The Sheikh's Captive American (Zahkim Sheikhs 1)

Tess laughed. "Someday you'll have to release him from his promise. That's too good a story for him not to be able to tell his grandchildren."

"Perhaps I will. He's the labor representative you met with the other day. The one with the terrible suit."

The bodyguard held open the front doors of the museum, and the heat hit Tess like a wall. She shaded her eyes with one hand as they descended the steps to the waiting SUV, illegally parked. Boy, was it good to be sheikh. In the cool and plush car, Tess found it hard not to reach for Tarek's hand, as she would have with any other man in a similar situation.

Dammit, they had a connection, one Tarek seemed very good at ignoring. Was he really all about the mind? Didn't he have feelings?

The SUV headed past the main park—it seemed this was the road to the palace. This time Tess caught the beat of drums. She liked the rhythm and pushed the button to lower her window. A stringed instrument and a flute played the melody. The mix was like angry silk, smooth and forceful. When a voice jumped in, she grinned. This was awesome.

The SUV stopped to let pedestrians cross, so Tess pushed open her door and stepped out. "I'll just be a minute. I've got to hear this."

Tarek called after her, but she didn't turn back. And then Tarek's bodyguard stepped in front of her. "His Majesty requires you to return."

She gave snort. "Yeah, in a minute." Ducking around muscles, she slipped into a cluster of women then wove her way to the concrete in front of the obelisk. Everyone fell back, and Tess glanced around. She was now flanked by Tarek and his bodyguard.

Tarek grasped her elbow. "You cannot walk through a protest."

"Sure I can. I just did. And I want to find this band. They're amazing."

The bodyguard said something in Arabic, and Tarek answered, his voice clipped and tense. Everyone was now staring, but Tess barely noticed—all part of a normal day for her, wherever she was.

The band—three drummers with different sized tablas and doumbeks, a flutist, a woman bowing a stringed instrument Tess didn't recognize, and a singer—had stopped playing and now stared at her and Tarek and the bodyguard, eyes wide.

Tess put her hands on her hips and turned to Tarek. "Why did they stop?"

"Because of me," Tarek explained. "It's illegal in Zahkim for women to perform in public for men. They can only play at private, women-only, parties or for family."

"Seriously? That's stupid. And it would sure cut my career short." Tess heard gasps and snorts of quickly suppressed laughter. She fixed a stare on Tarek. "You're not going to go all petty tyrant on me again and say the law is the law, are you? Let them play. Or go back to the car so I can hear them. This is too awesome to miss."

Tarek opened his mouth as if to say something, shut it, pressed his lips tight, and finally shook his head. Lifting his arms, he called out, “Play on!" He turned to Tess. "For you, I break the law."

Tess pulled out her cell phone. "Well, it's a law that should be broken. I have to record this. I'm going to make this band famous." Tess grinned, and she heard Tarek mutter something about never letting his urges get the better of him again.

Chapter Nine

By the time they got back to the car, Tess was literally glowing, and not just from the orgasm he had given her in the museum, Tarek thought. She had been in her element, speaking with women about their art, their hopes and desires. He’d never seen her more beautiful, despite her “petty tyrant” dig. He wasn’t certain if that was good or bad, but he was certain that he kept making the same mistake—giving in to his feelings. He was acting out of character, abandoning logic and all rationality. No, he was acting more like a love-struck youth, and that was absurd. The boy in the painting was long gone. He was a man with responsibilities and duties.

He had to admit, however, the conversations Tess had teased out from the protesters had been illuminating.

He'd heard from women who had no recourse when living with abusive husbands, even though the laws of Zahkim declared that a woman was a treasure. Others were skilled musicians who could not perform outside of their homes or were mathematicians or programmers who could not be hired for any job other than secretary, nurse, or teacher. The laws had been meant to protect women, but it was clear to him they protected no one.

"Thank you," he said to Tess as they pulled away from the park. But he was uncertain what he was thanking her for—for causing him to break his own laws? For turning him into a man who was acting too much on wild impulses?

She smiled, and he couldn't breathe for a moment from wanting her. The memory of kissing in the dark, of his fingers inside her, swamped him. He'd been called Highness, Majesty, Prince, Sheikh, Emir, or King all his life, not only by servants and subjects, but also by lovers. Never had any of them sounded as sexy as Tess's husky “my king.” This was not good. He had to find some way to get her out of his system so he could regain his usual calm, rational mind.

"I want to get that band into a studio," she said. "People will go nuts for that sound back in the States. Is there a studio I can rent? I can run the board myself if I need to, but they need some recording time."

Tarek loved seeing her so excited, and he hated to disappoint her. "The palace has a studio for recording speeches. It's outdated and small. Our musicians record live in clubs, post videos online, or go to Dubai or Cairo for professional-quality records."

She frowned. "Meaning you're losing talent. Well, it'll wait until I've gotten Phil home. I can come back."

You could stay. The words almost came out of his mouth. He'd never let his grandmother hear that he had even thought such a thing, but the idea nagged at him. What if Tess was better for the country—better for him—than he'd dreamed possible?

She drummed her fingers on the armrest, recalling the band’s rhythms. "I wish I could stay, but I really try to wrap one deal before I start the next. I have a habit of getting too many things going. Speaking of Phil, can we swing by the hospital for a visit?"

"Of course." He instructed the driver on their change of plans and then noted the sun's position, low in the western sky. Inspiration struck. He would spend the entire night with Tess. That was the problem after all—he was simply not getting enough of her. Once he had, he would be able to smile, say good-bye, and get on with his duties and his life. He glanced at her and fought down the urge to sweep her into his arms there and then.

Instead, he said, his voice kept flat, "Afterwards, I'd like to take you out to the Amin oasis. It's my favorite place to relax." He would also ensure they had privacy.