The Sheikh’s American Fiancée: Desert Sheikhs Book Three Page 6

  Which meant that right now, she was gobbling up adventures before the door slammed shut on her.

  “There’s our plane.” Dakaric led her through the quiet building out toward the tarmac. He pointed toward a small, sleek jet. “Tirsa’s already on board.”

  Christina fought a groan. “Does she always come with you to Kattahar?”

  “Not always. But she’s sort of my personal assistant.”

  Christina followed Dakaric, the loud whirr of the jet engine suspending their conversation until further notice. They hurried over the tarmac, Dakaric ushering her up the staircase and onto the private jet.

  Inside, everything whooshed with silence. Tirsa sat, smile strained, in a leather chair by a window.

  “Christina.” It was like she said it through gritted teeth. “I didn’t realize you’d be joining.”

  The way she said it made Christina’s stomach churn. She eased into the seat farthest from Tirsa, watching as Tirsa’s gaze soldered onto Dakaric. A plasticized smile covered her perfectly symmetrical face.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt your morning,” Tirsa went on. “But Dakaric is a very important man with very important duties.”

  Her tone dripped with condescension, as if she were explaining to a little girl why she couldn’t have candy before bedtime.

  Christina sighed, turning to Dakaric. “Can we bring up the Zatar thing?”

  Dakaric’s face went stony as he turned to Tirsa. “Yes. Tirsa, can you explain why you advised Christina to kiss Zatar’s feet?”

  Tirsa’s face fell, that plastic smile popping right off. “I never advised her to do that.”

  “Yes you did,” Christina shot back. “Which is why I did it.”

  “I think you misunderstood me then. Don’t you remember all the historical background I gave you?” Tirsa waved it off, her disinterested gaze moving to the airplane window. The plane was taxiing, the engines preparing for takeoff. “You must have taken what we used to do as current practice.”

  Dakaric seemed partially allayed, which annoyed Christina. “Well, there you have it.”

  Christina tamped down the rest of her frustration. It was better to drop it; she’d said her piece. Now she knew to avoid any and all advice from Tirsa in the future.

  Besides, what future was there? She had another week before she had to leave. Getting upset about misguidance didn’t serve her agenda or Dakaric’s. She needed to focus on that. Christina buckled her seatbelt when Dakaric urged her to and stared out the window as the plane took off.

  This trip to Al Qalb was just an adventure. One that would be over in the blink of an eye. She didn’t want to waste this precious time hung up on Tirsa.

  The plane ride was quick and uneventful. Christina and Dakaric chatted most of the ride, while Tirsa buried herself in papers. The jet touched down at an airport similar to the one they’d left in Kattahar. Even though the two countries were close and almost geographically the same, Al Qalb had a different scent in the air. Maybe it was just her imagination, cooking up a foreign twinge where there was none. But excitement thrilled through her regardless.

  Now that they were in Al Qalb, Dakaric’s security team joined him, two gruff and silent men who followed in a different SUV, part bodyguards and part back-up. The equivalent of Al Qalb’s Secret Service, she supposed. Dakaric and Tirsa were intermittently on the phone during the short car ride to the palace. When they pulled up, Christina was surprised. It was set back from the road, the property surrounded with wrought iron fencing. But the palace itself looked neglected, as though it had been built and then never looked after again. Dakaric ushered her along the stone path leading up to the entrance hall while the bodyguards kept watch by the fence.

  Inside, the palace was quiet and dark. It was a total one-eighty from the inn, which practically wrapped visitors in a warm embrace as soon as they set foot inside. If anything, this place was built with an inherent prolonged sigh.

  “This is…different,” she said as Dakaric led her into a bedroom in the far wing. He rummaged through a wardrobe, grabbing long pants and work boots.

  “What is?” He barely looked at her as he rushed into a closet, emerging with a dust mask.

  “The palace.” She gestured around. This was apparently his bedroom, but it looked nothing like the warm, welcoming nook that he inhabited at the inn. “It doesn’t seem like it’s yours.”

