# The Return of the Sheikh

KRISTI GOLD

A romance between a royal and a commoner is forbidden, yet fiery blue-eyed consultant Madison can’t resist passionate nights in Crown Prince Zain Mehdi’s bed – even though she’s supposed to be restoring his reputation.Loving Zain is dangerous enough, but would Madison’s latest secret – a royal baby – derail Zain’s reign?

Madison entered the dining room

wearing a slim black skirt that came right above her knees, conservative heels and a simple white blouse. But Sheikh Zain knew better. That professional, prim and proper persona only served to conceal the daring beneath her cool exterior. He’d wager his kingdom that she had on a pair of brightly colored panties.

A richly detailed fantasy assaulted him, one that involved sitting beside her and running his hand up the inside of her thigh and—

“Where would you like me?”

He thought of several answers, none of them appropriate. “Are you referring to the seating arrangements, or do you have something else in mind?”

## About the Author

KRISTI GOLD has a fondness for beaches, baseball and bridal reality shows. She firmly believes that love has remarkable, healing powers and feels very fortunate to be able to weave stories of love and commitment. As a bestselling author, a National Readers’ Choice Award winner and a Romance Writers of America three-time RITA® Award finalist, Kristi has learned that although accolades are wonderful, the most cherished rewards come from networking with readers. She can be reached through her website at www.kristigold.com or through Facebook.

## The Return. of the Sheikh. Kristi Gold


www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all the readers who continue to embrace the romance genre through your belief that love has the power to conquer all.

You are appreciated more than you know.

## One

The moment Madison Foster exited the black stretch limo, a security detail converged upon her, signaling the extreme importance of her prospective client. The light mist turned to rain as she crossed the parking lot. One massive guard was on her right, a somewhat smaller man at her left, while two other imposing goons dressed in dark suits led the way toward the Los Angeles highrise. A few feet from the service entrance, she heard a series of shouts and camera shutters, but she didn’t dare look back. Making that fatal error could land her on the cover of some seedy tabloid with a headline that read The Playboy Prince’s Latest Paramour. And a disheveled presumed paramour at that. She could already feel the effects of the humidity on her unruly hair as curls began to form at her nape beneath the low ponytail. So much for the sleek, professional look. So much for the farce that it never rained in sunny Southern California.

When the guards opened the heavy metal door and ushered her inside, Madison stepped carefully onto the damp tile surface as if walking on black ice. Couldn’t they see she was wearing three-inch heels? Clearly they didn’t care, she realized as they navigated the mazelike hallway at a rapid clip. Fortunately they guided her into a carpeted corridor before she took a tumble and wounded her pride, or worse. They soon reached a secluded elevator at the end of the passage where one man keyed in a code on the pad next to the door.

Like a well-oiled human machine, they moved inside the car. Madison felt as if she were surrounded by a contingent of stoic man-crows. They kept their eyes trained straight ahead, not one affording her even a casual glance, much less a kind word, on the trip to the top floor.

The elevator came to a smooth stop a few moments later where the doors slid open to a gentleman dressed in a gray silk suit, his sparse scalp and wire-rimmed glasses giving him a somewhat scholarly appearance. As soon as Madison exited the car, he offered his hand and a hesitant smile. “Welcome, Miss Foster. I’m Mr. Deeb, His Highness’s personal assistant.”

Madison wasn’t pleased with the “Miss” reference, but for the sake of decorum, she shook his hand and returned his smile without issuing a protest. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Deeb.”

“And I you.” He then stepped aside and made a sweeping gesture to his right. “Come with me, please.”

