The Sheikh's Captive American (Zahkim Sheikhs 1)

He waved her away and went back to his chair. "We’ll see about that. No one can rule well based on gut reactions. Every move has to be backed up with analysis and facts. Your instincts don’t hold much sway here, Tess Angel."

"My instincts have never led me wrong. You might try it sometime." She ducked out before he could answer—or come after her again.

And I am done trying to help out here.

Chapter Six

Tarek wished his office was soundproof so he could let out the roar of frustration that had built up during his conversation with Tess. He didn't know which was driving him crazier—her criticisms, that she might be right, or the way her passion had made her light up. Had lit him up. Just as it had last night.

He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face.

He'd lost complete control of his words with that nonsense about the dungeon. But she'd been about to say yes to his offer to put her in chains and utterly in his power. He would bet his life on that. And wasn't that a delicious thought—Tess tied not to a stone wall, but to a bed and unable to do more than cry out for his mercy as he tormented her with teasing kisses and by trailing his fingers over her smooth skin.

If she hadn’t dodged, he would have tasted her again, devoured her. Put all his pent up desire and frustration into kissing her. Against all logic and sense. She was dangerous, and he doubted she realized how she threatened to upend everything he believed in.

He shifted in his chair to ease the erection straining at his trouser fly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten so hard so fast. Or the last time someone had spoken to him the way she had, as an equal and as someone who owed and expected nothing but honesty. Perhaps his grandmother showed wisdom in wishing to keep Tess Angel here.

No…the sooner she leaves, the better.

That thought left him staring at his desk and a frown tight between his brows. Truth was, he did not wish her to go, not even with her charged words, which had a dose of truth in them. He wanted to keep her not only with him, but in his bed. He shoved the thought aside. It had been a mistake last night to allow his impulses to govern him. He would not do so again.

As if to prove it to himself, he turned back to the proposal Tess had brought him.

She was right about one thing—the world had changed, and so must his country, if it was to prosper. The compromise she’d helped form was a good one. He only had to implement it without bankrupting the country before spending could refill the treasury.

He reached for his phone and pressed the intercom button. "Farid, please order my lunch brought to my office today." It was time to set his mind to the task.

Tess leaned her head back against the car's plush leather, her eyelids drooping. She didn't feel as if she'd done enough today to be this tired. But then, only yesterday at this time, she'd been falling into a lake after having survived a plane crash and hiking five miles through the desert. Maybe a battle with a bunch of ministers, an argument with a king, and a visit to the hospital were enough after all.

And Tarek had made sure she hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Lord, the man was good in bed. But that one night was all she would ever have with him, so it was time to start thinking about her own future, not his.

Phil had been awake but woozy from pain medication and Tess had tried to distract him by describing the palace, the difficulties with the airport, and their rescue. She'd called his family and put him on the phone so they'd know he was safe. The twelve-hour time difference meant she woke them up, but they hadn’t seemed to mind once they heard her news. She'd also avoided talking about Tarek. The nurse had finally thrown her out after two hours.

On the ride back to the palace, she woke Julie, her second-in-command at Angel Productions with another phone call. Julie suggested a helicopter to get her to Dubai or Cairo, but Tess declined. She'd promised Phil she'd stay, and she wasn't at all certain she wanted to fly again just yet. At least, that's what she told herself as she turned away from the mental image of Tarek and his burning eyes.

To distract herself after she'd hung up, she looked out the SUV's window. They were passing through the center of the main city, Al Resab. Between the tall buildings, a grassy park—impossibly green—offered up winding sidewalks, a fountain, and what looked like an ancient obelisk. The park seemed unusually full considering it was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday. Women sat and stood in groups, and some held signs with Arabic lettering. The sight wasn't all that unfamiliar—a protest looked about the same in any language. She hadn’t recognized it the night before, but it was clear now.

Leaning forward, she asked the driver, "What are they protesting?"

He shifted in his seat and glanced back as if uncomfortable. Maybe the staff wasn't supposed to fraternize with royal guests. He had to slow to allow a dozen young women to cross the street, all of them wearing jeans and T-shirts and waving cloth banners.

At last he said, his English accented but clear, "The young women want access to more education and jobs and to be permitted to live independently, without a male guardian." After another pause, he added, his voice low, "My sister is there, somewhere."

Tess couldn't read his expression in the rearview mirror, so she asked, "You don't approve?"

He lifted one shoulder and one hand. "My father has disowned her.

If the protest is unsuccessful, I don't know where she'll go. He won't allow her to come home, and she's unmarried. In Zahkim, she has no status, and no access even to university housing."

Tess fell back against her seat. She wasn't sure she would risk homelessness in pursuit of her principles. "She's brave. Will you tell her I said so, when you see her?"

"Of course, miss. Thank you."

"Sorry, I should have asked this before, but what's your name?"

"You may call me Dabir, miss."

Traffic eased, and Dabir smoothly accelerated. Now that she had him talking, Tess kept asking questions. Had he gone to college? How long had he been a driver for the sheikh? Where did his family live? It took a good twenty minutes to get him from strained answers to real conversation about the music he liked—he was a fan—and how he was saving both to get married and start his own limo service. She persuaded him to turn the radio on to his favorite station—the one non-government station—so she could listen to the local pop music.