Indebted To The Sheikh (You Can't Turn Down a Sheikh Book 5) Page 9

  After the week I’ve had, you can’t imagine how much I’m looking forward to getting out of Phoenix for a couple days, I told him sincerely. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.

  But, I wondered as I prepared to board, would he even be interested in hearing about it? Salman had been gregarious and attentive during that first dinner, but the meeting at the lawyer’s, and my subsequent offer, had irrevocably altered the dynamic between us. We would both be going into this next encounter with only one thing on our minds.

  I arrived in London at midnight, local time. The wristwatch I had brought with me, a gift from my late mother, displayed the time in Phoenix: four p.m. After a layover of an hour and a half, I boarded my flight to Qia and landed at Jubal International Airport at ten a.m. According to the watch, it was now eleven p.m. in Phoenix.

  As I shuffled off the plane, I wondered, with a bleary feeling, what had transpired at home that day during my absence—how Patricia was faring being at home alone, whether Clay had broken up with Leah like he had said he was going to, and if Irene had started on the follow-up assignment for Taos.

  As I walked through the airport, I looked around suspiciously, wondering if David Icarus had sent Fire Cloud security personnel to spy on me in Qia. What would they even look like? Would they wear trench coats and sunglasses? Jeans and black T-shirts? I’d be sure to keep an eye out for anyone who appeared to be following me.

  I texted Salman to let him know that I had arrived and seated myself on a bench to await his response. Remembering how busy he had been when I’d first met him, I expected him to send someone to fetch me. Undoubtedly, I would find him at home, busily poring over spreadsheets with a tumbler full of bourbon in one hand. “Let’s make this quick,” he would say, and lead me without fanfare into the bedroom to complete our ill-advised business arrangement. That done, I would be handed the book, escorted unceremoniously out of the room by palace guards, and shown the door.

  So, it came as a surprise when he texted back to say, “I’m outside.”

  When I asked him what he was driving, he said, “You’ll know it when you see it, I think. It’s hard to miss.”

  Faintly puzzled and half-expecting to find him parked in a helicopter hovering like a black beetle just over the parking lot, I stepped outside into the bright sunlight. There on the curb sat an immaculately polished limousine, impossibly long, and Salman himself stood leaning against it, flashing his white smile and looking as elegant as ever.

  “How was your trip?” he asked, coming forward and giving me a chaste peck on the cheek. The irony of the gesture, given our plans, was not lost on me. “Not too long, I hope.”

  “Hard to say.” I handed him my suitcase, shielding my face against the scorching sun. “After a few years, I forgot my own name and where I was from. Eventually, I forgot that there had ever been a world outside the plane.”

  “I’m glad you landed before I died,” Salman said, grimly bemused.

  “Yeah, so where are we headed?”

  “I thought you might like to go back to my place first.” Seeing the flicker of disappointment in my eyes, he added, “Just to get cleaned up and rest, if you need it.”

  “Right. Of course.” As before, he was taking more thought for me than I was for myself. “But you know, we don’t have to rush this. Since I’ve traveled all this way—”

  “You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like, of course,” Salman said. “And as long as you’re here, you’ll be treated like royalty.” Seeing that we were both breaking a sweat, he added, “But we can discuss this on the way to the palace—or at the palace. We’ve got the whole day ahead of us. And the whole night.”

  I should have guessed that there would be a certain level of mistrust between us, given the circumstances. He knew I wanted something from him, and I knew he wanted something from me. The knowledge made us each a little wary of the other.

  He opened the back door of the limo, and I stepped in, taken aback by the extravagance on display. It was the first car I had ever seen with wooden flooring and its own movie theater-style screen and chairs. There was room enough in the back for an entire football team to sit comfortably. I both envied and resented it at the same time; there was something unseemly about the extravagance of it.

  “It’s not much,” he said modestly, “but it was the best I could find on short notice.”

  “Are you joking?” I asked, more rudely than I’d intended. “Are there people riding around in fancier limos?”

  “Some members of my extended family, if you want to know.” A shadow seemed to pass over his face, but it brightened as he added, “I’m glad you like it. I assume everyone in Phoenix has a limo like this.”

  “No. No one in Phoenix that I know of has a limo, especially one with its own alcohol cabinet.”

  “Too bad for them.” Reaching to open the cabinet, he added, “Would you like something?”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s still too early for me, thanks.”

  The curtains in the limousine completely blocked out the sunlight, so one could have been forgiven for thinking it was midnight outside. If I shut my eyes, I could almost imagine we were back in Paris on that first night. Except that, now, we were seated on opposite ends of the car with a cavernous space between us.

  Salman seemed to be conscientiously attempting to keep a respectful distance, as if afraid of overwhelming me. I could have been having a really lovely time, if not for the knowledge of what awaited us at the end of the trip.

  Sliding back the curtains with the press of a button, Salman pointed out various places of interest in Jubal, Qia’s capital: a museum of antiquities containing some of the oldest surviving cuneiform tablets and an early fragment of the legend of Inanna; a bronze statue of the goddess Al-Uzza that had spent decades in the British Museum before being brought back to Qia; a twelfth-century merchant vessel.

