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

The problem was Zayed. The problem was his kiss. The problem was she still felt too warm and so emotionally and physically stirred.

That kiss was unlike any kiss she’d ever experienced. It had made her ache and burn. Made her want to take things further. She’d never enjoyed sex before, but with Zayed she knew it’d be different. Everything with him was different.

With him she didn’t feel frigid. She felt. She wanted. She needed. Desired. Hungered.

She’d always been accused of being so cerebral, and maybe it was her own fear that kept her emotions and desires in check, but her body hadn’t ever been important. Yet tonight when Zayed kissed her, her body stunned her by coming to life, expressing needs. Wants. Demands.

She found the revelation both wonderful and awful. Wonderful because she relished feeling alive. Wonderful because she’d never felt this way before. And yet awful because she knew once she left here, she’d never feel this again.

It was close to three before she fell asleep, and nearing eight when she woke. Her head ached and she groggily stumbled from bed to the living room to look out the French doors where the sun was still rising and painting the sky shades of pink and rose.

Still wearing her cozy, pale blue pajamas, Rou pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, plopped on her glasses and grabbed her laptop. She carried it to the couch and opened her e-mail to see if she’d gotten any responses yet.

None of the three women she’d contacted last night had responded to her e-mail yet, and instead of being disappointed she felt relief. Not that she was supposed to feel relief. She was here to do a job and she was failing. That wasn’t good.

To combat her guilt, Rou wondered if she should send another batch of e-mail invites, but then admitted that her efforts were futile at best.

There was no way she was going to come up with a bride for him in twenty-four or thirty-six hours. No way a sane woman would hop on the royal jet, arrive here, talk to Zayed for sixty minutes and agree to marriage.

Instead there had to be someone else, someone closer, someone already familiar with Zayed Fehr. An ex-girlfriend perhaps. A friend of the family’s. A second or third cousin.

She was just opening one of her spiral notebooks to begin brainstorming when a soft knock sounded outside her suite.

“Come in,” Rou called, hoping it was Manar with coffee and some biscuits.

Instead a pretty brunette in a simple belted cream dress appeared between the columns. She stood at the top of the stairs and smiled wanly at Rou. “I haven’t been a very good hostess. I’m so sorry. I should have welcomed you earlier. I’m Jesslyn Fehr—”

“Queen Fehr!” Rou was on her feet and rushing forward to greet Sharif’s wife, who was descending the stairs into the sunken living room. Rou didn’t know if she was expected to bow or curtsy. “I don’t expect you to play hostess while I’m here. Never. I already feel bad intruding during this time. I know you have so much to deal with right now.”

Jesslyn’s hand lifted, fell. She looked dazed, lost. “Unfortunately, I don’t actually have enough to do. I’m finding it hard to stay busy. Nothing lets me forget. Not even the children.”

Up close, Rou saw the strain in the queen’s face, her pallor, and the deep shadows beneath her eyes and lines at the creases. “How are you?”

Jesslyn tried to smile and failed. “He has to come back. I can’t do this without him.”

“Come, sit.” Rou gestured to the couch. “And I’m sorry I’m not dressed. I was enjoying working in my pajamas.”

“The best way to work,” the queen answered. “When I was a teacher I spent entire weekends in my pajamas grading papers.” Jesslyn took a seat on the couch opposite Rou’s. “Have you had coffee? Anything to eat?”

“I’m fine—”

“I haven’t had breakfast, either, and would enjoy sitting here, talking to you, while we had a bite.” She paused. “If you don’t mind.”

Rou could see why Sharif loved Jesslyn, and her heart squeezed with grief. Jesslyn was beautiful but real, humble and down-to-earth. “I wouldn’t mind. Not at all.”

Jesslyn leaned over and pressed a nearly invisible button on the leg of the low coffee table. Almost immediately a robed attendant appeared. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Mehta, could we perhaps have coffee for two? And if Cook has any of his breakfast pastries, a few of those would be nice, too.”

Jesslyn glanced around the living room after her attendant left. “I haven’t been here in a while. This is where I stayed when I first came to the palace. But it’s still beautiful with the courtyard and the morning sun.”

Rou followed the queen’s gaze. “It’s an extraordinary suite.”