  He grimaced, jerking his chin toward the door, urging her along. “I know. I haven’t renovated this place, and I doubt I will. Not when there’s so much work to do elsewhere in the kingdom.”

  As they walked back through the palace, Dakaric looked around, seemingly lost in thought. “I don’t stay here much. Whenever I’m in Al Qalb, I’m in one of the villages. We’re about to see one now.” He cocked a grin, looking her up and down. “And though you look great as you are, when we get to the village you’ll have to wear a shawl. Just to cover your shoulders.”

  Back in the SUV, Tirsa still looked bored as Christina and Dakaric slid into the backseat.

  “How far to the next village?” Christina watched out the window as the car wound away from the palace and down crowded side streets. Things looked mostly the same as Kattahar, just slightly less populated and somehow dingier. Like maybe the whole country was suffering from neglect.

  “About an hour,” Dakaric said, scooping her hand up in his. He brought it to his lips, which sent warmth spiraling through her. She wasn’t supposed to enjoy this so much. It seemed somehow wrong to truly relish the attention of a fake fiancé. But this was part of enjoying the adventure. Because back home, there would be no fiancé, fake or otherwise.

  Christina settled in for the trip. The farther they got away from the capital of Al Qalb, the more the roads deteriorated. In some areas, the road was nothing more than a jagged, uneven strip of cement and packed dirt. The wind gusted hard against the car the deeper they drove into the unforgiving Arabian desert. The sky darkened.

  “The storm is over,” Dakaric said. He must have caught the frown forming on her face. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if there was still danger.”

  “How bad are sand storms? I didn’t know they could wreak so much havoc.”

  “They’re lethal at times. But more frequently, only a nuisance.” The car lurched suddenly from a gust of wind. Christina grabbed for the arm rest. Dakaric leaned into her, squeezing her hand.

  “I promise you’re safe with me.”

  She looked up and found his gaze waiting for hers. It was so easy to get lost in those umber eyes. So easy to fall and perhaps never return. It was Tirsa’s hollow voice that kept her from disappearing fully.

  “We’re here.”

  The car slowed to a stop at a crumbling stone wall. It looked like a relic of the Roman Empire, part perimeter wall, part formal gated entrance. Beyond the wall, a small village sprawled. Adobe buildings spread far and wide, dotting a small hill. Some had crumbled and exposed the contents: a mother cooking a meal, children fighting on top of a bed, a grandfather sorting dates. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and then Dakaric led her into the village, making a beeline for a large building faced with gypsum. A large bay window on the second floor faced the western edge of the desert. Slowly, realization seeped over her.

  “This is an inn? Your inn?” She hurried behind him as he pulled open the door. Sand coated the tiles inside. The air was stuffy and hot.

  He swore under his breath as he tried a light switch and nothing happened. “Yes. I’ve been working on restoring this for the past month.” He jerked his head toward the village outside. “Let’s go take stock of what’s damaged.”

  They reentered the arid midafternoon day. Villagers had begun to gather around the car and the bodyguards. Several villagers in long robes approached Dakaric. Arabic punctuated the air as people gestured and tugged at his sleeves. She listened to his curt, swift responses, feeling somehow reassured even though she had no idea what he was saying.

  Tirsa approached
her side as the villagers tugged him away. Dakaric turned, gesturing for them to follow.

  “It’s a shame,” Tirsa said as they started walking. Christina shielded her eyes to look at Tirsa.

  “The sandstorm?” Christina looked around, unable to tell what damage was wrought by the storm and what had simply always been this way in a forgotten, crumbling village. “It seems like the people are pretty upset.”

  “Yes. But what I mean is, Dakaric.” Tirsa clutched a legal pad to her chest as they walked, something mournful in her face. “He’s so invested in restoring this inn that sometimes he forgets about his people. And it’s his people who need him right now.”

