The Sheikh's Captive American (Zahkim Sheikhs 1)

On the fourth day, he found his grandmother waiting to pounce on him when he came to breakfast. She greeted him with a smug cat-in-the cream smile and eyes far too innocent. She had to be plotting something.

As Tarek took his seat and poured his coffee, she said, "I hear your angel has helped you already."

"She is not my angel. And despite her assistance the other day, the situation is just as unstable as ever and being made worse by these leaks. Do you have any thoughts on that, Grandmother?" Tarek poured his coffee and watched his grandmother.

She shrugged. "You know this palace, Tarek—it’s always been as leaky as a sieve. But you must have started to see how crucial Miss Angel is to the well-being of the country."

"I'm sorry, what?" Tess stood in the doorway. "Crucial to the wellbeing of the country? Me?" She came in and sat down, nervously pushing at the plate in front of her.

His grandmother smiled and poured coffee for Tess. "You have good instincts. It seems you and my grandson are good together."

Tess gave a little laugh and shot Tarek a secret, amused look. He knew she must be thinking of how good they had been in bed. How good their kiss had been the other night. How good… He had to look away. No one challenged his composure as she did.

Wrinkling her nose, Tess said, "You have a different definition of ‘good’ than I do, if you think arguments and divergent goals make a good team. I don't think policy is my forte. All I did was give Tarek's ministers a common enemy."

"Still, a wise move. Tarek should have you sit in on his meetings. You will no doubt provide a unique perspective in the conversation."

Tess picked up her coffee and shook her head. "I flunked both political science and economics in college. I think it’s best if I continue to keep a low profile until Phil and I can be on our way."

Tarek saw his opening and took it. "Grandmother, let’s leave talk of politics for the conference room. I have neglected my guest due to work, but today I intend to correct that. Tess, what would you most like to see?"

"You mentioned a museum the other day. I’d like to learn more about your country."

His grandmother began to speak of the wonderful sights in Zahkim. Tess nodded, smiled, and sipped her coffee but Tarek could see her thoughts were far away now; perhaps she was feeling homesick. Tarek lifted a hand. A servant came to his side at once, and Tarek whispered a request into the man's ear. A few minutes later, the man came back with a small bowl containing a sliced apple and a mound of peanut butter. He placed the dish at Tess's right hand.

She jerked her gaze up to his, blushing a becoming pink, setting off her freckles perfectly. He wondered if she was remembering their kiss in the kitchen, just as he was.

No more kisses. But his self-directed lecture couldn’t stop his heart from racing at the memory of her body trapped beneath him.

Tess had been looking forward to more time with Tarek, preferably alone. But Tarek seemed to come with both a driver and a bodyguard in the front seat of the SUV. They would be able to hear and see everything that happened in the backseat. She resigned herself to disappointment and polite conversation. Maybe that was his goal. His words in the kitchen made her wonder if he thought he had something to prove—that he felt nothing, that he could keep their interactions platonic from now on.

Tarek slid into the SUV next to her, eyed the men in front, and gave her a little shrug, seemingly echoing her earlier regret. Maybe she’d been wrong about his intentions after all. Damn the man.

"So…how's the country doing?" she asked.

"I expect the strike to end very soon. The airport will be up and running for cargo flights initially. The airlines will need a little more time to schedule flights and prep their planes, and then your departure will all depend on your pilot's health."

Tess tried for a smile. Leaving Tarek was no longer as appealing—or as simple—as it once had been. But she wasn't going to let that spoil what time they had. "The Sheikh of Zahkim to the rescue once again."

The SUV pulled out from the palace gates, and Tarek slid a hand onto her knee. "You made a difference, Tess. My grandmother did not exaggerate that you were of help to me."

Tess's neck and face warmed. She went for a casual tone. "So you're dipping your toe into the troubled waters of representative government after all, huh?"

"A little toe. Two elected representatives on my board of advisors. The two richest men in the country are upset not to be appointed ministers as well, but they already have more power than I like. But enough about my troubles. How have you been amusing yourself?"

"Visits to Phil—it seems the hospital is taking forever to schedule his surgery. And I've got my own headaches. I was supposed to be in Mumbai by now to meet with the head of Sharma Entertainment. They're a small Bollywood production company founded by an artist seven years ago—less singing and dancing, more philosophy and magical realism. If Guillermo del Toro were Indian, these are the movies he'd make. But the founder is no

t a great businesswoman, and now she's facing having to shut down or maybe sell out. I fell in love with her work, so I’m hoping to invest and get her back on track." She was rambling, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't tell Tarek what she wanted—that she wanted to have sex right now in the back seat of the SUV. And she wasn't sure what else to talk about. Amazingly, Tarek at least seemed interested.

He gave a nod, the smallest of smiles playing across his face, as if he knew exactly the kind of dilemma she faced—a choice between her personal connection to Phil and the business deal she wanted to ink. Finally, he shook his head and took her hand.

"You're amazing, Tess. You don't talk of profit, but of films you wish the world to see. Enchanting." He leaned toward her as if to kiss her. Tess shot a glance to the driver and guard. Tarek frowned, but lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. "I know where to take you when we arrive at the museum."

It turned out the museum in Al Resab wasn't technically open because of the strike but a staff member and two guards met them at the massive, gleaming gold doors to let them in. All three men bowed low to Tarek and took their leave. Tess thought the trio must have been there for hours, just to get all the lights turned on.

The building took up a city block and stood four stories high. The central room itself soared up to a glass dome that washed golden light over vast murals showing a people crossing mountains and desert to eventually settle around a lush oasis. An art deco staircase rose up from behind the main entrance and then branched right and left. She wanted to grab one of the maps in the kiosk, but they were probably all in Arabic. Tarek's bodyguard posted himself at the front door, facing the entrance, which had to mean every other door was still locked.

Tarek clearly knew how to get straight to whatever it was he wanted to show her. He grabbed her hand and strode ahead with barely a glance for the ancient carvings and pottery, the glass cases showing parchments illuminated with jewel-toned ink and gold leaf, or the tapestries woven with images of rampant lions and racing Arabian horses.