, bruises I’m certain you didn’t inflict on yourself.”

She just looked away, towards the window with the spectacular view of the pyramid.

Khalid dropped to his haunches, crouching before her, and turned her face to him. “No diplomatic measure would have ever gotten you freed from Ozr. Jabal doesn’t care about diplomacy. They don’t recognize diplomacy. They only recognize power and money. I did what I had to do, and I don’t apologize for it. At least you’re here, safe and alive.”

Liv felt his fingers on her chin, felt the fierce heat in his eyes and the coiled tension in his powerful frame. She was simultaneously fascinated and terrified by the fire in his dark eyes. He intrigued her and yet intimidated her. He was hard and fierce and remote, and yet he’d also come to rescue her when no one else had, or would. “But not free,” she whispered.

“Are you free to go home, back to Pierceville, Alabama? No. Are you free of the prison cell?” He hesitated for a fraction of a second and then stood again. “For now.”

For now. The words echoed loudly in her head. She was free only for now.

“But money alone didn’t buy your freedom,” he added. “It required honor. My honor.”

She gave her head a slight shake. His honor. It was such an archaic-sounding word, so old-fashioned it didn’t even make sense to her. “I don’t understand.”

“I vouched for you,” he said bluntly. “I told them you were mine.”

She blinked at the word mine, heat flooding through her, heat and shyness and shame. Mine was such a possessive word, a word implying ownership, control. It was a word two-year-olds loved, but not one she would have expected to come from a man. At least in the United States you’d never hear a man refer to a woman as his. “How could being … yours … free me?”

“By claiming you, I have personally vouched for you.”

She was even more confused than before. “Claimed me … how?”

“I said you were my betrothed.”

Betrothed? The archaic word didn’t make sense for a moment and then it hit her. “Engaged?”

Appalled, she saw him nod.

“Because of our … relationship … you are protected for the time being.”

Liv’s mouth opened but she couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Instead shock washed over her in gigantic mind-numbing waves, and before she could think of anything to say, the butler materialized with a tray of small sandwiches, pastries and a large pot of tea. He placed the tray on the low table in the living room and served them both sandwiches, pastries and tea, before departing.

Liv stared at one of the small open-faced sandwiches on her plate. “We’re not really engaged,” she said at last, finally finding her voice.

“I gave them my word,” he said bluntly.

“Yes, but that was to get me out. That was to free me—”

“And I did, but we had complications on the way out of Jabal. Remember that police stop earlier today? They’d come for you. They’d learned that you’d been released from Ozr and they’d been given instructions to seize you. The only way I could protect you was by claiming you. And once I claimed you, they couldn’t touch you.”

“But you will still send me home, right? You are going to put me on a plane first thing in the morning….” Her voice trailed off as she stared at his face, his expression hard and unyielding.

She tried again. “If you were going to send me home earlier, what has changed?”

“Everything. It has been announced by the Jabal government that we are engaged. They cannot be faulted. It is what I told them, and my honor is based on my word. My word is central to who I am, and to who my family is. I … we Fehrs … do not break our word.”

“We’re not really going to get married.”

“Today at Ozr you said you wanted out, you begged me to get you out, and I did what you asked me to do.”

It was just beginning to hit her that she’d celebrated her release from the Ozr prison far too soon.

Her panicked gaze searched the fierce lines of his face, the high brow, the long aquiline nose, the generous but unsmiling mouth, as tremors of fear coursed through her. “There must be another way. There must be some other way….”

He didn’t answer and his silence terrified her. “Sheikh Fehr,” she pleaded. “Don’t tell me we have no other options. I can’t believe there aren’t any other options.”

“There is another option,” he said flatly. “And you’re right. It’s not a done deal yet. You can choose to return to Ozr—”

“To Ozr?” she interrupted, stunned. It’d been hell, sheer hell, locked up there. No sunlight, no bathroom facilities, no running water to speak of. “People die there all the time!”

“It isn’t a good place,” he agreed.

She bolted up from her chair, nearly upending her plate. “So why would you think I’d want to go back there?”

“Because as of now, those are your only two options. Marriage to me or a return to Jabal.”

