The Desert Kings: Duty, Desire and the Desert King / The Desert King's Bejewelled Bride / The Desert King

Rou had forgotten all about the printer, and wasn’t sure Zayed would even remember such a small unimportant detail when he had so much on his mind. But he had.

The printer wasn’t the only equipment that arrived. Zayed had also sent along a copier, another desk and reams of paper. Rou stood aside as the efficient staff assembled an office for her right before her eyes, creating an L-shaped work area for her, and then taping down extension cords onto the stone floor before disappearing.

She could still hear their retreating footsteps when she numbly sat down to print off the first ten profiles, and then she printed the next ten, just in case.

She worked without thinking, without feeling, worked just to stay busy. As she compiled the profiles as they emerged from the printer, her thoughts drifted to a former client, a difficult client. He was an American high-tech billionaire, and he believed first impressions were everything. He hated the first sixty head shots of the first sixty profiles she’d presented—no, no, no—but fell in love with sixty-one. He ended up marrying her and today they had three small children.

With her prep work complete, Rou still had several hours to fill. She took a nap, and then a long bath and after washing her hair she dressed again in the same gray suit she’d worn earlier. She didn’t have many choices, having brought only her small Vienna suitcase with her, but it was a good suit, she told herself, and Zayed wouldn’t care. Zayed wouldn’t even notice what she wore, anyway. To Zayed she was just a thing, an object, like the printer or copier now sitting on the desk.

After blow-drying her hair, Rou twisted it into another simple knot, and then slipped back on the same heels she’d worn in the morning. She applied no makeup; she never wore makeup, and rarely wore jewelry. She’d always prided herself on being sensible and practical, although a little part of her would have loved once—just once—to have been thought beautiful. To have maybe dazzled.

Manar arrived promptly at nine, bowed and asked Rou to come with her. Rou gathered her leather portfolio with the stack of profiles and followed Manar from her suite to a distant wing in the palace.

She was led to a small dining room softly lit by candles on the low table and in the oversize gold chandelier hanging above the table. Large, plump cushions in shades of blue were scattered on the floor around the table and the walls were covered in dark, carved screens. Above the chandelier the ceiling was domed and a dark midnight blue inlaid with bars of gold.

Manar bowed and left her, and Rou wandered around the room, studying the screen’s carvings of birds and flowers.

She’d nearly examined all the screens, and was just moving to the last when she turned her head and discovered Zayed in the doorway watching her.

She hadn’t realized he’d arrived and the surprise quickened her pulse, making her suddenly shy. “I didn’t hear you.”

He entered the room with that stealthy grace of his and in the candlelit room his hair gleamed onyx and his skin a burnished gold. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No. Just a few minutes. I was admiring the screens.”

He glanced at one of the ornate screens. “I like them, too. They’re one of my favorite antiques here in the palace. They’re Moroccan, and date from the sixteenth century. They were used in the harem as room dividers.”

“No wonder they’re so gorgeous,” she said lightly to cover her nervousness. “Beautiful ladies had to be surrounded by beautiful things.”

Zayed took a seat on the plump cushions before the table and gestured for her to join him on a pillow close to his. “Show me what you have.”

She sat carefully but awkwardly on the turquoise silk pillow he’d gestured to and blushed as her skirt rode up on her thighs. The hem wasn’t short but she also wasn’t used to showing a lot of leg, and she tried to hide her legs by opening the portfolio.

“These are the first ten profiles the program has matched you with,” she said, striving to sound brisk and professional. “Altogether I have thirty possibilities for you, but I only brought twenty profiles and you have them batched in groups of ten.”

She handed him the stack of photos with brief bios attached and watched as he silently leafed through them, reading the name, looking at each picture and then skimming the bio. He said nothing until he’d come to the end.

“Nothing?” she asked, prepared to give him the next ten.

“No. I can see there are definitely possibilities.”

“Good.” She tried to sound hearty and happy, but she wasn’t happy. She didn’t like doing this. And it was completely unreasonable, but she didn’t want him to like any of the women.

She wanted him to like her.

Which was horrible. Ridiculous. Impossible.

Impossible, she fiercely reminded herself as he handed the stack of ten back to her.