  “Isn’t he helping them now?” Christina cocked a brow, genuinely confused by Tirsa’s approaching her in the first place, let alone her words. The sudden benevolence felt like a red flag. Her skin prickled with anxiety waiting for Tirsa’s response.

  “Yes, but he’s sinking all of his time and attention into this place, when the rest of the country needs him too.”

  Dakaric and the villagers led the way through winding, trodden paths to inspect damage. Tirsa’s words echoed inside her. It didn’t seem like she had an angle; maybe she was getting over the fact that Dakaric was taken. Inspecting the damage amounted to a basic tour; she saw colorful rugs hanging out to air, a mosque with a beautiful golden domed top, a family tending a lamb roasting on a spit.

  By the time they made it back to the city center, a block from his inn, his face was creased with dust. He dragged a forearm across his face.

  “The damage isn’t as bad as I expected,” he said, resting his hands on his hips. “But there’s work to do.” He jerked his head, and she followed him back to his inn while questions percolated.

  Maybe Tirsa was right. He really was focusing on his own place of business first. Leaving the residents in the lurch.

  “Shouldn’t we go help the villagers first?” She slowed, causing Dakaric to turn around, confusion etched into his face.

  “What do you mean?”

  She looked around, finding Tirsa far enough behind as to not overhear her. “I mean, all these people suffered massive damage to their homes. You don’t need this inn. They need their houses.”

  He took a slow step toward her, eyes narrowing. “Are you questioning my priorities?”

  She swallowed, suddenly feeling out of her element. Why had she said anything? It just didn’t seem right to focus on his inn when people were suffering. And if the entire country was like this—then maybe Dakaric wasn’t nearly as great as she thought.

  “Well, what’s more important? An empty inn, or your people?”

  King or not, it seemed basic to her. And maybe the whole irritation underlining this was that she wasn’t sure she could be with someone who valued tourism over people themselves.

  Be with someone?

  More and more, Dakaric at her side was starting to feel good. Normal, even. The lines between ruse and reality were getting blurry.

  10

  Dakaric tilted his head as he tried to understand what Christina was getting at. She didn’t understand—and he needed to correct that.

  “Let me be clear.” He grabbed her hand, bringing it up to his lips as he resumed a slow walk toward the inn. “My inn does not come before the country. The inn is inherently linked to the country. Do you see?”

  She shook her head, so he went on.

  “I’m trying to make life better throughout all of the kingdom. My budget is incredibly tight, though. I can only do so much with so few dinars.” He sighed, pushing open the door to the inn. He propped it open with a stone to let some air flow inside. “The only way to get money circulating freely throughout the kingdom is to open it back up to outside money, including investors and tourists But you can’t do everything at once—you must start somewhere. And for me, starting somewhere means getting viable inns located throughout the country so that tourists have someplace to stay while they tour the country.”

  Christina nibbled on her bottom lip, looking over her shoulder at the village. “But you’re going to help them, right?”

  He held his hands out to his side. “That, my dear, is why we’re here. It’s not just for the inn. It’s for everyone.”

  She nodded, and whatever dark cloud seemed to pass. “I want to help. I’ve honestly never been someplace like this before, and if I can be of use while I’m here, then I want to do everything I can.” She crossed her arms over her chest, as though affirming her will. “Seriously.”

  A slow grin spread over his face. He hadn’t known her for long, but her morals and work ethic were becoming very plain to him. And he admired her dedication to humanity. Whether it was her family—the whole reason she’d come to the Middle East in the first place—or the temporarily stricken villagers of his home country…her heart was enormous.

  He reached out for her, snagging her at the waist. He’d done it before he’d thought better of it, but all he saw in those crystalline eyes was desire. Permission to move forward.

  “I hope you’ll stay with me as long as you can,” he whispered into her ear, his other hand dancing up the length of her arm. The heat of her against him made his vision spotty. Their kiss the night before had left him with a hard-on and a raging libido. He wanted it to go further, much further, than that. But the rules of this game they played were getting fuzzy. It was hard to know the right next step.