  “If you’re a lover of myth and folklore, as I am,” said Salman, “this place is a kind of paradise.”

  There was a glow of satisfaction in his eyes as I gazed out the window, feeling drawn into the mystique of this ancient city in spite of myself. What he couldn’t have known was the relief I felt at being able to focus on something other than our relationship…whatever it was.

  “And there’s more back at the palace,” he said, “a lot more. I have one of the most extensive libraries of folklore collections in the Middle East.”

  “Do you have The Hundred Doves?” I asked.

  “Not an original copy, but I’m working on it. I recently acquired an early written copy of the Panchatantra, an Indian epic that was originally composed in oral form around the fifth or sixth century.”

  “Oh, fantastic.” I remembered studying the Panchatantra for an oral traditions class in my third year of college; it was like the Indian version of Aesop’s fables. “I still can’t believe you have the time to do all this.”

  “Well, I think it’s important.” Salman rubbed the back of his neck. “Life can’t be all about money—not entirely. You need a certain amount of imagination if you’re going to thrive in this world.”

  An uneasy silence followed this last statement. It was hard to take Salman’s musings about money seriously when he had taken my father’s entire estate. It was a measure of how conflicted I felt about him that I had been willing to overlook this, if only for the duration of this trip. It was infuriatingly hard to stay mad at him, even when he richly deserved it.

  “You okay?” he asked with a look of sincere concern. “You’ve gone quiet.”

  I nodded, not entirely truthfully. My tongue felt dry and heavy and clung to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter. I had spent the past few weeks rehearsing what I would say to him if we ever met again, and now that the moment had come, I was too flustered to speak. If we stayed in the car any longer, I was either going to hit him or make out with him. I wasn’t sure which one would be the more disastrous choice.

  “I realize it’s a lot,” Salman added
with characteristic insight. “Traveling, being in a new country for the first time, having a…meeting like this.” Being utterly smitten with someone who screwed you out of your inheritance, he could have added. “I think we both feel jitters, but we’ll get through it.”

  “You don’t look even remotely nervous,” I pointed out. “You carry yourself with such grace.”

  “Do I really?” Salman shrugged roguishly. “I guess I’ve just been looking forward to seeing you. I’m pleased that you’re finally here.”

  And then, he leaned over and brushed the hair out of my face so that he could kiss me, and I made no effort to object.

  As his lips connected with mine, and I began to get lost in his kiss, a new thought occurred to me: maybe this was more to him than just a business arrangement. Maybe Salman really was beginning to like me. Why else would he even consider parting with a book of such value, unless the prospect of a romantic evening meant more to him?

  But how much could a romantic evening be worth?

  As we began kissing more passionately, as he lifted me up and twined his arms around my back, I made a quick series of mental calculations. Either Salman was really interested in me, or he wasn’t. If he wasn’t, if he just wanted me for the sex, he was holding the book hostage in order to get it. If he did, if he really liked me as much as his kisses suggested, then I had been leading him on this whole time. Neither possibility offered much comfort.

  “Salman,” I said, breaking away.

  Stiffening, he pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

  “I—”

  I couldn’t bring myself to say what I wanted to say: that I was sorry for misleading him, that I didn’t want him to make this into more than it was, that I was here for the book and nothing else. But when I saw the concerned look in his eyes, my resolve melted and the words caught in my throat.

  “Uh…never mind.”

  “You sure?” He stroked the side of my face with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I hated myself for how much I enjoyed the feeling. I felt totally exposed to him, like he could sense my fear and evasion and eagerness to be anywhere else. The worry on his face seemed to deepen as he studied me closely.

  “Anyway, we’ll be home soon. I had Fazul take the long way round, because I wanted you to see the city.”

  “It’s lovely, really. I spent a week in Lebanon last year, but this is the first time I’ve ever been to Qia. They seem to be near polar opposites.”

  “Yes, I remember reading that article—on the night we met, I immediately went home and dug up some of your old reporting for the Hornpipe.”

  “Seriously?”

  “If you’re wondering why I seemed so tired the next morning, that’s part of it,” he admitted with a chuckle.

  There was something oddly gratifying in knowing that he appreciated my work as a journalist. If he was going to like me, he could at least do it for the right reasons, and I was fiercely proud of those old articles.

  “But when I first met you, you asked why I had become a reporter. You tried to tell me that print journalism was dying.”

  “I said a lot of things that night,” he said, blushing, “not all of which I’m proud of.” He leaned forward to kiss me again, and this time, I didn’t resist.

  Chapter 12

  Salman

  Cassie had seemed uneasy ever since her arrival and her reticence made me unsettled. I worried that maybe she was upset on my account. Maybe she was having second thoughts, or maybe the newness of the place and the length of her trip had worn her out. Perhaps the new surroundings and experiences were frightening to her. But Cassie had never struck me as someone who scared easily; she had spent a week embedded with a militant group in Lebanon, after all.

  It was disappointing, because I would have been having a lovely time otherwise. Maybe I was just starved for love because I hadn’t dated a woman in so long, but I wanted her with an intensity that scared me a little.

