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CHAPTERONE
Truth? Where did anyone even begin? Sheikh Anwar na Hassir questioned. In a world enamored with lies, the truth seemed as impossible to extract as the rarest sapphire in his Ceylonese mines.
It begins with finding the woman who brought the curse of shame onto his family. Lucy Gaysford. Except she wasn’t Lucy Gaysford anymore, he growled, reading the shortened name emblazoned across the gallery window, signaling the solo exhibition by artist Lucy Ford. Anwar wrapped the gold New Zealand Merino scarf tighter around his neck, stealing himself to New York’s wintery bite as he stood outside the Manhattan art gallery and glanced in.
Lucy had been economical with the truth before. What other secrets was she now keeping?
Why had he come? In pursuit of truth and justice, he told himself, registering the kick of anticipation that trembled through his stomach as he caught a glimpse of his target. His eyes trailed her backless dress, revealing the sensual curve of her spine as she wove through the crowd. A jolt of longing quivered through him.
Beauty, that’s all, he cursed, forcing forbidden desire to a dull, barely perceivable tremor. Dammit. Why couldn’t he shake the longing, the need, the desire? Why couldn’t he forget the pain of her betrayal?
Family honorcame the answer. To find the truth no matter the cost. He clenched his fist, bending his formidable will to his purpose. He would force from her the confession that her escape from his kingdom had evaded. He would silence the uneasy sense that he had been mistaken. That it was his beloved brother who was the cause of so much hurt. But to believe that Hamad, his own flesh and blood, might’ve lied was untenable. Wasn’t it better to accept the deceit of a Westerner, a woman with whom he had a short, passionate fling, rather than yield to the realization that his own family had betrayed his love?
He paused before joining the intoxicated crowd inside, liquored up with complimentary drinks designed to adle their minds and open their wallets. He turned and glanced at the snow-lined streets adorned with glitter and baubles for the festive season.
Thankfully, the gallery had not gone overboard with tawdry tinsel and garish, neon Christmas lights celebrating the birth of the Christian son his culture did not recognize but knew instead as God’s prophet. As Anwar redirected his attention indoors, he noticed with admiration that both unsettled and pleased him that the gallery was a shrine to love.
Love!He mused, noticing discomfort prickle his skin. What did he know of love? Oh yes—love of the inanimate. That was his refuge. Art, nature, his prized exotic orchids, and Zephyr, his loyal falcon from whom he was rarely parted. These were the loves upon which he could rely.
He narrowed his formidable gaze in search of the woman he was here to make atone for the sin of her betrayal. He would extract her confession and then be done with Lucy,whatever her name was, forever.
CHAPTERTWO
She dreamed of dunes turning gold beneath the molten orange sun. She dreamed of bathing in the turquoise waters of the Persian Gulf. But most of all, she dreamed of him.
Barely conscious of the crowd pressing around her at the opening of her art exhibition, Lucy Ford’s heart quickened as she scanned the painting on display by the door. Shining like a beacon, it attracted people struggling along the streets away from the wild winds and icy snow battering Manhattan’s streets.
She had entitled itDesert Dreams. It was her favorite painting, created during the full moon three months earlier, 12 weeks after her heart was broken by Anwar na Hassir. Sheikh Anwar na Hassir, she corrected. The formidable, playboy bachelor whose baby she now carried.
The artwork had flowed from her in a symphony of colors born of anguish and joy. She still found it hard to believe that she had procured such an astonishing piece from her imagination.
Clutching the exhibition catalog to her chest, Lucy turned from the painting and swept her gaze over the crowd crammed into the Manhattan art gallery. She tried to catch the attention of Issy Riley, the art therapist who had encouraged her to paint her way to healing. But Issy was deep in conversation with her husband, Massimiliano Balforni, CEO of Emporio Balforni. Lucy loved the easy way they were together and their deep love. She wished she could have a love like that. A love that weathered the fiercest storms. A love that lasted.
She placed her palm over the slight swell of her belly. Sometimes dreams do come true, she reminded herself. She had dreamed of being a mother and would soon have a son. Being a single mom wasn’t the happy ending she had visualized, but at least she had someone to love. Someone of her own. Someone she could love forever.
As long as the child’s father never found out.Anwar could never know the truth. Not if she was to keep her child.
“You have an admirer,” the gallery owner, Maria Bright, said as she placed a round red sticker below Lucy’s painting,Desert Dreams.
Conflicting feelings at the confirmed sale threaded through Lucy’s heart. Regret at losing the artwork she had poured her soul into creating, laced with joy in knowing that someone loved the painting as much as she did. She had pricedDesert Dreamsridiculously high in the hope of deterring a purchaser. It was special to her, and she wanted to keep it forever. But she had to face reality. She would soon be a single parent and needed the money. Whoever had boughtDesert Dreamshad deep pockets.Very, very deep pockets.
“Gosh, what a relief, Maria. Imagine if none of my paintings had sold, and I couldn’t repay your kindness. I hope the commission covers all your costs,” Lucy said.
Maria grinned. “It’s a fabulous result for both of us.”
“I’m so grateful. You took a gamble on me with this solo exhibition. Without you, I never would have had the courage to show my paintings.”
“Darling, I adore your work. And so does your new collector. Come and meet him, Lucy. He is quite obsessed with you.”
“With me?” Lucy asked as she wove her way through the crowd. “Or with my paintings?”
“Both,” Maria said, coming to a halt beside the tall, dark, dazzling man Lucy had glimpsed from behind earlier. “Your Royal Highness, let me introduce you to the artist.”
“Anwar!” His name clung to her dry mouth.
“Lucy.” The scorching look he gave her was reserved for Lucy and Lucy alone.
Maria’s eyebrows lifted as her mouth gaped open. “You know each other?”