She sank back down, her legs suddenly impossibly weak. Her gaze clung to his, trying to see, trying to understand if he was absolutely serious. “But you don’t want to marry me. There can’t be any possible benefit for you!”

His upper lip curled. “None that come to mind.”

“So why?”

His features hardened, his dark eyes almost glittering with silent anger. “What would you have me do? Let you rot in prison for the rest of your life? Tell your brother to be glad you’re in prison because you’re at least not dead?”

She dropped her gaze, her cheeks flaming. Jake would have been desperate, too. He’d always been so protective of her, the quintessential big brother. “You don’t have to do this. You didn’t ask for any of this—”

“Did you smuggle the drugs?” he demanded harshly, abruptly.

Her head jerked up. “No.”

His shoulders twisted. “Then I have to do it. If you are innocent, how do I stand by and do nothing? How do I explain to your brother that your life has no value? That his love for you means nothing here? How do I live with myself knowing that all your lives have been laid to waste over someone else’s mistake?”

“You’re one of those men with a hero complex,” she said, feeling desperation hit. “I’ve read about people like you. Heroes are ordinary people who do extraordinary things—”

“I’m not a hero,” he interrupted roughly. “But I did go to Jabal and you are here now, and we’ve got to get through this.”

“But marry …” Her voice faded and she stared at him with disbelief. “It seems so extreme, so … impossible.”

His dark head, with his crisp, short black hair inclined. “It’s not what you’d choose, or what I’d choose, but it was the only way. Is the only way.”

“For now,” she said.

He said nothing, just stared at her.

She raised her chin, silently defiant. For now, she repeated, making a vow to herself that she’d never be forced into marriage, nor marry a man she didn’t love.

There was another way out of this. There had to be.

Turning her head away, Liv looked out the window again. The sun was beginning to drop in the sky and long gold rays of light haloed the Great Pyramid.

“Finish your tea,” Khalid said, his voice flat, authoritative. “Then we’ll go shop. We’re entertaining tonight and you’ll need proper clothes to impress our distinguished guests.”

She reluctantly tore her gaze from the window and glanced back at Khalid. “Who are we entertaining?”

“Friends from Jabal and Egypt who come to celebrate our engagement tonight.”

Liv’s blood froze, her insides turning to ice. “Jabal officials will be here tonight?”

“You don’t need to be afraid,” he answered. “They will see you, but they won’t speak to you, not without permission from me, and I won’t give them permission.”

She nodded once.

“But you will have to look happier than that tonight. Tonight’s a party, so finish your tea, and then we’ll go shopping.”

She stared at him in horror. A party tonight to celebrate their engagement? Jabal officials coming here, to their hotel? “I have to pretend we’re engaged?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you properly clothed, and I realize you can’t shop in your prison-issued robe. Dr. Hassan was kind enough to pick up something from an Egyptian designer we both know. She brought it with her, and it’s hanging in the hall closet now. I don’t know how well it’ll fit, but there’s a dress, coat, some undergarments and even a pair of shoes.”

“The point isn’t the clothes—”

“But it is,” he interrupted. “We’re having a small party here tonight and you have to be properly attired, so finish your tea and then get dressed as I’ve arranged to have a stylist meet us in an hour and traffic is going to be ugly.”

CHAPTER FOUR

HAVING finished her tea, Liv studied herself in her bedroom mirror. The wheat-colored linen dress and matching coat hung on her slim frame, but the fabric was gorgeous, as was the warm color that reminded her of the pyramid outside.

She’d lost a lot of weight in the past month, her body more angular than attractive. She frowned and combed the brush through her hair, leaving the unruly white-gold strands tumbling loose past her shoulders.

Downstairs in front of the hotel, one of Sheikh Fehr’s black Mercedes sedans waited for them. Soon they were driving across Cairo to the First Residence Complex, which is where the luxury shopping mall was also located.

Khalid told her that the First Residence Complex, which included the First Residence Shopping Mall and the Four Seasons Hotel, was the most coveted real estate in Cairo and the place all the stars and sheikhs and heads of state hit when they visit the city.

