Mills & Boon New Voices

featuring

Lynn Raye Harris
Nikki Logan
Molly Evans
Ann Lethbridge

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

by Katie Fforde

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love and best wishes,

Katie Fforde

To LB. I miss you.

And to Mike. My everything, times two.

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

Lynn Raye Harris now writes for Mills & Boon®

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

Kept for the Sheikh’s Pleasure

Dear Reader,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Best wishes,

Lynn Raye Harris

Chapter One

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

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

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

Until he was nearly upon her.

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

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

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

Almost there, almost there…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Used to know him, Genie.

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

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

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

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

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

Genie ripped the veil from her head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death, it seemed, followed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

She blinked. “I’m sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should have told me from the beginning.”

“We did not know each other well enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I have need of you here.”

Chapter Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you could have refused.”

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

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

“It is the custom.”

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

“Indeed—which is why you will remain.”

“And what if I don’t want to stay?”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want money.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her heart nearly stopped. “The old temples?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A wise decision,” he said softly.

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

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

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

The heat, the passion, the pleasure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frustration and disappointment spiraled through him at once.

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

“What’s that mean?” she snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

He was tired of games, tired of lies.

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

Chapter Three

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

No. She would not do so. Could not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To her mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The answer is still no, Zafir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Loneliness.

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

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

Zafir.

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

She definitely did not.

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

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

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

“You took the covers.”

“Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I am sorry it didn’t work out.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A few days, no more.”

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

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

“But I thought you had to stay here…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t tradition important?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you think?” Zafir asked.

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

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

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

“Well?” he prompted.

“It’s amazing, Zafir.”

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

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

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

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

Untouchable. Unapproachable. A king.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not sure that’s wise,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

It didn’t happen.

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

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

Chapter Four

GENIE had never been to Al-Shahar before. Though the city was ancient, and rife with ruins to be explored, Zafir’s father had not allowed any excavation to take place. Nor had the previous kings before him. Zafir was the first to suggest it was possible, and she had to admit that the prospect excited her. She had to hope that he would still allow her to do so, regardless that he’d claimed she first had to sleep with him in order to get the commission.

He’d not mentioned it since last night, and she wondered if perhaps he’d merely been angry and acting on emotion from the past instead of truly intending to force her into his bed.

Not that it would take much to force her, she thought disgustedly. In spite of everything—the hurt and pain and anger—she still felt something in his presence. Something she’d never felt with anyone else. Was she adult enough to handle a casual affair? To know he was a king and that he could never, ever have a real relationship with her beyond the physical?

She turned her attention to the city as they passed through the ancient gates at one end. The ruins of the old temples sat on a point that was higher than the rest of the city, with the exception of the palace. She could see them clearly in the distance as she sat up straighter and pressed her face to the glass.

“You want very much to get your hands into the dirt there, don’t you?”

She turned to the man sitting beside her. He was still dressed in the robes of the desert, but the ceremonial dagger was gone. And he was still as breathtaking as he had been from the first moment she’d seen him again.

“You know I do. It’s a fabulous opportunity, Zafir.”

She expected him to tell her that she knew what she had to do to gain the commission, but he said nothing of the sort.

“I would not have offered it to just anyone—no matter that it’s past time this city’s history was explored and preserved for future generations.”

Warmth blossomed. “I appreciate your confidence in me.”

He shrugged and turned away. “You must be very good at what you do.”

“Must be?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you find out before you hand over this commission to me?”

His gaze was sharp, assessing. “Should I give you this commission, there will be no need.”

“I’m not sure how you can say that. It’s important work, and you should get the best to do it.”

And why was she saying this? Why place any doubt in his mind?

Because she wanted him to know she was the best, not just to give it to her because she was the only archaeologist he knew. Assuming he did so, of course.

Zafir gave her a hard look. “Your work is the most important thing in the world to you. More important than anyone or anything. No one would sacrifice so much without being determined to succeed.”

A pang of hurt throbbed to life inside her. “It’s not the most important thing. There’s my mother, my friends—”

“But not a lover, yes?”

“I don’t need a lover to prove I care about things other than work.”

He merely shrugged again. “As you say, then.”

“Are you going to give me the job?”

“That depends on you, Genie.”

Genie tamped down on the irritation uncoiling within her. She wasn’t about to ask him what he meant. She didn’t need to.

She turned to watch the city glide by. Al-Shahar was more modern than she’d thought it would be. Cars rolled down wide streets with tall glass and steel buildings. There were sidewalks, manicured trees and plants, and designer shops lining the streets on both sides. It was still early enough that people populated the sidewalks—the men in business suits or traditional robes, the women either wearing colorful abayas or Western clothes.

They also passed through an older section of town, where the buildings were mud-brick and she saw more than one donkey pulling a laden cart. The air smelled of spice, exotic and fresh, and she wished she could get out and explore the old bazaars. But the Hummer continued toward the palace, finally passing through the arched gates and pulling to a halt in front of huge double doors that looked as if they were made of gold.

Zafir’s door popped open. Someone had unrolled a red carpet, and he stepped out onto it, then turned and held out a hand for her. She accepted, scooting across the seat and joining him on the walkway. The car door slammed again and the vehicle moved away—everything a perfectly coordinated dance of efficiency.

Black-clad men with headsets and Uzis flanked the palace doors, while several other men fanned out behind them.

“Is it so dangerous here you need this many guards?” she asked.

Zafir frowned. “Not at all. It is simply custom.”

Another thought wormed its way into her consciousness. A worrying thought. “Zafir, you said you were putting an end to an old feud in the desert. Are you in any danger from those men?”

The double doors whisked open and they passed inside while men and women bowed low. It was disconcerting to be reminded so forcefully at every turn how exalted a being Zafir now was.

And he’d wanted to renew their physical relationship? With a woman who crawled around in dirt and mud on a regular basis? She was beginning to doubt his sincerity on that score.

He stopped at another ornate door. “I am not in danger, habiba. Do not worry yourself.”

“I wasn’t worried,” she lied. And she didn’t believe him. He’d said there were those who clung to the old ways and didn’t want change. When people felt threatened, they were capable of many things. In a volatile environment such as this, would someone go so far as to try and harm the King?

“Go with Yusuf,” Zafir said. “He will show you to your quarters. I will see you for dinner tonight.”

She could only stare after him as he turned to go.

But then he looked back at her. “And be sure to wear something sexy, Genie.”

Zafir entered his private office and went to his desk to see what papers his secretary had left for him. But his mind was on the woman he’d left standing in the hall. It was dangerous to want Genie Gray again. He had too many things he needed to do as a new king trying to cement his rule. Distractions were unwelcome.

Most of his father’s ministers had accepted him as king, though there were those who grumbled he’d spent too much time in the West, that his education in America was dangerous to tradition and custom. He was careful to pick his battles, and swift to act once he had. This issue with the blood feuds was one he intended to put a stop to as quickly as possible.

Now that he was king, he was also being pressured to marry again. A king needed heirs, and his ministers were anxious he should get started on the task. He would do so in his own time, however.

His experience with marriage thus far had not been the most pleasant. Jasmin’s death had shocked him. She’d been impulsive and high-strung, and when she’d threatened to do herself harm he’d not believed her.

He still didn’t believe she’d meant to kill herself.

She’d most likely meant to scare him when she’d taken the pills. She’d counted on him to find her, to call an ambulance, but he’d been delayed that day. By the time he’d found her—it had been too late. He still blamed himself for not taking her seriously, for not getting her the help she needed.

Four years after her death he’d bowed to the pressure to marry again. A mistake.

And now Genie was here, back in his life by accident when he’d never expected to see her again. Her presence brought a feeling of normalcy to the circus his life had become. She’d known him before, when he had been simply Prince Zafir, when he’d been excited about his studies and the things he would build.

Perhaps it was wrong to keep her here, but he didn’t care. Because she gave him something he’d thought lost, something he hadn’t realized he needed until she’d ripped off her veil in the tent.