With the guards bringing up the rear like good little soldiers, they traveled down the penthouse’s black marble vestibule beneath soaring, two-story ceilings. As a diplomat’s daughter and political consultant, she’d been exposed to her share of opulence, but she wasn’t so jaded she couldn’t appreciate good taste. A bank of tall windows revealing the Hollywood Hills drew her attention before her focus fell on the polished steel staircase winding upward to the second story. The clean lines and contemporary furnishings were straight out of a designer’s dream, but not at all what she’d expected. She’d envisioned jewels and gold and statues befitting of royalty, not a bachelor pad. An extremely wealthy bachelor’s pad nonetheless. Only the best would do for Sheikh Zain ibn Aahil Jamar Mehdi, the crown prince of Bajul, who’d recently and unexpectedly become the imminent king, the reason why she’d been summoned—to restore the tarnished reputation of the man with many names. In less than a month.

After they passed beneath the staircase and took an immediate right, Madison regarded Mr. Deeb, who also seemed bent on sprinting to the finish line. “I’m surprised the prince was willing to meet with me this late in the evening.”

Deeb tugged at his tie but failed to look at her. “Prince Rafiq determined the time.”

Rafiq Mehdi, Prince Zain’s brother, had been the one who’d hired her, so that made sense. Yet she found Deeb’s odd demeanor somewhat disturbing. “His Highness is expecting me, isn’t he?”

They stopped before double mahogany doors at the end of the hall where Deeb turned to face her. “When Prince Rafiq called to say you were coming, I assumed he had spoken to his brother about the matter, but I am not certain.”

If Rafiq hadn’t told his brother about the plan, Madison could be tossed out before her damp clothes had time to dry. “Then you’re not sure if he even knows I’m here, much less why I’m here?”

Blatantly ignoring Madison’s question, Deeb pointed to a small alcove containing two peacock-patterned club chairs. “If you wish to be seated, I will come for you when the emir is prepared to see you.”

Provided the man actually decided to see her.

After the assistant executed an about-face and disappeared through the doors, Madison claimed a chair, smoothed a palm over her navy pencil skirt and prepared to wait. She surveyed the guards lined up along the walls with two positioned on either side of the entry. Heavily armed guards. Not surprising. When a soon-to-be-king was involved, enemies were sure to follow. She’d initially been considered a possible threat, apparent when they rifled through her leather purse looking for concealed weapons before she’d entered the limo. She highly doubted she could do much damage with a tube of lipstick and a nail file.

Madison suddenly detected the sound of a raised voice, though she couldn’t make out what that voice might be saying. Even if she could, she probably wouldn’t understand most of the Arabic words. Yet there was no mistaking someone was angry, and she’d bet her last bottle of merlot she knew the identity of that someone.

Zain Mehdi reportedly didn’t know the meaning of restraint, evidenced by his questionable activities. The notorious sheikh had left his country some seven years ago and taken up residence in the States. He’d often disappeared for months at a time, only to surface with some starlet or supermodel on his arm, earning him the title “Phantom Prince of Arabia.”

That behavior hadn’t necessarily shocked Madison. Many years ago, she’d met him at a dinner party she’d attended with her parents in Milan. Back then, he’d been an incurable sixteen-year-old flirt. Not that he’d flirted with her, or that he would even remember her at all, a gawky preteen with no confidence. A girl who’d been content to blend into the background, very much like her mother.

She didn’t do the blending-in thing these days. She intended to be front and center, and if she managed to succeed at this assignment, that would prove to be another huge feather in her professional cap.

When the doors opened wide, Madison came to her feet, adjusted her white linen jacket and held her breath in hopes that she wouldn’t be dismissed. “Well?” she asked when Deeb didn’t immediately speak.

“The emir will see you now,” he said, his tone somewhat wary. “But he is not happy about it.”

As long as she had the opportunity to win him over, Madison didn’t give a horse’s patoot about the prince’s current mood. “Fair enough.”

Deeb opened the door and followed her inside the well-appointed office. But she didn’t have the time—or the inclination—to study the room further. The six-foot-plus man leaning back against the massive desk, arms folded across his chest, his intense gaze contrasting with his casual stance, now captured her complete attention. Publicity photos—or her distant memories—definitely didn’t do Zain Mehdi justice.

