Trish Morey - Midnight in Arabia - Heart of a Desert Warrior / The Sheikh's Last Gamble / The Sheikh's Jewel

“Nawar is looking forward to an excursion. Would you deny her?”

The little girl in question was looking up at Iris with pleading brown eyes.

Oh, not fair. Iris shook her head. “Of course not.”

“But can this wait until the day after tomorrow? Grandmother has planned a welcome feast for your arrival.”

“What? Why?”

“You are our guest,” Genevieve said, as if that explained everything. “It would be bad manners not to do so.”

“But surely Russell and I can start our work tomorrow and return in time for dinner?” she asked, feeling desperate.

She had to get away from Asad’s home and remind herself why she was in Kadar.

“It will be much more than a simple meal,” Asad said.

Genevieve smiled in a way that was catching. “I thought perhaps you would enjoy witnessing the preparations and this aspect of our way of life.”

It would be churlish to refuse, but how Iris wished she could do so. “I would love to. Thank you for the offer.”

“I could go on my own and start the measurements,” Russell offered.

Surprisingly, it was Asad who shook his head before Iris had a chance to veto the idea. “While traditionally, men do little to prepare the food, we will have our own things to attend to for the feast. You must not miss the opportunity to experience this part of our world.”

“Thank you, Sheikh Asad.” Russell smiled, his youthful eyes glowing with excitement at the thought. The traitor.

Asad inclined his head.

“Grandmother has said we will have mansaf . It’s my favorite, but we don’t have it very often,” Nawar piped up.

“Is it?” Iris asked with a smile for the tiny girl so unlike her father in looks, but so similar in every other way. “If I remember correctly, that used to be your father’s favorite, too.”

She’d even tried to make it for him once, looking up a recipe online for the traditional stewed lamb and yogurt sauce served over rice. An indifferent cook, Iris had been disappointed but not surprised when the dish had turned out only so-so, even to her palate. Asad had thanked her for the effort, but informed her that traditional Bedouin food had to be prepared in the traditional way—over a campfire—to carry the full flavor.

It was a criticism and excuse for the dinner’s mediocrity all-in-one and she hadn’t been exactly sure how to take it. Any hurt feelings she might have had were dispelled by the passionate lovemaking that followed dinner, however. He’d made it clear that no matter the outcome, her efforts had been very much appreciated.

She didn’t repeat the mistake of attempting to cook food from his homeland for him again.

“It still is,” Nawar said with a giggle. “Grandmother says we are just alike.”

“I’m sure your grandmother is right.” Iris ruffled Nawar’s hair.

“Tomorrow I will show you the baths in the caves,” Genevieve said. “I’m sure my grandson showed proper decorum and skipped that part of his tour with you.”

Iris didn’t know about proper decorum, but the older woman was right. “Asad didn’t mention any baths.”

She had to admit to a feeling of relief at the thought that the next few weeks would not be spent without a proper soak.

“There are natural hot springs in the caves to the south of the encampment,” Asad said now.

“The women use the upper caves and the men the lower ones. I suppose they think they can handle the hotter water better,” Genevieve said with a loving smile for her husband of several decades. “Hanif discovered them when he was a boy and gifted the caves to the tribe upon our wedding.”

It was a romantic story and Iris found herself smiling, as well.

“It just goes to show that for the thousands of years our people have wandered these lands, they remain a mystery to us,” Hanif said. He turned to Russell. “Mr. Green, you will join me for coffee in the morning with the other men, yes?”

“Russell, please,” her field assistant said with a grin. “And I would be honored. I’ve been eager to try the real thing ever since I learned we were coming to Kadar.”

“Ah, so you understand that what comes out of an automatic drip maker is nothing like it?” Asad asked sardonically with a look at Iris that said he wasn’t talking only of coffee.

“I’m willing to be convinced of it,” Russell said unsurprisingly. The man was a caffeine addict with a particular fondness for coffee.

If Asad had researched Russell, he couldn’t have made a better ploy to get him otherwise occupied in the mornings.

Somehow, regardless of her best efforts, Asad managed to accompany Iris on her trek to her room when it came time to find her bed later that evening.

Which said something about his efforts versus hers, she supposed. Or, perhaps it was the level of determination she should be looking at. The possibility that Asad’s might be stronger than hers in this regard was disturbing on more than one level.

She liked the idea that she might not be wholly dedicated to minimizing their contact no better than the thought that he was far more determined to spend time with her than he should be.

“So, what do you think of my city of tents?” he asked just as she reached her doorway and thought to slip inside without incident.

Her hand on the edge of the curtain that covered the entrance to her apartment, Iris stopped. “It’s amazing.”

“You do not find the remoteness too disconcerting?” he asked with a certain level of disbelief.

A wry smile curved her lips and she met his dark brown gaze squarely. “Asad, last month I spent two weeks in the middle of the East Texas desert doing an updated geological assessment for an oil company. The truth is, your nomadic home is more sophisticated and busy than ninety percent of my assignments.”

“Do you enjoy being away from home for such long periods?”

Prepared to give the answer she always offered when asked that question, she was surprised when honesty spilled forth instead. “At least when I’m on assignment, there’s a reason for me spending so much time alone.”

“Your work.”

“Yes.”

“It’s very important to you.”

“It’s all I have.” She looked around them, noticing his grandparents had already made it into their chamber down the long corridor that ran the width of the tent.

Nawar and Fadwa had gone to bed hours earlier. But still, the sense of family permeated the impressive dwelling.

“We’re not all like you, with relations who miss us when we’re gone,” she added in an even tone.

“Your parents are still living.”

“The last time I saw them was Christmas two years ago. We took a winter cruise together.” She’d bought it for them as a gift with hopes of building something more of their relationship now that she was an adult.

It hadn’t worked. They’d been no more interested in getting to know the grown-up Iris than they had the child. And as much as it hurt to admit, looking at them through adult eyes, she realized her parents were not people she would particularly care to know well, either.

She’d finally given up hope of having anything resembling a real family and hadn’t bothered them with so much as an email since. Though now she realized that she’d begun to give up that particular dream when Asad had left.

She simply hadn’t been aware of it until her parents’ continued indifference pounded the final nail into the coffin that had been her hope.

“Two years ago? But that is criminal. Why would you neglect your parents so shamefully?”

His absolute inability to understand charmed her when she thought probably she should have been offended. But to discover the worldly sheikh so naive in even one area was rather captivating.