The Sheikh's Determined Lover (Zahkim Sheikhs 2)

He swept her a bow. "I came to offer an apology."

"That's not—"

"I insist. You were right—my jealousy was uncalled for. I was just…taken aback. Of course you have had men falling at your feet."

She winced. "Well, they didn't exactly fall."

"A woman with your beauty and intelligence and grace—"

"Okay, now you're laying it on a bit thick."

He spread his hands wide. "I am telling you the truth. And I have a surprise for you."

Frowning, she clutched her tablet even tighter. "I think I'll just head up to my room, if you don't mind."

Arif tried for a hurt look—he hoped his sad eyes would stir her sympathy. "Are you only interested in Zahkim's past? What about the people? Our culture? Do you come only to rob us of the history we've accumulated?"

Reaching up, Christine smoothed her hair, but it sprang right back into curls. "Rob is kind of a strong word."

"Ah, then you'll come with me? For this surprise? You enjoyed the ruins—this will be just as good. But with far more vibrant life." Her eyes brightened, and he knew he had caught her interest. He put his hand over his heart. "I vow to do nothing that you do not ask for first."

"My asking is what has me worried," she muttered. Pushing out a breath, she straightened and asked, "Do I have time to shower and change?"

"There is no need. You look delicious as always."

She smoothed her hair again. "Seriously?" Her stare swept over him. "You look a little formal. Maybe just a quick freshen up. And I'll put on a dress."

Arif bowed again. "As you wish." He made a mental note—she liked showers better than baths. And she owned a dress. It was a start to figuring out his Christine.

Twenty minutes later, Christine walked carefully down the palace stairs; she wasn't used to heels. She'd showered, slapped on minimal makeup—foundation with sunscreen in it and a swipe of lipstick with moistur

izer—and slipped on a long sleeve dress. It was a favorite. High necked, floor length, but with enough skirt around the hem that she could walk, the navy jersey flowed around her. It was her go-to for university functions, and she'd swept her curls up and away from her face, plastering them in place with hair gel. She was ready to face Arif—and keep him at a distance. But the ring glittering on her finger seemed to mock that idea.

She'd tried slipping it off a couple of times, but it had stuck over her knuckle. She didn't want to damage it, and she'd try with some soap or oil later. For now, it looked great with the dress—very dramatic.

Once she stepped outside the palace's thick walls, however, she almost regretted the long sleeves and hem. Heat seemed to close around her, even though the sun had set and twilight lingered in the sky. Overhead, stars had begun to pop, bright and shimmering. The world smelled of the dry desert and car exhaust from the black limo waiting for her, door open.

Arif waited for her, his hips propped on the side of the car. He looked sinfully good, and Christine made a mental note not to think about how his arms had felt around her. He pushed off the car and gestured to the limo's dark interior. "This will be more comfortable than my car."

And it was. The second she stepped in, air conditioning washed over her, cool and soothing. Music—something local she suspected, given its non-Western drum rhythm—played softly. Maybe it was one of Tess's new productions.

Arif swept into the limo like a force of nature. The thing was huge, but his personality dominated the interior. She tried to focus on the soft seats, the tan leather trim, the miles of leg room, and the minibar built into the back of the front seat. A window separated them from the driver. But she kept glancing at Arif, kept noticing just how wide his shoulders were, how the light hit his face to reveal new angles, how the hollow of his throat looked with a small nick where he'd tidied his beard.

Stop it.

Arif shut the door, and the car moved down the drive with a low purr and not so much as a bump. Okay, she could get used to this. Her compact back home was great on gas mileage, but not much on comfort.

Keeping his promise, Arif also kept his distance from her. It was almost maddening to be so close, with his scent teasing her and those long elegant fingers gesturing but not touching. He offered her sparkling water in a cut-crystal glass, asked about her day, how her research was going. She didn't think he could be all that interested, but he listened with his body angled toward her, his eyes serious and attentive, and she found herself starting to talk about the latest discovery of a manuscript with the writing in Greek, Coptic, and early Egyptian hieroglyphs.

"It's unusual, and I'm struggling a little with the translations. I can't tell yet if the Greek is a translation or just comments on the hieroglyphs."

He lounged against the leather seats and crossed his legs, which almost touched hers. "If you need resources, let me know. I maintain my ties to Oxford, and I am supposed to be the Protector of Knowledge. What good is protecting it, if that knowledge is not shared? That is Sahl's problem. His idea is to never allow anyone to touch anything to keep it safe. If he'd ever had a child, he would have put the poor thing under glass."

"No wonder the place isn't properly cataloged and organized."

Arif nodded. "I've begged Tarek to retire the man, but Sahl served Tarek's father, and his father before that. Shiekha Amal—Tarek's grandmother—would be angry to see the man let go from his position, and Sahl might well just die without his work, and so Tarek cannot bring himself to do what ought to have been done years ago."

"Have you considered bringing in an assistant? Those documents really need to be digitized, and while it's dry here, there's the issue of preservation."