  She pressed her face into his chest and took a deep inhale. Her arms squeezed around him, like maybe she didn’t want to let go. “Of course. I need to repay you for putting me in contact with Zatar.”

  “His men are working to track down Sabra,” Dakaric said, drawing lazy maps over the small of her back. The thin cotton of her T-shirt was a tease. His palms itched with the desire to strip her down to nothing, see what lurked beneath these clothes. He tugged at her shawl, loosening it so that it fell down around her arms. “We’ll know as soon as he hears anything. So that means…extended vacation in Al Qalb.”

  She laughed into his chest, then tilted her head back to look at him. The laugh lines around her eyes were a sight he wished he could see forevermore. Could he ever tire of this face? Part of him wished that she had come along under different circumstances. As part of an alternate reality where she didn’t have to fly back home urgently, in a world where this kernel of romance and attraction between them could blossom and flourish as he was positive it would, given the right kind of nurturing and enough time.

  Because this wasn’t part of the ruse anymore. There were no eyes on them.

  “Is that how you want me to repay you?” She laughed.

  He nodded, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her lips, tracing that sweet, plump outline. Her lips parted further, welcoming the tip of his thumb into her mouth.

  A grunt escaped him. The heat of her mouth around his finger made him suddenly desperate to feel that heat elsewhere. This chemistry was all real. He backed her up against the wall.

  “I have a whole list of ways I want you to repay me,” he whispered into her ear, rocking against her so she could feel the proof between his legs. Her breath caught, and she bit the tip of his thumb gently before responding.

  “Then we should get started,” she said.

  “Mmm.” He trailed his lips down the side of her neck, relishing the way the salt of her sweat and the lightness of her perfume mingled there. He swirled his tongue over the skin just below her ear and then sank his teeth in. “I should warn you. If we get started, I might never stop.”

  Her eyes fluttered shut, her head falling back against the wall. “God, that’s hot.”

  He smiled devilishly, rocking against her once more. She gasped, hiking a leg up, hooking it behind him. He smoothed his palm up the side of her leg, the rest of his restraint fuzzing away, disappearing beneath the hot pulse of desire. He’d have her right here, right now. The rest of the day could wait.

  “Dakaric.” Another voice made him jolt. In the doorway, Tirsa poked her head in. One ey
ebrow arched upward. Frustration crashed through him.

  “They’re looking for you,” she said in Arabic, then disappeared outside.

  Both of them were silent as the disappointment washed over the room. A sigh escaped him when Christina loosened herself from his grip, slinging the shawl back around her shoulders. “Is it time to get to work?”

  He nodded, rubbing at his face as if the friction might help erase the horniness. Or the hard-on. Every bit of his being wanted to stay in the captivating embrace of Christina. But duty called.

  “Let’s get to work.” He dipped down for a sweet but quick kiss. “Your extended vacation awaits.”

  * * *

  Christina hadn’t known quite what to expect when she bought her tickets to Kattahar. But whatever she’d expected, she’d never in her wildest dreams imagined this.

  Three full days of relief efforts in the tiny village, now with help from the Al Qalbian National Guard, and they’d only just now restored electricity. The gruff shouts of excitement as the town center lit up just after dusk was a sound she might not ever forget. Raw relief. Real gratitude.

  Dakaric was the first to rise and the last to sleep every day, too. As she watched him work alongside the guardsmen, she realized what a mistake it had been to doubt him. Villagers came to him for advice, and he fielded all their inquiries and questions with firmness, reassurance. She didn’t have to speak Arabic to see the way he inspired people, the way they looked up to him.

  The only thing missing from this unexpected desert village getaway was sex.

  And after three days of hard labor, heat, and lots of rippling muscles, she was more than ready to consummate this fake relationship.

  Christina reclined on a chaise longue in the upper room of the inn, where a great cross breeze came through. She fanned herself as she checked her phone. It was almost one o’clock, so no more work until at least three. Everyone laboring at the recovery took breaks during the hottest part of the day.