The Sheikh's Captive American Page 9

  His grandmother walked in with her head up, her eyes sparking and her robes snapping around her ankles.

  "Tarek, you have been moping like a child for the past month. It is your fault she left."

  Tarek picked up a sheaf of spreadsheet papers. "I have work. There is infrastructure to update, ministers to deal with, and—"

  "And all this would be easier with a queen by your side. You must fix what you have broken."

  "That is what I am doing."

  She shook her head. "A king needs a queen, my grandson. She made you a better man while she was here. She can give you a heart as well as a mind.” She slapped a flash drive down on his desk. "Losing your parents changed you. Now it’s time to change again."

  "I—"

  She held up her hand. "Listen to the wisdom of your elders. In your heartache for your mother and father, you learned to cling to tangibles, to push aside hopes, dreams, anything you could not use your head or hands to deconstruct. You have a voice inside you which you have long ignored. But—good or bad—that voice is often divine guidance for us.” A wave of her hand cut off his protest. “Call it the voice of your subconscious, your heart, if you don’t like to think about God’s influence. It is restraint and empathy—it is not calling in the military to solve everything, as you do now. Your heavy hand will cost you the throne. It’s time to listen." She jabbed a finger at the drive, lifted her chin and swept from the room.

  Tarek fingered the drive. What was on it? Some sermon or a mystic speaking more prophecies, probably. He started to toss it into the trash and stopped. He would listen to her wisdom, whatever it was. He owed her that much. But then he had disasters to resolve.

  Plugging the drive into his computer, he saw it held a single video file. He clicked on it. A moment later, Tess appeared, a guitar in her lap and a spotlight on her. She seemed to be on a stage, but a very small one—either that, or the rest of the stage had been blacked out. Her simple black dress shimmered in the spotlight. Tarek almost yanked the drive out, but he couldn’t. He was too hungry for even this small glimpse of her.

  She bent over the guitar and began to pick out a song—something filled with longing, touched by only a fragment of hope. She started to sing.

  I've been an angel in the sky, a devil on the ground.

  Love's got no rules, it's got no rhyme,

  just sweet memories I'll keep until the end of time.

  Some say the world's all logic, some say it's all a crime.

  All I know is I'd rather love and lose than lose this feelin'.

  'Cause I've had my hands on diamonds…

  desert diamonds, desert diamonds from the sky,

  and now my hopes are back to climbin',

  and someday again I'll fly.

  Drums, a flute, and then the stringed oud joined her guitar. The song swelled, but Tarek was no longer hearing the words.

  He heard the love in her voice, the bittersweet need, the ache. It broke him as nothing ever had.

  He stopped the video and stared at Tess for a very long time.

  The truth of his grandmother's words cut deep—deeper even than Tess's song. He had sent her away. He had not said what was in his heart. He had not even listened to it. All from fear. Fear of loss—fear that he might lose again. His parents had died—and he'd had a hunch when he'd said good-bye to them that something terrible waited right around the corner. He had shut that away—shut everything away. Was it too late to bring it back? And Tess as well?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tess leaned against the railing of her Malibu condo deck, swirling her wine in its glass as she watched her friends. They sat twenty feet away, gathered around a bonfire on the private beach, talking and laughing. Friday night and all should be well. She was due back in the recording studio in a few weeks; the new single was already a hit, and the album would be as well.

  She'd expected a month would be long enough to get back into the swing of her life. Hell, Phil was already walking around without so much as a cane, and the specialist at UCLA loved how he was doing. She'd expected to be back on her feet as easily. Why not walk off the plane and feel as if she'd never left? She had a new batch of memories and experiences to add to her collection and songs flying from her fingertips—so what if tears kept falling onto the page as she wrote? An artist used every experience for inspiration.

  So why did she feel as if she was living half in the present and half in memory?

  She watched Phil toss a log into the fire and catch his wife around the waist. Their laughter came to her on the breeze, then stopped short when they kissed. Tess bit down on her lower lip, and her nose started to sting. Salt spray from the rumbling ocean washed over her, and that was a good excuse to wipe her eyes.

