The Sheikh's Determined Lover (Zahkim Sheikhs Series Book 2) Read online

  The Sheikh's Determined Lover

  Zahkim Sheikhs Series Book Two

  Leslie North

  Contents

  Zahkim Sheikhs

  The Sheikh's Determined Lover

  Blurb

  Mailing List

  About Leslie

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  End of The Sheikh's Determined Lover

  Thank you!

  Sneak Peek: The Sheikh's Unexpected Wife

  Other Books by Leslie North

  Zahkim Sheikhs

  The Sheikh's Captive American

  The Sheikh's Determined Lover

  The Sheikh's Unexpected Wife

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, APRIL 2018

  Copyright © 2018 Relay Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.relaypub.com

  Blurb

  Christine Harper has no intention of becoming a Middle Eastern princess. She just wants access to the royal palace to find the research her father needs. He's badly ill, but Christine figures she can find a reason for him to live. That reason just might be solid proof for her father’s theories of the 'Lion People', an ancient tribe who first settled Egypt. To find the necessary proof and help her father, she’s willing to put her own career second… and even accept a deal from Sheikh Arif ben Iben.

  Arif is a man who knows what he wants—and what has been foretold to him in the stars. If he and his cousins marry for love, his country will prosper. And he's fallen for Christine Harper at first sight. The small spitfire is the woman he wants to win, but she turns down his immediate proposal. When she asks for access to the palace archives, he makes her a bargain—she'll have all the access she wants for three months, but he will use that time to convince her to marry him and stay in Zahkim. Now, Arif is out to win the love of his life, but can he pull her from the dusty papers long enough to prove their love is more than a fleeting fancy?

  Mailing List

  Thank you for purchasing “The Sheikh's Determined Lover”

  (Zahkim Sheikhs Series Book Two)

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  About Leslie

  Leslie North is the USA Today Bestselling pen name for a critically-acclaimed author of women's contemporary romance and fiction. The anonymity gives her the perfect opportunity to paint with her full artistic palette, especially in the romance and erotic fantasy genres.

  To discover more about Leslie North visit:

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  Chapter One

  Maybe there were worse fates than marrying a sheikh. Christine Harper had figured Tess had lost it when she'd said she was marrying a sheikh. But then, Tess Angel's life, what with her singing career and her production company, was like something out of a movie—exotic and fabulous. So was this wedding.

  And I get to be the boring friend.

  Christine wrinkled her nose. She was not going to start down that path. Not today. This was a celebration, and she'd better start cheering up and stop being so nervous and negative. But she had a lot to lose—and her dad had even more—if she didn't achieve her aim in coming to Zahkim.

  She sat at one of fifty linen-covered tables, turning her sparkling lemonade as if it was her dance partner. Music—modern and a little bit jazzy—floated in the air. She tapped her toes to the beat and glanced around the gardens where Tess's wedding had taken place.

  The Zahkim palace gardens were even more vast and lush than Tess had said, and all Christine wanted to do was get out of here and go exploring. She knew parts of the palace dated back to the sixth century, when Zahkim had flourished as a center of learning. Her Dad would love this.

  But she had another idea for how to get him more committed than he was to beating his cancer. It centered on getting access to the Zahkim palace archives. For now, she had a party to enjoy.

  Around her, white marble pillars turned to gold in the sunset. Flowers scented the air like perfume. The rustle of green plants moving in a cooling breeze and the splash from a huge fountain in the middle of the garden added a romantic touch. Next to the fountain stood the arbor draped in white jasmine where the couple had exchanged vows. The ceremony had been lovely, and Christine had even found herself starting to tear up. She'd almost wished she didn't understand Arabic as well as she did, but she got though it without getting too sappy because Tess looked happy. If anyone deserved that, it was Tess, who'd always put others first in all her business ventures.

  The guests—a mix of traditional Middle Eastern robes among the groom's family and Western tuxes and dresses from Tess's Hollywood friends—now milled around refreshment tables that had been whisked from nowhere by what looked to Christine to be a professional catering staff. Or maybe they were just the palace staff, all dressed in discreet black. The aroma of beef, lamb, and something spicy tempted, but right now Christine was content to sit back and stay on the sidelines. She felt comfortable there. She always had.

  The wedding had been a lot more modern than she'd expected from a small Middle Eastern kingdom tucked near the east coast of Africa, but Tess had always had good taste. She'd managed to mix Eastern flair with Western comfort. She also looked amazing in a green traditional Arabic robe trimmed in gold, which set off her green eyes and auburn hair. She'd changed from her wedding dress for the reception, and she was dazzling. Best of all, Tess seemed to have found a guy who looked to be utterly in love with her, if his expression was any clue. Sheikh Tarek was also a hunk—tall, dark, and taken.

