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

AN HOUR and a half later Sharif stood in the shadows of the McInnes house and listened to Jesslyn give Will McInnes the talking to of a lifetime.

If Sharif hadn’t heard Jesslyn’s severe tone, he wouldn’t have known she had it in her. But apparently she did, for she let Will know in no uncertain terms that she knew what he had done, and he was in serious trouble.

Not only did she want all the stolen tests back—tonight— but he should also consider himself on probation. If he so much as broke a pencil or stepped on a bug, she’d have his head. That is, if she didn’t go to his father right now and tell him what Will had done this afternoon.

When Jesslyn returned to the car twenty minutes later, she carried a stack of exams and handed them to Sharif before getting in the car. “There. Yours. Mission completed.”

“You weren’t easy on him,” he said.

Seated in the car Jesslyn sighed and rubbed the back of her neck, her head aching. The day felt positively endless. “No, I wasn’t. I was angry and disappointed, and I let him know it.”

One of the guards closed the door behind her. “Is that why he was crying when he brought you the tests?” Sharif asked.

Her lips pursed. “He was crying because I told him if he ever did anything stupid like that again that you’d have him arrested and thrown into prison, and who knew what would happen to his family.”

Sharif’s eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” She wrinkled her nose as she reflected on what she’d said and done. “Was that so terrible?”

“Not if you can save him from a life of crime.”

“My thoughts exactly.” She turned to look out the tinted window. The limousine was again winding through the quiet downtown streets, but this time they were heading the opposite direction from which they’d come, away from her apartment and on toward Dubai. “We’re not going back to my apartment?”

“No. We’re going to stay at a hotel in Dubai tonight and then fly out in the morning.”

“But my things …”

“I’ve taken care of that. A courier picked your suitcase and travel bag up from your apartment. You’d left both by the front door.”

She shot him a cool glance. “You left nothing to chance.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, but it wasn’t much of a smile. “I try not to.”

So that was that, she thought. There’d be no holiday this summer. Instead she was going back to work.

Tired tears started to come, but she squeezed her eyes closed, forced them away, refusing to feel sorry for herself. She’d done the right thing. She knew she had. How could she possibly have gone on holiday when Aaron would have faced horrible fines and stiff charges? Better to miss some beaches and skiing and live with a clear conscience.

“You must be hungry,” Sharif said, his voice deep in the car’s dark interior. “It’s nearing eleven, and I can’t imagine you’ve eaten since noon.”

“No, but I haven’t been hungry. Too many emotions,” she answered, sinking back deeper against the impossibly soft leather seat. She was tired and thirsty and virtually numb from the roller-coaster day.

When she’d woken up this morning she’d thought she would be flying to Brisbane tonight. Instead the plane had taken off without her and she was facing the prospect of a long summer in Sarq.

The thought alone sent prickles of fresh panic up and down her spine.

How could she do this? How could she spend ten weeks with Sharif and his family? The fact that he was widowed changed nothing for her.

“I know nothing about this job I’ve accepted,” she said. “You’ll have to tell me about your children. How many … then-names, their ages, as well as your objectives.”

“I will,” he answered. “But first things first, and that’s a proper dinner, because I know you—you need to eat. You always skimp meals to get things done, but in the end, it backfires. You just end up irritable.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. And you are already. You should see your face. You’re famished and exhausted.”

She bit back her immediate retort. It wouldn’t help to get into a hissing contest with Sharif. The fact was, they were going to spend a considerable amount of time together. Better to try to get along with him than become adversaries. “So, distract me from my hunger. Tell me something about your family. How many children will I be teaching?”

“Three.”

“Boys and girls, all boys …?”

“All girls.” His expression never outwardly changed, but Jesslyn sensed tension and didn’t know why or what it was.

“They’re bilingual?” she asked, knowing her Arabic would get her by on market day but wouldn’t be considered proper Arabic by any stretch of the imagination.

“Yes, but you’ll discover all that tomorrow when we head home.”

Home. His home. Sarq. A country she’d visited only once, and very briefly, to attend Aman’s funeral. She’d flown in and out the same day, and in her grief, she remembered nothing but the heat. It was summer after all and hot, so very very hot.

But they weren’t in Sarq yet. No, they were heading for the glossy and busy city-state of Dubai.

A 200-year-old city, once populated by pirates and smugglers, today Dubai was a cosmopolitan melting pot, teeming with more foreigners than locals. The city had blossomed overnight with the discovery of oil and now had so much money that the powers that be kept coming up with the most interesting ways to put it all back into the country and boost tourism. Jesslyn hadn’t quite gotten used to the idea of manmade islands shaped like the world, or the snow ski facility in the desert. There were already plans underway for a huge theme park called Dubailand, along the lines of Disneyland and even an underwater hotel.

Dubai Creek ran through the middle of the city-state with the business district Deira to the east, and Bur Dubai, the commercial and historic district, to the west.

But the driver wasn’t going to Deira or Bur Dubai, he was destined for Jumeriah Beach, the playland for the rich, royal and beautiful.

Despite living in the Emirates for six years Jesslyn had spent very little time at Jumeriah Beach’s posh waterfront resorts. For one, you couldn’t even get into some of the hotels unless you were a hotel guest, and “treating” oneself to a night at the Burj Al Arab, reportedly the most luxurious hotel in the world, wasn’t in the budget, not when rooms started at $1,280. But obviously that wasn’t a problem for a man with Sharif’s wealth.

“We’re eating here?” she asked Sharif as the car turned into the hotel’s private drive.

“And staying here. I’ve my own suite reserved for my exclusive use.”

“That’s nice.”

He merely smiled at her, the smile of a king who’d become used to having his way.

As they stepped from the car, Jesslyn felt as if she’d entered a production of Arabian Nights : gilded doors magically opened, overhead lights dimmed, lush green fronds parted.

The uniformed staff scrambled to assist Sharif, and while Jesslyn knew hotel staff were exceptionally attentive in Dubai, she personally found the attention overwhelming. There were too many people, too much bowing, too much of everything.

“You’ll have your own suite,” Sharif said. “And the hotel manager has promised to see you there and make sure you’ve everything you need.”

Jesslyn glanced around. “My luggage—”

The hotel manager nodded. “It’s already there, ma’am.”

While Sharif took one elevator, she took another, escorted by the hotel manager and a young woman in a fashionable robe and veil. The hotel manager described the hotel, explained where everything was, including the numerous restaurants and lounges. “You’ll have your own butler,” he added, gesturing to the veiled young woman, “and anything you should need will be taken care of. Also, you will be dining with His Highness in thirty minutes. Meena will escort you to the restaurant where you’ll be joining Sheikh Fehr.”