The Sheikh's Determined Lover (Zahkim Sheikhs 2)

"To marry her. Yes." Arif smiled and leaned back in his chair. "I have three months to convince her."

Tarek sipped his water and sat down opposite Arif. "How many other women have you fallen for, Arif? I can recall four without even thinking about it."

Arif waved away such an idea. "Those were all different. And you should be one to talk. How long did it take you to realize Tess was the only woman for you?"

"I had a prophecy to help guide me…in a way." Leaning forward, Tarek set his glass on a side table. Then he put a hand on Arif's arm. "I worry about you, cousin. You let your heart lead you all too often."

"And that is a bad thing? Tarek, my father once led me to the palace tower to show me all of Al Resab spread out before me."

Leaning back, Tarek groaned. "Not this old story again."

"Yes…and again and again. You're not listening to it. He told me—"

"Zahkim will only prosper with love in the marriages of the sheikhs. I have heard you tell this story a dozen times. And, yes, I had a prophecy about a falling angel, but there is far more to finding a wife than luck. We will not even begin to talk about what it takes to maintain a relationship. It took me longer than a week to get a wedding ring on Tess's finger."

"Ah, but this woman—she is different."

"Meaning she did not fall at your feet." Tarek stood. "Tread cautiously, cousin. Tess has told me that her friend is interested only in her career as an archeologist. From what Tess has said, Christine and her father are just the same in that. She might not be what you think she is."

Arif stood and smiled. "The heart knows what it wants, my cousin."

Tarek shook his head. "That is an impractical notion." Arif opened his mouth to speak, but Tarek held up a hand. "No, don't repeat yourself. I just urge you to remember that you may know your heart, but you know nothing of what this woman wants."

Arif grinned. "Ah, but finding out about her will be pure joy. And now I must go and be the Minister of Education and see surly old Sahl ibn Harun about a pass for my Christine."

Chapter Four

Arif had never had a tour of the palace given to him. It was a novel and amusing situation, and he wondered if Christine knew she was babbling like a nervous guide.

"This has to be what was once called the Hall of the Ambassador. It's marvelous. Far better in person—larger. I've read that the site of the original palace was chosen in 540 and construction lasted twenty years, with over ten thousand craftsmen. Four hundred kilograms of gunpowder were used to blast through the bedrock to lay the foundation. Of course, it's been expanded over the centuries. I read that, in total, the palace now includes six hundred rooms, and the archives takes up the entire south side. Of course, the archives is really the heart of the palace."

"Of course," Arif said. He was delighted to allow Christine to lead him. Her eyes and skin glowed as she spoke. Her hands danced in front of her as if she could not contain them. She had worn what must be her work clothes—close-fitting black trousers and a linen shirt that clung to her curves. Gold sandals flashed on her dainty feet, and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes off her. Her short hair curled slightly, still damp from her shower, and that sparked images of her naked, her creamy skin bared and wet…and…and he really needed to pay heed to what she was saying.

"—decreed this would be a learning center that would rival Bagdad. Over 140,000 books are stored here now, including works in the Greek and Syriac languages from the Hellenistic period, Chinese, Sanskrit, Latin, and Persian works in physics and mathematics, and collections obtained from the School of Nisibis, the Academy of Gondishapur, and the Imperial Library of Constantinople. Some of the works are even said to be from the Library of Alexandria—copies of course, but it's still remarkable to think not everything was burned back in ancient Egypt. Most works have been translated into Arabic, but I'm hoping to find primary sources. I've heard it referred to as the Khizanat Kutub al-Hikma or Storehouse of the Books of Wisdom. According to the legendary fourteenth-century traveler, Ibn Battuta, Zahkim built one of the great libraries."

Still smiling, Arif stopped and opened a heavy, ornate door, carved from sandalwood and decorated with gold leaf. "Do watch out for the spiders."

Christine's mouth formed a small circle. He wanted to touch a finger to those lush lips of hers. She stared at him. "You have spiders in the archive? Intentionally?"

"They protect the books from silverfish and insects. The archive also has a number of cats, but they tend to be elusive creatures, keeping mostly to themselves. Consider them guardians of all this knowledge." He ushered her past the doorway.

Once inside the vast hall, she stopped again, her mouth falling fully open now. She breathed out her next words, her tone hushed, "I've seen a few old photos, but they don't do it justice."

Looking around, Arif tried to see it as she might. Was it impressive? He supposed so, but then “the Bod” back at Oxford had overwhelmed him with its English Gothic architecture, soaring ceilings, and its far more extensive collection of over twelve million items. By comparison, the palace archives seemed to him to be far more intimate.

The floor offered intricate mosaics in rose, gray, and white marble in a geometric pattern that Arif had always found soothing. The wooden bookcases in the Rococo style formed two rows, separated by a balcony with a wooden railing. True, the shelves did seem to stretch on forever, but that was only an illusion. Next to him, Christine pulled in a breath. She gave him a wide smile, and Arif's pulse kicked up and his stomach tightened. He was not certain why she should be as delighted as if he had showered her with jewels. To him the archives smelled musty, as if the weight of the centuries hung heavy in the room. The silence seemed almost forbidding.

That silence was broken a moment later by the shuffle of sandals on tiles, and Sahl ibn Harun appeared from between the bookshelves, his usual frown in place, his eyes dark and sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses, and his thin, aged frame the same as it had been for as long as Arif had known the man. He wore the traditional white robes and turban, his one concession to

modern life being a Kronsegler's watch that showed the constellations in the sky on a blue dial. Arif and his cousins had avoided the archives as much as possible, for Sahl did not tolerate fools or young boys looking for trouble. It seemed he was also not in a mood to tolerate women scholars. He looked at Christine over the top of his glasses as if he would just as soon throw her from the palace off one of the turrets.

That could not be allowed, so Arif stepped forward to make the introductions. "Sahl ibn Harun, may I present to you Dr. Harper."

Christine stuck out her hand and made the split-second decision to speak in Arabic. "Salam, ibn Harun. It is good to meet you.” She switched to English. “It is an honor to meet the man entrusted with the true wealth of Zahkim."

Sahl's lip had curled at the offer of a handshake, but Christine's use of Arabic and her praise seemed to work some charm on the old man. Sahl at least unbent enough to touch his fingers to hers before he turned to Arif and said, his voice gravely and dry, "We are not ready. Come back tomorrow."

Arif swallowed a laugh. He could see how it would be—tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. He had no intention of allowing Sahl to put Christine off indefinitely. Arif lowered his voice and stepped closer to Sahl.