“But you don’t stay there?” she asked, catching glimpses of handsome palm trees lining the broad cornice as the last glints of dying sunlight warmed the creamy paint on the building facades.

“I usually do when I’m here, but on the plane you mentioned your love of history and geography and I thought the Mena House would appeal to you.”

“You chose it for me?”

“Yes.”

Liv felt that painful tightness in her chest again, and, flustered, she dipped her head, surprised, flattered, but also confused. “Thank you.”

The car slowed before an elegant domed building. “We’re here,” Khalid said, as his driver came around to open the back door. “And I believe your personal shopper is here waiting for us, too.”

Indeed, a smart-looking woman in a dark suit stepped toward the car as the driver opened the door. She’d obviously been waiting for them and she bowed deeply to Sheikh Fehr, and gave a smaller bow to Olivia. “I’m Val Bakr,” she said, her long dark hair braided and pinned up. “I’m a personal shopper and I’m here to make wardrobing you as quick and efficient as possible.”

She led Liv through the shopping center to a selection of designer shops where she’d already selected dozens of outfits for Liv to try on. Khalid accompanied her in each shop, but he sat off to one side and silently observed the fittings.

By the end of the hour Liv had tried on a staggering array of dresses, skirts, slacks, jackets, blouses, gowns, shoes and coats. Raffia totes were added to the pile of clothes, along with small clutches, swimsuits, belts, hats, scarves, and even robes and nightgowns.

The clothes were stunning. Cotton and silk white trousers, off-white patent pumps, a jade-green crocodile belt, a cotton cardigan with real pearl buttons. The rainbow-hued Louis Vuitton bag got its color from pretty leather buttons adhered with a tiny gold ball. The green Valentino heels had a rhinestone bow. The sea-foam green silk chiffon dress had sweet ruffles at the neck and then a high-waisted belt covered in semiprecious stones.

Khalid didn’t even hand a credit card. He just nodded at the pile and asked for everything to be sent to him at the Mena Hotel and then he took Olivia’s arm and walked her back to his car.

“You can’t possibly really buy all that,” she said in protest as they exited the elegant shopping mall.

Khalid didn’t answer. He just gestured to the car’s open door, but Liv hesitated. She could still remember how Val had stood elbow-high in tissue and boxes and garment bags. “Sheikh Fehr, I saw the price on the bag—which alone was seventy-five hundred dollars. I don’t even own a car worth seventy-five hundred dollars.”

Khalid sighed and glanced at his watch. “Miss Bakr has impeccable taste and everything she selected is perfect for our needs.”

“But all those clothes! They must cost thousands and thousands of dollars.”

“You need a proper wardrobe.”

“But this is too much. A couple skirts, a few blouses, a pair of sandals. But certainly not all the designer labels, and those extravagant accessories … and you must admit a seven-thousand-dollar purse—”

“Please get in the car,” he interrupted quietly, but in such a no-nonsense tone that Liv gulped a breath and complied.

Inside the car he added, “We do not argue with our women on the city streets, and our women do not disagree with us in front of family, friends or strangers.”

Flushing with embarrassment, Liv went hot and then cold and hot again. She was just trying to save him money. She’d only been trying to make things easier. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. I just didn’t want you spending so much on me. There was no need.”

“But there is,” he corrected. “It’s what people will expect of you. You now represent me. You are my fiancée, and here in the Arab world, I am very well-known.”

“But you must understand I can’t pay you back for these things,” she protested huskily. “My mom certainly can’t. She’s nearing retirement, and Jake can’t, either. He’s a carpenter. He builds houses for a living.”

Khalid sighed. “I don’t expect to be paid back. But I do expect your respect, and cooperation. I have put my name and reputation on the line for you. I am risking my personal and family honor, and honor is everything here. Honor is the difference between life and death.”

It was dark now and the streetlights and building lights illuminated the city blocks.

“My job is to protect you, but you must allow me to protect you. You must trust me when I say we are in a difficult, and dangerous, situation.”

Khalid’s warning sent a shiver through her. How many times had Jake virtually said the same thing? How many times had he told her the world wasn’t a nice place, the world wasn’t a safe place, especially for a girl from a small Southern town?

