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3
Raheem walked the new arrival back to the main encampment, taking the opportunity to study her as they walked side by side through the cool sand. Frazzled though she was, he had to admit she was lovely. With all that red hair tightly bound and straining to escape and those wide green eyes, Raheem found himself wondering what it would be like to bed such a woman.
His culture had a much more realistic view of sex than many
of the Western countries, though he’d long ago left the harems behind. They were fine for a randy young man, just starting out and wanting to learn all the secrets of pleasure, but Raheem was twenty-eight now. These days, when he took a lover to his bed it was because he saw a possible future with her, because he liked and respected her and wanted the chance to find out if there might be something more between them, something real and lasting and true.
Given the touch-me-not attitude of Miss Bliss, he doubted he’d ever find out anything more about this woman than what he already knew. But what he knew had him intrigued. As a man whose mind was always working, the moment Raheem had heard her mention working for the film production company his brother Feraz had allowed into Djeva, the wheels of his imagination had begun to turn.
He’d told Jess that he needed a ringer—an outsider with no ulterior motives for wanting access to his family’s wealth and power—to bring onboard his project to form the wildlife preserve. Miss Bliss, with her American sensibilities and ideas, a newcomer to his country with connection to much-needed media coverage, might be just what he’d been looking for—from a strictly professional standpoint, of course.
They walked into the main courtyard area and she stopped abruptly.
“What’s wrong?” Raheem asked, frowning.
“Uh, nothing.” She gazed around, her expression shocked. “I just didn’t imagine all this… luxury in the middle of nowhere.”
“You thought perhaps we lived like the Bedouins of old?” Raheem chuckled. Most people really had no clue how they lived in this part of the world. All the media ever reported were the bad things. They never showed the other side—the food, the culture, the art, the beauty and riches. The centuries-old traditions that still lived on in the people of Djeva’s lives every day. It was one of the things Raheem loved most about his homeland. “Sorry, no camel dung huts or smelly, rough wool blankets here.”
He led her across the thick Persian rugs and past the still-blazing fire at the center of the courtyard, past Jess—who openly gawked at the newcomer—and Feraz who was still on his phone and paid them no mind at all, until they reached his own personal accommodations. He held the flap for the huge, four-person tent open for her then followed her inside. Dividers were set up to cordon off the sleeping areas from the main open space at the center of the tent. More Persian rugs lined the floors and yet another buffet table had been set up for him filled with all his favorite snacks and desserts and fresh bottled water. One of the servants had even laid out a hookah pipe and two tins of both tobacco and hashish, though he rarely partook anymore. Again, he was a grown man with responsibilities and goals. Those were follies of the much younger and wilder set. Twenty-eight was hardly ancient, but some days Raheem felt as old as the hills.
“Wow. So this is how the other half lives.” Miss Bliss wandered over to the buffet table.
“Please, help yourself to whatever you like.” He watched carefully as she bypassed everything but the dark chocolate truffles. Good choice. Those were his favorite too. He walked over to the largest sleeping area in the back corner of the tent and pulled the flap aside. “You may sleep here tonight.”
At his words, she nearly choked on her truffle. After opening a bottle of water and taking a hearty swig, she shook her head. “Um, no. I need to get back to my hotel tonight. I’m sure the production company is already wondering where I am.”
Raheem studied her for a moment. He’d considered this, and honestly, she was right. Her team probably would be looking for her soon and there really was no reason one of the camp guards couldn’t drive her back to their capital city, Al-Qusta, tonight. Except he needed more time with her, time to get a better read on who she was and if she’d indeed be a good fit for his project. So, he came up with a convenient lie. “Unfortunately, that’s quite impossible I’m afraid. The desert trails are too dangerous to travel at night. You’ll have to wait until morning, Miss Bliss.”
“Dangerous how?” she asked, her tone skeptical. “I saw those big SUVs parked along the perimeter of the camp near the guards’ station. My guess is they could face down a tank and be okay.”
Damn. She had a point.
“They’re not working,” he said, cringing inwardly. It sounded ridiculous to his own ears, but it was too late. He’d already put it out there so he needed to go with it now. “Sand in the fuel lines. The mechanics are working on them tonight, but they won’t be running again until morning.”
Miss Bliss seemed to contemplate this for a moment, her autumn-colored brows drawn together in a frown. For a crazy second, Raheem had the insane urge to smooth those lines away and ease her tensions, before he shoved such thoughts away. She was here because he needed her here for his project, no other reason.
Then she pulled out her phone, only to groan dejectedly. “My battery’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.” He bowed again and pointed to a charging station in the corner. “The generators here will do the job, but again, it will be much slower than in the city. Could take hours and it’s already late.”
“You said you had burner phones here, phones I could use. Let me call out on one of those. The production company can have a car here in an hour, tops.”
Frustration welled inside Raheem. Normally, women fell all over themselves to be in his presence. This one seemed determined to get away from him as fast as humanly possible. His lies had failed, and Raheem wasn’t ready to reveal all of his cards yet, but perhaps a vague half-truth might succeed. “I am interested in your views on my country.”
That seemed to take her back a second. “My views?”
“Yes. You are a Westerner. Djeva has just recently become democratized and opened our doors to the outside world. We are always looking for ways to improve our guests’ experiences here in our land. I would like you to stay here in my quarters to discuss these things.”
More choking ensued and Raheem became alarmed. What the hell had he said wrong now?
“Wait a minute,” Miss Bliss sputtered when she caught her breath at last. “These are your private quarters?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?” Raheem straightened with affront.
“Hell yes, it’s a problem.” That delightful pink color had flooded her cheeks again and her green eyes sparkled like bright emeralds and Raheem knew those were the last things he should be paying attention to right now. She advanced on him like a charge of infidels, her expression furious. “How dare you try to keep me in here like your own personal harem girl and expect me to “discuss things” with you. I’m not some whore off the street. I’m an American citizen for fuck’s sake. I have rights. And if you so much as lay a finger on me, Sultan Sexy Boy, I will bring the US State Department down on you so fast, it’ll make your head spin!”
Taken aback, Raheem merely blinked at her a moment. He supposed he could see how telling her up front about where he was taking her might have forestalled this situation, but how dare she jump to such conclusions about him. He was a sheikh, the third son of the ruling family of Djeva. He could have any woman in this country—hell, this region—that he wanted. For this ill-tempered, foul-mouthed, beautifully bewitching female to assume his decisions were made with his cock instead of his brain were beyond insulting.