“Have you been outside yet? Explored the garden?”

“No, but I should. I’ll make sure to go out later this morning.”

The queen nodded absently. “It was their room, you know.”

“Whose?”

Jesslyn turned to look at her, her eyes filled with sadness. “The girls. The twins. Jamila and Aman. These rooms are rarely used. I think you and I have been the only ones to stay here since they died.”

Rou was shocked. She’d had no idea. “You were friends with them?”

“Best friends. We met in school and then later shared a flat. We were all on holiday in Greece when the accident happened.” Her lips tightened. “They died a week apart. It’s how I met Sharif. At the hospital, the day before Aman died.”

She blinked, looked across at Rou. “I can’t lose him. I can’t live without him. He’s everything. He’s my hope and my heart.” Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them back, and forced a smile as well as a turn in the conversation. “I understand you know Sharif.”

Rou had to blink back tears of her own. “Yes. I earned the Fehr scholarship when I was at Cambridge. Over time I got to know your husband, the king. He was a wonderful mentor, very kind, very generous.”

Jesslyn’s expression cleared. “You’re the psychologist?”

Rou nodded, a lump in her throat. “Yes.”

“And now you and Zayed have found each other. How wonderful. Isn’t it funny how the world works? Sharif once told me that good can always come of bad, and maybe he’s right. Maybe good will somehow come out of all of this.”

Mehta arrived with a tray of coffee, and Manar was right behind her with a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, a plate of fragrant, flaky pastries, and bowls of thick creamy yogurt.

They were still together, sipping coffee and talking about the children and how two-year-old Tahir, Sharif and Jesslyn’s son, was into everything, when Zayed arrived a half hour later.

Zayed immediately went to Jesslyn and kissed her on each cheek and then he turned and greeted Rou. “What? No gray suit today?”

Dressed in dark slacks and a white linen shirt, his dark hair damp and jaw freshly shaved, he exuded cool and sophistication, which only made Rou feel even more frumpish.

“I just haven’t had a chance to put it on yet,” she answered, painfully self-conscious. It was bad enough to receive the queen of Sarq in her pajamas and glasses, but now Zayed, too?

“As much as I like the gray suit, you might want a change of clothes. It’s going to be very hot today and I’d thought perhaps I’d show you around the palace gardens later.”

“You two have much to do, so I’ll leave you now,” Jesslyn said, setting aside her cup and rising. She kissed Zayed and then smiled warmly at Rou. “I’ll be taking the children swimming later. If you get a moment free, you’re more than welcome to join us. The children are dying to meet their new aunt.” And then with another smile she left, leaving Zayed and Rou staring at each other.

“What did she just say?” Rou choked, as soon as Jesslyn was well out of earshot. “Aunt?”

Zayed’s forehead creased deeply, and he glanced toward the corridor where Jesslyn had disappeared. “I heard that, too.”

“It was a mistake. I’m sure she didn’t even know what she was saying.” Rou reached up to tug the elastic from her hair, letting the pale strands fall loose over her shoulders. “Right?”

Zayed’s hands went to his hips and he continued to stare off in the direction Jesslyn had gone. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? How could she think we … I …” She took a quick breath. “She knows I’m a psychologist, a relationship expert, she knows I’m here working with you.”

Silence stretched until Rou’s nerves felt close to breaking, and then he turned and looked at her and shrugged. “Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she believes you’re my fiancée.”

“How can that be?”

He shrugged calmly. “I said the next time I returned, I’d come with my fiancée.”

Rou stared at him, horrified. “Does everyone think that?”

“I don’t know. It would explain why you’re here in my sisters’ rooms. These rooms are reserved for immediate family only.”

“Oh no.” Rou covered her eyes, not wanting to imagine what Jesslyn was thinking as they sat here having breakfast together, talking about life and children, work and the future. Had Jesslyn imagined that Rou was her future sister-in-law? Oh, so awkward, especially as Jesslyn already had so much to cope with.

She dropped her hands. “You have to go explain,” she said urgently. “You have to go now and make sure everyone knows I’m not your fiancée, but here working to help you get one. Especially the queen. She’s so stressed already. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable when your future fiancée does arrive.”

