The Sheikh's Secret Son (Sharjah Sheikhs 3)

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“Yes, sir,” Rebecca answered the Sultan. “We’ve been treated very well. Thank you.”

“Good,” he said, obviously very pleased with himself. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Yes, sir, but there is something I wanted to ask you about the tour,” Rebecca continued.

“Yes. How may I be of service?” She was surprised by the genuine sound of concern in his voice.

“I was reviewing the itinerary we were given, and I noticed Rajak and Timina were missing. We’re visiting just about every other part of Sharjah, but those two sections are left off. They’re also two of the poorest sections of the Emirate. I was wondering if we could visit them as well.”

“That part of town does not offer anything for the investors, which is why it was not included.” She expected him to be angry, but his tone conveyed puzzlement as to why she would bring them up.

“I think visiting those sections of Sharjah would give us the opportunity to address any labor concerns the investors may have,” she assured him, hoping he would agree.

The Sultan chuckled humorlessly. “Yes, if anything, it will show them that there is still plenty of room for economic growth. But, if you’d like to talk about visiting those areas, you should probably talk to my son who is supervising the tour.”

And there it was, she thought. There was the avoidance she had expected. He was passing it off blatantly. It was no surprise. In his grand palace, poverty wasn’t a problem.

“Ah, here he comes now,” the Sultan announced.

Rebecca stepped to the side as one of the gentlemen who’d been talking with the tour group walked up beside her.

“Rebecca Reid, I’d like to introduce you to my middle son, Sheikh Zaid Al-Qasimi. He will be supervising the tour. Zaid, this is Rebecca Reid, American envoy to the diplomatic tour party you are supervising,” the Sultan said.

It was him. She hadn’t been listening when the two men introduced themselves earlier and while she shouldn’t have been shocked to see him, she hadn’t anticipated their meeting to occur so quickly. She stared up into his dark Arabian eyes and that warm, inviting smile that had won her over before. His dark, reddish skin and distinctly Middle Eastern features were more gorgeous in person than she remembered. She felt herself getting lost in his eyes. Again.

The Sheikh held out his hand. She took it, and a surge of electric attraction shot through her body. Her knees were weak. She felt like she would collapse against his golden gown. She imagined him wrapping those strong Arabian arms around her and holding her against the rock hard muscles of his chest and stomach until she regained her balance and wits. He hadn’t changed much in the ensuing years and clearly, her attraction to him hadn’t lessened.

“She has some questions about the itinerary,” the Sultan added, bringing her back from Zaid’s eyes.

“Yes,” she stammered, “I was wondering if we would be going to Rajak and Timina.” Even though their affair had been short-lived, Zaid knew of her work in global poverty intervention. Even though they had lost touch, she hoped he would understand her reasons immediately and the importance of those impoverished areas to the tour’s mission. Her life’s work was representing the people in areas like Rajak in the hopes of preventing crime and violence.

“The itinerary is full,” Zaid explained, his tone indicating that he’d prefer not to continue this discussion.

“Well, is there any way we could swap out some of the stops at tourist attractions for a visit to those two sections of Sharjah?” she asked. Given that was a trip to lure investors, a tour of the local Souqs seemed unnecessary, as did spending a full day at the Sharjah Desert Park and Reserve.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but the itinerary is set, and it would take too long to make any changes. By the time everything was approved, we would end up missing the chance to do either option. The itinerary stands as is.”

“So, is that it?” she asked him. “Are you going to pass it off like that and pretend you can’t control what happens on the tour?” She felt like he was trying to avoid taking responsibility.

“Father, Khalid, please excuse us.”

Grabbing her arm gently, he stepped away from the Sultan with her in tow.

“Are we still talking about the tour?” he asked, as they walked.

“Of course. What else could we be talking about?” she snapped.

“You tell me. We haven’t seen each other in years. Suddenly, you are here and rather than following diplomatic protocol, you interrogate my father, instead of speaking to me first. Is there any reason why you wouldn’t want to speak to me first?”

Rebecca opened and closed her mouth a couple times trying to figure out how best to answer; especially since he did deserve an answer even if she wasn’t prepared to share it. Who was she fooling? She should never have come here. There was no way she was going to be able to do her job knowing how she felt about him.

“So, how did you wind up here?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts. “And are you going to cause problems for me the whole time you’re here?”

She wanted to laugh, but his hushed tone sounded genuinely embarrassed. “Sadly, yes, I’m probably going to bust your chops the whole time,” she teased. “But to answer your first question, I ended up taking this job because the person originally signed up for it backed out.” She didn’t mention that she suspected one of her friends at the Embassy in the United Arab Emirates, who was aware of their affair, pulled some strings to get her in Sharjah with Zaid, in anticipation that she would see him again.

“We’ve had other diplomatic envoys visit us from the US, why now?” Zaid asked.