But she hadn’t believed him. She’d thought Jake was a pessimist. Now she knew differently.

“Are you listening?” Khalid asked.

“Yes,” she answered hoarsely. The things Khalid was telling her terrified her. It wasn’t the life she knew. It wasn’t how she’d been raised.

“I do not mean to frighten you,” he added after a moment, “but I need to impress upon you the importance of appearances. We must be discrete. Everything we do will be observed by others. Everything we do—individually, or together—will be documented, analyzed and discussed. The only time you are truly free, or truly safe, is when you are alone with me.”

She gave a short nod to show him she understood.

Khalid fell silent, his forehead creasing, his expression turning brooding. “One more thing. I phoned your brother earlier, while you were finishing your tea. I told him you were safe. I told him you were with me. And I told him you would personally phone later tonight and he said he’d look forward to speaking with you, but in the meantime, he sends love and extends to us his heartiest congratulations.”

Liv’s blood froze. “Congratulations?” she whispered, through impossibly cold, stiff lips.

“On our engagement.”

“You told him?”

“I had to. He’s going to read it in the paper soon. I thought he’d rather hear the news from us.”

“But we’re not really going to get married,” Liv choked, fingers balling into fists in her lap. “It’s just a ruse, a facade to buy us time.”

When Khalid didn’t answer she felt downright hysterical. He couldn’t be serious about marriage. There was just no way. No way. And how was it possible that she’d left prison only to be forced into marriage? Apparently it was just one jail in exchange for another. “I can’t do it,” she said fiercely, “and I won’t.”

“Then tell that to the Jabal officials who are coming to see us in an hour or two,” he said, doing little to hide his annoyance. “Tell them you’re not really my fiancée, tell them it was all a mistake and you’ll see what will happen when you get me out of the way. Olivia, I am the only one keeping you from that prison. I am the only one who can, and the only way I can is by offering you my name, my life and my family’s reputation.”

She hung her head, closed her eyes and dragged in a breath, and then another. “Why does it have to be jail or marriage? Why?”

“Because this isn’t Europe, or America, and you were charged with a very serious crime. A crime which can carry the death penalty.”

“But why did you have to tell Jake that I was getting married? He didn’t have to know. It hasn’t happened, and it might not happen—”

“He was going to read it in the papers tomorrow or the next day. I thought he’d want to know first. I thought he’d want to be prepared.”

Jake wasn’t going to understand, though. Jake knew her. He knew she’d only dated a little and had never had a proper boy-friend. When it came to men she was still ridiculously sheltered and the last thing she’d do, ever, was jump into a relationship with a man she didn’t know, much less a man from a culture so very different from hers.

“Jake’s just going to be more worried,” she said. “It’s only going to make things worse.”

“It can’t be much worse for him that it already is,” Khalid answered shortly. “He’s had his hands full these past few weeks and the truth is, you are safer with me than you were in Ozr.”

“What do you mean, things can’t be much worse for him than they already are? What’s happened back home?”

Khalid abruptly turned the interior light on, flooding the car with yellow light. “Your mother took the news of your disappearance badly—”

“What do you mean ‘badly'? How badly?” she interrupted.

“She had a heart attack—”

“No!” Liv pressed a hand to her mouth. “No,” she repeated, voice muffled. “It can’t be.”

“I understand she’s better. She’s stable, and resting, but she’s still not strong and your brother has been caring for her. Otherwise he’d be here now.”

Liv shook her head, her thoughts wild and chaotic. Her entire world had been upended and she couldn’t get her bearings. “When did she have the heart attack?”

“A week ago.”

With an unsteady finger she reached up to dash away tears before they could fall. “Are you sure she’s okay?”

“She’s back home. She’s sleeping a lot right now.”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to call home earlier.”

“Yes.”

Exhaling slowly, she drew another painful breath. “I’m not ready to lose my mom. I just lost my dad a couple years ago.”

“You must be strong now. You must believe that everything will work out. Everything will be fine.”

“Do you really think everything really be fine?”

He gazed down at her for a long, level moment. There was a fierce intelligence in his eyes that reminded her of a hawk or falcon circling before making its kill. “Yes.” His long black lashes dropped, concealing his fierce, dark eyes. “It may take time, but things always do work out. One way, or another.”