With his perfectly symmetrical features, golden skin and deep brown eyes framed by ridiculously long black lashes, he could easily be pegged as a Hollywood star preparing to play the role of a Middle Eastern monarch. Yet he’d forgone the royal robes for a white tailored shirt rolled up at the sleeves and a pair of dark slacks. He also wore an expression that said he viewed her as an intruder.

Madison tamped down her nerves, shored up her frame and faked a calm facade. “Good evening, Your Highness. I’m Madison Foster.”

He studied her offered hand but ignored the gesture. “I know who you are. You are the daughter of Anson Foster, a member of the diplomatic corps and a longtime acquaintance of my father’s.”

At least he remembered her father, even if he probably didn’t remember her. “My sincerest condolences on your loss, Your Highness. I’m sure the king’s sudden passing came as quite a shock.”

He shifted his weight slightly, a sure sign of discomfort. “Not as shocking as learning of his death two weeks after the fact.”

“The emir was traveling when his father passed,” Deeb added from behind Madison.

The sheikh sent his assistant a quelling look. “That will be all, Deeb. Ms. Foster and I will continue this conversation in private.”

Madison glanced over her shoulder to see Deeb nodding before he said, “As you wish, Emir.”

As soon as the right-hand man left the room, the sheikh strolled around the desk, dropped down into the leather chair and gestured toward the opposing chair. “Be seated.”

Say please, Madison wanted to toss out. Instead, she slid into the chair, set her bag at her feet and made a mental note to work on his manners. “Now that we’ve established you know who I am, do you understand why I’m here?”

He leaned back and streaked a palm over his shadowed jaw. “You are here at my brother’s request, not mine. According to Rafiq, you are one of the best political consultants in this country. If your reputation holds true.”

If his reputation held true, she had her work cut out for her. “I’ve worked alongside political strategists in successfully assisting high-profile figures with public perception.”

“And why do you believe I would need your assistance with that?”

Okay, she’d draw him a picture, but it wouldn’t be pretty. “For starters, you haven’t been back to Bajul in years. Second, I know there’s concern that you won’t be welcomed with open arms when you do return to assume your position as king. And last, there is the issue with the women.”

He had the gall to give her a devil-may-care grin. “You cannot believe everything you hear, Ms. Foster.”

“True, but many people believe what they read. Therefore, it’s imperative we convey that you’re focused on being an effective leader like your father.”

His smile disappeared out of sight. “Then I am to assume you wish to mold me into the image of my father.”

She found the comment to be extremely telling. “No. I want to help you build a more favorable image of yourself.”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

Very carefully. “By reintroducing you to your people through a series of public appearances and social events.”

He inclined his head and studied her straight-on. “You intend to invite the entire country to a cocktail party?”

She could now add sarcastic along with sexy to his list of attributes. “The social events would be private. I’ll include only those in your close circle of friends and your family, as well as members of the governing council. Possibly a few foreign dignitaries and politicians and perhaps some investors.”

He grabbed a pen from the desktop and began to turn it over and over. “Go on.”

At least he seemed mildly interested. “As far as the public appearances are concerned, I have a lot of experience with speech writing,” she said. “I’d be happy to assist you with that.”

He frowned. “I have a graduate degree in economics from Oxford and I am fluent in five languages, Ms. Foster. What makes you think I cannot compose my own speeches in an articulate manner?”

Nothing like stepping on his royal pride. “I’m sure you’re quite capable, Your Highness, which is why I said I’d assist you. What you say and how you say it will be extremely important in winning over the masses.”

He tossed the pen aside and released a gruff sigh. “I have no reason to engage in political maneuvering. In the event you haven’t heard, my position is already secure. I was chosen to be king, and my word is the law. I am the law.”

“True, but when people are happy with their leader, that makes for a more peaceful country. And we have less than a month before your official coronation to change your country’s opinion of you. During that time, we’ll cover all the details, from the way you speak and act to the way you dress.”