“Give me your expert opinion,” he said. “Pick out your three favorites from this group. Which are the top three you’d pick for me?”

Her hand shook ever so slightly as she smoothed the pages into a neat stack. “You want me to pick?”

“Three women you think would be perfect for me.”

She looked up at him, her heart thumping, her stomach churning like mad. “I can’t do that.”

His dark gold eyes bored into hers. “Why not?”

“I’m not you.”

“So?”

“I don’t have the same values or tastes. What I like isn’t what you’d like.”

“You don’t know that.”

She flashed back to the wretched e-mail Zayed had written to Sharif, the one where he’d mocked her and said he found her so dull. “Oh, but I do,” she answered, remembering how she’d loved the night of Lady Pippa’s wedding and how she’d enjoyed Zayed’s company immensely, and yet he’d been bored to tears.

Zayed sighed his frustration. “I’m not looking for a love connection, just compatibility.”

“Fine.” Cheeks burning, she flipped through the profiles and selected Jeanette Gardnier, a beautiful brunette French-Canadian law professor; Sarah O’Leary, a stunning redhead journalist from Dublin; and Giselle Sanchez, a golden-brunette corporate banker from Buenos Aires. “There. Three brilliant, strong, successful, independent women. And they’re also all tens. Exceptionally beautiful every one.”

But he didn’t take the profiles. He just looked at her. “Why these women?”

Rou hated how her eyes burned and her throat ached. She hated how this trip had become endless emotion. “They’re what you asked for.”

His brows pulled. “You’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“I don’t need to look at you.”

“You’re near tears,” he said with some surprise.

“Please.” She averted her head, bit her lip, feeling utterly betrayed by her own emotions and weaknesses. She was supposed to be a woman of science. She was supposed to be focused and dedicated to her craft.

Zayed reached out and brushed his fingertip beneath her eye, catching a small single tear. “You’re crying.”

“I’m not.” And yet her chest felt tight and pressure was building behind her eyes. She shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have ever agreed to this horrible, awful proposition. She was impervious to men, all men but Zayed Fehr apparently.

He turned the tip of his finger toward her so she could see the tear. “What is this then?”

“It’s a tear.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Her voice sharpened indignantly. “Because I’m sad, that’s why. I am a woman and I do have feelings. And maybe you think I’m a museum or a robot, but I’m not. I never have been.” She shook her head, undone. How could she function like this? How could she think like this? She could only be a cool, controlled, logical scientist if she were in a cool, controlled, logical environment, which this wasn’t. Ever since Zayed had appeared at her hotel in Vancouver she felt pushed and pressed, torn and stressed. It was madness, and it was reckless, and she had never felt so stupid.

“I’ve never said anything to imply that you’re a robot.”

“No, you just think I’m like a museum of science, dull, dull, dull!”

Her words were greeted by silence. Zayed’s eyes narrowed and after a moment he spoke. “You knew?”

She flushed, already regretting her outburst. “Sharif didn’t mean for me to find out. I wish I hadn’t found out.”

“That’s why you hate me so much.”

“You probably thought you were being funny, but it hurt—”

He cut off the rest by reaching for her and covering her mouth with his. Rou stiffened, shocked, and her hands moved to his chest to push him away. And yet his chest felt warm and the broad planes were hard beneath her hands. She could feel the thud of his heartbeat and smell the spice of his skin. The press of her palms turned to something else and she found herself clasping his robe instead.

Zayed’s lips had been gentle until that moment, but as if sensing surrender, his kiss hardened, deepened, moving over hers with a fierceness that left her breathless.

Rou had been kissed, but never like this, never with so much heat or hunger or blatant aggression and her head spun and her senses swam.

The pressure of his mouth parted hers and his tongue flicked slowly at her tingling lower lip before curling inside her warm, soft mouth, tasting, possessing, sending shock waves of hot, sharp, dizzying sensation throughout her body.

This had to stop, she thought woozily, she had to stop it, but her body refused to act. It was feeling too many strange and wonderful things, from her heavy useless limbs to the weakness of her muscles. Even her heart seemed to have slowed, thudding with a maddening tempo, a tempo echoed by the shivers licking her spine and the curling, coiling sensation in her belly.