  She wanted to know what Tarek thought of the song, but she couldn't ask him. She'd seen a new store open on Melrose with imports from the Middle East and wondered if Tarek would have liked it. She'd woken last night, dreaming of the oasis and reaching out to pat empty, cold sheets where a warm body should have been. She'd even bought frankincense body rub, taken one sniff, burst into tears, and stuffed it into the back of her linen closet. But she still smelled it everywhere she went. Worst of all, she kept pulling up travel sites on her computer and staring at the air fares. There weren’t any direct flights to Zahkim's main city Al Resab, but with a connection or two…

  Oh, who was she kidding? Tarek had made it clear they'd had a fling and nothing more. She was the one writing sad love songs and climbing the charts with what the critics were calling her amazing world-beat shift.

  She swigged her Chardonnay and wished for a stronger burn. Maybe she should switch to tequila.

  Julie ran up the steps to the deck, her bare feet thumping on the wooden planks. Her long, dark brown curls bounced, and her wide hips swayed. She had on a dark-blue hoodie over a gold swimsuit that was indecent in five states, and Tess watched the guys on the beach turn to stare.

  Putting her elbows on the railing, Julie nudged Tess with her shoulders. "What's up, chica? You look like someone ran over your dog. If you had a dog to begin with. Maybe you need a dog."

  Tess gave a snort and snuggled deeper into her own sweats.

  Shaking her head, Julie said, "Time to tell Aunt Julie what's with the face. You've been a little weird since you got back from your trip, but this is more than that. Did flying get to you after that crash? It did me, and I wasn't even involved."

  "I don't know what the problem is. Distracted, I guess." She ducked her head, hoping Julie wouldn’t see the traces of tears.

  "Maybe time to see a therapist? I know a great one in Venice. She makes the best smoothies and incorporates yoga into all her sessions. You'll lose five pounds, if nothing else."

  Tess smiled. "Smoothies and yoga aren't going to do it."

  "A cleanse? Write another song? Those cheer you up—they leave everyone else crying, but you love singing. Or…I know. How about a guy? Like that stud over there." Julie nodded to one of the three blond and built surfer dudes she had brought to the gathering.

  A man? Was that what she wanted? Or was it more like the man. The only man. That sounded like another song brewing. She sighed.

  "Tess!" Julie's mouth fell open. She shut it and narrowed her eyes. "While I was busting my ass, and needing therapy because of it, with a flight to India, you fell for him, didn't you? Damn, I should have known you had good reason to stay in a hot desert—an even hotter guy."

  "It wasn't like that. It was just a…well, a romance."

  "A sheikh in an old-fashioned romance." Her friend waggled her eyebrows. "I don't see a problem."

  "The only problem is that it ends. Like all good things...and bad. And it's time to move on." Tess straightened. "And my wine glass is empty."

  Smiling, Julie shook her head. "Oh, you don't fool me, chica. You do not give up and give in."

  Tess looked up at the sky, but despite the lack of clouds, she couldn't see more than a few scattered stars. Beautiful as the ocean
was, she missed the charm of the oasis with its still waters and the way night had pushed across its surface.

  "The stars were so beautiful there, Jules. Millions and millions of them."

  Julie put an arm over Tess's shoulders and hugged tight. Pulling back, she dragged a square, white envelope out of her hoodie pocket, the paper crinkling. "I know what your problem is. This is the cure."

  Setting her glass on the railing, Tess took the envelope. "You opened it."

  "It was addressed to Angel Productions, and if I'm running things here, I got a right. It is about time you promoted me. After all, who did the deal with Sharma Entertainment? Who held down the fort like a pro? Who is so deserving of a raise and a bump in the company?"

  Tess shot Julie a quelling look, then pulled out a thick card printed in gold lettering from the envelope.

  Bouncing on her toes, Julie spoke before Tess could read it. "It's an invitation. To perform at the first annual Ashira Festival in Zahkim. Buzz is already building that it is going to be the event of the year, with royalty coming in from all over. They want you to headline, and if your sheikh doesn't sweep you up and hang on this time, then call me, and I'll come and kick his butt."