“And when is that, Dr. Tornell? This morning? Tonight? Tomorrow? We’re no closer to finding a wife for me now than we were in Vancouver five days ago.” He dropped onto the couch where Jesslyn had been sitting, folded his arms behind his head and gazed steadily at Rou. “Perhaps it’s time to rethink our search.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Rou reached for her notepad, ready to take notes. “There must be someone close to you, already in your life, who would be suitable. A former girlfriend. A second or third cousin. A family friend.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “A family friend. Yes. Someone that knows us, someone with a history with us. That would make the most sense.” Zayed leaned forward, snagged a pastry from the nearly full tray and took a bite. “Be ideal, actually.”

“Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement,” she said, making a few more notes on her pad of paper. “But tell me, I’m curious. Sharif has four children, three girls and a boy, two-year-old Tahir. Why wouldn’t one of them inherit the throne? Why does it pass to you?”

“It’s due to our old Sarq laws. In many ways we’re a modern country, but in other ways, we have changed very little in the past four hundred years, and Sarq tradition dictates that it must be a male ruler, and he must have reached the mature age of twenty-five, as well as be married with at least one wife—”

“At least one wife?” Her head jerked up. “How many wives are kings expected to have?”

“My father and grandfather were forward-thinking men and they both only took one wife. My great-grandfather had three.”

“But a king today could have more than one wife?”

“Legally, yes. Morally? No. For the past one hundred years, Fehrs have taken just one wife, and loved one wife. We are loyal to our women, and I—despite what you may have heard about me—will be loyal, too.”

“I suppose that would be a relief for your future wife.”

He smiled. “I thought so, too.”

“Now, do you have someone in mind, or are we to brainstorm and start a list?”

His expression turned lazy. “Oh, I have someone in mind.”

“Excellent.” Now they were getting somewhere, and she smiled at him expectantly.

He smiled back even more pleasantly. “I think you’ll be surprised.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve decided on you.”

Her pulse did a funny little flutter. Clearly she wasn’t following his logic. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve decided on you, Dr. Tornell. You’re perfect. Educated, accomplished, successful. And best of all, you’re an old family friend. Brother Sharif’s protégée.”

Rou stumbled to her feet, putting distance between them. “Have you been drinking?”

“I had a coffee, but it wasn’t an espresso.”

“Sheikh Fehr—”

“Perhaps it’s time you called me Zayed.”

Her voice hardened. “Sheikh Fehr—”

“We are virtually betrothed.”

Rou’s head swam. She sat down abruptly on the stone steps. “No. No, we’re not. Absolutely not. Under no condition, in any situation.”

“But I’m afraid Jesslyn and the children already believe it to be the case.”

She pointed down the hall. “Then go clear up the misunderstanding. I am here to help you find a wife, and that’s the only reason I am here.”

“I’ll still fund your research center. The money would still be yours.”

She, who never swooned, nearly fainted now. Was he serious? And had he really just mentioned money? That he’d give her money to marry him?

Rou grabbed the edge of the step with both hands and held on for dear life. Her stomach was doing crazy somersaults. In fact the room was spinning wildly. “We. Are. Not. Marrying.”

He just regarded her with lazy calm. “You know you’re the perfect solution. You’re exactly what I want. You know my situation. You know I need an arranged marriage and am not planning on a love match. You’re highly qualified as candidates go, you’re smart and interesting and our children would be very bright—”

“Good God! Children?”

“We could wait a year before trying to get you pregnant to see if Sharif is found, because if he returned, I’d of course free you from your obligations….”

“You’re serious.” Her voice fell to a whisper, and she once again was staggering to her feet, rushing for the privacy and sanctity of her bedroom and bath.

“There’s no reason to panic,” he called after her. “We’ll have the courtship. We’ll just begin after the ceremony.”

Rou turned in the doorway to her bedroom to look at him. He was still sitting where she’d left him, cool and calm and as confident as could be.

The worst thing was, she couldn’t even pretend he was insane. She knew the signs of insanity. He didn’t display those. But he was totally, completely out of touch.

She wasn’t the marrying kind. She’d never be the marrying kind. Thanks to her parents, she was committed to a life of celibacy. “If you won’t talk to Queen Fehr, I will,” she said fiercely. “Far better to clear the misunderstanding now than ruin all our lives.” She entered the bedroom and quietly but firmly shut the door.

