The Sheikh’s American Fiancée: Desert Sheikhs Book Three Page 11
Feraz, the oldest Nazrani son, had taken over as figurehead, but he had problems of his own to deal with. A difficult marriage, most notably. When things were good between Feraz and his much-absent wife, Raheem’s eldest brother spent much of his time traipsing after the woman, alternately trying to hunt her down and make her happy. When things were bad, Feraz became sullen and moody, which made for interesting—if ineffective—meetings about the running of their government. Neither situation created a sense of stability for Djeva or gave the impression of effective leadership.
Rehaj, the second oldest brother, had therefore taken it upon himself to shore up his brother’s deficits, when needed. Determined, smart, analytical, at twenty-nine—just one year older than Raheem—he’d already decided to marry for political purposes, when the time came. He’d explained in a cold, clinical tone that his marital union to an advantageous, powerful ally would be the best way to advance Djeva’s interests.
A shudder passed through Raheem each time he remembered that conversation. Granted, Raheem was no fan of love. All the Nazrani siblings had seen firsthand the destructive toll such strong emotions took on their poor mother over the years. In fact, that was why Raheem had arranged for this week-long, luxury excursion into the desert. To give them all—and their mother, most especially—a much-needed respite from all the chaos since their father had died.
Unfortunately, with Jess being her usual bossy self, and the rest of his siblings running amok over each other’s privacy and now with Raheem’s beloved wildlife preserve in danger of not receiving enough votes to get the funding it needed from the tribal council, the trip had been less than stellar for him.
“I’m not competitive,” he said, giving his sister a disgusted look. “I just like things to turn out for the best.”
“And your way is the best, is it?” Jess said, grinning.
“Always.” Raheem chuckled. The camp really was lovely. Three huge white tents accented in black housed the family and the staff they’d brought along on this journey. Two small tents near the back of the encampment housed the kitchen facilities and storage and a bit further out still was the lavatory tent and one housing showers and bath facilities.
In the center of the main tent complex was the communal area where he and Jess sat in their chaise lounges. Thick Persian rugs had been strewn across the sand along with silk-covered pillows in an array of jewel tones. Small fire pits dotted the large space along with torches placed strategically to provide light and keep the flying insects at bay. The chairs themselves, made of wood with thick white cushions atop them, were clustered near the corners of the communal area to give small private areas where one could talk or read or just sit alone and stare at the vast sprinkling of stars above. At the center of it all, surrounding a much larger fire pit was the dining area. Tables and benches circled the fire pit and allowed everyone to share meals together. All in all, there were approximately forty people on this expedition, what with the family, their assistants and staff, plus the camp company’s employees and the security team.
Speaking of security, a man was heading straight for Raheem and his sister now, a red-and-white checked bandana tied around his head and a menacing-looking assault rifle slung over one shoulder. The guard bowed slightly as he stopped at the end of their chairs, his gaze darting to Jess before landing on Raheem. “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ve apprehended a woman wandering near the edge of the camp.”
Raheem sat up, frowning. That was troubling on a number of levels. First, another reason he’d wanted to take the family on this trip was to get away from the media circus their life had become since their father’s death. It seemed every tabloid reporter on earth had descended on Djeva to speculate on the marriage of the new ruler of the country and the bachelor status of the two younger Nazrani sons. And yes, maybe Raheem had cultivated something of a playboy reputation in the past. It was all in good fun, nothing serious, no one got hurt. He only dated women who knew the score, women who were as determined as he was to further their interests in life and weren’t afraid to do what was necessary to achieve their goals.
Raheem narrowed his gaze on the new arrival. “Who is she? And what the hell is she doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“We tried to ask her that, sir, but she refuses to answer.” The guard glanced at Jess again. “She said she wants to talk to the person in charge.”
“Get Feraz to deal with it then.” Raheem settled back on his chair again. “He’s the leader.”
The guard cleared his throat. “Um, I tried, sir. But Feraz is occupied with other matters at the moment.”
From the man’s obvious discomfort and the slight hint of disapproval in his tone, that meant Raheem’s oldest brother must be dealing with his recalcitrant wife. She’d made some excuse for not accompanying the family on this trip and Raheem would now lay bets that she’d run off to some distant shopping mecca again. He exhaled slowly and summoned his patience. “What about Rehaj? He’s usually gung-ho to take charge of business.”
“He’s busy on a conference call to Berlin, sir. He’s the one who told me to get you.” The guard at least had the decency to look sorry for disturbing Raheem’s first bit of relaxation since they’d arrived. Trying to please his family while corralling them all here for five days without incident was a full-time occupation. “I’m sorry, sir. But the woman is causing quite a ruckus at our security station. She’s American, sir.”
Jess snorted at that and Raheem gritted his teeth. He had no issue with Americans, per se, and gladly welcomed their tourist dollars in his country. But they did have a tendency to become demanding, expecting the rest of the world to adhere to their own freewheeling liberties without regard for each country’s own laws and traditions. The last thing Raheem wanted to deal with tonight was some opinionated stranger.
“Excuse me,” Raheem said, pushing to his feet. Jessenia was still grinning at him, he noticed. Figured. If anyone could relate to a strong female, it would be Jess and his sisters. They made Gloria Steinem look like Barbie.
He didn’t miss his elder sister’s bark of laughter as he walked away or her shout of “good luck” as he followed the guard out of the camp itself and through a valley in the nearby dunes to the security station on the other side. He’d get back at his brothers for foisting this task off on him, once he had a chance to figure out the best revenge.
They walked into a smaller white tent, similar to the ones in the main camp, and Raheem’s ears were immediately assaulted by the loud tone of a woman reading the riot act to a guard who stood a foot and a half taller than her and outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. Even so, the guard looked unnerved as the petite woman poked her finger at him, her red hair sticking out from the messy bun at the nape of her neck. She was faced away from the entrance, and so had no idea of Raheem’s arrival.
The guard accompanying him cleared his throat again and the woman swiveled around to face them. For the first time in his life, Raheem seriously reconsidered his choices. She was quite possibly the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen—all flushed, smooth, pale skin and big green eyes. Her pink lips were parted and her breathing fast due to her upset at the security guard. Raheem had the insane urge to kiss her right then and there to see if that mouth was truly as soft as it looked.
“Who the hell are you?” the woman demanded, her gaze glittering with annoyance.
Raheem bowed slightly, never taking his eyes off her. He was…enchanted. “Sheik Raheem bin Haik al Nazrani, at your service.”
Her eyes flared at the title and the color in her cheeks deepened. He wondered if she colored so beautifully in other circumstances as well. Despite his earlier irritation, Raheem felt his body responding to this bewitching stranger. And that was completely unacceptable. He was here to relax, recharge, renew his creative energies to achieve his goals and finance his dream project. He was not here to get laid.
He shook off the strange curiosity urging him to touch her, taste her, tempt
her as she was tempting him, and instead spoke to the woman in the same tone she’d used with him, thinking that might break her spell. “And who the hell are you?”
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