  Christine sighed. Why were the good ones always spoken for?

  Sipping her drink, she wondered when she'd get a chance to congratulate Tess. They'd been best friends growing up in New Hampshire, but Tess had left to find her fortune, and boy had she found it. They'd reconnected with emails and texts over the years, but Tess had become a bigger-than-life character by then, with a recording career that had left Christine feeling distinctly provincial. It also seemed Tess had found her Prince Charming—or at least a Sheikh Charming. Sheikh Tarek Rahim to be specific.

  Christine suppressed another sigh. She shook her head. If she kept this up, she'd soon be the gloomy girl at the party, comparing her dull life in academia to Tess's amazing one.

  Straightening, she tugged the neckline of her gown up. It was just a touch lower than she liked. Tess had supplied the loose, flowing dress in a deep-red silk with silver embroidery
around the neck, sleeves, and hem. To please Tess, Christine had worn it. She was almost glad she had, now. This was all about Tess's big day.

  Tess looked happy—ecstatic to judge by the glow on her face. Christine smiled, but a small ache settled around her heart. She didn't know why fairy-tale loves happened to other people, not to practical women who preferred books, museums, and antiquities to hot dates. Oh, well, she'd just have to focus on the other reason she'd come to Zahkim, other than to be here for Tess.

  The jazz band, playing at the far end of the gardens, brought the song to a close. A smattering of applause rewarded the musicians, and Christine glimpsed Tess dragging Sheikh Tarek toward where Christine was sitting. She stood. What the heck did you say to a sheikh, other than that he'd gotten a great girl and he'd better treat her right?

  But then Tess grabbed another man's hand. What the heck?

  Christine had time to smooth her gown and her hair—short and almost not curling in the dry desert air, thank you—and then Tess stood in front of her, grinning and nudging her elbow into her husband's side.

  Sheikh Tarek smiled, his eyes warm, and he turned to Christine. "My Tess insists I make known to you my good friend and cousin, Sheikh Arif ben Iben, known in our country as the Hami Almaerifa. He is also one of my top ministers, heading up education and development. Arif, this is Christine Harper. Tess says she has a great deal of interest in our country."

  Christine looked at the other man. The Protector of Knowledge? Well that sounded…impressive. And rather intriguing, given that he was also some bigwig in the Zahkim government. The title of sheikh wasn't handed out to just anyone, only to those rich and important, or just old and venerated. This guy looked to be in his mid-twenties.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said.

  Dressed in the traditional white thobe and keffiyeh of the Zahkim royal family, the headscarf held in place with a black and gold knotted rope, he looked dressed for the desert. She couldn't see much of his hair under the keffiyeh, but his eyes fixed on her with an unsettling intensity. With the light changing from day to night, and torches starting to be lit in the gardens, she couldn't quite make out if his eyes were green or gray or a mix of the two. He smiled, and Christine's heart rate jumped. She also noticed a small crescent scar on the left corner of his mouth and wondered how he'd gotten it.

  “And I am most pleased to meet you.” He stepped closer and his scent—sandalwood and spice—washed over her. Christine's mind emptied. He was six feet of male that set off every alarm bell in her head. The strong nose left him looking arrogant, and that sharp, chiseled chin outlined by a trim beard was made for stubbornness. He was also staring at her like she was Christmas and Easter and the end of Ramadan all wrapped up in one.

  What was it Tess had said about royal protocol? A dozen cousins stood in line to the throne of Zahkim after Sheikh Tarek, but was Sheikh Arif one of them? She should have spent a little more time reading up on modern history instead of her usual area of ancient texts.

  Managing a smile, she put out her hand and prayed that shaking hands wasn't on the forbidden list. It seemed okay, since he took hold of her fingers, dropped a kiss on the back of her hand, and then turned over her hand and kissed her palm. A charge shot up her arm and headed straight to her stomach, which did a backflip.

  Okay, girl, you have got to get out more often.

  She'd been buried with her dissertation for way too long. And she was still buried in research. She was here to do even more, but right now Sheikh Arif still held her hand and was leading her out onto the dance floor. Short of making a scene, Christine had to follow.

  Glancing back at Tess, Christine lifted her eyebrows high with a clear what the hell have you gotten me into message. Tess shooed her with both hands, making it equally clear Christine was supposed to dance and have fun. Christine made a face. It was just like back at the high school prom with Tess pushing her out to dance with Bobby Benson—Christine had had a mad crush on him and had been too shy to say anything. She glanced over now at Sheikh Arif. Okay, so he looked nothing like Bobby Benson, who'd been blond and full of himself. Sheikh Arif just seemed full of himself, dragging her onto the dance floor as if he owned her.

