Zahkim Sheikhs Series: The Complete Series Read online

  The next day went about the same.

  Arif sent a note again, this time with an invitation to tour the site of Zahkim's new university, where construction had been delayed due to an archeological find of a possible temple site. She sent back a thanks, but no thanks. She had to stay focused. She thought he might give up on her after that, but the following morning, she found him waiting at the door of the archives when she arrived.

  She gave him a sideways glance and fiddled with her tablet. Arif smiled. Her stomach did a flip, so she straightened and tugged at the hem of the baggy T-shirt she'd put on over her jeans and sandals. How did he always manage to look so comfortable, so cool, and so edible?

  He had on a white shirt and black trousers, just like the night they'd…

  No, she wasn't going to think about that.

  She put her shoulders back. "Good morning." Inside, she winced. That sounded terrible. "I…I should apologize. I…thank you for the other evening. It was…" She ran out of words.

  Strolling over to her, Arif stopped in front of her and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. "Amazing? Wonderful? I would not trade a moment of it—not even that ending. But I understand you are having difficulty finding what you wish. In the archives. I have cleared my calendar to assist."

  "What?" The word squeaked out. An image of Arif as her assistant popped into her head—the two of them working side by side.

  No, we'll end up on a table in the archive, scattering rare books, tearing off each other’s clothes.

  She blinked. "I couldn't possibly make such demands on your time."

  "It is my pleasure. Besides, as you have mentioned, the archives have become a…well, a storage room, for lack of a better word. It is one of my duties, and I have overlooked the need to make a real survey of the work to be done for proper organization." He leaned closer. "Sahl would have a heart attack if I were to sneak coffee in to you, but I have arranged lunch to be served right here, just outside, and you may use me as a sounding board for ideas. Tarek always did so back at Oxford, and I did take a first in history."

  Her mouth fell open. She closed it, swallowed, and tried not to be impressed. "Did you specialize?"

  "I tried to stay general, but I must admit the life of Fatima Al-Fihri, who established the University of al-Qarawiyyan in Morocco in 859, caught me up utterly. Her dedication to education is something anyone must admire. I did my thesis on her."

  "Oh…you're the A. ben Iben? I never put it together. That was incredible work. That's what got me interested in Zahkim's archives as a possible source."

  Arif opened the carved sandalwood door. "Ah, a touch of fate, after all. Shall we?"

  He swept her into the archives. Christine settled at her usual chair and table. He asked what he could do, and she had no idea. He began by walking the archives. She could hardly drag her attention from him—from watching how he moved, how he stroked his beard when he was thinking, how his eyes darkened when he looked at her.

  Turning her attention to the research, she tried to settle to her task.

  Arif actually helped. He found a dusty book hidden on a higher shelf and brought it out. The history was in an archaic Arabic script, but Arif had no difficulties translating, and she soon had several references to older works worth investigating. Arif went off to ask Sahl ibn Harun about them.

  Christine's tablet binged with an incoming email, and she opened it as a distraction.

  Tess had emailed a quick note to say she was working on new songs and she'd forwarded an article about Christine's father. “Nice to see your dad mentioned—is he getting the credit he deserves?” she wrote.

  Excited now, Christine opened the attachment. The article started off positive, noting how some geologists believed the Sphinx to be far older than first thought due to rain weathering on the lion part of the carved stone. Then it brought up her dad's theories about how the Sphinx must have had a lion's head at one time. It went downhill from there.

  “Professor Kris Harper's claims line up with aliens building the pyramids and Atlantis survivors scattering to build every early civilization—not a shred of evidence exits.”

  With a growl, Christine slapped down her tablet. She stood and strode from the archives, determined to get herself and the anger blazing through her out of the room before she did any damage. Once outside, she slammed her fists against the wall.

  A hand settled on her shoulder, and she swung around, ready to belt whoever it was.

  Arif held up his palms. "I come in peace."