Returning to the hotel, Liv discovered their suite had been transformed. Fresh flower arrangements covered the living room tables while the dining room table had been turned into an elaborate dinner buffet with another huge white-and-purple floral arrangement at the centerpiece.

Soft music played from hidden speakers and a uniformed waiter finished prepping the beverage table, while another moved around the room, fluffing pillows, dimming table lamps and lighting floating candles.

Liv stood in the hall, awed and more than a little bit intimidated by the transformation. In the shimmering candlelight, the faded tapestries on the wall, the dark wood furniture and the rich exotic fabrics covering the couch and chairs seemed almost otherworldly, and Liv realized all over again how far from home she was. How far from anything she knew or understood.

The butler appeared and bowed. “Your attendants are here,” he said to Olivia. “They are waiting to help you dress.”

Liv shot Khalid a perplexed glance. “My attendants?”

“Miss Bakr thought you might feel more confident tonight if you had help preparing for the party. She sent her favorite stylists. One to do your hair, and the other to … to …” His voice faded and for a moment he looked nearly as perplexed as Liv. “I actually don’t know what she’s for, but Miss Bakr insisted you have her.”

Not entirely reassured, Liv slowly entered her bedroom, not sure what she’d find. Two Egyptian women waited for her. They’d been deep in conversation when Liv arrived but they broke off abruptly to greet her.

“We don’t have much time,” the hairdresser said briskly, steering Liv straight into the bathroom, where she’d already laid out hair appliances on the marble counter. The curling iron, flat iron and hot rollers were all plugged in, heating, while the blow dryer lay close by, along with a half-dozen bottles of lotion, pomade and hair spray.

“Simple,” the other woman said, taking one of Liv’s hands in her own to examine her nails. “Tonight it is all about you. Simple. Beautiful. Elegant.”

“A goddess,” the hairdresser added. “Tonight, you shall be a goddess.”

The hairdresser urged Liv to sit down on the chair they’d pulled into the bathroom and while she turned her attention to Liv’s clean but tousled blond hair, the other one started in on a pampering manicure.

While they worked she snacked on fruit and cheese and crackers Khalid had sent to her. A glass of champagne also arrived but she didn’t dare touch it. She hadn’t eaten much in days and feared the alcohol would go straight to her head. However, the assorted cheeses, sweet apricots, grapes and savory flatbreads were delicious and Liv ate virtually everything on her plate.

By the time her hair and nails were finished, Liv felt unusually relaxed and ridiculously spoiled. To have not one, but two, women fuss over her while she snacked on cheese and crackers struck her as incredibly decadent, but she wasn’t in a position to argue. Tonight was important. Khalid had made that very clear and she was going to do everything in her power to make a good impression on the visiting officials.

“And your clothes have now arrived,” the manicurist said. “We’ll just get you into your dress, make sure everything fits exactly so and then leave you to your party.”

Her party.

The suggestion was laughable but Liv didn’t laugh. She shivered, suffering from a sudden fit of nerves.

She was scared. Nothing could go wrong tonight. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—go back to Ozr.

Fortunately her attention was drawn to getting dressed. She was to wear a beautiful ivory-pleated gown, the ivory shimmering with threads of gold. A gold collar encircled her throat, the collar the width of her hand and heavy with gold and jewels. The dress was long, touching the tips of her champagne-colored high heels.

The hairstylist had curled her hair in loose waves, and then pinned strategic pieces up so that her hair looked like a golden waterfall with loose tendrils around her face. The manicurist wasn’t to be outdone. She swiftly applied a deft application of makeup, including sooty eyeliner, a swirl of black mascara and a soft golden blush on Liv’s cheeks, and a touch of golden gloss on her lips.

“You look perfect,” the manicurist said, stepping back to examine her handiwork. “So fresh and young and charming, just the way a princess should.”

Liv smiled gratefully even as she heard the door open and close. From the sound of voices she knew that the guests had arrived and her smile disappeared as her stomach flipped … a maddening somersault that had her clutching the sink.

