The Sheikh's Captive American (Zahkim Sheikhs 1)

"I will speak to her."

Tess pulled on her jeans and came over to him. Her eyes darkened almost to the color of moss as her gaze searched his face. "But you don't believe. Not in prophecies. Not hunches. Not us. I get it. And it's time for me to go. "

Her forced smile made his heart twist.

I should not be wishing that Grandmother's schemes had worked to keep her here. But I can't bear the thought of her leaving.

Except she would. Tomorrow. And he had a country still in crisis.

Chapter Fourteen

Tarek massaged his temples. He had spent days staring at accounting sheets and more days in meetings with his ministers. Nasim kept telling him he was working too hard, but all his ministers kept bringing in the reports. The workers were happy and had gone back to work, but now the wealthy were throwing a fit about the new taxes.

A soft knock sounded on his door. He leaned back in his chair, and Farid poked his head in, offered an apologetic glance, and announced the Sheikha Amal.

His grandmother walked in with her head up, her eyes sparking and her robes snapping around her ankles.

"Tarek, you have been moping like a child for the past month. It is your fault she left."

Tarek picked up a sheaf of spreadsheet papers. "I have work. There is infrastructure to update, ministers to deal with, and—"

"And all this would be easier with a queen by your side. You must fix what you have broken."

"That is what I am doing."

She shook her head. "A king needs a queen, my grandson. She made you a better man while she was here. She can give you a heart as well as a mind.” She slapped a flash drive down on his desk. "Losing your parents changed you. Now it’s time to change again."

"I—"

She held up her hand. "Listen to the wisdom of your elders. In your heartache for your mother and father, you learned to cling to tangibles, to push aside hopes, dreams, anything you could not use your head or hands to deconstruct. You have a voice inside you which you have long ignored. But—good or bad—that voice is often divine guidance for us.” A wave of her hand cut off his protest. “Call it the voice of your subconscious, your heart, if you don’t like to think about God’s influence. It is restraint and empathy—it is not calling in the military to solve everything, as you do now. Your heavy hand will cost you the throne. It’s time to listen." She jabbed a finger at the drive, lifted her chin and swept from the room.

Tarek fingered the drive. What was on it? Some sermon or a mystic speaking more prophecies, probably. He started to toss it into the trash and stopped. He would listen to her wisdom, whatever it was. He owed her that much. But then he had disasters to resolve.

Plugging the drive into his computer, he saw it held a single video file. He clicked on it. A moment later, Tess appeared, a guitar in her lap and a spotlight on her. She seemed to be on a stage, but a very small one—either that, or the rest of the stage had been blacked out. Her simple black dress shimmered in the spotlight. Tarek almost yanked the drive out, but he couldn’t. He was too hungry for even this small glimpse of her.

She bent over the guitar and began to pick out a song—something filled with longing, touched by only a fragment of hope. She started to sing.

I've been an angel in the sky, a devil on the ground.

Love's got no rules, it's got no rhyme,

just sweet memories I'll keep until the end of time.

Some say the world's all logic, some say it's all a crime.

All I know is I'd rather love and lose than lose this feelin'.

'Cause I've had my hands on diamonds…

desert diamonds, desert diamonds from the sky,

and now my hopes are back to climbin',

and someday again I'll fly.

Drums, a flute, and then the stringed oud joined her guitar. The song swelled, but Tarek was no longer hearing the words.

He heard the love in her voice, the bittersweet need, the ache. It broke him as nothing ever had.