He sent her a sly, overtly sensual smile. “Will you be dressing me?”

The sudden images flitting around Madison’s mind would be deemed less than appropriate. They even leaned a little toward being downright dirty. “I’m sure your staff can assist you with that.”

“It’s unfortunate that’s not among your duties,” he said. “I would be more inclined to agree to your plan.”

As far as she was concerned, he could put that charisma card right back into the deck. “Look, I realize you’re used to charming women into doing your bidding, but that tact doesn’t work with me.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “If I decide to accept your offer, would you be willing to stay on after the coronation?”

She hadn’t expected that question. “Possibly, if you could afford to keep me on staff. My services aren’t cheap.”

He released a sharp, cynical laugh. “Look around, Ms. Foster. Does it appear I’m destitute?”

Not even close. “We can discuss the possibility later. Right now, we need to concentrate on the current issue at hand, if you’re willing to work with me.”

He studied the ceiling for a moment before bringing his gaze back to hers. “The answer is no, I am not willing to work with you. I am quite capable of handling my own affairs.”

She wasn’t ready to give up without pointing out the most major concern. “Speaking of affairs, I’m also skilled when it comes to dealing with scandals, in case you have any of those little sex skeletons hiding in a closet.”

His expression turned steely as he stood. “My apologies for wasting your time, but I believe we are finished now.”

Apparently she’d hit a serious nerve, and yes, they were definitely finished.

Madison came to her feet, withdrew a business card from her bag and placed it on the desk. “Should you change your mind, here’s my number. I’ll let you break the news to your brother.”

“Believe me, I have much to stay to my brother,” he said. “That is first on my agenda when I return to Bajul.”

She’d like to have front row seats to that. She’d also like to think he might reconsider. Unfortunately, neither fell into the realm of possibility at the moment. “I wish you all the best for a smooth transition, Your Highness. Again, let me know if you decide you need my services.”

After slipping the bag’s strap back on her shoulder, Madison covered her disappointment with a determined walk to the door. But before she made a hasty exit, the sheikh called her back. “Yes?” she said as she faced him, trying hard not to seem too hopeful.

He’d rounded the desk and now stood only a few feet away. “You’ve changed quite a bit since we first met all those years ago.”

The fact he did recall the dinner party, and he hadn’t bothered to mention it before now, thoroughly shocked her. “I’m surprised you remember me at all.”

“Very difficult to forget such an innocent face, ocean-blue eyes and those remarkable blond curls.”

Here came the annoying blush, right on cue. “I wore glasses and braces and my hair was completely out of control.” Which had all been remedied with laser eye surgery, orthodontists and flat irons.

He took a few steps toward her. “You wore a pink dress, and you were very shy. You barely glanced my way.”

Oh, but she had. Several times. When he hadn’t been looking. “I’ve since gotten over the shyness.”

“I noticed that immediately. I’ve also noticed you’ve grown into a very beautiful woman.”

Madison barely noticed anything but his dark, pensive eyes when he walked right up to her, leaving little space between them. “Now that we’ve established my transformation,” she said, “I need to get to the airport so I don’t miss my flight to D.C.” She needed to get away from him before his extreme magnetism commandeered her common sense.

“I do have a private jet,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “You are welcome to use it whenever it is available. If you plan to travel to the region in the future, feel free to contact me and I’ll arrange to have you transported to Bajul. I would enjoy having you as my guest. I could show you things you’ve never seen before. Give you an experience you will not easily forget.”

She’d enjoy being his guest, perhaps too much. “You mean an evening trek by camel, or perhaps on the back of an elephant, across the desert? You’ll feed me pomegranates while we’re entertained by dancing girls?”

He looked more amused than offended by her cynicism. “I prefer all-terrain vehicles to camels and pachyderms, I detest pomegranates, but dancing would be an option. Between us, of course.”