Genie Gray gave him a sense of himself as he’d used to be. She made him feel less alone in this world, and he truly needed that right now. Oddly enough, he also felt a pang of guilt over the way they’d parted ten years ago. Perhaps he should have told her about his arranged marriage when they’d first met. Perhaps he should have given her the chance to decide for herself if she wanted to take the risk of being with a man who came from a world so different from her own.

And what choice are you giving her now?

He shoved the thought aside brutally. He would not force her into his bed, no matter what he’d told her. He’d been angry, and he’d said things he did not mean.

But he would bed her again. It was as inevitable as the sandstorms that swept across the desert.

Genie stood in the middle of the cavernous quarters she’d been shown to—the old harem, Yusuf had explained—and studied the tilework over her head. The room was vaulted, the mosaic inlaid with gold and precious gems. It was an extraordinary room.

There were marble columns, soaring arches, stained glass, and a crystal chandelier that must stand twice as tall as she if it were lowered to the floor and she could measure herself against it.

This room connected to another—a smaller room this time, with a large bed on a dais in the center. The furnishings were ornate, more modern than appropriately suited this space, and luxurious. She went through another door and found a bathroom that would more or less be considered a spa where she lived. A cutout high in the roof let natural light in, and it shafted down over a pool—yes, pool—from which steam arose.

A natural hot spring. Marvelous.

On a long shelf there were scented oils and cosmetics in an array of delicate blown-glass bottles. She passed into another room, and came up short. This was a dressing room, and one wall was lined with clothes. But whose clothes? His ex-wife’s? A mistress’s?

She plucked at the first garment. A tag was still attached to the sleeve. Galliano. She dropped the tag as if it burned when she saw the price. How many zeroes were possible when you were only talking about a dress?

Genie picked up the next garment, and the next. All had tags. And all had cost far more than a month’s wages.

She passed back into the large reception area, to find a woman laying out a teapot along with small cakes and a selection of fruit near one of the divans.

“Please, madam,” the woman said. “His Majesty sends you greetings.”

She indicated an envelope on the table. Genie went over and picked it up.

“Tea?”

“Um, yes. Thank you,” Genie replied. It’d been hours since breakfast, and she had no idea when, or if, lunch would be served.

Ripping open the envelope, she pulled out a piece of heavy cream paper upon which Zafir had scrawled, ‘Choose a dress from the closet. They were sent over for you. Dinner is at eight.’

He’d bought the dresses for her? The thought was both disconcerting and warming at the same time. Disconcerting because there were so many, and they were so expensive. Warming because he’d thought to do so.

The afternoon that followed was long and lonely. Though it frustrated her to putter around the harem when she could be working, Genie still managed to soak in the hot spring, take a long nap, and find a suitable dress. The one she chose was a soft blue-gray silk with jeweled spaghetti straps. It fell right above the knee, and though it was very nice she wasn’t sure she would call it sexy.

In fact she’d worked hard to find the least sexy dress she could in the lot.

But as she looked at herself in the mirror she began to wonder if she’d succeeded. The color brought out the gray of her eyes, and her coppery hair was curlier than she would have liked due to the steam in the mineral spring. The jeweled straps winked in the light, and her bare shoulders seemed too exposed while the dress clung suggestively to her breasts.

It was too late to change, however, because Yusuf had arrived to escort her to the dining room.

Except it wasn’t the dining room he showed her to. Yusuf opened a door and bade her enter, then disappeared before she could ask if there was some mistake.

This room was even more ornate than the harem. There was a living area with couches, chairs, and a flatscreen television on one wall. Off to one side she could see a bedroom, with a large canopied bed. Across the room a series of arched doorways opened onto what looked like a terrace.

She was just wondering what to do when Zafir emerged from one of the darkened entryways. Her breath stopped. He’d changed out of the traditional robes and into a dark tailored suit. He wasn’t wearing a tie, however, and he’d unbuttoned the first three buttons of his snowy white shirt.

She had a sudden urge to go to him, to press her mouth into that hollow at the base of his throat, to taste him the way she’d once done. He’d always tasted exotic, spicy. She’d never forgotten the way he smelled, the way his skin felt beneath her fingers. Thinking of it now was not something she wanted to do, and yet her heart wouldn’t stop throwing the memories into her head.

Zafir was staring at her, his eyes moving appreciatively over her form. “You look lovely, Genie.”

She tried not to blush. When was the last time she’d been dressed up? The last time a man had complimented her for the way she looked? She couldn’t honestly remember. Other than a few social functions tied to funding for her projects, she didn’t get out much.

“Thank you. You look pretty good yourself,” she added. “I have to admit that I’m surprised you remembered my size.”

“I remember a lot of things.” His voice was low, suggestive. It stroked across her sensitized nerves, set up a humming in the back of her head.

But she didn’t want to know what kind of things he remembered. Her pulse was already going haywire just from being here with him. To hear the things he remembered about her…?

No.

Zafir saved her by holding out a hand instead. “Come, we are dining in the courtyard.”

She let him lead her outside. The courtyard was enclosed on all four sides, making it very private. There was a long table in the center, one end set with candles and flowers, the glassware and delicate china sparkling in the soft light. Flickering gas lamps provided additional light around the perimeter.

Palm trees stood nearby, their fronds sighing together where the tops towered over the enclosed walls. The breeze occasionally wafted down to the floor of the courtyard, but since darkness had settled it wasn’t hot or uncomfortable.

Zafir pulled her chair out for her, then lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. Tingles radiated down her arm, over her breasts, her nipples tightening in response.

And, lower, another response gathered in her feminine core. Oh, God, she ached with want for this man. How long had it been since she’d felt this kind of heat and want?

She had to force it away, had to keep her head. It was wrong to want him when he’d hurt her so badly. She had to keep her cool, had to be all business.

“This scene is set for seduction, Zafir,” she said as he took the seat opposite.

His smile was wicked with intent. “Do you think so?”

Breathe, Genie. “You know it is.”

“And is it working?”

Be cool, unaffected. “I suppose that depends on what’s in the food.”

One eyebrow arched. “Are you suggesting I would have to drug you to succeed?”

“I’m not sure what lengths you would go to,” she replied. “I hardly know you anymore.”

“We could rectify that tonight, habiba.”

A team of waiters arrived then, saving her from a reply. One shook out her napkin and laid it across her lap, while another poured water and wine. A third man began to serve them, but Zafir said something in Arabic and the man set the dish down on the table. Then he moved the serving cart closer and bowed. The three men filed out, and once again she was alone with Zafir.

He stood and pulled the covers off the dishes. “Allow me to serve you, habiba,” he said.

“It’s not necessary.”

“No, it’s not.” He dished out fragrant rice, vegetables, chicken and flat bread before filling his own plate. His movements were quick, efficient, and she thought that he must not have much freedom anymore to do these sorts of things. Indeed, the waiters had looked slightly askance at their king’s request they leave, but they could do nothing except obey.

“I’ve never been served by a king before,” Genie said, taking a sip of her water.

Zafir gave her a grin as he took his seat. “Ah, but you have, many times over. I was not exactly a king then, however.”

She tore off a piece of flat bread and dipped it in the sauce over the chicken. The food was aromatic, alive with spice and flavor, and she happily ate at least half of what he’d given her before she looked up and found him watching her with an amused expression.

Heat crept into her face. “This is so much better than the camp food I’ve been eating for the last few weeks. No matter how you try, sand seems to get into everything.”

“You have been living the life of a nomad,” he replied easily. “Is this what you expected to be doing when you were in school?”

“I expected to spend time in harsh places, yes.” But she’d also expected more glamour and adventure. She’d soon learned, after beginning to study archaeology as an undergraduate, that the adventurous life of Indiana Jones was more than a bit exaggerated.

He cocked his head. “It is a very odd choice for such a beautiful woman. I must admit that I never envisioned you doing such things.”

“No, you envisioned me in a harem.”