CHAPTER SIX

ROU paced for a few minutes after Zayed left, trying to figure out the best way to handle the situation because Zayed’s solution to the problem—marriage—wasn’t a solution no matter how you looked at it.

Although, she supposed that wasn’t entirely true. From Zayed’s perspective, if she married him, his problem was solved. He had a wife, he had a throne. He had it made.

She, on the other hand, gained nothing by marrying Sheikh Fehr. She loved her life. It was a great life, especially as she had no intention of ever getting married, and marriage was fine for other people, people who wanted a domestic life dominated by children and family. But that wasn’t for her. She loved work, needed her work, and there was no way she’d give up her career—her calling—for a man, much less a man like Zayed Fehr.

What she had to do was talk to Queen Jesslyn. Once Jesslyn knew the truth, Zayed couldn’t coerce her into marriage.

Although Rou dreaded going to Jesslyn now, especially after their breakfast together. Jesslyn had been so raw, so grief-stricken that it seemed unfair to hit her with one more thing now.

Rou closed her eyes briefly, sick at adding to Jesslyn’s burden, but what else could she do? Let Zayed manipulate her into marriage?

Never.

Although … and she’d never admit this to anyone, a tiny part of her was curious. Curious wasn’t the right word. Flattered might be better. It wasn’t as if she had hordes of gorgeous, sexy men in their prime beating down her door.

As a matter of fact there were no men beating on her door, and she was attracted to Zayed, terribly attracted. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning as she fantasized about making love with him. Now a marriage proposal.

Not that she’d ever consider it.

No, she’d just have to talk to Jesslyn, and the sooner the better.

Rou allowed Manar to fill the gigantic marble tub in the equally gigantic bathroom for her. Rou would have preferred a quick, brisk shower but it wasn’t an option, and once Manar left her to bathe in privacy, Rou slipped out of her pajamas and into the steaming tub fragrant with vanilla and spice.

Rou almost laughed as she settled deep into the water. This was all so Arabian Nights, and if she were a different woman, she might be tempted to savor such luxury. Might even be tempted by Zayed’s proposal.

But she was a different woman, and she’d been raised with money, and she’d grown up in a sprawling mansion in Beverly Hills with maids and cooks, personal assistants and chauffeurs. And money didn’t buy happiness. Money didn’t protect love. Money just made people arrogant and selfish, petty and nasty.

While she worked with people who were wealthy, she never craved their toys, their bank accounts or their lifestyles. As long as she could provide for herself, material things were not her goal. What she wanted, needed, was independence. Confidence. Self-respect. She craved a world of her own, one in which she could control the emotions around her, including her own. Something she couldn’t do if she remained here in Sarq.

Out of the bath, Rou rubbed herself briskly with the towel and considered her limited wardrobe options. She’d brought her suitcase from Vienna, a suitcase that had also carried her tour clothes in Portland, Seattle and Vancouver, clothes intended for cool days and cooler nights. Cashmeres and woolens. Turtlenecks and dark, heavy fabrics. Nothing appropriate for desert temperatures.

She ended up in her black suit only because she could pair the severe skirt with a black knit top that was short-sleeved. Dressed in low heels, long hair in its traditional knot at the back of her head, she set off to find the queen.

Jesslyn and the children hadn’t made it to the pool yet. Instead they were all in the children’s nursery, where Sharif’s girls from his first marriage were playing Monopoly, and two-year-old terror Prince Tahir was trying to knock all the pieces off the board. The girls would admonish him but it just made him giggle. For her part, Queen Jesslyn sat nearby, watching, and yet clearly not present.

Mehta, Jesslyn’s maid, had walked Rou to the nursery door, but now that Rou was there, she wished she hadn’t insisted on coming. This family was fighting like mad for normalcy. Their world had been turned upside down these past few weeks, and suddenly Rou despised herself for being at the nursery door, an outsider. An intruder.

“Mama,” Tahir said, spotting Rou first. “Mama, lady, look.”