She didn’t dare dance with him, much less take a midnight ride with him in any form or fashion. “As fascinating as that sounds, and as much as I appreciate the offer, I won’t be traveling outside the U.S. now that I won’t be working with you. But thank you for the invitation, and have a safe trip home.”

This time when Madison hurried away, the future king closed the doors behind her, a strong reminder that another important career door had closed.

However, she refused to give in to defeat. Not quite yet. As soon as the sheikh returned home, he might decide he needed her after all.

He greatly needed an escape.

The absolute loss of freedom weighed heavily on Zain as the armored car navigated the steep drive leading to the palace. So did the less-than-friendly reception. A multitude of citizens lined the drive, held back by the guards charged with his protection. Some had their fists raised in anger, others simply scowled. Because of the bulletproof glass, he couldn’t quite make out what they were shouting, yet he doubted they were singing his praises.

Rafiq had suggested he return at night, yet he’d refused. He might be seriously flawed, but had never been a coward. Whatever he had to endure to fulfill his obligation, he would do so with his head held high and without help.

He thought back to Madison Foster’s visit two days ago, as well as her intimation that he might be considered a stranger in a familiar land. He’d come close to accepting her offer, but not for those reasons. She’d simply intrigued him. She’d also forced him to realize how long it had been since he’d kept company with a woman. Yet she would have proven to be too great a temptation, and he could not afford even a hint of a scandal. If they only knew the real scandal that had existed within the palace gates, a secret that had plagued him for seven years, and the primary reason why he’d left.

As the car came to a stop, Zain quickly exited, but he couldn’t ignore the shouts of “Kha’en!” He could not counter the claims he’d been a traitor without revealing truths he had no intention of disclosing.

Two sentries opened the heavy doors wide, allowing him to evade the crowd’s condemnation for the time being. Yet the hallowed halls of the palace were as cold as the stone that comprised them. At one time he’d been happy to call this place home—a refuge steeped in lavish riches and ancient history. Not anymore. But he did welcome the site of the petite woman standing at the end of the lengthy corridor—Elena Battelli, the Italian au pair hired by his father for his sons, despite serious disapproval from the elders. Elena had been his nursemaid, his teacher, his confidante and eventually his surrogate mother following his own mother’s untimely death. She’d been the only person who understood his ways, including his wanderlust.

As soon as Zain reached her, Elena opened her arms and smiled. “Welcome back, caro mio.” She spoke to him in English, as she always had with the Mehdi boys, their “code” when they’d wanted to avoid prying ears.

He drew her into an embrace before stepping back and studying her face. “You are still as elegant as a gazelle, Elena.”

She patted her neatly coiffed silver hair. “I am an old gazelle, and you are still the charming giovinetto I have always adored.” A melancholy look suddenly crossed her face. “Now that your father has sadly left us, and you are to be king, I shall address you as such, Your Majesty.”

“Do not even think of it,” he said. “You are family and always will be, regardless of my station.”

She reached up and patted his cheek. “Yes, that is true. But you are still the king.”

“Not officially for another few weeks.” That reminded him of his most pressing mission. “Where is Rafiq?”

She shrugged. “In your father’s study, caro. He has spent most of his time there since…” Her gaze wandered away, but not before Zain glimpsed tears in her eyes.

He leaned and kissed her cheek. “We shall have a long talk soon.”

She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “We shall. You must tell me everything you have been doing while you were away.”

He didn’t dare tell her everything. He might be an adult now, but she could still make him feel like the errant schoolboy. “I look forward to our visit.”

Ignoring his bodyguards and Deeb, Zain sprinted up the stone steps to his father’s second-floor sanctuary and opened the door without bothering to knock. The moment he stepped inside, he thought back to how badly he’d hated this place, plagued by memories of facing his father’s ire over crossing lines that he’d been warned not to cross. King Aadil Mehdi had ruled with an iron hand and little heart. And now he was gone.