  Tess pulled a face. "It'd mean another flight for you."

  "For you, I'd do it. But I don't think I'll have to. And with me running things here, you'll have time to set up a new label for Angel Productions in Al Resab. You know you're dying to hook up with more amazing musicians there, and it's not that far to Mumbai if you want to stop by to check up on Riya."

  "We’re going to have a new label?" Tess arched her eyebrows.

  "I'm thinking we'll call it Eastern Star. Or maybe Fallen Angels. Or Don't Be Afraid. Yeah—that's good. That's what angels in the Bible always say when they show up, since they’re so fierce. I'll work on it."

  Tess tapped the card on the railing. "No, I think Don't Be Afraid is the perfect name. Middle Eastern pop-rock that will turn the world upside down."

  "See, you're already getting your mojo back. Now we need to get you back to Zahkim. Didn't you say something about a prophecy? Chica, you cannot go against fate. You know that." Grabbing Tess's hand, Julie headed inside. "Now let's get you a really safe flight back to where your butt needs to be."

  When Tess stepped out onto the tarmac at the Al Resab airport, after a short flight from Cairo, where she’d spent the previous night, she knew Julie had been right. Her stomach had been tightening into knots, but as soon as the desert sun hit her shoulders it felt like a warm welcome. Dabir stood beside a palace limo, complete with the little flags on the front, and took her bag from her.

  "Marhaban, Miss Angel. Welcome! You have been missed."

  Tess bit her lip. Was it too much to hope that Tarek had been the one doing most of the missing? Was this festival really for her, or was he using her as a name to ensure it was a hit? She didn't know, and her stomach went back to jumping.

  Tess tried to settle against the plush leather and the cool of the air conditioning and make small talk. She asked Dabir how he and his family were doing and heard that his sister was now sharing an apartment with a friend. His father was as crotchety as ever, complaining about all the changes being made.

  Tess perked up at that. She wanted to ask what changes, but she didn't dare. What if Tarek had shifted into more than a tyrant? She flinched from the idea. He couldn't—he wouldn't. But he did have a country to run in the best way he thought possible.

  Dabir took the turn to the palace, but she spotted tents along the way. Those were new.

  Leaning forward to stare out the windshield, she asked, "What's all this? Part of the festival?"

  Dabir glanced into the rearview mirror. "Yes, we have had events all week. Tonight is the culmination. We have a great deal to celebrate, and it is supposed to be a beautiful evening."

  Tess swallowed hard and wet her lips. She tried to make her question sound casual. "Sheikh Tarek will be there?"

  "His Majesty, his ministers, everyone who is anyone in Zahkim, dignitaries from our neighboring countries, and a great many others."

  "Great—a crowd," Tess muttered. Ideas of stealing Tarek away for either an intimate moment or a confession of how she felt about him faded.

  Dabir didn't seem to pick up on her mood change. "Of course, without you, His Majesty would never have changed the laws—a welcome relief to many, including my sister. That’s why he invited you to perform."

  Tess flopped back in her seat. "Yay me." She tried to be more upbeat about it. It was nice to hear Tarek was managing so well, but she'd hoped this would be more than her showing up for a concert, a handshake, and another good-bye.

  She heard the music before they reached the palace grounds—drums in an infectious beat, a soaring melody, and instruments Tess couldn't quite identify.

  Colored lights lit the road and the area around the palace, turning the white walls into a rainbow. Tents with flapping banners rose up outside the palace, creating almost another city. The crowd looked to be a mix of those in traditional garb and others in Western-style clothing, everything from jeans to formal dresses and tuxedos. Carpets defined pathways, and the voices of vendors rose up, the words all Arabic, but she knew a call to come try and buy when she heard one.

  Dabir stopped briefly at a cordoned off road, and a security guard waved the car through. Tess kept staring. There had to be a few thousand people here.

