Looking up, eyes bright, she shook her head and gave a small laugh. "More like a coincidence. I don't believe in fate, karma, or what you might call luck. I've found hard work gets you ahead in this life."
He pulled back slightly. "How can you say that? Did not fate bring you to your friend's wedding so I might meet you? Did not fate have a say in your friend's becoming Sheikha of Zahkim? Some things cannot be altered—including our destiny."
Shifting away from him a little, she tore off a chunk of bread and asked, "How early can I get started in the archives tomorrow?"
Arif almost groaned. It seemed his Christine was even more hard-headed and practical than his cousin had ever been. And she would be satisfied with nothing less than just what she wanted. Well, it was his pleasure to give her what she wished. The next trick would be to make certain she started wishing for him.
He didn't ravish me. The thought kept popping up at every quiet moment, and she still wasn't sure if she was happy about that or not.
Staring out of her balcony window, Christine rubbed her arms against the chill of the dawn. Her oversized T-shirt that served as a nightgown was a little too thin for a desert night, it seemed. The sun wasn't up yet, and she was still wondering why Sheikh Arif hadn't invited himself into her bedroom last night. Had she done something wrong? Or was he starting to realize—like her other two boyfriends eventually had just before they'd bailed—that she had a life that involved her own pursuits?
Or was he just that much of a gentleman?
With a sigh, she turned away from the brightening sky and headed for the shower. A hot bath last night after they'd ridden back from the oasis had prevented too many stiff muscles—she tried to work out three times a week, but it seemed riding used a whole different set of muscles. A shower this morning would keep her from walking like a cowboy. She dried off and dressed in loose khaki trousers and a black, long sleeve linen top. And then the ring flashed up at her, winking in the dawn's light.
The stone was spectacular—a square cut that wasn't very common these days—and the setting wouldn't catch on papers. But she couldn't keep it. She'd return it to him once she finished her research—and once Sheikh Arif realized she was not going to marry him. She had a life back in New Hampshire, a teaching job to get back to after her sabbatical ended, and…well, just and. She wasn't cut out to be a sheikh's wife.
Oddly, the ring didn't feel strange on her hand. If anything, it was…comforting. Which was an odd notion. She didn't wear jewelry very often. She'd never had her ears pierced, and only had one necklace, which had been her mother's.
Touching the ring brought back memories of the sheikh's kiss. It hadn't been a demanding kiss, but somehow it still felt as if he'd marked her. His lips had been soft, the scrape of his beard had been exciting, and the touch of his tongue to hers had set her heart pounding.
"I'm here to do research for Dad." She said the words again to herself, but at the same time, she wondered if Arif had fallen asleep thinking of her. Had he been up, remembering that kiss? Had it gotten him excited? She'd felt his erection yesterday, pressing into her, and now her nipples tightened, and a tingle spread upward from low in her belly. An image of Arif naked flashed in her head. She pushed it away, but it popped back up. Would he be huge? Big hands, big feet, big…well, all over.
With a growl, she dug her fingers into her hair. "Enough. Time to get to work." And time to stop thinking of his beautiful body and those charming gray eyes. Grabbing her tablet computer, she headed for the archives.
It seemed as if she had the palace to herself. She didn't meet any servants, didn't hear any other footsteps, and made it to the archives without the sheikh waylaying her with the idea of an
other ride or any other adventures.
However, it seemed Sahl ibn Harun was also an early riser. He met her at the main entrance as if he'd been waiting there all night. She tried a smile and a “Good morning,” in Arabic.
Arms folded, he looked her up and down. She thought he was about to deny her access or read her a long list of rules. Instead, he turned on his sandaled foot and led the way into the archives.
Squaring her shoulders, Christine followed. She'd met stuffier librarians and archivists, but not many. "I'd like access to the oldest parchments and scrolls. Anything you have copied from the Library of Alexandria."
Sahl ibn Harun gave what might have been a snort—she couldn't see his face. He stopped next to a large, bare desk.
"Sheikh Arif said to give you full access and I was not to hinder you in any fashion. Enjoy your day." With that, he left, his sandals slapping against the tiles. Christine glanced around the archive, both thrilled and daunted. At last, she had access to some of the oldest documents in the world. But it seemed she was also on her own here.
Four hours later, her stomach rumbled. She pulled off the loose cloth gloves that kept her skin oils from contaminating the aged parchment and blew out a breath. Her temper had frayed to a fine thread, and if Sahl ibn Harun had poked his nose in, she would have punched it for him. What kind of archivist was he that he didn't have any organizing system? Nothing was cataloged—just stored. Shelves and shelves of material without so much as a label as to what was where left her furious—and itching to get in here and start establishing proper records. She was here to do research, however, not catalog this…this amazing mess. She'd spent the morning trying to get a handle on what was here. She had found one tantalizing book that at least referenced older histories and seemed to be a rough list of materials in the archives, but of course it couldn’t tell her where to find anything in the chaos.
She'd skipped breakfast, and now she had to get some food before her blood sugar totally crashed. She already had a faint pounding in her temples and a temper on edge.
Heading out of the archives, she decided on a quick detour into the gardens. She needed air as much as she wanted some lunch. She actually found both waiting for her, along with a card with a flowing script on it.
Shahia tayebah—A.
“Please enjoy,” she translated. She could guess the A stood for Arif. He'd set this out for her.
For a moment, her eyes stung and her nose burned. She gave a sniff. No one had ever set out a meal for her. Her father buried himself even deeper than she did in work, and both her boyfriends had thought she should be the one to cook and clean. She stared at the plate of sliced fruit, cheese, and bread. A teapot sat next to it, and next to that a china coffee pot gave off a tempting aroma of a strong Kona blend. Touching them, she found them both hot, meaning someone had been keeping this ready for her. All on the sheikh's orders. She glanced around but saw no one. So she sat down, ate, drank the coffee, wolfed down flatbread, fruit, and tangy goat cheese, and then headed back to tackle the archives again.
At dusk, Sahl ibn Harun showed up with an electric lamp in his hands and jingling keys. Christine looked up from the notes she'd been taking. Several works here looked promising, but she had considerable translation work ahead of her. Sahl ibn Harun simply stared at her, and she got the idea it was closing time.
She gave him a brilliant smile and stood. If he wanted to be crusty, she wasn't going to join him in that game of rudeness.
"I'll be back tomorrow. Please leave these works out for me." She strode out of the archive, her back straight. It wasn't until the door closed behind her that she sagged against it and rubbed her neck. She'd been sitting still for far too long. Stiff muscles, a cramp in her right hand, and that headache told her as much.
Reaching her room, she half expected to find Arif waiting for her with some plans for an exotic dinner. She rehearsed five ways she could decline and worried that she wouldn't be able to get any of them to stick. Instead, she found a tray for her with chicken, couscous, bread and a lovely mint tea. She wanted to cry again. Okay, this guy knew how to get to a woman.