“It’s going to be fine,” the hairstylist said, patting Liv on the back even as Liv leaned over the sink, trying to catch her breath and calm her queasy stomach. “Everything is fine, and you are going to make His Highness very proud. Now go. Enjoy your party.”

Her party. A party where she had to pretend she was engaged to Prince Khalid Fehr, Sheikh of the Great Sarq Desert. How could she do it? She was just a girl from Pierceville, a girl who’d never had more than twelve dates in her entire life.

Her stomach rose up again in protest. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t go out there, not if the Jabal secretary of security was here….

But then she thought of her mother, and Jake, and the sheikh himself. They were all counting on her, depending on her to be strong.

And she could be strong. She would be.

Khalid watched Olivia enter the room, the long, loose pleated ivory and gold gown emphasizing her slender frame and delicate beauty. With her head up, her shimmery blond hair slid along her bare shoulders, the curls long and loose like the pleats in her dress.

She’d been pretty in her passport photo and troubling in prison, but entering the room she was simply stunning and Khalid watched her, by turns surprised, proud, hungry, possessive.

The gold arm rings on her slim biceps hid the bruises on her upper arms. Her fair hair, curled and twisted back from her face, revealed her elegant features, her pale, flawless complexion and her astonishing goddesslike composure.

He knew she didn’t want to be here tonight, knew she’d been terrified to face the secretary of security from Jabal, but one wouldn’t know it looking at her. Her expression was serene, her blue gaze focused, intelligent, poised.

Beautiful, he thought, she was beautiful and so small and fragile and not of this world.

And she was his.

His.

Khalid’s body grew hot, tight, his chest constricting with emotions he didn’t know he could feel.

He wanted her, and he’d protect her. Forever.

“She doesn’t wear a head-covering or robe,” the Jabal official said under his breath, turning an accusing eye to Khalid.

“She doesn’t have to,” Khalid answered evenly. “She’s here with me.”

“But you parade her like a—”

“Careful,” Khalid interrupted. “She is my future bride, and I have vowed to protect her with my life. I will not allow anyone to insult her.”

The secretary of security clamped his jaw together, his nostrils flaring, and for a moment he couldn’t speak and then he choked, “If she really is your betrothed, when is this wedding going to take place? Because it is unlawful for an unmarried man and woman to be together like this, unchaperoned—”

“But she is chaperoned. Her attendants are in her room now.” The corner of Khalid’s mouth lifted sardonically. “Perhaps you’d like to meet her attendants personally, Mr. Al-Awar?”

One of the Egyptian dignitaries interjected. “That is not necessary, Your Highness, your word is good enough for us, and may I extend our warmest congratulations on your coming nuptials?”

“Thank you,” Khalid answered, keeping an eye on Olivia as she stood at the far end of the living room. She looked very small and vulnerable standing on her own and he found himself wishing his brother Sharif was here tonight with his American wife, Jesslyn. Although Jesslyn was now the Queen of Sarq, she was a former schoolteacher and one of the kindest, most genuine women Khalid had ever met. Jesslyn was just the sort of woman Olivia needed in her corner right now.

“When are these nuptials?” the Jabal official pressed. “I haven’t heard a date mentioned, which troubles me, and my government. If your engagement is just a hoax—”

“If you’ve come to insult me, then perhaps it’s best if you go now before I take personal offense.” Khalid fixed his attention completely on the secretary of security.

“The paperwork stated she was a family member.”

“And she is.” Khalid’s upper lip curled.

“So there will be a wedding.”

“Royal weddings take time and my family is scattered at the moment. Once we can bring us all together on a mutually agreeable date, the ceremony will take place.”

The Jabal official was silent a long moment before awkwardly nodding his head. “Very good. And congratulations again.”

“Thank you.” Khalid smiled, showing a hint of his teeth. “And now I shall join my fiancée, but I do hope you’ll stay and enjoy our hospitality. The hotel chef has outdone himself and there is much to sample.” With a nod he left the men and headed to Olivia.

Olivia watched Khalid walk toward her. While she’d dressed, he’d also changed, donning the traditional Arab robeing.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked on reaching her side.