He sighed. “I thought we were good together. I did not wish it to end simply because I had to return to Bah’shar.”

Genie fixed her gaze on her plate. She’d been so naïve back then. It was humiliating to remember how happy she’d been when he’d asked her to go with him. Before she’d understood that he was not proposing marriage and never would.

“But I should have told you about Jasmin,” he said. “From the beginning.”

Her head snapped up. His eyes were on her. Hot, dark, intense. Did he mean it, or was this simply another attempt at seduction, at lowering her resistance?

“Yes,” she said, “you should have.”

Genie’s eyes flashed fire as he watched her across the table. So passionate, this woman. So vibrant and alive. She had no problem challenging him, and he found he rather liked that, even while it sometimes irritated him.

“Arranged marriages, especially between royals, are such a part of my culture that I did not consider how it might affect you. Nor did I feel it necessary to explain my life to you in the beginning, when I hardly knew you.”

“And now you admit you were wrong?”

“Yes.” He hadn’t meant to say it tonight, because he hadn’t wanted her to think he was being insincere—and yet he found he needed to do so. He wanted her to understand, wanted to explain what he’d been too young and arrogant to explain that night so long ago.

“I appreciate that, but it doesn’t change anything, Zafir. Even if I’d been the sort of woman who could accept such an arrangement, I wouldn’t have been able to pursue my work here.”

“Bah’shar is filled with ruins that need exploring by scholars. You could have done so.”

She shook her head emphatically. “No, don’t go there. It was impossible. I could never have accepted the kind of arrangement you were offering me.”

“I know this now,” he said, shoving back from the table and drawing her up from her chair.

He was growing as tired of talking about the past as she was. It did nothing but wound, and he wanted to think of other things this evening. He had enough pain in his life.

“Let us concentrate on tonight,” Zafir said, pulling her close. She didn’t resist as he began to sway to imaginary music. “Do you remember this?”

“Of course,” she said a touch breathlessly.

They’d often danced together when the mood had hit them, and rarely had there been any music to accompany their steps.

It amazed him how right it felt to do this, how soothing it was to his senses. He’d been living in a pressure cooker for so long, yet the simplest touch from this woman relieved all the strain.

She was as light in his arms as she’d ever been. Her hair smelled exotic, like jasmine and spice, and he found himself cupping her head, threading his fingers into her short curls.

He simply had to have her, or he would die.

She leaned back to look up at him. Her fingers curled into his lapels. “You should let me go, Zafir. Tell the Sheikh the truth and let me go back to my dig.”

A dull pain pierced his heart at the thought. “Perhaps I should,” he said. “But I am not going to do so.”

Chapter Five

GENIE’S SENSES WERE on high alert as Zafir held her close, their bodies swaying together. The longer she was with him, the less she wanted to be anywhere else. And that was dangerous, so very dangerous.

His body was warm, hard, and her skin sizzled where his fingers rested against her back. The dress that had been so comfortable before now felt like the roughest cloth against her sensitive skin. She wanted out of it, and yet she did not. To take that step was to go down a path she’d never thought to travel again.

“I cannot believe you are here,” Zafir said in her ear, his breath tickling her and sending a shiver down her spine. “I had never thought to see you again.”

That his thoughts so eerily echoed hers only made her ache more.

“It would have been better that way,” she said.

“I disagree.” And then he kissed her, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to say no if he kept kissing her this way. So sweetly, as if she was a treasure he’d discovered. So tenderly, as if she meant the world to him.

Yet she knew she didn’t. This was physical and, yes, perhaps even a bit sentimental. She didn’t fool herself that it was anything else. Could she handle that?

“Do you remember how it was between us? How amazing?” he asked, his breath soft against her mouth.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I want that feeling again, Genie.”

His mouth fused to hers once more, and she melted away into a mass of nerve-endings that existed only to respond to his touch. Her body was on fire with remembered bliss, with the anticipation of more. It had been so long since she’d been with anyone—and now he was here, the man she’d never really stopped loving, and he wanted her.

And, God help her, she wanted him too. Just once. Just this once.

Because she didn’t have the strength to fight herself anymore.

She slid her arms around his neck, arched into him. He groaned his appreciation, squeezed her closer. One broad hand spread over her buttocks, kneaded her, pulling the cradle of her hips against his erection. He found her most sensitive spot, his body putting pressure against hers in just the right location.

Genie gasped as sensation shot through her. Zafir slid the jeweled straps from her shoulders, his mouth finding the sensitive area where her shoulder joined her neck. It had always driven her crazy, and no doubt he remembered it.

Though how he remembered after so long was something she couldn’t fathom at the moment. Not when desire and heat were tingling through her body like this.

“I need to know,” she gasped, “if there’s anyone else in your life right now.”

He pulled back to look down at her very solemnly. “There is no one.”

Genie closed her eyes as relief washed over her. If there had been a woman—a mistress, a fiancée—she could not go through with this no matter how much she ached for him. “Then touch me, Zafir.”

If he didn’t touch her she would die.

His voice was as warm and rich as melted honey. “I intend to, habiba. Most thoroughly.”

When his fingers slid to her zipper, she felt a stab of apprehension. “What if someone sees us?”

His laugh against the skin of her shoulder vibrated through her body. “No one would dare. We will not be disturbed.”

He spun her around and pulled her zipper all the way down. Then he slid the dress from her body. She stepped out of it, her heart hammering, her head telling her she was making a mistake, that this was too fast and too dangerous. That she was sinking into the quicksand of her need for this man, when she’d worked so hard to free herself from it the first time.

Behind her, Zafir groaned softly.

“You never wore this sort of underwear before,” he said, his fingers sliding along the top edge of her thong.

Before she’d realized what he was doing, his hot mouth was on her back. His tongue dipped into the hollow at the base of her spine before he placed a kiss on her bare buttocks, and then the curve beneath where her leg began. He turned her with his hands, gazing up at her with such heat and need in his eyes that she shivered anew.

“I am a king on his knees for you,” he said. “And I hardly know where to begin.”

“You’ll ruin your trousers.” It was an inane reply, but she couldn’t trust herself to say anything else.

“I do not care,” he replied, reaching for her. He quickly unsnapped the clasp of her strapless bra, which fell away and exposed her bare breasts to his gaze.

Her nipples were hard, tight points, begging for his touch. Goosebumps rose on her bare flesh, but not because she was cold. Zafir licked first one tip and then the other, before suckling them into even more sensitive buds than they already were.

Genie’s head fell back, her hands gripping his shoulders. She felt wanton, hot, restless, and so completely unsatisfied. Not that his mouth wasn’t magical, not that she didn’t love what he was doing, but she ached to feel him inside her again.

When he left her breasts and trailed hot kisses down her abdomen she sucked in her breath, knowing what he planned and dying for it all at once. Her panties fell away as he pushed them down her hips, and then he was cupping her buttocks, pulling her to him, his tongue sliding into her secret recesses, finding the bud of her desire.

She cried out as he circled her clitoris, sucked it between his lips, then circled and sucked again and again. Her legs were jelly, but his strong grip on her kept her upright while he drove her to completion with his lips and tongue.

When she shattered, she didn’t care who heard her as she rode wave after wave of blinding sensation.

But still it wasn’t enough. And Zafir knew it too. He climbed to his feet while she sagged against the table. Shrugging out of his jacket and shirt, he dropped them to the ground. A moment later he’d lifted her onto the stone table and stepped between her legs. As she leaned back on her hands he unfastened his trousers and rolled on a condom. She didn’t even bother to wonder how he’d known to be prepared.

Then he was hooking his arms behind her knees and drawing her forward until the tip of his penis slid into her entrance.

Genie drew in a sharp breath. Zafir closed his eyes, swallowed. And then he plunged forward, their bodies joining so deeply and thoroughly that they both cried out.

He grew utterly still, though she could feel him throbbing in the heart of her. “Did I hurt you?”

Genie shook her head, tears building behind her eyelids. It hurt, but not the way he meant. Physically, yes, he was big, and it had been a long time, but her body accommodated him the way it always had.