Zain experienced both guilt and regret that their last words had been spoken in anger. That he hadn’t been able to forgive his father for his transgressions. Yet he could not worry about that now. He had more pressing matters that hung over his head like a guillotine.

His gaze came to rest on his brother predictably seated in the king’s favorite chair located near the shelves housing several rare collections. The changes in Rafiq were subtle in some ways, obvious in others. He wore the kaffiyeh, which Zain refused to wear, at least for the time being. He also sported a neatly trimmed goatee, much the same as their father’s. In fact, Rafiq could be a younger version of the king in every way—both physically and philosophically.

Rafiq glanced up from the newspaper he’d been reading and leveled a nonchalant look on Zain. “I see you have arrived in one piece.”

He didn’t appreciate his brother’s indifference or that he looked entirely too comfortable in the surroundings. “And I see you’ve taken up residence in the king’s official office. Do you plan to stay here indefinitely?”

Rafiq folded the paper in precise creases and tossed it onto the nearby desk. “The question is, brother, do you intend to stay indefinitely, or will this be only a brief visit?”

Zain’s anger began to boil below the surface as he attempted to cling to his calm. “Unfortunately for you, as the rightful heir to the throne, I’ll be here permanently. I’ve been preparing for this role for years.”

“By bedding women on several continents?”

His composure began to diminish. “Do not pretend to know me, Rafiq.”

“I would never presume that, Zain. You have been away for seven years and I only know what I have read about you.”

At one time, he and Rafiq had been thick as thieves. Sadly, that had ended when his brother had sided with their father over their differences, leaving brotherly ties in tatters. “I left because our father placed me in an intolerable position.”

“He only wanted you to adhere to the rules.”

Outdated rules that made no sense in modern times, yet that had only been a small part of his decision. If Rafiq knew the whole story, he might not be so quick to revere their patriarch. “He wanted me to be exactly like him—unwilling to move this country into the millennium because of archaic ideals.”

Rafiq rose slowly to his feet and walked to the window to peer outside. “The people are gathered at the gates, along with members of the press. One group demands an explanation as to why their new king deserted them years ago, the other waits for the wayward prince to explain his questionable behavior. Quite the dilemma.”

“I will answer those questions in due time.” Those that needed answering.

Rafiq turned and frowned. “Are you certain you can handle the pressure?”

If he didn’t leave soon, he could possibly throw a punch, producing more fodder for the gossip mill. “Your lack of faith wounds me, brother. Have you ever known a time when I failed to win people over?”

“We are not children any longer, Zain,” he said. “You can no longer brandish a smile and a few choice words and expect to prove you are worthy to be king.”

He clenched his fists now dangling at his sides. “Yet our father chose me to be king, Rafiq, whether you agree or not.”

“Our father believed that designating you as his successor would ensure you would eventually return. And in regard to your current status, you have yet to be officially crowned.”

Zain wondered if his brother might be hoping he would abdicate before that time. Never in a million years would he do that. Especially now. “That should be enough time for a seamless transition.” If only he felt as confident as he’d sounded.

“There will be serious challenges,” Rafiq said. “Our father worked hard to maintain our status as a neutral, autonomous country. Our borders are secure and we have avoided political unrest.”

“And we will continue to do so under my reign.”

“Only if you can convince your subjects that you have their best interests at heart. Any semblance of unrest will only invite those who would take advantage of the division. That is why I urge you to consider working with Madison Foster.”

He should have known it would come back to her. He’d had enough trouble keeping his thoughts away from Madison without the reminder. “Why do you believe her input would be so invaluable?”

“She has been extremely successful in her endeavors,” Rafiq said. “She has taken men with political aspirations and serious deficits and restored their honor.”

He was growing weary of the insults. “So now my honor is in question?”

“To some degree, yes,” Rafiq said as he reclaimed the chair. “What harm would there be in utilizing her talents? Quite frankly, I cannot believe you would refuse the opportunity to spend time with an attractive woman.”