She nearly smiled at his ironic tone. “It’s not much of a party.”

His warm gaze slowly swept over her, resting indulgently on her upturned face, lingering even longer on her lips. “I promise that one day we’ll throw you a proper party, one with lots of interesting people.”

“As long as there’s no one from the Jabal government there, I’ll be happy.”

He glanced toward the dignitaries now crowding around the buffet, piling their plates with food. “I’d tend to agree with you there.”

Before she could respond he turned back to look at her. “You look beautiful tonight. Like a goddess.” His dark gaze met hers and held. “And I don’t give compliments often. I also never say what I don’t mean.”

Liv’s insides felt funny, and her chest grew tight as though she’d swallowed an air bubble, but she knew it was nerves, and this odd emotion he stirred in her. This morning she’d thought it was fear. Now she wasn’t so sure. “Thank you. I’m glad you approve.”

By the time Liv went to bed an hour and a half later, she was so exhausted she was asleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

In his room, Khalid didn’t find it so easy to fall asleep. Usually when he closed his eyes he found absolute silence, and darkness, a stillness that wrapped him completely, blanketing thought, emotions, need. But tonight when he closed his eyes he saw eyes, blue eyes, eyes with long sooty lashes, eyes that were too big in a face that was too small and pale.

But he didn’t want to be thinking of Olivia, didn’t want to become emotionally involved—or attached—in any way.

He hadn’t left his desert and isolation to become entangled in a relationship. He liked being a bachelor, enjoyed his life as a loner, and yet suddenly marriage seemed like a very real, and very constraining, possibility.

And he was the one who’d vowed to never marry.

Khalid passed a hand over his face, trying to erase the picture of Olivia from his mind, trying to create the desert’s stillness, but he couldn’t shake Olivia’s blue eyes, couldn’t erase her shock and fear from his mind’s eye.

He was still lying awake hours later when he heard her scream. It was a piercing scream and Khalid was on his feet immediately, bursting through the door separating the two bedrooms in the royal suite to flick on the light.

But once in Olivia’s room he discovered she was still asleep.

Standing motionless in her doorway, he watched her sleep, wondering what it was that had made her cry out, and hesitating in case she called out again. But minutes passed and she didn’t cry again. Instead she slept on, her long blond hair spilling across the pillow, her left hand curled beneath her cheek and chin.

Sleeping, all the worry and pain disappeared from her face. Sleeping, she reminded him of a young girl with all her hopes and dreams still before her.

He’d just turned out the light and was closing the door, turning to leave, when Olivia’s voice reached him.

“'Night, Jake,” she said sleepily, her voice soft in the darkness.

Jake. The big brother.

His jaw suddenly flexed, tension and pain rippling through him. He’d once been the big brother, too, to younger sisters, too.

But they’d died over ten years ago. They’d died and there was absolutely nothing he could do for them.

Maybe that’s why he was here, risking life and limb for Olivia. She was someone’s little sister.

“Good night, Olivia,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him, and as the door shut, he realized why he couldn’t sleep earlier.

Olivia was waking him up. Making him feel again. And feeling emotions hurt.

Feeling was the last thing he wanted to do.

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.

Baked red snapper in a lightly spiced tomato sauce followed the sizzling prawns, with a minted pomegranate yogurt on sliced grapefruit presented for dessert.

They ate with almost no conversation or discussion, which did little to ease Liv’s nerves. “We don’t eat like this on commercial air flights,” she said awkwardly as the last of the dishes were cleared away. “Especially not in economy.” She took a quick breath, adding in a rush, “Not that you’d ever fly economy.”

His brow lowered. “I’m sure I have once.”

She waited a good minute, and Khalid was still thinking. “You haven’t,” she answered for him, “or you’d remember. It’s horrendous, especially on international flights when you have to sleep sitting up and you can’t because you’ve been cramped for so long.

“There’s no room for your tray table,” she added, “no room to lean back, no place for your legs or feet, and the people sitting on either side of your seat hog the armrests, which squishes you even more.”

He grimaced. “I’d never fly if I had to fly like that.”

