Ann Lethbridge - Mills & Boon New Voices - Foreword by Katie Fforde

First came numbness. Then shock. Then anger. Then resignation.

When Zafir decided to get rid of her, he certainly did it in style. A helicopter waited on the pad at the palace. Genie took one last look behind her before she climbed in, her heart aching. Did she really think he would suddenly appear and ask her to stay?

She shook her head, wondering how a few days with him had so thoroughly undermined the foundations of her life. She was a respected archaeologist and researcher, and the sooner she got back to that life, the better.

As the craft lifted off, she kept her eyes on the glittering domes of the palace. It was like something out of a fairytale—from a thousand and one Arabian nights. Unlike Scheherazade, however, she’d failed to please her king for more than a few nights.

She still couldn’t believe that he’d dismissed her from his life so easily. That everything that had happened between them meant nothing. Or maybe she’d let it mean more than it should.

But he’d touched her so tenderly, made love to her so fiercely. Claimed to want her desperately.

Had it all been a lie?

She watched the cloudless sky slide by and wished she’d never come to the desert.

Another lesson learned, Genie.

She supposed she should be thankful he’d ended it now, before she’d made a fool of herself and babbled her love. Before she’d mentally set up house with him and let her career fall by the wayside.

Her mother had been right, in her own way. A man would take your love and then set you adrift to pick up the pieces of your shattered life when he was finished with you.

She should be grateful the only pieces she had to pick up were the pieces of her heart.

When she reached the camp, she threw herself into work. Her colleagues were glad to see her, and they’d done much to repair the damage the last few days had wrought. The dig was well under control when Genie finally decided she’d had enough.

Al-Shahar was two hours away by car, and she couldn’t stop looking for Zafir. She kept thinking he would arrive in a convoy of black vehicles, that he would climb out of a stretch Hummer, looking magnificent and exotic in his desert robes, and that he would tell her he’d made a mistake. That he wanted her to come back and be with him—that he loved her.

Any lingering hope she’d harbored that she might see him once more if she were with child was dashed early one morning when she got her period as usual. That was the final matter that settled it for her. She made the call to his private line, left a message—had she really expected Zafir to pick up?—and told her team she was flying home to begin preparations for their next dig.

It would be some weeks before they were ready to fly to Al-Shahar and begin work on the temples. But on the long flight across the Atlantic Genie came to another decision.

She would not be returning to Bah’shar.

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