The Desert Kings: Duty, Desire and the Desert King / The Desert King's Bejewelled Bride / The Desert King. Jane Porter
protested. She was supposed to be limiting her contact with him, putting space between them instead of close proximity, but after news like this, there was no way she’d deny her help now.
Ninety minutes after the call they were airborne in Zayed’s personal jet.
It crossed Rou’s mind as the jet cut through the sky in a steep ascent that flying was not safe. Being alone with Zayed Fehr wasn’t safe. And accompanying him to his desert kingdom definitely could be the most dangerous thing of all.
But then life wasn’t safe.
And just like that, Sharif’s voice was in her head. Your thoughts become your future.
Yes. He was right, of course. Right as always. He’d been the first one to make her understand that emotions weren’t always right, or accurate. He’d explained to her that the most recent psychology findings revealed a clear connection between thoughts and feelings. Between thoughts and emotions.
If you thought happy thoughts, you felt happier.
If you thought the world was good, you’d see the world as good.
It was such a revelation for a girl who’d known too many years of unhappiness.
Her life, her happiness, didn’t hinge on others. She could choose to be happy even if the world was in the midst of misery.
She looked away from the window and discovered Zayed watching her, his amazing features still perfect and yet his eyes were dark. Tortured.
“Have you really never been in love?” she blurted, surprising herself with the question.
He took a long time to answer, which was unlike him as he always had a ready response. “No,” he finally said, “but I’m not without feeling. I have deep ties to my family, particularly my older brother.”
She could see his bio sheet in her mind, and the facts describing his family. Father—deceased. Mother—still living. Older brother—40, married, father of four. Younger brother—33, married, wife expecting. Younger sisters—deceased.
Much of his family was a mystery, but she did know about his sisters. It was why Sharif founded the scholarship at Cambridge. He’d started the scholarship in their memory. “Your sisters,” she said to Zayed now, “were you close to them?”
“Very.”
She waited for him to say more but he didn’t. “They died together, didn’t they?” she asked, hoping he’d elaborate.
“Car accident in Greece. They were young, early twenties.” His voice betrayed no emotion, but she saw the small muscle tighten in his jaw and his right hand curled into a fist, fingers clenching air.
“Their deaths were hard for the family?” she persisted.
He shot her a hard look. “How is this relevant?”
“It’s part of you, part of your family….”
“I’m not looking for a love match, Dr. Tornell. I’m looking for a wife. She doesn’t have to understand my every dark secret. She’ll never be my soul mate.”
Rou’s gaze lifted from his fist to his face. His handsome features were utterly expressionless and yet those tightly bunched fingers gave him away. “You don’t want a soul mate?”
“No. I just want a practical relationship. One that works.”
She looked at him levelly. “Not many women will find your idea of marriage palatable.”
“I’m sure there are practical women out there.”
She arched her eyebrows but said nothing more as she scribbled in the margins of his notes that yes, his sisters’ deaths had profoundly impacted him. He feared love because he feared loss.
“Did you ever want to be king?” she asked, wondering what it’d be like to lose three of your four siblings. She’d been an only child, couldn’t imagine having a brother or sister to love, although she’d wanted one desperately. It was what she’d asked Santa Claus to bring her for years until her mother finally told her that Santa wasn’t real. He was just a fat old man in a red cloth suit.
“No. It wasn’t part of my ambition or my life plan.” He hesitated. “But things change, and the situation is what it is now, and I cannot let my brother down. I must be there for him so that when he returns …” He didn’t finish the thought.
“Do you think he will be found alive?”
“Yes.”
Rou felt a wave of sympathy for him. He had to be aware that after ten days Sharif might not be found, or if he was, he might not be alive. “What if he’s not?”
“Sharif isn’t dead.”
She nodded once, realizing that she and Zayed had at least this in common: both refused to believe that Sharif was dead. They wouldn’t, not without firm proof, not without a body.
She shivered inwardly at the thought, and quickly changed the direction of her thoughts. “Would you like to work? Or do you need some time?”
“No, let’s work. I need to work.”
She nodded again and reached for her briefcase, which she’d slid beneath her leather seat. Work had always been her salvation. Work would help both of them now.
The flight attendant arrived and unhooked the table attached to the wall, setting it up between Zayed and Rou’s club chairs, and offered to serve them lunch.
Zayed looked at her. “We have a fully stocked kitchen with a chef on board.”
“Just tea,” she answered. “I don’t think I could eat a bite right now.”
“I feel the same way,” he answered. “One tea, one coffee,” he instructed the flight attendant and she disappeared to prepare their beverages.
Rou had found the paperwork she wanted, and with pen in hand she looked at Zayed. He was tall and powerfully built and blessed with almost godlike beauty, and yet there was pain in his eyes, in the press of his beautiful, sensual mouth, and she drew a deep breath.
She was not immune to him. But then, she’d never been immune to him, which was incredibly foolish as he was handsome and wealthy and oozed sensuality, while she was at best a smart little church mouse.
Rou knew her strengths and her weaknesses, and while she was brainy, she was far from beautiful. Perhaps if she’d been blessed with more curves she might have felt more sexually confident, but she’d inherited her mother’s extreme slimness, which meant she was rather narrow hipped and disappointingly small on top.
No, men like Zayed Fehr never noticed women like her. They wanted sirens—voluptuous beauties with thick glossy hair, full lips and come-hither eyes.
Rou wouldn’t know a come-hither expression if it smacked her in the face.
But on the positive side, it was good that Zayed was oblivious to her as a woman. She couldn’t have handled his attention otherwise. As it was, he wreaked havoc on her emotions and her control, making her jumpy and nervous. Making her heart skitter and race and her hands shake.
They were shaking now and she tried to hide her anxiety by shuffling the paperwork until she found the page she needed. “We’re to the part where I ask you to describe your ideal woman,” she said coolly, gratified by the firm tone of her voice. “Can you give me five adjectives that would describe her?”
He thought for a moment. “Intelligent. Accomplished. Successful.” He thought another moment. “Confident, loyal. And preferably beautiful.” He hesitated. “But that’s six, isn’t it?”
“It’s okay. Six is good, too.” Of course he’d ask for beauty. All men did. And Zayed Fehr was famous for squiring the world’s most beautiful women about town. “So a model, maybe?”
“No. Definitely