No, the pain was in her heart, her soul.

“Don’t stop,” she said, and then he was moving, plunging into her while she wrapped her legs around him and braced herself on the table.

She hadn’t known her body could be so responsive, that she could be on fire so quickly after he’d taken her over the edge. But she gripped him hard, her hips working in time with his, her body catching the wave and riding it higher and higher.

Zafir must have sensed when she was close, because he lifted her against him, angled his thrusts so they were deeper and more intense—

And that was when she exploded, when her body dissolved into a mass of fire and sound and sensation that reached into her fingertips, her toes, her scalp. Everything sizzled, and she cried out with the intensity of it, the utter bliss.

She hadn’t even realized that Zafir tumbled over the edge with her until he set her carefully back down and withdrew from her body. His skin gleamed in the candlelight, his chest rising and falling more quickly than before.

He was magnificent, exotic, and her body still craved his like a drug—though she was exhausted and, at least temporarily, sated. He turned away from her, and she felt as if she’d been basking in the sun’s rays only to have a black cloud block their warmth.

What had she done?

Genie couldn’t move, though she had a sudden urge to do so. It was as if her good sense had come trickling back, but too late. She wanted to snatch up the dress and cover herself.

She felt too raw, too exposed. She’d just had amazingly hot sex with a king.

On a table. In a garden.

But that wasn’t what made her want to cover up. She felt as if her heart was as exposed as her body, as if he could see that it beat only for him. That it had always beat only for him.

Because this was Zafir—her prince, her lover, the man who’d once been everything to her.

And that made her angry. Angry with him for being here, for being so unrelenting, and with herself for being unable to hold fast to her vow not to have sex with him ever again. What in the hell was wrong with her?

“Will you let me excavate the temples now?” she threw into the air between them. Because he’d won, hadn’t he? Because she was an idiot, and because she still loved him in spite of everything, and because she was suddenly so insecure that she had to lash out to protect herself.

His shoulders stiffened, and she wished with all her heart she could take it back. But words once spoken were out there, hanging in the air, and she could no more call them back than she could undo what they’d just done together.

Zafir turned, his trousers zipped again, his gaze as hard and cold as marble. He let his eyes wander over her lazily, insultingly. She pushed herself to a sitting position and wrapped her arms around herself.

“You were good, Genie. But not that good.”

Chapter Six

HE’D lied. Zafir lay in bed, staring up at the ornately carved wooden canopy, and listened to the soft breathing of the woman beside him. He’d told her she wasn’t that good, but the truth was he’d been so hot for her that he’d been unable to make the trek to the bedroom the first time.

He’d wanted her so much that having her then and there, in the courtyard, had seemed the only way to assuage the heat boiling inside him.

Except that it hadn’t. It had only made the need worse.

She might have had sex with him for the temples, but he’d done it because he could not do otherwise.

But Genie Gray had certainly not lost sight of what she wanted, and that made him angry.

He had no right to be angry with her. He was the one, after all, who’d suggested that the only way to win the commission was to sleep with him. He’d wanted to punish her, and he’d ended up punishing himself.

She’d pretended to be insulted, but she hadn’t resisted when he’d carried her into the bedroom and made love to her again. No, she’d melted beneath him, her body as soft and welcoming as it had always been. Her body was paradise, and he lost himself in it.

They’d fallen asleep much later, exhausted, but now that he’d awakened again he couldn’t get back to sleep.

What was it about her that made him so crazy? That made him feel as if he’d come home after a very long time away?

It had to be the connection to the past, to a simpler life. But this need was only temporary. Though he wanted Genie more than he could remember wanting any woman he’d ever been with, there was no future in it.

Soon he would have to let her go.

The light slanting through the curtains and across the bed was not the light of early morning. Genie blinked and sat up. Muscles she’d forgotten she had ached. Zafir had been intense last night, making love to her as if it was the first and last night he would ever do so.

The thought gave her a chill. She’d loved every moment of it, even if he had told her she wasn’t that good. She’d been hurt at first, but she’d quickly recognized that he was lashing out at her. Just as she’d done when she’d asked if he would now give her the commission.

They’d gotten past that very quickly—at least physically. But now Zafir was gone and she wasn’t certain what to do. Even if she did manage to find the dress and put it back on, she wasn’t sure she would remember how to find the harem. And she definitely didn’t want to run into anyone in the passageways.

“As-saalamu ’alaykum, madam.”

Genie’s head snapped up to find Yusuf patiently standing in the entry. He didn’t seem at all flustered by her appearance in his king’s bed, though she could feel the heat of a blush all the way to the roots of her hair. The problem with being a fair-skinned redhead was the ease with which she turned pink, she thought.

She returned the ritual greeting and waited.

“His Majesty bade me bring you clothing, madam. You will find a selection of items in His Majesty’s bath chamber. If you would care to dress, I will bring you something to eat in half an hour.”

“Thank you,” Genie said, and the old man bowed and disappeared again. She waited a full five minutes before she got out of bed—stark naked—and raced into the bathroom.

When she emerged again, showered and dressed in a silk pantsuit and ballet flats, she didn’t expect to find Zafir waiting for her. Her heart did a little flip at the sight of him. He was once again dressed in traditional robes and headdress, and the sight of him literally took her breath away.

“You slept well?” he asked.

“Yes. And you?”

His grin was sudden. Wicked. “I was quite exhausted, I assure you. Thank you for a most pleasurable evening.”

A most pleasurable evening.

She didn’t like the way that sounded—as if she were someone who got paid to provide a service. But then, here in this place Zafir was far more formal than she remembered him ever being when they were at university.

Perhaps that was all it was.

“And how are your negotiations with the Sheikhs going?” she asked, wanting to change the subject before she mentally undressed Zafir and climbed on top of him.

“Eager to leave?” he said, his eyes growing shadowed.

“You know I want to go back to my dig, but that’s not why I asked.”

“Isn’t it?” He shrugged and walked toward the small table that she only now noticed was set with plates and food. “Come, eat. And after this I will take you to the temples.”

She joined him at the table, keeping her gaze from his while he once more dished out food for her. “I asked about the Sheikhs because I wanted to know,” she said when he’d finished. “It seems a dangerous situation, and I hope you are able to end the hostility.”

He sighed. His eyes, she noted, were troubled.

“I am working on it. In the old days I could have had them both executed. But times have fortunately progressed—even if I have often missed having that kind of absolute power while dealing with these two old fools. They grumble, but they will fall in line.”

She had the distinct feeling there was something he wasn’t telling her. “This isn’t at all what you wanted to do, is it? Be a king, I mean?”

“It was not my choice to make.”

“But if it had been?”

His dark gaze was sharp, assessing. “I would still be a Prince of Bah’shar, Genie. And I would still have duties to my nation.”

And she would still be Geneva Gray, a girl who’d had to work hard for every opportunity she’d ever had. She speared a piece of mango with her fork. “I guess we can’t ever change who we really are.”

“No.” He looked thoughtful. “But who are you inside, Genie? What can’t you change?”

She swallowed. Who was she inside? She’d thought about it a lot lately, especially since coming here. “I suppose the greatest constant in my life was uncertainty.”

Uncertainty over whether her father would come visit, whether her mother would make it to her school play or drop everything to be with the man she loved. Would Genie have to stand on the school steps long after the other kids had gone home and wait because her mother had forgotten again?

“I need control of my life. I get nervous when I’m not in control.”

“Your parents were divorced,” Zafir said, as if it explained everything.

Genie gritted her teeth. Why not tell him the truth? Why not let him see how devastating his revelation about an arranged marriage had been to her?

“That was a lie,” she said, lifting her chin. “A fiction I made up in order to keep from telling anyone the awful truth.”

“And what was the truth?”

She glared at him. “My mother had a decade-long affair with my father, a married man. He set her up in an apartment and came to visit us whenever he could get away from his real family.”

Zafir looked stunned. “You never told me this before.”