As always, most people assumed he had no other concerns than his next conquest. Of course, he couldn’t deny that he’d considered the advantages of having Madison involved in his daily routine. Yet that might be dangerous in the long term, unless he wanted to prove everyone right that he could not resist temptation. “Again, I do not wish or need her help.”

Rafiq blew out a frustrated sigh. “If you choose the wrong path, Zain, there will be no turning back. If you fail to win over your subjects, you will weaken our country, leaving it open to radical factions bent on taking advantage of our weakness. Is your pride worth possible ruin?”

Zain thought back to the angry voices, the accusations he’d endured moments ago. He hated to concede to his brother’s demands, but he did recognize Rafiq’s valid concerns. He would find a way to maintain his pride and still accept Madison’s assistance—as long as she understood that he would remain completely in charge. Considering the woman’s obvious tenacity, that could be a challenge. But then he had always welcomed a good challenge.

If bringing Madison Foster temporarily into the fold kept Rafiq off his back, he saw no harm in giving it a try. “All right. I will give it some thought, but should I decide to accept her assistance, I will only do so if it’s understood that I’ll dismiss her if she is more hindrance than help.”

“Actually, the agreement is already in place, and the terms of her contract state she cannot be dismissed on the grounds of anything other than gross misconduct. That would be my determination, not yours.”

Contract? “When did she sign this document?”

“After she contacted me to report on your initial meeting. She is bound to stay until after your coronation, but she insisted on a clause that allows her the option to leave prior to that time should she find the situation intolerable.”

His own brother had tied him to a liaison against his will. However, that did not mean he had to be cooperative. “Since you leave me no choice, my first official edict states you will be in charge of the arrangements to bring her here.”

Rafiq sent him a victorious smile. “You may consider it done.”

As fatigue began to set in, Zain loosened his tie and released the shirt collar’s top button. “We’ll continue our conversation over dinner.” He suddenly remembered he hadn’t seen any sign of his youngest brother. “Will Adan be joining us?”

“Adan is currently in the United Kingdom for flight training. He will be returning before the coronation.”

Zain couldn’t mask his disappointment. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing him and catching up on his accomplishments. But it’s probably best we have no distractions when you bring me up to speed on the council’s most recent endeavors.”

Rafiq cleared his throat and looked away. “We will not exactly be dining alone.”

“Another member of the council?”

“No. A woman.”

Zain suspected he might know what this was all about. “Is this someone special in your life?”

“She has no bearing on my life.”

He internally cringed. “If this is the beginning of the queen candidate procession, then I—”

“She is not in the market to be your wife.”

He did not appreciate his brother’s vagueness. “Then who is she, Rafiq?”

“Madison Foster.”

## Two

“Do you always insist on having your way?”

Startled, Madison shot a glance to her right to discover Zain Mehdi standing in the doorway, one shoulder leaned against the frame, his expression unforgiving on that patently gorgeous face. “Do you always barge in without knocking?” she asked around the surprise attack.

“The door was ajar.”

She turned from the bureau, bumped the drawer closed with her butt and tightened the sash on the blue satin robe. “Really? I could have sworn I closed it before I took my shower. But I suppose it could have magically opened on its own, since Arabia is well-known for its magic.”

He ignored her sarcasm and walked into the room without an invitation, hands firmly planted in the pockets of his black slacks. With those deadly dark eyes and remarkable physique, the Arabian king could pass for an exotic male model—a model who sorely lacked good comportment.

He strolled to the open armoire to inspect the row of suits, skirts and slacks that Madison had hung only moments before. “As I predicted. Conventional clothing.”

His audacity was second only to his arrogance. “It’s known as business attire.”

“Attire that conceals your true nature,” he said as he slid his fingertips down the side of one beige silk skirt.

She couldn’t quite explain why she shivered over the gesture, or the sudden, unexpected image of experiencing his touch firsthand. “What do you know about my true nature?”

