The Sheikh's Captive American (Zahkim Sheikhs 1)

The next instant, her face broke the surface and she gasped for air. A man held her, and she clutched at his arms. Struggling to breathe, she stared up at him, at dark amber eyes, a chiseled face—a face she wouldn't forget.

He said something she didn't understand, and then asked, his voice lightly accented, "Where did you come from?"

She grasped his arms—strong ones with muscles that held her tight—coughed and managed to get out the words, "My pilot… help."

The next instant, the dizziness and the pounding in her head took over her world. She heard the man say something about a helicopter.

Good—it's being handled. Her

instincts hadn't lied. Closing her eyes, she let the world fade away.

Chapter Two

Sheikh Tarek watched the woman sleep. Tess Angel. He'd recognized her at once, but he'd also found her driver's license in her backpack after he'd dragged her out of the water. She hadn't looked much like an angel, then. She did now.

Thick, auburn hair spread out against the stark white of the pillowcase. Her pale skin held a little too much pink from the sun, but her features were a masterpiece. Straight nose, full lips in a generous mouth, wide eyes under arched brows. She had cleaned up well. He could see why she graced magazine covers regularly—most recently Business Weekly, which had featured her in their article, "The New Feminine Force in Entertainment."

It was fortunate he had been at the Amin oasis for a meeting with the leader of the nomadic tribes that traveled Zahkim's deserts. He had wanted to secure their support. Instead, he ended up with an international celebrity on his doorstep.

He hated the antiseptic smell of a hospital. It reminded him too much of when his parents had died. But he could not allow this woman's care to be trusted to anyone other than himself. From the instant he had put eyes on her, the urge to save her—to protect her—had welled up in him. It had kept him beside her while he sent his people to look for her pilot.

A shiver chased down his spine.

He could imagine the disaster—both for him and this lovely woman—if the headlines had been “Tess Angel Dies in Zahkim Crash.” Instead, they would read, “Tess Angel Rescued by Zahkim Royalty.” Now that was a headline to help his country, which could definitely use a boost.

Leaning back in his seat—he would have to do something about his main hospital having such uncomfortable chairs—he turned on his tablet. If he was going to skip the Public Services Council meeting to sit here watching his very important rescue, he might as well attempt some productivity. But he couldn't keep his attention on the spreadsheet sent to him by his chief economic advisor—one of his many cousins who helped him run the country.

How could numbers compare to Tess Angel?

An angel will fall…

The words came back as if to haunt him.

He had forgotten the old woman's words. Now, however, he could hear her raspy voice as if she were speaking into his ear. He shook off the memory. It meant nothing. Just an odd coincidence. He was an educated man; superstitions were rot. No foreigner would save his country. That was his job. He forced his eyes back to the screen. Too much red. Much too much red ink on that spreadsheet. There had to be a way to boost Zahkim's economy, end the strikes, and restore order. Perhaps he really did need an angel.

He glanced back at Tess Angel, the woman who had turned a music career into a multimillion-dollar brand with endorsements, a line of jewelry, and her own production company. Now this was a woman to reckon with.

As if sensing his stare on her, she woke with a groan and a jerk of her hand. She blinked her eyes open—lovely eyes in a vivid jade with a hint of gold around the huge, dark pupils—and muttered, "Hippo…"

Tarek narrowed his eyes. The medics with the rescue squad had said she had a minor concussion. Could that still affect her mind?

She cleared her throat. "Where am I?"

Ah, that was better. He hoped her husky voice didn’t come only from her parching trek through the desert—he could listen to her recite the dictionary with that voice. Leaning forward, he put a hand on her wrist. Her pulse jumped slightly under his touch, and he smiled.

"You're in the hospital in Al Resab, Zahkim. I am Sheikh Tarek Rahim, but please, call me Tarek."

"Zahkim?" She pulled her hand away and frowned at the IV attached to her arm. "That's somewhere near the Red Sea, right?"

He nodded, pleased she at least knew Zahkim existed. His country was little more than a rising city, some oil wells, and a few ruins beyond the Amin oasis, and many had never heard of it.

"You were overheated and quite dehydrated when I found you. The nurses have been pumping you full of fluids since you arrived here."

"That explains why I need to pee so badly."

Tarek's mouth twitched in amusement. His advisors would die of shock if they saw such a thing. In truth, he could not recall the last time he had smiled.

"I'll summon someone who can help you." He stepped out of the room and raised his hand, and seconds later a nurse slipped into Tess's room. He told an orderly to get her some food.