Jane Porter - The Desert Sheikh's Defiant Queen - The Sheikh's Chosen Queen / The Desert King's Pregnant Bride

He stared down at her, and she had to tilt her head back to see him.

“We’ll talk about the children during dinner,” he said blandly. “That should make you feel better.” He started to leave but paused on the stairs. “And dinner, Jesslyn, is always at seven.”

The afternoon passed far too quickly for Jesslyn. She’d discovered the library and had immediately fallen in love. The room was huge and airy, a beautiful gold dome topping high walls lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves. The library reminded Jesslyn of some people’s ballrooms, large enough to comfortably hold two couches, two wooden desks, four armchairs and a long antique table with impressively carved legs.

She found the stack of teacher’s editions right away, but before sitting down with those, she looked at the books the children were using. She was familiar with the publisher, and had taught the middle school version of the literature and language books. The material she’d be teaching was simple enough. Her concern was the quantity. There were stacks of books for each child. Math, science, social studies, literature, grammar, foreign language, and then music and art books, too.

Jesslyn carried the stack of children’s books to one of the armchairs and sitting down with notepad and pen, she looked at the number of chapters in each book, and then the number of days between now and school starting, and mapped out a plan of how much could be comfortably covered in each subject.

She was still hard at work four hours later when Mehta lightly knocked on the door. “Ready for a bath, Teacher Fine?” she asked with her dimpled smile.

Jesslyn glanced up quizzically. “A bath?”

“Before dinner.”

“Ah. Right.” Closing the science textbook she wondered how to explain to Mehta that she didn’t feel it necessary to take a bath before dinner. She’d taken a shower that morning and it was just a business dinner. “I have so much to do before tomorrow that I might just wash my face and touch up my hair for dinner.”

Mehta looked at her uncomprehendingly. “No bath?”

“I took one earlier.”

“No bath before dinner?”

Jesslyn set the book down. “I don’t take a bath before every meal, Mehta.”

“No bath.”

“No.”

Mehta’s dark brows pulled. “No dinner?”

“No, I will have dinner. I’m meeting Sheikh Fehr for dinner at seven. We are meeting to discuss business—”

“Dinner with His Highness.”

“Right.” Jesslyn smiled with relief. Finally. They were both on the same page. “Dinner,” she said. “At seven.”

Mehta held up her wrist, tapped her wrist as though there was a watch there. “Half past five. Dinner seven. Bath now.”

Jesslyn sighed heavily. She really didn’t want to argue about a bath with a young member of Sharif’s palace staff. She’d only just arrived and she was going to be here all summer. And from the sound of things she was going to need someone on her side.

“A bath sounds lovely,” she answered with forced cheer as she reluctantly moved all the books off her lap and chair so she could stand. “But I’m not finished with these,” she added. “I’ll want to read them later.”

Mehta was delighted. “Yes, Teacher Fine. Now come.”

Jesslyn hadn’t seen the bedroom before, but following Mehta down the columned hall into the bedroom, she discovered that the bedroom with its spacious antique bed was just as lovely, and even more feminine, than the sunken living room.

The antique bed reminded Jesslyn of a Russian ballet with dramatic floor-to-ceiling pink and rose silk and satin curtains that could be untied and draped around the bed to provide intimacy and seclusion. The bed, built like an oversize daybed, had neither headboard nor footboard but high sides softened with pillows to match the silk panels.

A short silver vase teeming with fragrant pink rosebuds sat on a side table, and Jesslyn bent over to breathe in the heady sweet perfume. It wasn’t easy to grow roses in the blistering heat of the desert, which made these all the more precious.

“Your bath,” Mehta said, standing in yet another doorway gesturing to a room beyond.

The bath was a Roman bath with sunken tub and endless white marble. A delicately painted dome arched over the airy room, capping high walls with high narrow windows that drew in early-morning and late-afternoon sun but didn’t sacrifice privacy.

“I will help you?” Mehta asked, gesturing to Jesslyn.

The huge sunken tub had already been filled, and steam rose from the surface. “I can manage,” Jesslyn answered, thinking the whole help thing had gone far enough. Turning, she spotted a white robe on a small iron stool, and she picked it up, held it against her. “I’ll take the bath and then put this on and then I’ll come out, okay?”

Mehta smiled. “Okay.”

Once the bathroom door was shut, Jesslyn dropped her clothes and slid into the tub’s hot water with an appreciative sigh. She hadn’t wanted to take the bath, but now that she was here, chin-deep in water scented with a tantalizing vanilla and spice oil, she couldn’t imagine not bathing.

The little bathroom in her apartment had a tiny tub, but the water never got properly hot and then turned cold halfway before the tub was even filled. Soaking in this deep tub was pure decadence. Closing her eyes, Jesslyn just floated, content, absolutely content—

“Massage now, Teacher Fine. Okay?”

Mehta’s voice suddenly pierced Jesslyn’s dream state and her eyes flew open. Mehta was leaning over the tub smiling at her. “Okay?”

Jesslyn sat up abruptly, drawing her knees to her chest. “I don’t need a massage.”

“Nice massage before dinner.”

Spotting a large woman, Jesslyn shook her head. “The bath is perfect. The bath is lovely. I’ll just get dressed.”

“Dinner with His Highness,” Mehta said.

“Yes, yes, I know, but—”

“Massage before dinner with His Highness.”

Oh, for Pete’s sake! Enough with this dinner-with-His-Highness. It was just Sharif. She’d had hundreds of meals with Sharif. It was ridiculous to go through all of this just because she’d be joining him to eat.

“No.” Jesslyn hugged her knees tighter. “I really—” she broke off as the masseuse behind Mehta scooped up the robe and came marching toward her.

Mehta and the masseuse waited expectantly.

Jesslyn looked up at them, water trickling down her chest and back. She honestly didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Coming here, she thought Sharif would be the problem, but Sharif was no problem, not compared to her baby-faced attendant with the biggest dimpled smile in the world.

“Anything for the king,” she said from between gritted teeth as she stood up in the bath and was wrapped in the robe.

Mehta smiled, her deep dimples growing bigger, deeper.

But of course Mehta smiled. Mehta was having a great time. She’d managed in less than a day to turn Jesslyn into a living Barbie doll.

JESSLYN’S heart thudded as she stood in the doorway of the royal courtyard. She couldn’t take another step, painfully self-conscious in the open-shoulder silk blouse Mehta had insisted she wear after going through all of Jesslyn’s clothes. The black silk was sheer and heavily embroidered with silver, the top draping off her shoulders and then dipping low.

It was a splurge top she’d bought for the Australia trip, a dressy fun top she’d imagined wearing in Cairns or Port Douglas for a special dinner out. Instead she wore it tonight for dinner with Sharif, the top paired with slim black satin trousers and high heels.

“Where did Miss Heaton go?” Sharif’s deep voice sounded from the opposite end of the courtyard, and Jesslyn searched the shadowy walled garden lit only by moonlight and the odd torch.