  The sun was just going down when Dabir pulled the car to a stop and got out to open the door for her. She glanced around and saw that the area outside the palace had been converted into a miniature version of the Amir oasis. Night chased the day across the water's surface, and lanterns strung across the artificial lake multiplied the stars into a dazzling array of colors.

  Someone thrust a drink into her hand, and the band struck up a new song. A man in a uniform gave her a badge on a lanyard—backstage pass or performer's ID—and she slipped it over her head. It was hotter than she remembered, and she was glad she’d worn a long, loose dress.

  Everywhere she looked, she could see colors, lights, and the motion of the crowd. Finally, she found a quiet bench beside the lake to take it all in.

  And where the hell was Tarek? Was he ducking her? Schmoozing with VIPs? She glanced at her watch. She was due on stage in an hour. Maybe she should drink her drink and head backstage, get her makeup done, and do a final touchup on her hair.

  Her pass let her into another roped-off area, and she found what had to be the makeup trailer. A young woman welcomed her with the emotion of a true fan, but she managed Tess’s makeup and hair with great professionalism. Soon she had fresh foundation and mascara and darkly exotic eyes. After expertly taming Tess’s hair—she really needed to get it cut—she stood back and nodded in approval.

  “You look beautiful, Miss Angel.”

  Tess thanked her, posed for a quick selfie, signed an autograph, and headed back down the trailer steps, leaving her drink behind.

  Still no sign of Tarek.

  She didn't know whether to be disappointed or grateful. This proved it—he'd felt nothing for her. He'd gone out of his way to make sure she could leave. This was all about her coming back to perform, and that was that. She was happy to help out Zahkim and Tarek, but she was heading home as soon as she could schedule it.

  She closed her eyes, suddenly weary beyond measure. This was jet lag pulling at her. She was not going to feel sorry for herself. Tarek had given her some great memories and she'd have to hang onto those. And her songs. She gave herself a little shake and looked around, trying to determine her next move.

  A stage manager in khakis and a badge with a big orange “STAFF” across the front approached.

  “Miss Angel, we’re almost ready for you,” he said. “This way, please.”

  She followed him to a spot off stage and glanced again at her watch. She should be on in a few minutes, if she'd gotten the time change right. She pinched her cheeks and started on some soft, vocal warmups.

  T
he song being played ended, and applause broke out. She heard a voice over the PA system speaking mostly Arabic, but her name stood out. She pushed her shoulders back and strolled onto the stage, bright smile in place.

  This, she knew how to do.

  The crowd was a blur of dark motion and noise. She got to the mic and took hold of it to steady herself. She took a breath and closed her eyes. The crowd quieted. Glancing at the band behind her, she prayed they knew her latest hit, "Desert Diamonds.” She’d sent her set list in advance, so they ought to.

  They did.

  The guitar started first, and Tess started singing.

  She lost herself in the music and the words. She gave herself up to them, utterly, as she had once given herself to Tarek. The drummers came in on the chorus, along with the flute and the oud. The world became nothing but her and the emotion—the joy of love, the bittersweet parting, the certainty that she and Tarek had been meant to find each other. She'd have that knowledge forever.

  The last chord sounded and held. Tess lowered her head. For a moment, she could only hear the brush of the breeze over her ears. She looked up. Had everyone left?

  The crowd broke into a roar. The sound slammed into her and almost knocked her off her feet. She hadn't performed the song live before. And she hadn't expected a reaction like this. It terrified her.

  She managed a smile, a wave, and fled stage left.

  Once out of the spotlight, she bent over and braced her hands on her knees, gulping down breaths.

  "That was…magnificent."

  Straightening, she discovered Tarek staring at her from two feet away.

  He wore traditional robes, the flowing tunic and thobe, a white keffiyeh held on by the classic black, rope-like bands. With his beard, hawk-like nose, and those hot amber eyes, he was more than a sheikh. He looked every inch the ruler of his domain.

  Tess caught a breath and pushed her chin high. She was supposed to do a full twenty-minute set, but she couldn't. She’d thought she'd be able to do this—be mature and rational. Smile. She couldn't.