  She was wearing a soft, floral shirt and a pair of stylish blue jeans that hugged her curves in all the right places. She had pinned up her hair in the back, but a few loose curls had fallen between her ears and pink cheeks. I loved looking at her. If I could have gotten away with it, I would never have stopped looking at her.

  She went on kissing me, half reluctant and half willing.

  “Are you okay with this?” I asked.

  She nodded, though a sense of disquiet lingered behind her eyes. “I think so,” she whispered. “We’re going to be doing it anyway, later, aren’t we? So, I suppose I had better get used to it.”

  I turned away because I didn’t want her to see the effect her words had had on me. The absurdity of the situation struck me: we had agreed beforehand that we were going to have sex, and I wanted that, but I didn’t want to go through with it until she was completely ready. I didn’t know how long that would take, but I had found myself in the odd position of having to seduce someone who had already consented to sleep with me for business reasons.

  “Have you done this before?” Cassie asked as we drove past the town square with its many-pillared buildings and marble-staired courthouse.

  “Done what? If you mean, have I ever slept with a woman in exchange for part of her late father’s estate…then, no, I’ve never done that.”

  “That isn’t what I meant at all,” said Cassie, grinning.

  I returned her smile. “If you’re asking if I’ve ever slept with anyone for business reasons, then the answer is no. Have you?”

  Cassie bit her lip as if wanting to ask a follow-up question but thinking better of it. “No, I’ve never done this sort of thing,” she said. “It feels a little scandalous if we’re being honest.”

  “Only if you were doing it for money,” I said lightly. “The fact that you’re willing to do this for a children’s book is…kind of adorable, if we’re being honest.”

  “Is it?” she asked in surprise. She was stretched back in her seat, looking more relaxed now, as if relieved to be discussing the questions she had been afraid to broach earlier. If we were going to be intimate, it would help if we talked first. “The rest of the family thinks I’m an idiot for wanting the book this much.”

  “Maybe because they don’t appreciate fine literature,” I replied. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to own a children’s book, especially one that you grew up reading. I think it’s sweet.”

  “I suppose it is. I just wish I hadn’t had to jump through so many hoops in order to get it.”

  There was a tone of reproof in her voice, and I bristled at the accusation embedded in the statement. She must have resented me for agreeing to this arrangement in the first place. But, of course, I had only done it because I wanted her to fly out and see me again. I wasn’t using the book to gain access to her body, although I couldn’t deny I would have loved to have it. At this point, I liked her so much that I might have just given her the book if she had asked. The thrill of having her next to me had left me feeling faint and giddy like a schoolboy in love for the first time, and that was an exceedingly dangerous position to be in.

  “Have you stayed in a palace before? I wouldn’t be surprised if your job has taken you to interviews with royals and such.”

  “I haven’t, actually,” said Cassie. “My experience in journalism hasn’t been very glamorous.”

  “Maybe that’s for the best. I was worried.”

  “Worried about what?”

  “That you’d be underwhelmed.”

  As I said this, we rounded a corner and the estate came into view, palatial and forbidding. Cassie’s eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of a large four-storied building standing at the end of a long drive shaded with ancient Ghaf and acacia trees, some of them older than her country of origin. A broad set of stairs led to an arched doorway flanked by double rows of Corinthian columns and a niche containing a bust of Minerva, goddess of wisdom, with a doleful owl on her shoulder.

  I’d promised myself I wouldn’t
stare, but I couldn’t resist enjoying the look on her face, as first one wonder and then another came into view. As the limousine pulled up to the side of the house, I made sure she glimpsed the park at the back of the house, with its immaculately maintained native shrubbery, trees, and flowers. Further back behind the trees stood another small mansion that could have comfortably fit three suburban homes inside.

  “You really undersold yourself,” said Cassie quietly. “This is magnificent.”

  “Thank you,” I said, beaming. “I’d rather hoped you’d think so.”

  “Are you sure you’re not royalty yourself? Because I have a hard time believing that anyone but a king could have afforded a place like this.”

  “You’ve glommed onto my secret,” I said as we emerged from the limo. I offered her my hand, and she climbed out, gawking all the while at the immensity around her. “I’m actually a sheikh, a member of the extended family of the reigning monarch of Qia.”

  Cassie searched my face for any sign that I was joking. Not finding it, she exclaimed in surprise, “And you waited until now to tell me? What took you so long?”

  I chuckled irresistibly, feeling more confident that she liked me than I had since the night we’d first met.

  “I like to keep little things like that a secret when I’m getting to know a woman. If everyone knew I was a royal, how could I know who to trust? But you seemed to like me, even before you knew.”

  “I could have liked you a lot more if you’d told me,” said Cassie, and we both laughed.

  Feeling newly emboldened, I led Cassie on a tour of the grounds. Given that I so rarely had visitors from out of the country, it was a joy to show her through the various dining rooms and galleries and saloons and gardens. After years of living here, I had almost forgotten how it must look to an outsider. But as I watched her quietly contemplating the ancient tapestries that lined the walls of the hallway, I was reminded of how I had felt when I’d first crossed the threshold.