1
The minute Sheikh Rehaj bin Haik al Nazari stepped off the plane and onto the lush, tropical shores of Amour Island, he knew he’d made the third gravest mistake of his life. The second had been allowing his meddlesome sisters to talk him into coming here at all. And the first mistake? No. Rehaj tried not to think of that one anymore. It was far too painful.
And entirely his fault.
Cheerful, late-afternoon sunshine shone relentlessly and birds twittered happily from some hidden spot inside the palm trees and abundant flowers blooming around him. The air smelled of wild jasmine, warm sand, and sea. A place meant for lovers. Definitely not for him.
As more new arrivals disembarked the plane behind him, Rehaj was swept forward down a winding path toward a magnificent resort tucked in amongst the flora and fauna. A discreet granite and silver sign read Heartsong Villas. It was enough to make a logical man like him turn tail and run.
Still, he’d made a promise to his sisters to give the place a chance and he would. He was a man of his word, a get-it-done sort of fellow. Unlike his poor father, Allah rest his soul. The late sheikh of their small country Djeva has been a wonderful father and a lackluster leader. It wasn’t that his father didn’t have the intelligence or drive to be a great statesman. It was that his father had allowed his power to become too diluted, delegating much of the country’s rule to outsiders. After his death, he’d left a mess for his three sons—Feraz, Rehaj’s oldest brother and now ruler of Djeva, Rehaj, and their youngest brother, Raheem—to clean up. Feraz had his hands full with the day-to-day running of the government and trying to spurn economic growth in their country, along with doing his best to save his troubled marriage. Raheem was busy running his new animal refuge with his new wife, Laura, to pay much attention to affairs of state. Which left Rehaj to deal with much of the tedious paperwork and numbers-crunching that rebuilding a country from the ground up required. In a year, Rehaj planned to take over as head of Feraz’s advisors. For now, he was stuck here on not-so-fantastic-island, to sip coconut drinks and figure out his failing love life.
At least those were the two tasks his sisters had given him before sending him off.
He walked inside the open-air lobby of the visitors’ center and glanced around at the other people here to partake in the fourteen-day-long “Recover Love Rehab” session. Most appeared to be around his age, early thirties, and much less inhibited than himself—at least if the way the guys and gals were hanging all over each other, kissing and hugging and generally making fools out of themselves, was any indication.
Yeah. He belonged here about as much as bacon belonged on a Muslim breakfast table.
Rehaj smoothed a hand down the front of his custom-tailored Italian suit, thankful to still have his sunglasses firmly in place to hide his gaze. Eyes were the window to the soul, and he liked to keep his soul private, thanks very much.
A line had formed at the check-in desk, so he took his wheeled carry-on bag in hand and stepped into his spot at the end of the line. Perhaps he’d feel better once he got situated in his private villa. His sisters had assured him they’d reserved a luxury beachfront abode for him. He couldn’t wait to change into his swim trunks and go for a few laps in the warm water of the sparkling turquoise ocean. It would be a nice, refreshing change of his usual routine in his lap pool back at the palace. Plus, he wouldn’t have to worry about any nosy paparazzi or tourists snapping candid shots of him here, since all technology—including cell phones—were banned on the island.
Maybe he really could fall in love again on Amour Island. In love with being alone.
The line moved forward step-by-slow-step and Rehaj did his best not to stare at the couples making out all around him. As private as he was in his professional life, his was even more so in his personal. He’d learned that brutal lesson the hard way when he’d been just seventeen, and he’d never make the mistake of thinking the public or the media were his friends ever again. He kept to himself. He liked it that way. And yes, he was still a man and he had relationships, but nothing that flew above the radar and nothing that drew attention to himself or his family. The minute any wind of his trysts got out to the media, he ended them. The longest he'd been with anyone since his seventeenth birthday was six months. Still, after the horrific mistake he’d made, he didn’t deserve anything better.
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As he got nearer to the desk, the strains of a conversation at a nearby concierge station caught his ear. He glanced over to see a blonde woman, pretty, maybe late twenties, pleading with the man behind the desk. “Please, there’s been a mistake. I just need to make one call. Just one.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the attendant said. “But there are rules on the island. You acknowledged that you understood when you signed the reservation agreement.”
“But I need to check my emails. I’m expecting something really important.” The woman glanced around at the other people nearest her, then nervously checked her hair and outfit—a pale green sarong dress that highlighted her creamy tanned skin and long, long legs. Rehaj found himself following the line of said legs all the way down to her cute little feet with their pink-painted toenails. An unexpected jolt of lust zinged straight to his groin at the sight and he cleared his throat, looking away fast. This was ridiculous. He was not here to get involved with anyone. If anything, he was here to keep a promise to his sisters and to enjoy some much-needed peace and quiet.
Finally, he reached the desk and handed over his ID and reservation paperwork to the girl at the computer.
“Ah, Mr. Nazrani,” the gal said. Thank Allah, his sisters had had the foresight to leave off his official title. The last thing Rehaj wanted was to draw unwanted attention to himself. “Welcome to Amour Island. We do hope you’ll enjoy your stay here at Heartsong Villas.”
He gave her a curt nod. “I’m sure things will be fine.”
“Looks like we have you in a luxury oceanfront private villa for the next two weeks.” She printed off a form and laid it atop the counter along with a pen. “Please read through this and sign on the dotted line when you’re ready. Also, please place any electronic devices you may be carrying in this bin and I’ll have them locked up in our safe until your departure.”