“Would it have made a difference?” she tossed at him, the old anger of her childhood and the disappointment of her relationship with Zafir mingling into an acid stew inside her. “When my father tired of us he had no problem walking away. My mother was too depressed to go after him for child support. She took odd jobs to make ends meet, and there were times we went without heat or groceries because she barely had enough to pay the rent.”

“I am sorry—”

“Yes, well, you can certainly understand why I wasn’t prepared to put myself in the same position.”

“I would have never abandoned you, habiba,” he said fiercely.

“I imagine that’s what my father said too.”

Zafir came and sank onto a chair close by, tossing one end of his headdress over his shoulder with a practiced movement that was too sexy for words.

Sexy? Genie looked away, studied the food on her plate. How on earth could she find him sexy at a time like this?

“I would change the past if I could,” he said, “but what I asked of you was not an insult in my world. I would not have forced you to stay with me once the marriage finally took place.”

Genie tossed her fork aside. Now, why did that knowledge sting? “Very noble of you, Zafir.”

She shoved to her feet before she lost her mind. She’d have never agreed to be a mistress, no matter what. But isn’t that what you were, Genie, considering he always intended to marry another?

She pressed two fingers on either side of her forehead to stem the rising headache. “Look, can we just stop talking about this and get to the temples?”

“We will go soon. You need to finish eating.”

“I’m not hungry. And I don’t need your pity,” she practically growled.

Zafir stood, his tall form suddenly towering over her. He was all formality once more, his robe draped over one arm, his eyes glittering dark and hot as he stared at her.

“As you wish, habiba.”

Chapter Seven

THE Temples of Al-Shahar were millennia old. The foundations were ancient, though the temples in their current form were only about a thousand years old. The one temple still standing bore the soaring arches and mosaic work typical of the early Islamic period. The others were in various states of ruin, but they were all an archaeologist’s dream. At the very least her team would be busy here for months. In truth, they could stay for years.

Genie walked through the structure, hands in pockets, her mind not quite as engaged as it should be for something so exciting.

Zafir was somewhere behind her, his footfalls distinct in the shadowy interior. His ever-present bodyguards had fanned out to guard the perimeter while they came inside alone. It seemed to her he’d gathered more security since yesterday. She’d asked about it, but he had shrugged the question off.

They’d hardly spoken since lunch. What was there to say?

She’d told him one of the darkest, most painful secrets of her life, and now she regretted it. Because he felt sorry for her. In Bah’shar, it seemed as if a man could have more than one family and no one thought anything of it. Not the women, not the children, and certainly not the men.

But her father had mostly ignored her existence, except for the occasional inquiry into her grades, or the awkward acceptance of a childish drawing that she’d used to believe he took home and put on the refrigerator. Now she realized he must have thrown them all out. His wife wouldn’t have wanted to know anything about the woman and child he kept across town.

One day he’d finally walked out for good. She’d never known why.

Zafir passed her line of sight and she studied him from beneath the brim of her hat. She should be studying the temple, but she couldn’t stop thinking about their lives together before. She replayed the kisses, the caresses, the early-morning walks, the late-night lovemaking, the look in his eyes when they’d been together—everything she could think of. How had she not realized it was only temporary?

Because it had felt like so much more. She wasn’t wrong about that. She couldn’t be.

But was that what her mother had thought too? Was that what had made her stay with a man who could never be hers, who’d kept her in a cage and expected her to be available whenever he wanted her?

She’d done this before, after they’d broken it off, and she was angry that she was suddenly being forced to reexamine the past after all this time. He’d accused her of needing her work more than she needed him, but it was so much more than that. Perhaps he finally realized it too.

Zafir was standing in the middle of a room, gazing down at the ruins of a mosaic on the floor. “There is much to be done here, yes?” he said, looking up and catching her staring at him.

Genie refused to look away. To do so would be to admit she’d been thinking of him and not of her work. That he’d caught her in an unguarded moment. Clearly he wasn’t as tormented by thoughts of the past as she was. He’d been thinking about the temple.

“It’s an extraordinary place,” she said, all business. “I believe the work could take a very long time. But I also think it’s a good decision to allow excavation here, even if you choose someone else to do it. This is an important site, and it should not be forgotten.”

He speared her with a determined look. “I do not intend to choose someone else.”

“I won’t let you down if you give this to me.”

“I know. It is why I made the deal in the first place.”

Genie bit her lip. Whether he believed her or not, she had to say it. “I slept with you because I wanted to, not for the temples.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “It matters not. The commission is yours.”

She resisted the urge to stomp her foot. She’d been feeling wounded and hurt, and now he’d managed to put her on the defensive. How did he do that? “Zafir, do you believe me or not?”

He strode toward her, stopping in a swirl of robes and dust. He looked suddenly angry. “Does it matter? You have got what you want.”

She swallowed as she gazed up at him, all six-foot-something of hard, arrogant male. He made her body ache just looking at him. Ridiculous the way her heart pounded. “I have never been dishonest with you, Zafir.”

“Outright? No. But omission is still a form of dishonesty. You never told me what happened between your parents.”

How dared he turn this around? He was the one at fault, not her. “What good would it have done? Besides, you were dishonest with me first.”

“We were dishonest with each other.”

The thought stung, and yet it wasn’t the same thing at all. “Why do we keep rehashing the past? It changes nothing. You still intended to marry a woman your father chose.”

“I was obligated, Genie.”

She slashed a hand through the air. “I know that, and I’m done talking about it.”

He caught her close, gripping her upper arms hard. “You were important to me, whether you believe it or not. And you have no idea what it is like not getting to make your own choices in life. No one has ever told you that you are required to give up everything you want for the greater good of your country.”

Genie jerked free from his grip. She didn’t fool herself that she was what he’d had to give up. “Maybe not, but do you think my life was any easier? You were born into privilege and accustomed to having the world at your fingertips. I had to work hard for every opportunity I ever got.” She took a step backward, putting distance between them, her body shaking with adrenaline and fury. “What would you know about sacrifice? You wanted me to sacrifice everything to be with you, yet you weren’t prepared to sacrifice a thing!”

The words echoed through the empty temple. Zafir’s gaze was hard, his nostrils flaring as they stared each other down. His voice, when he finally answered, was deadly cold. “You will never know what I’ve sacrificed. Do not presume to tell me I have no idea what the word means.”

Genie pulled in a shaky breath. Why did she get so emotional? Why did she let him press her buttons and make her so defensive? Her life had been upside down since the minute she’d walked into that tent and seen him sitting on the dais. And she was having a hell of a time getting it right again.

Zafir glanced at his watch, dismissing her as easily as he might one of his subjects. “If you are finished here, it’s time we returned to the palace.”

Before she could answer, he simply turned in a sweep of robes and headed toward the entrance.

He was furious. Furious with the woman sitting so quietly beside him in the car, and furious that he was allowing her to get to him when he had far more important things to think about.

Just this morning there’d been another threat to his life. He wasn’t worried. His security was tight and, besides, he knew there was always a certain level of disgruntlement to be expected when a new leader took office. The threats were vague, written on plain stationery and posted in Al-Shahar. The royal police were investigating, and Zafir had every confidence they would soon find the culprit.

At least one situation in his life required definite steps to take and had a resolution in sight. For that he was thankful.

But how did one correct a situation based on strong emotion and cultural differences? If he’d known about Genie’s childhood, would it have changed his actions?

Probably. Because he would have understood how painful it was to her, and would have realized how different their worlds were. He’d asked her to give up her schooling and come to Bah’shar for what amounted to nothing more than an affair.

And he’d done it for selfish reasons, which made him furious with himself. She’d filled the emptiness inside him and he’d been reluctant to give that up. And, he admitted to himself, he’d hoped that once she reached Bah’shar, once they’d been together for a while, even his marriage to a princess wouldn’t prevent Genie from staying as his lover.

He’d offered her nothing and expected her to give up everything, just like she’d said.

Worse, he wanted to do it again.