The curling, coiling sensation in her belly was the most maddening. It made her ache deeply, inwardly, made her realize how empty she’d been, how empty she felt.

It was the arrival of the palace butler that ended the kiss. Rou hadn’t even heard the man arrive, but Zayed did, and he ended the kiss and untangled himself from Rou with impressive speed.

While the butler spoke quietly to Zayed, Rou swayed on the pillow, definitely not in control. She heard Zayed ask a question but she had no idea what he or the butler were saying. It wasn’t until the butler retreated that Zayed turned back to her. “I have to go,” he said bluntly.

Rou forced herself to focus on Zayed’s chin and then his mouth and then finally his eyes. “Okay.”

Zayed reached out, touched her cheek, before frowning and drawing his hand away. “My mother’s collapsed. She’s been taken to the hospital.”

Rou blinked, and little by little everything was slipping back into place, everything except her blood, which still raced hot and sweet in her veins. “Will she be all right?”

“I’m sure she will be. It’s just shock. She took the news badly about Sharif’s plane.”

“Of course she would.” Rou expected Zayed to leave, but he hadn’t moved yet.

Instead he sat where he was, his expression brooding as he studied her flushed face. He seemed to be choosing his next words with care. “That e-mail … those things I wrote … they were not meant for you.”

She knew that. But that didn’t make them any less hurtful. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She felt an ache inside her chest. She didn’t want his apology, not now. She just wished things were different. That she was different. That she was more beautiful, more vivacious, more appealing. “The e-mail wasn’t meant for me. I know.”

“But it must have hurt.”

Her lips parted but she couldn’t make a sound. The e-mail had hurt, terribly. She’d liked him, had imagined he’d liked her, had imagined ridiculous romantic things, but that was three years ago. A long time ago. It didn’t matter anymore. “It’s in the past. I’ve moved on.”

“I think we should talk about it, but now isn’t the time—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, and you need to go. Your mother needs you, and I have much to do.” Rou struggled to her feet, aware that she couldn’t do anything gracefully if she tried. “I’ll go back to my room and contact the three women I’ve selected, and will work on arranging for them to meet you.”

He, too, rose but his movements were fluid, elegant, powerful. “I’ll come see you when I return from the hospital.”

“Not necessary. You’ve much to do, and I have my work. I’m not here on vacation, I do have a job to do.”

He didn’t look happy. “I’ll have dinner sent to your suite.”

“I’m the last one you need to worry about. Just go.”

He gave her a long look and then walked out, white robes flowing, broad shoulders very straight. Rou watched him a moment and then, trying not to think of the kiss, or the strange tenderness of her lips, or of the way her blood still felt thick and hot in her veins, gathered her notebooks and profiles and headed back to her room.

CHAPTER FIVE

AS THE limousine pulled away from the hospital, Zayed tipped his head against the leather seat and closed his eyes. Now that he knew his mother was fine, that she’d only collapsed to force him to her side, he could turn his attention to other matters. Like the coronation ceremony. And the wife he still needed—a wife his mother said she could conjure tomorrow if need be. And Rou.

Rou.

Why did he kiss her? What on earth possessed him to kiss Rou Tornell? Dr. Tornell?

She wasn’t a woman he’d ever found particularly attractive. He hadn’t ever wanted to kiss her, and yet the kiss …

The kiss surprised him. It was hot.

Explosive.

Nothing like he’d imagined. But then she wasn’t quite what he’d imagined, either.

And she’d known about his e-mail to Sharif following Pippa’s wedding. She knew he’d rejected her, and while he didn’t recall the exact words he’d used, he knew the tone of his e-mail had probably been sarcastic, if not mocking.

Zayed winced in the darkness. He shouldn’t have behaved so unkindly. He certainly hadn’t meant to hurt her. If anything, he’d been making a dig at Sharif. Sharif and his geeky little protégée. Sharif and all his lost causes.

Zayed briefly closed his eyes, ashamed of himself. But this was nothing new. He lived with shame. He’d brought the curse on himself. It was his actions that had cursed them all.

The guilt was often unbearable and for the past fifteen years he’d tried to destroy himself, make dust out of dust but nothing he did, nothing he took, nothing he tried worked. He failed at failing. God wouldn’t let him die.