  A small thrill jumped through her. She wasn't used to this much male possessiveness, but it was kind of nice and left her feeling dainty and…protected. Not that she needed that. She pushed out a breath and told herself to stay grounded.

  You can do this—it's just a dance.

  The music settled into another jazz classic, and Sheikh Arif pulled her into his arms—they did that in Zahkim? Christine searched for light conversation.

  Weather? Too boring. My, what a nice country you have? Too dumb. She stared at his broad chest and the neat line of buttons that went up his sternum to his neck. Could she say, I'd love to dig into the palace archives as soon as I can? Okay—way too much to the point and too abrupt. His hand shifted from her waist to her lower back. He pulled her closer against an alarming amount of hard muscle. Heat seeped into her body through the thin silk of her dress. Her pulse kicked up again.

  She glanced up—she wasn't that tall at only five-two—and he glanced down. That electrical charge she'd felt before seemed to jump between them, leaving her mouth dry. His eyes darkened, and she decided they had to be gray. As deep as the Atlantic and just as easy for a girl to drown in. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. She couldn't do anything but stare up into those eyes and wonder what secrets they held.

  And then he shocked her—and left her both pissed and pretty damn sure he was mocking her—by saying, "Christine Harper, will you marry me?"

  Chapter Two

  You're joking…right?"

  Arif glanced around him. Four other couples had joined them on the dance floor, and this was not the place to make known his enchantment with this woman. The instant he had set eyes on her, he had realized she was meant for him. She was lovely. The red silk swirling around her hinted at lush curves. The low neckline of her dress promised them. The short hair, which had started to curl and held flashes of a deeper red, spoke of a practical woman. Long lashes framed deep, brown eyes that glittered with intelligence and perhaps just a touch of challenge. Which was good. He'd had enough of women willing to throw themselves at him simply because he was a sheikh of Zahkim.

  She was still staring at him, her eyebrows flattening over those chocolate eyes of hers. Gripping her hand, he pulled her with him, out of the crowd and toward the nearest doorway. She hung back slightly, but he pulled her with him into the library. She gave a small gasp and became rooted to the carpet, so he glanced back to see what had halted her willingness to come with him.

  Eyes huge in her oval face, her skin pale, she stared up at the books. Arif followed her gaze to the bookcases that lined the room, floor to ceiling. He had grown up in the palace, for his father had been an advisor to Tarek's father, the previous ruler. The library had been a favorite place to play, not just for the books, but also the vast number of hiding spots behind couches and leather chairs. Now, Christine's mouth fell open. It took all Arif's willpower not to pull her close and kiss those lush lips, but he had something else in mind. He tugged on her hand, and she followed, her steps still slow and her stare traveling over the bookcases.

  "Is this part of the palace archives?" She said the words as if awed.

  Arif huffed a small laugh. "This is the private library. The archives are much larger."

  He could swear a tremor shook her down to her fingertips, but he stepped onto the terrace, which overlooked the desert. She came with him, her stare still locked on the books behind them. He had no trouble slipping an arm around her waist. He tugged her closer until her breasts flattened against his body and her hips nudged his growing erection.

  "I have waited for you all my life, habibi."

  She turned at last to look at him, her head tipped to one side and her breathing rapid. "Okay, didn't expect this." She gave a small laugh and rested her hands on her chest. "Is this the part
where you sweep me away to your desert tent or something?"

  "Something," he said. Bending over her, he paused long enough for her to voice a protest, then fixed his mouth to hers.

  Ah, she tasted of peaches and something else even sweeter. Her lips parted on a sigh and he took in her breath, his grip tightening on her waist. She resisted only an instant—and then fit herself to him as if she belonged in his arms. And she did. He wanted to deepen the kiss, to strip her bare in the twilight and take her where they stood—but, no, a woman such as her deserved to be courted. He allowed the kiss to linger a moment longer, swept his tongue across hers, invaded her mouth so she would know he would soon take even more of her to be his own.

  Reluctantly, he pulled back. She stood with her eyes closed, swaying slightly. He could see the pulse beating in her neck, the rhythm matching his own. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths. Then her eyes fluttered open.

  He tightened his hold on her and told her, "I do not joke about such a thing. The heart knows what it wants—and my heart wants you."

  She licked her lips. Arif bent and stole another kiss. This time she did push back against his chest with her palms, and he allowed her to put a small distance between them. Her words tumbled out with uneven breaths.