The Sheikh's Determined Lover (Zahkim Sheikhs 2)

Arif straightened. "No—she is mine."

"Good. Then court her. You young boys, you think a ripe fruit should fall into your hands. That you should not have to climb and exert yourself. In my day, a woman expected a man to bring flowers, to be kind, to strut his plumage. It is the woman who decides these things, so give her a reason to decide on you."

Arif frowned. "I thought I was courting her."

Amal laughed. "With what? With a few days of what? You have a brain—or I thought you did—use it, boy!" She turned back to her TV, flipped it on, and started watching again. "And if you don't have one, watch some shows and get some ideas."

Christine stared at her tablet's screens. The text she'd been reading had turned out to be a magical incantation to bring love.

"Not much use," she muttered. Except it would be nice if it worked.

She'd blown it. She'd stepped all over what had been a lovely evening and hadn't even thanked Arif for making it special. All because he'd said something that had hit a raw nerve.

What if she failed?

What if her dad was going to die no matter what she did?

She pushed out a breath, dragged her fingers through her curls, and stared at the next stack of parchments that Sahl had brought to her. He seemed to at least be used to her presence now and was assisting—grudgingly. Either that or he'd figured out if she found what she wanted, she'd leave.

She put her head in her hands.

Why couldn't she be enough of a romantic to just enjoy a moment? And why couldn't Arif have kept his mouth shut?

She'd gotten a note from him this morning, offering a tour of the government offices in Al Resab, which boasted some excellent antiquities. She'd sent back a note with a polite decline, and had headed to the archives. Skipping breakfast, she had gulped down a cup of coffee, burning her tongue, for she'd been half afraid Arif would show up and waylay her.

A sudden memory of his lips on hers shorted out any other thoughts. She rubbed a hand over her eyes and tried to focus. She got through two parchments—one a list of all Zahkim's rulers, which sidetracked her into making a list in a file on her computer. Arif might like that. She almost deleted the file, but she might as well have some work out of the day. Feet dragging, she left the archives before Sahl even showed up, jangling his keys.

The next day went about the same.

Arif sent a note again, this time with an invitation to tour the site of Zahkim's new university, where construction had been delayed due to an archeological find of a possible temple site. She sent back a thanks, but no thanks. She had to stay focused. She thought he might give up on her after that, but the following morning, she found him waiting at the door of the archives when she arrived.

She gave him a sideways glance and fiddled with her tablet. Arif smiled. Her stomach did a flip, so she straightened and tugged at the hem of the baggy T-shirt she'd put on over her jeans and sandals. How did he always manage to look so comfortable, so cool, and so edible?

He had on a white shirt and black trousers, just like the night they'd…

No, she wasn't going to think about that.

She put her shoulders back. "Good morning." Inside, she winced. That sounded terrible. "I…I should apologize. I…thank you for the other evening. It was…" She ran out of words.

Strolling over to her, Arif stopped in front of her and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. "Amazing? Wonderful? I would not trade a moment of it—not even that ending. But I understand you are having difficulty finding what you wish. In the archives. I have cleared my calendar to assist."

"What?" The word squeaked out. An image of Arif as her assistant popped into her head—the two of them working side by side.

No, we'll end up on a table in the archive, scattering rare books, tearing off each other’s clothes.

She blinked. "I couldn't possibly make such demands on your time."

"It is my pleasure. Besides, as you have mentioned, the archives have become a…well, a storage room, for lack of a better word. It is one of my duties, and I have overlooked the need to make a real survey of the work to be done for proper organization." He leaned closer. "Sahl would have a heart attack if I were to sneak coffee in to you, but I have arranged lunch to be served right here, just outside, and you may use me as a sounding board for ideas. Tarek always did so back at Oxford, and I did take a first in history."

Her mouth fell open. She closed it, swallowed, and tried not to be impressed. "Did you specialize?"

"I tried to stay general, but I must admit the life of Fatima Al-Fihri, who established the University of al-Qarawiyyan in Morocco in 859, caught me up utterly. Her dedication to education is something anyone must admire. I did my thesis on her."

"Oh…you're the A. ben Iben? I never put it together. That was incredible work. That's what got me interested in Zahkim's archives as a possible source."

Arif opened the carved sandalwood door. "Ah, a touch of fate, after all. Shall we?"

He swept her into the archives. Christine settled at her usual chair and table. He asked what he could do, and she had no idea. He began by walking the archives. She could hardly drag her attention from him—from watching how he moved, how he stroked his beard when he was thinking, how his eyes darkened when he looked at her.