Page 72 of Sheikh's Scandal


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“You said—”

“A bunch of camel dung, because facing what I want doesn’t mean I get to have it.”

“You’re kind of complicated.”

“I’m an emir, complicated defines my life.”

“Is there something we could do that wouldn’t put us at risk for exposure?” She felt like a fugitive in witness protection asking, but as much as he was now disparaging his own arguments, he’d been right.

Having her recognized with him wouldn’t do him any favors. Not because she wasn’t good enough, but because—like he’d said before—she was just too different to fit in with his life.

She ignored the tiny voice that said she’d been fitting in pretty well with his family the past two days.

He smiled. “You are willing to spend time with me, even after I behaved like such an ass?”

“Yes.” A smile played around her own lips. “But we have to stay in stealth mode.”

If she had a chance to spend time with him before the inevitable and growing-closer expiry date of their association, she’d take it.

“We could go into the desert. Our family has been going to the same retreat since the first melech.”

“Like your Camp David?”

“If Camp David stepped out of an Arabian Nights fantasy, yes.”

“Really?” She made no effort to hide her enthusiasm.

“Absolutely. Will you come with me?”

The spark of uncertainty and steady burn of desire in his espresso gaze decided her. “Yes.”

“Pack a bag. We’ll spend at least one night.”

“Can you afford to take this time off?”

“Taking myself out of the equation for the moment will actually make it easier for my father to effect his own form of diplomacy.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Not really, but he yells a lot more than me. He can posture without me there as a witness to force the others to draw a line in the sand.”

“Not a hard thing to do in the desert.”

“But sandstorms have a habit of obliterating those lines.”

“And Melech Falah is the sandstorm?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then what are you?”

“The voice of rationality everyone will want to deal with after three days of my father’s chest pounding.”

“It’s good cop/bad cop.”

“On an in

ternational scale, yes.” He grinned, clearly pleased with himself and his father.

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