“I actually didn’t think it was going to be so bad. I sell coach tickets all the time but it was miserable. I just kept thinking once I arrived in Morocco the trip would get better….” Her voice faded and she stared out the window at the impossibly blue sky.

After a moment she drew a deep breath and looked back at Khalid. “I honestly don’t know how everything went so wrong. I thought I was being careful. Cautious. I avoided going out on my own, didn’t dress provocatively, never allowed myself to be alone with men …” Her voice drifted off as she shook her head. “I’m just so disappointed. Not just with the world, but with me.”

“Why are you disappointed with yourself?”

“I thought I was smarter. Better prepared. I thought I could take care of myself and instead I end up arrested and in prison.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “But it’s my fault I ended up there. I have no one else to blame but me.”

“And how is it your fault?”

Liv struggled to explain it, but the words didn’t come. How could she make him understand exactly what had happened that day? It was already such a blur. Just remembering the day she was arrested filled her with cold, icy despair. She bit into her lower lip as she searched for the right words.

“I offered to hold Elsie’s bag,” she said at last, her voice unsteady. “I had a backpack and she had that awkward purse. I told her to slip her purse in my backpack so she wouldn’t lose it.”

Khalid listened intently. “Did you know Elsie well?”

Liv shook her head. “No, we’d only met a couple days earlier. She was part of this big group of people in their twenties from Europe, the U.S. and Australia. There were guys, girls, a very friendly international crowd. A lot of them had met while traveling through Spain, and then they crossed from the tip of Spain into Morocco, and that’s where I met them. We traveled around Morocco for a week before deciding we’d go to Jabal.”

“Why Jabal?”

“We missed the bus to Cairo and it seemed like an adventure. No one really goes to Jabal anymore, and yet everyone heard it was cheap and we could catch a bus to Cairo from Jabal’s capital.”

“That was the destination—Egypt?”

“We all wanted to see the pyramids and the tombs. That’s why I ended up joining them in the first place. I was trying to be smart, proactive. I thought I’d be safer traveling with a group of people than being on my own—” She broke off, realizing all over again how wrong she’d been, and the shock of it, and the anger over it, surged through her, wild, fierce, uncontrollable.

“If you hadn’t come …” she said, her voice muffled. “If you hadn’t come I would have never gotten out.”

“But I did come, and I’ve promised you my continued protection.”

She lifted her head to look at him and her eyes met his and held. His eyes were so dark, so commanding, that she couldn’t look away, and Liv didn’t know if it was the heat there in his eyes, or his slightly rough rumble of a voice, but shivers raced through her, shivers of hope and fear, anticipation and curiosity.

He was so very much a man—confident, controlled, a little ironic, a little intimate. The combination was incredibly dangerous, especially for someone like her who had such limited experience with men.

With the table now collapsed and once again stowed, she found she’d missed the protection it offered.

The table had created a sense of distance and space, and with it gone, Khalid seemed even more imposing than before. He was sitting close, very close, not even an arm’s length away, and even though they weren’t touching she could feel him, feel his warmth and energy, and it was an electric awareness. Hot, sharp, dizzying.

Liv needed that table back, needed a barrier between them, because right now she felt very exposed, and vulnerable.

Maybe this is why women in the Middle East and Northern Africa hide beneath robes. Maybe they’re not hiding their bodies from men, but from themselves.

Interesting how a man could change so much so fast. Liv had never felt delicate before, nor all that feminine, but Khalid made her aware of the differences between them, made her aware that he was bigger, taller, stronger.

He was tall and broad-shouldered and powerfully built. She was smaller, not even reaching his shoulder, and slender. But it was more than height. It was the way they were shaped. The way she was shaped. Her narrower shoulders. The swell of her breasts. The curve of her hip. The line of her thigh.

Her wardrobe only accented the differences between them, too. Everything he’d bought for her yesterday was feminine, each piece fresh, charming, stylish and of course perfectly made. Even her blue-and-white seersucker sundress, topped by a small white cardigan edged in lace, emphasized her delicate frame. The 1950s retro-style dress was innocent and yet flirtatious. The bodice molded to her breasts, nipped at her waist and then flared at her hips in a swingy skirt that hit just above her knees.

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