  "Aliens! Atlantis! They think my father's a crackpot. Geology's not evidence. Oh, no. There has to be writing or artifacts that can be carbon dated. And it's a theory, dammit! He didn't state the Lion People as fact. He proposed an idea. It's just like Schliemann and Troy. He was laughed at, too, for his idea that Troy existed outside of Homer's stories! And while Schliemann wasn't the best at preserving archaeological evidence, he did point the way to looking at old texts as being more than just stories!" Putting his hands on her shoulders, Arif rubbed the knotted muscles. Christine's anger started to leak out. "It's just not fair."

  "What is in life? Come, take a walk with me. You are in no fit shape to bring calm intelligence to any work this afternoon." He took her hand.

  She let him lead her from the archives and through the palace. The blaze of anger faded, leaving her exhausted and almost ready to cry. Was this a fight she couldn't win? She just hoped her dad didn't see that article, but he’d already seen too many others just like it.

  Arif opened a door and ushered her into a room she had never been in before. She stopped to stare.

  A long, oval, indoor pool stretched out in front of her, sparkling and blue. Carved white marble pillars held up the ceiling around the edges of the huge room. Blue and white tiles decorated the floor. Jasmine scented the air, and water splashed into the pool from a fountain built into the far wall.

  "This used to be part of the old harem, but Tarek's father had it converted into a swimming pool." Arif gestured to a wall of doors on their right. "Changing rooms. You'll find everything you need." She turned to him to protest, but he took her shoulders and walked her over to the changing rooms. "Swim first. Lunch, then we'll go looking for your father's equivalent of the gold of lost Troy."

  Inside the dressing room, she found more than one swimsuit—a dozen options hung in a full closet, along with white terry-cloth robes in a variety of sizes. Floor-length mirrors let her figure out if she wanted a one-piece or two. On a small wooden table, water with cucumber slices sat in a glass pitcher, and next to it a chase longue in a golden silk damask left the room looking like a high-end spa. This was here every day? Why hadn't anyone told her?

  She picked out a modest one-piece in black, changed, and came out wrapped in the thick plush of a robe. She wanted to take it home with her. Arif lounged in the pool already, arms stretched out, and a sleek swimsuit clinging to his hips. Christine wet her lips, slipped off the robe, and took the plunge.

  Cool water washed over her. She came up, shook her head and let out a breath. "Okay, this was a good idea."

  He swam over to her. "Relax. Float on the water and let it carry away the anger. It does no good to you or anyone."

  She let him lift her so she lay on the pool's surface, her toes and head sticking out, everything else being lulled by the soft lapping of the water against her skin. Arif's hands stroked down her back. He leaned close and whispered, "Relax."

  Closing her eyes, she let herself drift.

  The next instant, Arif's mouth brushed over hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He cradled her in his arms, the kiss so sweet her heart ached with it. Swinging her legs down, she wrapped them around his hips, her skin heating. He pulled her closer. She tugged on his swimsuit, anger changing into emotions that tumbled through her in a confusing mess. She wanted not to think. She wanted sensations only he could give her. She wanted to tear off that strip of fabric that was keeping him from her and lose herself.

&nbs
p; He pulled on the straps of her swimsuit, and she tugged on his. It was a struggle to get bare skin and not break that kiss, but she was damn well going to do it. And then she had his cock pushing against her, and she wrapped her legs around him again. He turned her so her back pressed against the pool's tiles. She grabbed his erection and stroked him twice and then broke away from those bruising lips of his.

  "I don't want easy. Make me stop thinking, Arif."

  He gave a growl for an answer and pushed into her. She was wet, but the pool water lapped away her natural moisture. He pushed again. She shifted. She wanted him inside. She didn't care how that happened, but it had to happen soon. Gripping her hips, he pushed again, his cock huge and hot. She gave a small cry, and he plunged into her, pinning her to the wall of the pool, his teeth fastened to her neck. She dug her nails into his back, urged him to do that again.