When they reached the palace, he left her in the care of Yusuf and turned his attention to the Sheikhs. It was time to reach a solution. And, after that, time to let Genie Gray walk out of his life for the second time.

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Genie was shown to the palace library, where there was a vast selection of books, and did a bit of research on the history of Bah’shar. Her Arabic was tolerable, though her command of the Bah’sharan dialect left something to be desired, but she worked her way through a few texts as the hours passed.

She might have gotten through them more quickly if she’d been able to stop thinking about Zafir. He’d seemed unapproachable in the car on the way back to the palace, as if he’d closed himself off and meant to keep it that way.

Maybe she wouldn’t see him again. Maybe he’d issue orders that she was to be driven back to her camp and left there. The thought left her feeling empty and bereft. And angry—because why did she want to torture herself by spending more time in his company?

Being sent away was the best thing that could happen to her.

She did not belong here. Oh, she would return to excavate the temples—she wasn’t a fool—but she didn’t belong in the royal palace in the bed of the King. Nothing good could ever come of a relationship with Zafir. She knew because she hadn’t been able to stop herself from reading some of the Bah’sharan code. The King was duty-bound to take either a Bah’sharan wife or a royal one from a neighboring country. Genie, for all her success in her chosen field, had no place in his life—nor would she ever.

When she returned to the harem, she found the same servant from yesterday, who bore another letter with the King’s seal. She reached for it, a thread of apprehension skimming through her.

Was this it? Was this her dismissal? She half prayed it was. The back of her neck tingled as she ripped it open and read it.

It was not a dismissal—or at least not an outright one. Zafir simply regretted that he could not have dinner with her, and indicated that she would be served in her room.

Genie ate dinner alone, then passed the evening with one of the books she’d taken from the library. She thought about going to bed several times, but she wasn’t in the least bit tired, so she stayed up and read on one of the comfortable sofas. She was just about to close the book and go to bed anyway when the door to the harem opened and Zafir strode in.

A glance at her watch told her it was nearly midnight. She blinked at him in surprise.

“What are you doing here?”

He was still dressed in the garments he’d worn earlier. He jerked the headdress off and tossed it aside. “Disappointed to see me?”

Genie swallowed. “Not at all. But I thought you were angry with me.”

He shrugged. “I was irritated.”

“Where have you been all this time?” She winced at how much like a jealous girlfriend she sounded. It wasn’t at all what she’d meant to convey, but if he noticed he didn’t react.

“I’ve been trying to make a room full of grown men stop acting like spoiled children fighting over a toy sword.”

“It’s not going well, I take it?”

He popped two hands on his hips, his dark eyes full of fire and frustration. “It could be better.”

Genie closed the book and set it on the table. “I can listen if it helps.”

His gaze slid over her. “Listening is nice, but it is not what I want.”

Her body felt as if he’d blazed a trail of flame over it.

“What do you want?”

His grin was sexy, sinful. “A swim in the mineral bath.”

“Oh,” she said, sudden disappointment swirling inside her. She shouldn’t want to make love with him again, but she couldn’t stop the desire coursing in her veins like thick syrup. Just as well he didn’t seem affected by it.

“You may join me, if you wish.” He left her sitting there, her mouth dropping open, as he headed for the spa. Genie debated with herself for a full minute before getting up and following him.

Zafir stood poolside, stripping out of his garments. Her mouth went dry as layer after layer was peeled away until he stood there bronzed, hard-muscled, and magnificently naked. He wasn’t fully aroused, but he was on his way.

She should turn and walk away, should prove to herself and to him that she was capable of refusing to be drawn into another doomed relationship with him. Last night had been amazing, a reminder of all she’d missed for so long. Did she really need another when there was no future in it?

“Coming in?” he asked, before he dove cleanly into the water. He came up like a dolphin, rivulets of water rushing down his chest and arms before he flipped over and started to backstroke across the pool.

Was she? Could she really turn away and go back to her book when all this glorious male body waited for her? She stood there in indecision, until Zafir cupped his hands and splattered her with water from halfway across the pool.

Genie began to unbutton her shirt. “You’re going to pay for that,” she said.

Zafir swam toward her, his eyes glittering with heat and desire. “I look forward to it.”

She stripped, and would have glided into the pool quietly had he not shot up and grabbed her. He threw her over his head and she went under.

When she came up, sputtering, he was laughing. “A little slow, aren’t you?”

Genie dove under and went for his feet. She jerked them out from under him and he splashed down while she powered away to the other side of the pool. But before she made it strong arms encircled her and hauled her back against his body.

The length of his erection pressed against her buttocks. Her insides liquefied.

“You give as good as you get, don’t you, habiba?” he growled in her ear. But it was a sensual growl, not an angry one.

“I try,” she replied, her pulse zipping into light speed. My God, it took nothing at all for this desire to spiral out of control. She should have known it would.

“Mmm, and I can think of so many ways to test your ability to get even with me.” He turned her in his arms, his slick skin hot against hers. Part of it was the natural heat of the spring, and part was the desire between them.

Genie wrapped her arms and legs around him, feeling suddenly reckless and full of joy.

“You are welcome to try, King Zafir. I relish the opportunity.”

“Do you indeed?”

In answer, she kissed him, urgently tangling her tongue with his. Zafir responded as she’d hoped, groaning and squeezing her to him. His hands wandered, his fingers sliding around her bottom, down to the vee of her legs. He stroked her center lightly and she rocked against him, trying to make him go faster.

He only laughed low in his throat, however. Genie reached for him, wrapped her hand around his hard length and squeezed. His laugh turned to a moan.

She broke the kiss, trailed her tongue down his throat, his chest—and then she sank beneath the water and took him in her mouth. His thigh muscles tightened and she could feel the sharp intake of his breath where one of her hands rested against his abdomen.

The other stroked him while she swirled her tongue around his length. Soon, however, he grabbed her and hauled her up.

“I could have held my breath for another minute,” she grumbled.

“But I’m not sure I could have held mine,” he said. “I declare you the winner of this round, because I am now unwilling to wait.”

He took her by the waist and lifted her from the pool. Then he leapt out beside her and hauled her over to one of the cushioned divans that lined the sides of the chamber. “This is much more comfortable,” he murmured, following her down.

There were no preliminaries. There was no need. Genie wrapped her legs around him as he sank into her. Her head tilted back, her eyes closing tight as the bliss of his possession threatened to overwhelm her. “Zafir,” she gasped.

His lips were on her throat, her jaw, her breasts.

“I cannot get enough of you, Genie,” he said, almost brokenly. “The more I have, the more I want.”

And then he was thrusting into her, hard and fast, hurtling her toward the abyss. She welcomed it, wanted it, craved it—

Suddenly she was there, crying out his name and wondering how it was possible to feel this way with only one person in the whole world. To feel as if you needed this to live, as if you would die if you didn’t have it.

It was beautiful and heartbreaking all at once. She was in love with a man she could never have. Even if she gave up everything and moved to Bah’shar to be with him she would only have stolen moments of bliss like this one.

And that wasn’t nearly enough.

Chapter Eight

ZAFIR’S brain had dissolved along with his sense. He rolled from her body, belatedly remembering as he came back to earth that he’d forgotten to use a condom. Icy cold fear dripped down his spine in spite of the heat in the room. How could he be so stupid?

How could he risk such a thing?

Because this was Genie, and she excited him, made him forget everything but the urge to join himself with her. She always had, though she’d been on the pill when they were at university. He prayed that was still the case.

“Are you on birth control?” he asked, his tone sharper than he’d intended.

She blinked at him, her expression confused. And then it cleared. Horror was not the emotion he’d hoped to see. She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, her skin still flushed from sex and dripping with water from the pool.

“I am, but I haven’t had a pill in two days now. All my things were in the camp…”

Zafir swore.

“It’s the wrong time of the month, though. I’m sure of it.”

“If there is a baby, I want to know,” he ordered. “I will provide for him, never fear, so there is no need to terminate the pregnancy.”