Once more, Rehaj’s attention was drawn to the woman at the concierge desk. She’d resorted to tears now and actually looked quite desperate. As Rehaj dug out his cell phone, tablet, smart watch, and laptop to place them in the black plastic bin the attendant was holding out for him, he could understand the blonde’s panic. He signed on the dotted line and took his keys and a small map before stepping off to the side to figure out which way to go next.
Before he could head toward the shuttle, however, the blonde woman tore past him, her shoes clacking loud on the tiled floor and her sobs tugging at his heart. Damn. Much as Rehaj hated having his privacy invaded, he hated seeing a damsel in distress even more. Without a second thought, he took off after her, his suitcase bumping along behind him as he headed back down toward the docks where the sea plane was busy turning around to taxi back out into the Arabian Sea.
The sun was lower in the sky now and the blue on the horizon was starting to fade into deeper shades of indigo and violet. The woman stood at the end of the dock staring out to sea like some kind of fabled siren. Rehaj couldn’t seem to look away from the gentle curves revealed by the silk of her dress as it blew in the warm breeze.
He took a deep breath then approached her, being sure to make enough noise to announce his presence. Having four sisters had taught him well that females did not liked to be caught unawares in these situations. He cleared his throat as he moved in beside her, glad his aviator shades were still in place. It gave him a chance to take in her lovely face. She wasn’t classically beautiful, with her nose a bit too sharp and defined for that. But she was still quite pretty, with her high cheekbones and flawless, smooth skin. She sighed and her shoulders slumped.
“I’ve missed the plane,” she said, her voice so forlorn that for a moment Rehaj had to battle the urge to reach out and pull her into his arms. “What am I going to do?”
His logical brain took over, as it so often did in these situations where he should have relied on his heart instead. “Well, I suppose you’re stuck here with the rest of us for two weeks.”
He’d meant it as a joke, a quip to lighten the mood. He even grinned at her as he said it.
She promptly burst into tears again, wailing and flailing her arms and generally causing an enormous scene and all Rehaj could do was stare at her, mortified.
* * *
Anastasia Brightbridge knew she was being dramatic. Hell, dramatic was kind of her thing. Still, it felt like her whole world was leaving on that jet plane. Literally. Oh, God. What was she going to do, stuck on this godforsaken island in the middle of nowhere for fourteen days. No phone, no iPad, no nothing.
She’d wanted to call her sister, that had been her gut instinct. Gwen was always able to talk her down from the proverbial ledge whenever Ani felt too exposed, too vulnerable, too on edge to convey the slick, professional, easy-breezy confidence that was expected from the daughter of such a prominent family and the girlfriend of a titan in the business world. Well, ex-girlfriend now, but still.
Heck, Gwen had even talked her into coming here to Amour Island.
At the time her sister had signed her up for this “rehab”, it had sounded doable. After all, she’d just ended a relationship that she’d thought would last forever. But nope. Eight months ago she’d been traded in for a younger woman. Well, younger than twenty-seven, anyway. She’d been gutted.
Then, a few days ago, the awful had gotten even worse when her ex’s new marriage had been splashed across the tabloids. He’d been older by ten years, and richer than Midas. His new bride was barely legal and a budding supermodel. Yeah, love. Not.
Ani sniffled and swiped her hands across her damp cheeks, looking up to find that handsome stranger still staring at her. At least she thought he was staring. Hard to tell with those mirrored shades covering his eyes. The raised eyebrows gave him away though. They were raven black, same as his thick curly hair. He was tall too. Ani was tall for a woman at five-ten, but this guy dwarfed her by at least six inches. Muscular too, if the way that fine-cut suit clung to him was any indication. She’d seen suits like that before on Marcus.
Oh, God. Marcus.
Fresh tears swelled and she swung away again. To stare out at the water. Maybe she could swim for it. They were only what, a hundred miles from the shores of the UAE. Ugh. No. Swimming wasn’t her forte. Typing, now that was something she did well. It relaxed her. Too bad she’d had to turn over all her gadgets to that man at the desk. Why hadn’t she read that stupid contract more closely?
She waved her arms again to release some of the tension in her shoulders and the handsome stranger backed up a step.
“If you are thinking of flying,” he said, his voice low and deep and tinged with a slight accent. “I don’t believe the air currents are presently strong enough to take you far.”
Ani stopped and gave him a flat look. “Very funny. I’m burning off energy.”
“Right.” He clasped his hands in front of him, as if he was in the boardroom of a Fortune 500 company and not trapped in some tropical paradise. “And what is your name, little bird?”
She raised her chin and looked him up and down. “Anastasia Brightbridge. What’s yours.”
A small muscle ticked near his tight jaw, as if revealing something about himself took great effort. “Rehaj. Rehaj Nazari.”
“Well, Rehaj.” She took a deep calming breath and let her arms drop to her sides. “Looks like we’re stuck here for the long haul.”
He looked around and once again she was struck by how tall he was. Tall and graceful. A bit too lean, perhaps, given the slight hollow in his cheeks, but overall just her type. If she was looking. Which she wasn’t. Nope. “Yes,” he said at last. “It appears we are.”
Turning, he grabbed the handle to his wheeled suitcase and started back up the path toward the shuttles. “Have you checked into your accommodations yet, Miss Brightbridge?”
“I’ve been here for two hours already, so yeah.” She found herself trailing along beside him. “You haven’t though yet, obviously.”
“I was trying to figure out where exactly to go from here.”