But God didn’t let him live, either.

Instead, his world was one of jaded material pleasures—fast cars, fast times, fast women. He indulged every whim, partook of every vice, and enjoyed none of it.

But now he was back in Isi, Sarq’s capital city, back in the place he’d grown up. He was here to take the place of his brother. Here to make amends. If he could make amends.

If only he could break the curse. Save what was left of his family.

If only.

Ten minutes later, the limousine turned down the long drive leading to the palace gates. Zayed shifted restlessly.

He’d have to go see Rou. He’d told her he’d stop by when he returned. If only he hadn’t kissed her.

If only he’d kept his distance he wouldn’t have discovered that her icy scientist image was just a facade.

Slim, blond Rou Tornell wasn’t a cold-blooded scientist. She was a woman. A woman he’d very much enjoyed kissing.

Back at the palace, Zayed headed straight to Rou’s suite. The lights were still on and, descending the steps into her sunken living room, he saw the living room was empty but a series of heavy silver trays covered the low table. He lifted the lids on the dishes, discovering little pots of aromatic rice; plates of grilled, skewered meats; a copper bowl of sizzling, sautéed prawns; platters of steamed, seasoned fish; cooked vegetable dishes of potatoes, peas and artichoke hearts. All untouched. Had she eaten nothing?

He was just about to walk out when he heard a rustle of paper. Turning, he spotted her at her desk. She’d fallen asleep while working, her right hand still on the keyboard, her left arm and cheek resting on her stack of notebooks.

Zayed took a step toward her and then another. She still wore that hideous gray suit, but her hair was unpinned and it spilled over her arm in a sheet of silver and pale gold. Asleep, her face was soft, her lips full and curved. Asleep, she looked alarmingly vulnerable.

He never took advantage of vulnerable women. He never took advantage of any woman.

Why had he kissed her?

Perplexed, he nearly left her as she was, but then guilt battered his conscience. She was here because he’d asked for her help. The least he could do was send her to bed.

He placed a light hand on her shoulder. “Dr. Tornell, wake up. You need to go to bed.”

She barely stirred and didn’t waken. He touched her shoulder again, shook her gently. “Rou.”

This time his voice registered and she sleepily lifted her head to look at him. “Hi.”

Hi. So American, so informal, so unlike who he thought Rou Tornell was.

His gaze skimmed her bare face, with the soft, full mouth and the long eyelashes that were surprisingly dark and thick. Without thinking he brushed the side of his hand across her cheek. Her skin was as warm and soft as it looked. “It’s after midnight. Time for you to go to bed.”

She sat up abruptly, remembering. “How’s your mom?”

“Brittle. Hysterical. Exhausting.” He shrugged. “But then she’s always been that way.”

She yawned and pushed a wave of pale hair from her face, her cheeks still flushed pink from sleep. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

“She’s not what I’d call nice.”

Rou now frowned. “You don’t have a good relationship with her?”

He sat down on a corner of the desk. “Tonight was the first time I’d seen her in years.”

“Why?”

“She’s controlling. Manipulative. I saw how she treated Sharif and his family. Vowed I’d never allow that in my life.”

“But you went to her tonight?”

He made a soft, rough sound. “She’s my mother.”

Rou’s lips twisted. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were a good man.”

He smiled crookedly. “Fortunately, you do.”

“Fortunately.”

Zayed felt a tug in his chest. The tug was strong and it almost hurt. “I am sorry about earlier—”

“Forgotten.”

One eyebrow lifted. “The kiss, or the e-mail?”

“Both.”

“That easily?”

Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I compartmentalize.”

“Ah, you’re retreating behind the scientist mask.”

“It’s not a mask. It’s who I am. It’s what I do.”

“And the kiss? Means nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she answered firmly. “You’re stressed. I’m stressed. We made a mistake. It’s over, done, behind us.”

“But it was good.”

She colored vividly, blood rushing to her cheeks. “I wouldn’t know,” she answered primly.

He laughed softly, despite the endless, exhausting day. She was so provoking and yet strangely entertaining. And before he could think better of it, he reached out to trace the plane of her face, the cheekbone and jawline, her small straight nose and the curve of her upper lip.