Her lovely face clouded. When it cleared, anger was the dominant emotion. “Of course I would tell you, Zafir. What kind of person do you think I am?”

He thought of Layla, of her deception, and his jaw tightened. “You are a professional woman. Perhaps you would decide that a baby was too much of a burden for you.”

“It wouldn’t be easy, I grant you. But if there were a child, it would be ours. And I would want it.”

She looked so fierce that he believed her. The relief winding through him was stronger than he would have believed possible. And he felt a sudden need to explain, to share with her what he’d never told anyone else.

“My second wife aborted our child. She did not tell me she was pregnant.”

Genie’s eyes widened. “I’m so sorry, Zafir. You must have been very upset.”

“I was. Layla felt she was too young to start a family, though she failed to share this belief with me.”

She had also been worried about her figure, her shopping trips abroad, and her social events, where she was determined to be the most elegant hostess anyone in Bah’shar had ever seen. When she’d gone to Europe for the abortion he’d thought she was going on another shopping trip. He’d only found out because she’d been stupid enough to use a credit card and he’d opened the bill before she could intercept it. The moment when he’d realized what the charge was for had been like a sucker punch to the gut.

Genie put her arms around him and squeezed. He fell back on the cushions with her, his heart hammering with fear, and turned his head toward her, breathed in the sweet, clean scent of her hair.

She smelled like home, felt like home. He could think of nothing better than watching her grow big with his child. Nothing better than having her in his bed every night.

“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” she said softly, “but if I’m wrong, this is your child too. We’ll figure out what comes next when we have to.”

“Yes, we’ll figure it out,” he replied on a sigh of weariness. It had been a long, long day.

He closed his eyes. What he needed right now was sleep. And he needed to be here with this woman.

It felt right.

He was drifting off when she whispered in his ear, “Sleep, Zafir.”

She said something else, but he wasn’t quite certain what it was.

Right before he fell asleep, he realized what it had sounded like: I love you.

Sometime in the night they got chilled and moved into the bedroom, burrowing beneath the thick covers on the bed. Genie lay in the dark, listening to Zafir’s deep breathing. She was in so much trouble here. In two days’ time her life had been turned inside out by the past she’d tried to forget.

She still loved him, and she couldn’t deny it. And, though she really didn’t believe she could fall pregnant, the slight chance had her mind working overtime. What would happen if she had his baby?

He’d said he would provide for their child. But he wasn’t going to offer to marry her. He was the King of Bah’shar and he could never do so.

But would he be a part of their child’s life? Or would he, like her father, be absent and distant?

Genie didn’t believe Zafir would ignore their child on purpose. He would not be like her father. But his royal duties and his future wife—because, yes, a king needed legitimate heirs—would most likely keep him away.

Genie shifted in the bed, trying to shove her tumultuous thoughts away. There was nothing to worry about yet. She would cross that bridge when she reached it.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Not well,” she admitted. “You?”

“I was sleeping fine, but you kept moving.”

“Sorry.”

She heard him yawn. “You are worried about being pregnant?”

“I was thinking about it, yes. But I don’t really believe it will happen.”

“You will not have to worry, Genie.”

“No, but I think I’ll have to worry every day of my life if there’s a child. That’s just what mothers do.” She turned toward him on the bed, propped herself on an elbow. “I’m sorry about what happened with your second wife, Zafir.”

“It was a long time ago.”

She bit her lip, decided to proceed. “What happened in your first marriage?”

Zafir did not pretend to misunderstand what she was asking him. He let out a deep sigh. “Jasmin had difficulty conceiving. When she did conceive, she couldn’t carry past the first trimester.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“There were three miscarriages. She was depressed, though I did not realize it, and she swallowed pills. It is my fault she died. I should have forced her into treatment.”

Sadness ripped through her. “How could you know she would do such a thing?”

“I should have known. She was impulsive, and she made threats. I didn’t take her seriously until I came home late and found her unconscious.” He sighed into the darkness. “I wasn’t supposed to be late that day. I think she wanted to be found, that it was a cry for help. But I failed her.”

My God. Genie’s eyes filled with tears. How could he take such a burden on himself? But she already knew the answer: he was a good man who took his duty seriously, be it the duty of a king or a husband. Or even a lover.

“If there’s one thing I learned growing up,” she said very softly, “it’s that we aren’t responsible for the actions of others. My mother and I both suffered because she wouldn’t—or couldn’t—get herself out of the situation with my father, but that wasn’t my fault. It took me a long time to understand that.”

“I knew Jasmin was unstable. I should have realized she would eventually go through with her threats.”

Genie grasped his hand in hers. It was big, warm, and he squeezed his fingers closed around her hand. The grip was firm, reassuring, but not too hard. A wave of love and longing rocked through her.

“No one is to blame but her, Zafir. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but she is responsible for making that choice, not you.”

“If I’d been home when expected—”

“You could have stopped her that time, but what about the next? Maybe she could have been helped with treatment, but there are no guarantees. You’re wrong to blame yourself.”

He pulled her hand to his lips. “You have grown wise, Dr. Gray. Thank you for your words, though I am certain I will always feel guilty about what happened.”

“That’s your right, Zafir.” It made her sad that he would take so much on himself, and sad for his poor wife. It also made her feel badly for resenting Jasmin for so long. She’d been caught up in the marital politics of her people as much as Zafir had been. And producing an heir had no doubt been paramount to that marriage. When she hadn’t been able to do so, she must have felt so desperate.

Genie burrowed in closer, wrapped her arms around him. Her heart was a lost cause and it did no good to try and keep her distance. She would take whatever time she had with him while it lasted.

He stroked the skin of her bare back, his fingers dipping farther and farther down her spine each time. Liquid heat filled her veins, but she would not act on it. This was about comfort, not sex.

Until he shifted and she realized he was fully aroused. “Wait a minute,” he said, leaving the bed and then returning before she’d had a chance to miss his heat. She heard the rip of foil, and then he was on top of her, pressing inside her slick body while she moaned her pleasure to the heavens above.

They’d had a few days of bliss, but Zafir knew it would have to end. The problem was that he didn’t want to let her go. That having her here seemed like the most important thing in the world. With Genie in his life, his bed, his heart, he faced each day with the determination and strength he needed to make Bah’shar better than ever.

She made this life that had been thrust upon him make sense. He’d married twice, out of duty, but he’d never felt as if he’d had a connection with either of his wives. Why did he feel this connection with a woman he could never have?

He could never ask her to give up her life for him—not now. She was a professional, successful woman. And he was still required to marry and produce heirs for the throne.

But why couldn’t he marry her? She could still do her work, and she would come home to him each night. She’d said the temples could take years…

“Your Majesty?”

Zafir shook himself. The men gathered around the conference table were staring at him.

“Please repeat that,” he said smoothly. The meeting continued, and Zafir worked to concentrate on what was being said. After nearly fifteen minutes of circular logic, his mind drifted once more.

He couldn’t stop picturing Genie in a traditional Bah’sharan bridal gown.

Though Bah’sharan law did not allow for a foreign wife who was not a princess, the law was old and could be changed. It had been meant to protect the throne from overthrow, but that was not so much an issue in today’s world.

It wouldn’t be easy, and there would no doubt be much grumbling and arguing amongst his ministers, but changing the code was possible. The idea galvanized him.

Raised voices brought him sharply back to the present. Sheikh Abu Bakr had gone to stand by a window with his back to the group. Sheikh Hassan sat with his arms crossed and a militant expression on his face. Zafir’s ministers looked exasperated.

Zafir had had enough for now.

“Let us take a break,” he interjected. “I will return in an hour’s time, and I expect you all to be here, ready to talk.”

He stood. Everyone in the room shot to their feet and bowed. Zafir turned and strode out the door. There was just enough time to see Genie, maybe have a little lunch with her. He wouldn’t tell her about his idea just yet. It was too new, and he was still too uncertain it was the correct path. His heart believed it was, but his head needed time to adjust.

