The Sheikh's Captive American (Zahkim Sheikhs 1)

She tipped her head to one side, her windblown hair—it hadn’t been tidy since the museum, honestly—sweeping across her shoulders. "Where your great-grandfather studied the stars? I'd like that. Very much."

Tarek spent the hour after dropping Tess at the hospital ensuring the evening would be perfect. He returned to find Tess standing near the entrance. She straightened and smiled when she saw the SUV.

Once she was inside, Tarek asked, "How is your friend?"

"Much better, thanks. He had surgery today and has a cast on now. Dr. Al Din said Phil can start walking tomorrow, but he's a little vague about when it'll be okay for him to fly home. ‘Wait and see’ seems to be the doctor's motto. Oh, and I saw your grandmother at the hospital, but from a distance. Was she visiting someone?"

"My grandmother often does not enlighten me on her plans," Tarek said. An uneasy stirring in his stomach had him pressing his hand over his belly. He disliked these kinds of hunches—they were too vague and could be interpreted any number of ways, and more often than not meant nothing at all. It was one of the reasons he much preferred logic. A man could wrap his head around facts and deal with them. Foreboding feelings—he'd had one before his parents had died—were worse than useless. He had given up even trying to understand them, on the rare occasions he felt them.

Now, he was having trouble believing his grandmother attended the hospital either for her own health or to visit the sick. Was this part of a plan to keep Tess in the country for as long as possible? He was uncertain, but he would speak to her. Tomorrow.

Tonight was all about Tess.

Chapter Ten

They returned to the palace, but only long enough for Tess to change into the traditional garb—trousers, tunic, robe—Tarek had chosen for her. They were gold tonight, stitched with pure white embroidery and dotted with white gems. Desert diamonds, or real ones? She wasn’t sure she couldn’t tell the difference any longer.

When they finally pulled up at the Amin oasis, Tess took a moment to catch her breath. She hadn't seen much of the place o

n her first visit, at least not much that she could recall. She remembered tents—now only one stood in the shade of the tall date palms—and there had been camels, and the water which lay like a huge, oval sapphire in the golden sands.

Tarek hopped out of the SUV and had her door open before she or the driver could move. Taking her hand, Tarek gestured toward a path through the trees. He'd worn traditional clothing—a loose robe over trousers and a tunic, but he'd left off the headscarf, the keffiyeh. A carpet, of all things—deep red and purple and gold—covered the sand and showed the way through the grove. She gave a small gasp when she saw what Tarek had arranged.

A huge tent with straight walls and a peaked roof—held up with thick wooden poles at the corners and in the center of each of its three sections—rose up before her, the black fabric slapping faintly in the breeze. The canvas sides had been rolled up and tied so she could see through to the desert and look back at the oasis. Inside, the tent seemed to be all carpets and enormous pillows, low brass tables and glowing lamps with colored shades.

She touched one of the cloth walls, stroked the smooth fibers that had woven the fabric. "Tarek, it's amazing."

"We're right on time." He smiled, led her into the tent's main room and turned her around so they looked out over the lake. He swept his arm out. "Look."

The sky glowed brilliant orange, the sunset's rays streaking the few clouds with every shade of yellow, red, pink, and purple. The trees turned into black silhouettes against the light, the tips of the fronds glowing as if made from molten gold. High above, the sky deepened to midnight blue, speckled with the first stars of the evening twinkling brighter than the desert diamonds in the museum. The two worlds met in the surface of the deep waters, a nightly battle between light and dark. Inch by inch, as she watched in silence, the dark won. But light had the final say as stars streaked the sky and the water with a band of brilliance.

She shivered slightly in the breeze. Sand slipped between the toes of her sandals, and cool air wrapped around her face, scented by the dry aroma of the desert.

When the last thread of sunlight faded, Tarek's low voice washed over her. "When our people had to find a new home, they came this way and were about to turn back when their official astrologer saw a shooting star that seemed to hit the ground right here. They came to investigate and found the oasis. They believed God had given them this country for their own. The oasis was, in fact, created by a meteorite."

She grinned. "And you like that part of the story best—the facts. Doesn't life ever feel to you as if some things are meant to be? I know I was fated to form Angel Productions. Maybe we do have real angels in our lives, and one led me here."

In the light cast by the lamps, she saw his mouth tighten. He put his hand to her cheek and seemed to study her for a long moment. "I think we should eat." He threaded his fingers through her hair. "And then we will see if you would rather talk or not."

She wanted to punch his arm. He was ducking her question. But she knew the answer anyway. He liked things to make sense, to be ruled by facts. To be rational. Before she could figure out what to say to him, he kissed her.

He pulled her against that hard body of his, his arm sealing her to him, his hand tight on her ass. She rubbed herself against him, already desperate for more of him—more of his mouth on hers, more of his scent wrapping around her and stealing away her mind, more of everything.

She broke away, gasped for breath, and said, "I thought you mentioned food."

He smiled. "Famished, are you? Very well. We'll finish that later. More than once."

Her face flamed. Tarek clapped once, and plates of food appeared, brought in by servers dressed in traditional garb. A jug of water and a pot of tea—mint by the aroma—clanked onto the brass tray. The servants vanished as quickly as they’d come, followed by the smooth hum of an engine. They were alone now. Tarek washed her fingers himself, as well as his own, and dried them with a white linen cloth. He pointed out the various dishes and fed her one bit at a time.

"We eat with our fingers—and the bread. This is a favorite of mine—it is like a lamb pie." He popped a bite into her mouth. She rolled the spices over her tongue. He broke off warm flatbread and scooped up spiced rice and couscous for her. In turn, she poured tea for him. She broke off a pastry that smelled of chicken and spices and took a bite—Tarek leaned in and swiped his tongue over her lips.

"Delicious, my Ashira." His eyes darkened, and he stood, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. "My Ashira," he said, his voice a soft rumble.

She stepped toward him and put her palms on his chest. "What does that mean?"

"In Zahkim's mythology, when a star falls from the sky, she becomes a desert spirit, a beautiful creature of heat and passion. Sometimes she is a messenger. Sometimes she deliberately falls to walk among mortals. No matter the reason, she is a rare and precious find. They say the trail you can see behind Ashira as she falls is the source of desert diamonds."

"Desert diamonds—I keep thinking that would make a great song title."