She pulled away. “I’m not one of your three candidates, Sheikh Fehr!”

If she’d hoped to freeze him with her frigid tone and cool lecture she’d failed. “Perhaps you should be,” he answered mildly.

Rou pushed up from the desk. “We’re in the middle of a crisis here—”

“And I should be taking it more seriously?” he finished for her, thinking he liked this Rou Tornell far more than the scientist mask she presented to the world.

Angry, she was fierce and alive, feminine and strong. Prickly, too, but it suited her. Made her volatile. Feisty. Passionate.

“Yes,” she agreed adamantly, her long, pale hair tumbling down her back, her breasts rising and falling beneath the tailored coat.

Make that feisty, passionate and hot, he mentally corrected, letting his gaze slide over her slim figure, down her hips to her bare legs, lingering on those legs. They were even more shapely without heels, and he found himself fantasizing about what he could do with legs like that.

A kiss to the knee. A kiss behind the knee. A kiss to the pulse behind that lovely knee when she trembled.

And she’d tremble. Women always did, but she, Rou Tornell, would most definitely tremble. He knew that now, knew that Rou Tornell was nothing like the image she projected.

“Having spent the past three hours listening to my mother wail, I’m very aware of the current crisis. However, I’m also a man, and you’re a woman—”

“No.”

“No?”

She blushed wildly. “I mean, yes, I am a woman, but not the right woman for you. I’m not your type. I’ll never be your type. It has to do with laws of attraction.”

He could still feel the warmth and softness of her mouth beneath his fingertip. “Laws of attraction?”

“It’s my field of study.” She pushed a long, silvery tendril of hair behind her ear. “The science and chemistry of romantic love. It’s an unconscious drive, something the brain controls through chemicals and hormones.”

“And you don’t think my brain could find you attractive?”

“No.”

The edge of his mouth lifted, quirking. “You know an awful lot about my brain.”

“I know men are prone to impulse, particularly the sexual impulse, but that doesn’t mean true attraction, or compatibility. And that, Sheikh Fehr, is what we’re interested in. Compatibility, synergy, marriage.”

He nodded when she finished, but he wasn’t actually listening anymore. She’d lost him about the time she mentioned sexual impulse because sex was on his mind, and to his way of thinking, she was a woman in desperate need of proper lovemaking. He couldn’t imagine the last time she’d been bedded, and yet that’s exactly what she needed. After a couple hours between the sheets, after a couple orgasms, she’d look entirely different. She’d carry herself differently. Her blue gaze would be softer. Her color would be high. And that mouth, that sweet, full mouth, would be swollen from kisses.

If he weren’t in such a bind, if he didn’t need a wife, he’d enjoy teaching Dr. Rou Tornell about the side of love she didn’t lecture on … and that was the physical. Love was more than textbook science. It was also skill, patience and desire.

“I’m here to find you a wife,” she added shortly. “That is it.”

“Right.” He cocked his head, considered her legs, her silken tumble of hair, the dark pink staining her cheeks and smiled wickedly.

“So we’re in perfect understanding? We will keep our relationship professional. We won’t indulge in any more touches, kisses, flirtations. This is business, and there’s a science to the business—”

“I was wrong about you, you know. You’re very interesting. And very appealing, especially when you’re in a righteous mood.” He smiled. “A man likes a proper challenge. And you, my buttoned-down, uptight, prudish Dr. Tornell, are a proper challenge.” With a last smile in her direction, he left.

Rou tumbled into the living room and down onto the white couch the moment Zayed disappeared and reached for a ruby pillow to squeeze against her chest. Buttoned-down. Uptight. Prudish?

How dare he? How crass. How arrogant. How perfectly Zayed Fehr!

There was no way she could find a good wife for him. No decent woman would take him. He was horrible. Arrogant. Sexual.

Sexual. And then she bit her lip and closed her eyes and tried to block out the way he’d kissed her and the way her body had responded and the way she imagined making love would be.

It’d be good.

Maybe even great.

Oh, God. She had to get out of here.

In bed, it took forever for Rou to relax. She tossed and turned so long that she eventually turned the light on and reached for a book, but even the book couldn’t hold her attention.