  Pulling most of the way out, he stared at her a moment and then thrust into her. Hips bucking, she growled and lowered her hands to his ass for a better grip. He thrust into her harder and harder. All she could feel was him pounding into her, sweeping her away again. She wiggled. He grabbed her hips and held her so he could thrust even deeper. She gave another cry and threw back her head. Light exploded behind her eyes. She felt his seed pumping into her in hot gushes. In the back of her head, she knew they'd forgotten any kind of protection.

  She didn't care. She'd deal with that later.

  For now, it was enough just to come apart in his arms. She'd put everything back together later. In the cool water, she clung to him. She let the tears fall then—she could always claim it was the chlorine stinging her eyes. And a small crack ran through her, for she knew her life and her future weren't here in Zahkim. When her sabbatical ended, she was due back home to her job, her dad, and the real world.

  For right now, however, clinging to Arif's solid form was just what she needed.

  Chapter Eleven

  His Christine needed cheering.

  Ever since she had seen that article—and he wanted to yell at Tess for sending it without reading more than the first two lines—she had moped around the archive. She ate little of the lunches he provided. She stared at the books he brought to her without light in her eyes. She went through the rote of her work, but he could see worry and doubt nagging.

  Arif actually wanted to hunt down the author of that article—Tess had only been the unthinking messenger—and throttle the man with his bare hands. He settled instead for arranging dinner in the gardens; there would be no tray in Christine's room this evening. He had no idea what her favorite foods might be, so he would present options—poached salmon in a delicate lemon sauce, roast chicken, steak if she preferred. Pasta or mashed potatoes or a richly spiced rice. Everything American that the cooks could conjure—pizza, beef ribs, even tiny hamburgers. This would be about foods she might love.

  Christine followed him from the archives to the peacock throne room, which was now used for informal gatherings. He'd arranged the meal to take place opposite the peacock throne, but even that marvel, with its rainbow of embedded gemstones, could not spark more than a glance and two questions from her. She picked at her food and made idle talk about what might be done to better catalog the archives.

  After the meal had been cleared, Arif pushed back his chair. Christine started to rise, but Arif put his hand over hers. "Ah, but we are not done. There is desert…and this." He clapped his hands. The staff threw open the French windows that opened onto the garden, and music began to play. Tess's latest hit, a love song, filled the room.

  The models began their parade.

  The first gowns offered up traditional Zahkim wedding colors—black, green, red gowns with wide skirts and sparkles strewn across them like stardust. Christine shot him a suspicious glance, but he only smiled and nodded. Ice cream came out in tiny dishes, along with other puddings. The first models twirled and departed. Colors gave way to stark white in satin, silk, and fluttery fabrics. Arif actually liked one or two, and one in particular, with a low back and slim silhouette, would make his Christine look the princess she would become as his wife.

  The fashion show ended. Christine pushed at her melting ice cream with her spoon. "Well, that was impressive, and pretty, but why did all the dresses look like wedding gowns?"

  Arif swallowed a nervous laugh. This was not going as he had expected. He had wanted to see Christine's eyes warm, as they had when he had taken her to the harem pool. He had thought the colors and the fabrics would at least spark some interest from her.

  "They are all from Zahkim designers. Tarek is trying to grow our country's economy, and his wedding to Tess set off great interest not just in weddings, but fashion."

  Christine nodded and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "Ah, the joys of being someone who has to dress for magazine shoots. Over the years, Tess has emailed me photos of some of the ridiculous things she's had to wear. She'd look great in some of these. But then, she looks great in anything."

  Arif frowned. "There's not a single gown you liked?"

  Standing, she gave him a small smile and shook her head. "Not my style. All those puffy skirts…they're for girls who want fairy tale weddings and Prince Charmings. But thanks for dinner. The food was great." She touched a finger to the back of his hand but pulled away as if she's just touched a live wire. Voice hurried now, she said, "I should reorganize my notes from today. I missed a reference." Turning, she left him, her steps fast, as if she feared staying a moment longer.