There was a shortcut to the harem and he took it, passing down long dark corridors that were rarely used anymore. He was excited about the idea of changing the code, about talking Genie into marrying him and staying in Bah’shar, but he was torn as well. Though it felt like the best solution for him personally, was it best for his people? For his nation?

As he passed a dark alcove, a sharp pain sliced across his arm. Zafir spun as something flashed silver in the dim light. All his senses were on high alert as the assassin’s knife descended again.

“Die, traitor,” a voice breathed as the knife plunged home.

Chapter Nine

GENIE was in the library, researching the Temples of Al-Shahar, when two men in dark clothes burst in. She recognized them as being on Zafir’s security team from the Uzis slung across their chests and the microphones in their ears. She didn’t even realize she’d gotten to her feet until they crashed to a halt in front of her.

“You will come with us,” one of the men said.

“Where are we going?” She’d faced menacing characters before in her line of work, but these two made her heart pound a little harder than usual. Perhaps because they were part of the team that ensured Zafir’s safety. If they were here, was something wrong? Was there danger?

A tremor of apprehension snaked along her spine.

“The hospital.”

“But what has happened?” she said as they hustled her toward the exit.

One of the men looked down at her with a grave expression. “The King has been stabbed.”

Zafir winced as the doctor probed at the wound.

“You are lucky, Your Majesty,” he said. “It’s only a flesh wound.”

Yes, but one that hurt like hell. And one that he would not have gotten had he not been distracted by thoughts of the woman he’d been in a hurry to see again.

“A few stitches and it will heal nicely,” the doctor continued as he finished his examination.

The man went to get his supplies and Zafir turned to the guard who stood silently by.

“Is she here yet?”

“They are bringing her now, Majesty.”

A moment later the door burst open and Genie rushed in. He was no longer surprised at the kick in the gut he felt when he saw her, but he pushed it down deep and put a lid on it. She was pale and her cheeks were tear-streaked. He took in her puffy eyes, her red nose, and felt a pang of guilt.

He had to let her go. For her safety. Until the moment he’d been attacked he hadn’t stopped to think how his people might react to a Western woman as their queen. There were those who would never accept it. Though it made him want to howl in frustration to be forced to give up happiness just when he’d thought he might have found it, he had to do so.

For her. What he wanted didn’t matter when contrasted with the risk to her life.

Because who was to say that she would not be the target of an assassination attempt at some point? She would be resented by those who didn’t want change, and she might draw the wrath of extremist groups.

He could not allow that. Not ever.

“Zafir,” she gasped, rushing over to him. She stopped short when she saw the bloody wound on his arm. Then her gaze lifted to his. Her voice wavered. “They said you’d been hurt.”

Not as hurt as the assassin he’d disarmed. “I am fine, Genie. It’s not serious.”

He wanted to hold her, reassure her. But he would not. Keeping his arms at his sides was one of the toughest things he’d ever had to do.

“Do you know who did it?” Her eyes were huge pools of rainwater gray and tears trembled on the brink of her lashes.

“Oh, yes. The conspirators will be dealt with, I assure you.” Once the would-be assassin had realized he’d failed, he’d spilled his guts to the police.

Zafir said a quiet word to the bodyguard. The man went to stand outside the door.

Once he was gone, Genie reached for Zafir’s hand. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you—”

“Genie,” he cut in before she could say more. He must have spoken sharply because she fell quiet instantly. He squeezed her hand before letting it go. How could he do this? How could he send away the only bit of happiness he’d ever known? He drew in a painful breath. “I am sending you back to your camp.”

She bit her lip, confusion playing across her expressive face. Her guard was down and every emotion she felt was there to read in detail. It pained him to look at her, but he would not look away.

“Now? Today?”

He nodded. “You have fulfilled your end of the bargain, and I will fulfill mine. You are free to go. Yusuf will give you all you need for contacting the proper authorities for the excavation. They will be told to cooperate fully.”

She looked stunned. “I…I…Why, Zafir? Why now?”

His heart was a lead ball in his chest. “It is time.”

“Does this mean you’ve concluded your negotiations with the Sheikhs?”

“Yes,” he said. “It is done.” Done because one of their number had tried to kill him in order to frame the other group for murder. The leaders were so horrified they would now do anything to demonstrate their loyalty. And he meant to take advantage of it.

“That’s good. Congratulations.”

“There is much work yet to be done, and you have served your purpose.” She winced when he said that, and he mentally kicked himself for it. “I can ask no more of you.”

“Is this your revenge?” she asked. “Making me care for you again and then sending me away?”

The words pierced him. For a brief moment he thought it might be easier to let her believe that, but he couldn’t do it.

“No, Genie, this is not revenge. We are two different people now, from two different worlds, and it’s time we got back to them.”

She took a deep breath. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I—” She swallowed “It was great to see you again.”

“I enjoyed our time together.” A hard lump had formed in his throat and made it difficult to speak. He ignored it. Letting her go was right. For her, for him. She didn’t belong here, and he needed to get back to the business of governing his kingdom.

He thought of her swollen with his child. It nearly overwhelmed his will to release her. “I trust you, Genie. You will tell me if there is a child?”

“Of course,” she said, all business. “I would never keep that information a secret from you.”

“Yusuf will give you my private number. Call me when you know.”

She nodded. “Absolutely. If that’s all, then? The sooner I get back to camp, the sooner I can get to work again.”

She stood stiffly, like a soldier. Even her hands had disappeared behind her back. He imagined her clasping them together with military precision. She was already leaving him in her mind. How easily she returned to the life she’d led before.

Perhaps his had been the only heart affected after all.

“Goodbye, Genie.”

“Goodbye, Zafir.” And then she was gone.

First came numbness. Then shock. Then anger. Then resignation.

When Zafir decided to get rid of her, he certainly did it in style. A helicopter waited on the pad at the palace. Genie took one last look behind her before she climbed in, her heart aching. Did she really think he would suddenly appear and ask her to stay?

She shook her head, wondering how a few days with him had so thoroughly undermined the foundations of her life. She was a respected archaeologist and researcher, and the sooner she got back to that life, the better.

As the craft lifted off, she kept her eyes on the glittering domes of the palace. It was like something out of a fairytale—from a thousand and one Arabian nights. Unlike Scheherazade, however, she’d failed to please her king for more than a few nights.

She still couldn’t believe that he’d dismissed her from his life so easily. That everything that had happened between them meant nothing. Or maybe she’d let it mean more than it should.

But he’d touched her so tenderly, made love to her so fiercely. Claimed to want her desperately.

Had it all been a lie?

She watched the cloudless sky slide by and wished she’d never come to the desert.

Another lesson learned, Genie.

She supposed she should be thankful he’d ended it now, before she’d made a fool of herself and babbled her love. Before she’d mentally set up house with him and let her career fall by the wayside.

Her mother had been right, in her own way. A man would take your love and then set you adrift to pick up the pieces of your shattered life when he was finished with you.

She should be grateful the only pieces she had to pick up were the pieces of her heart.

When she reached the camp, she threw herself into work. Her colleagues were glad to see her, and they’d done much to repair the damage the last few days had wrought. The dig was well under control when Genie finally decided she’d had enough.

Al-Shahar was two hours away by car, and she couldn’t stop looking for Zafir. She kept thinking he would arrive in a convoy of black vehicles, that he would climb out of a stretch Hummer, looking magnificent and exotic in his desert robes, and that he would tell her he’d made a mistake. That he wanted her to come back and be with him—that he loved her.

Any lingering hope she’d harbored that she might see him once more if she were with child was dashed early one morning when she got her period as usual. That was the final matter that settled it for her. She made the call to his private line, left a message—had she really expected Zafir to pick up?—and told her team she was flying home to begin preparations for their next dig.

It would be some weeks before they were ready to fly to Al-Shahar and begin work on the temples. But on the long flight across the Atlantic Genie came to another decision.

She would not be returning to Bah’shar.

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