Jesslyn jerked, turned to see where her toddler was pointing and discovered Rou in the doorway. “Oh, Rou. Hello. Come in. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” She smiled at Rou as Tahir clambered onto her lap.

Rou saw the queen’s hand tremble as she reached up to stroke her son’s dark curls.

Rou’s heart seized. She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have come.

“Girls,” Jesslyn said, injecting a note of cheer into her voice, “I’d like you to meet someone very special. This is Uncle Zayed’s fiancée, Dr. Rou Tornell. They’re to be married tomorrow. Isn’t that exciting?”

The girls, ranging in age from nine to eleven, stood and bowed respectfully, and yet their dark eyes were full of curiosity.

Jesslyn introduced the children, and afterward, Jinan, the eldest, asked if Rou was going to be married Western style, or in a traditional Sarq ceremony.

Rou’s brain froze. This is what she’d come to straighten out, and yet she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, all words trapped in her throat as she felt the weight of five pairs of eyes rest on her.

Say something, she told herself. Explain the situation. Just say, there’s been a misunderstanding. Just say, I’m not marrying your uncle, I’d never marry your uncle.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t find her voice, not when the room ached with sadness.

It was Takia, the nine-year-old, who finally broke the silence. “You’re not waiting for Daddy to come home? You’re getting married without him?”

For a moment the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and then the stillness gave way to grief. The queen cried silently, but Saba and Jinan sobbed, and Tahir, confused, threw his arms around his mother and howled.

Only Takia stayed silent as she stared at Rou, her eyes enormous, her small mouth compressed.

Rou, who hated feelings, hated emotion, hated grief, felt as though her heart was being ripped into pieces. Children shouldn’t know pain. Children shouldn’t have to grow up quickly. And yet these children had been thrust into reality at a very young age, their loss all the more tragic in that the girls had already lost their mother several years before.

“I wish we could wait for your father,” Rou said huskily. “It won’t be a very nice wedding without him.”

“Maybe we should wait,” Takia whispered.

“Uncle Zayed and Aunt Rou want that, too,” Jesslyn answered, looking over Tahir’s head at the girls, “but the country is in turmoil without Daddy, and no one can make any decisions without a king, and Uncle Zayed is being very good and brave, and he’s doing what Daddy would want.”

“And that’s to marry Aunt Rou?” Saba guessed.

Jesslyn smiled through her tears. “And become king.”

Rou couldn’t stay. She threw a desperate, panicked smile at them and ran out, aware that she was going to lose her composure any second. She’d barely made it out the door before the tears began to fall. It was all too much, too intense, too horrible.

Their grief made Sharif’s death real and it hit Rou hard, so very hard. Sharif was gone. Dead. He wasn’t coming back.

Sharif, the man she’d adored for a decade or more, was gone.

And now, wiping away tears, she struggled to find her way back to her wing of the palace. She made a couple of turns, and then another and before she knew it, she realized she was lost. She didn’t even know how to get back to her wing.

She was close to flagging down a palace servant when she stumbled into Zayed.

“I’ve just been to your room,” he said, catching her by the arm and steadying her.

“I went to see the queen,” she answered, wiping tears.

“What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“Your brother’s dead. The queen and her children are heartbroken. The country’s in turmoil, and you’re being brave and good and helping out by becoming king.” She glared up at him even as the tears continued to fall. “What am I to do? Tell them I’m not marrying you? Tell them there won’t be a wedding, and their country won’t have a king? Queen Jesslyn introduced me to the children as Aunt Rou, for heaven’s sake! I’m their aunt now. And the little one, Takia, didn’t understand why we weren’t waiting for her daddy before we married!”

Her stream of tortured words ended and she looked at him for help.

“How could I have ever thought you unemotional?” he said.

“Well, I don’t like being this way—”

“I like you this way. You’re real. And you’re exactly what’s needed.”

She bit her lip to keep it from quivering like Takia’s.

“But if I could, I’d undo all this,” he added quietly. “I would give anything to see Sharif walk through those doors. I would give up everything I own, everything I am, to have him home safe. But until that day, I must do what he needs me to do. And that includes marrying and assuming the throne. But I need you to fulfill my duty. I can’t do it without you.”

“Not me, a wife.”

“But you are that wife. You’re the one I want. You’re the one I need.”