  He stared after her, drumming his fingers on the table. He caught himself and stood. Glancing around at the table, the beauty of the room, the scents of the garden wafting in, he thought he'd wasted an evening. Nothing could impress this woman. Nothing could please her. Striding for the door, he shouted an order for his car to be brought around. Maybe the problem was simply that he was courting the wrong woman. But how could that be when his heart beat faster every time she came near?

  Arif stared at the glass of stout in front of him. The lights of Al Resab glittered below Nasim’s penthouse's floor-to-ceiling windows. His cousin kept a supply of British ale and stout in remembrance of good times back in Oxford. But Arif couldn't stop thinking about Christine. The stout tasted far too bitter on his tongue.

  "What am I do to? She accepts my kisses, but my ring stays stubbornly on her right hand. She prefers books to designer dresses. She has this obsession with proving her father's theories right, and she has no idea what her own heart desires. And I cannot get her to see any of that!" He fisted one hand and punched the leather arm of his chair.

  Nasim threw himself into the sleek, black leather chair opposite. Nasim went for modern furnishings—chrome and leather furniture and abstract art in primary colors on the soft-gray walls. He sipped the foam off his ale and said, "Might not be your job, mate."

  Of the three of them, Nasim was the one who held tightest to his days back in England. He preferred jeans to robes and kept his black hair short. Thick, flat eyebrows gave him a brooding look that did not match his personality. He loved nothing better than a good time, meaning lots of women and few commitments.

  Frowning, Arif fixed a hard stare on his cousin. "Fine for you to say. When have you ever been in love?"

  With a laugh, Nasim leaned forward. "Love's a fool's game. And if it's a marriage you want, you should be looking at it like it's a business deal. Does it make sense? Do each of you get something you want out of it? And is this a deal worth the fight?"

  "Fight? You think I'm giving up too easily?"

  "You're being a bloody idiot, is what I think. But if you're mad for the girl, stop whinging about how she's so difficult. You'd be bored with some sweet-tempered, easy-going thing clinging to you. Look at all the girls in Al Resab who've thrown themselves at you at every public function you've ever attended, and you've never even noticed them. You're a bloody sheikh of Zahkim. You think our forefathers took no for an answer? Of course not. They fought for what was theirs and ended up ruling the bloody count
ry. If she's what you want, stop doubting yourself and wear her down until you get that yes you want. It's just like any other deal that's waiting to be done."

  Arif gave a snort. "Oh, someday you'll learn—it's like nothing else. But you may be right about one thing."

  Christine watched her coffee going cold. Had she been a little harsh with Arif about the wedding gowns? She sipped the coffee and let out a breath. The truth was, they'd been beyond beautiful, and she couldn't see herself in a single one of them. She glanced at the ring on her finger, the blue glinting in the sunlight like a trapped piece of desert sky. She'd taken her coffee out into the garden. The beauty around her—colorful flowers, the fountain gurgling, greenery everywhere shading her from the heat building in the day—wasn't helping. She'd asked for three months here, but she suspected three years wouldn't be enough time to find what she wanted.

  She wasn't looking for her dad's version of Troy, she was looking for a unicorn. She hadn't found the proof that would lead to confirmation that the Lion People existed because there was no evidence—no mention in any document, not even a hint.

  And those wedding gowns meant Arif still thought he wanted to marry her. She let out another sigh. She had it bad for him. Every time he touched her, she went up in flames. She lost her head, and that wasn't good. Because this infatuation of his was going to burn out. She'd seen that before in her other two boyfriends. It all went hot and heavy, and then bam—they started complaining how she spent too much time with her head in a book, or they started talking about better jobs in other locations. Before she knew it, they were out the door. Arif would be the same, and she didn't want them ending up in a messy divorce.

  Better for Arif to get bored with playing her assistant now, and they'd both move on.

  Or that was the plan.

  Starting to wander again with her coffee in hand, she turned down one of the garden paths and caught sight of Arif frowning at a bush with dark green leaves and white flowers.