“I know your kind.” He turned and presented a seriously sexy half smile. “Beneath the conservative clothes you wear colorful lingerie.”

Lucky guess. “That’s a rather huge assumption.”

“Am I wrong?”

She refused to confirm or deny his conjecture. “Don’t you have some royal duty to perform? Maybe you should have all the locks checked on all the palace doors.”

He took a few slow steps toward her. “I’ll leave as soon as you tell me why you’re here when I made it quite I clear I do not need your help.”

She was starting to ask herself the same question. “Your brother’s convinced that you need my help.”

“Rafiq isn’t in charge of my life, nor is he in charge of the country. I am, and I can handle the transition on my own without any assistance.”

Oh, but he did need her help, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Yet. “From what I witnessed during your arrival, it appears the people aren’t welcoming you with open arms.”

His expression turned to stone. “As I told you before, Ms. Foster, they have no choice. I am this country’s rightful leader and they will have to learn to accept it.”

“But wouldn’t it be more favorable if you had the blessing of your country’s people?”

“And how do you propose to assist me in winning their approval? Do you plan to throw me a parade along with the international cocktail party?”

She mentally added cynical to the sexy thing. “I suppose we could try that, but a parade isn’t successful unless someone shows up. I have several ideas and I hope that you’ll at least give me the opportunity to explore those options with you.”

“Ah, yes. The social gatherings where you’ll be parading me in front of dignitaries.”

“We nixed the parade, remember?”

Amusement called out from his dark eyes. “I am still not convinced that you will make an impact on my acceptance.”

Time to bring out the legal implications. “As I’m sure your brother told you, the contract states I’ll be here until the coronation, whether you choose to work with me or not. Of course, I can’t force you to cooperate, but it would be worth your while to at least make the effort.”

He seemed to mull that over for a minute while Madison held her breath. “All right. Since you are protected by a legal document, and I’ve been stripped of my power to dismiss you, I will cooperate on a trial basis. But that cooperation hinges on your ability to meet my terms.”

She should have known he’d have an ulterior motive behind his sudden change of heart. “And what would those be?”

His smile returned, slow as a desert sunrise. “I’ll let you know in the upcoming days.”

Something told Madison his terms could be somewhat suspect. Still, she was more than curious, as well as determined to win him over. “Fine. We can begin tomorrow morning.”

“We can begin tonight after dinner,” he said, followed by a long visual journey from her neck to her bare feet. “I personally have no objection to your current attire, but something a little less distracting might be more appropriate.”

She’d basically forgotten what she was wearing—or wasn’t wearing for that matter. “Since I’ve spent a good deal of time attending state dinners, I know how to dress properly.”

He rested one hand on the ornately carved footboard. “This isn’t a diplomatic affair, Ms. Foster, only a casual meal.”

She felt somewhat uncomfortable having him so close to the bed. “Will both your brothers be dining with us?”

“Only Rafiq. Adan’s currently away on a mission.”

She was disappointed she wouldn’t meet the youngest Mehdi son. “Diplomatic assignment?”

“Military. He’s testing a new aircraft.”

“That’s right. I’d read somewhere he’s a pilot.”

“Adan’s affinity for danger is second only to his appreciation of beautiful women,” he said. “He will be greatly disappointed if he does not have the opportunity to meet you.”

Maybe it was best if baby brother stayed away for as long as possible. Two womanizers under one roof could be too much to handle. “Will he be back for the coronation?”

Zain pushed away from the bed, allowing Madison to breathe a little easier. “As far as I know.”

She hugged her arms closer to her middle. “I’ll meet him then.”

“If you are still here,” he said.

He wasn’t going to get rid of her that easily. But she did plan to dismiss him for the time being. “Since it’s getting late, I should probably get dressed now.”

“Yes, I suppose you should,” he said, a hint of fake disappointment in his tone. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in the black dress you have hanging behind your business suits.”

He’d been more observant than she realized. “I’ll decide what I’m wearing after you’re gone.”

“You should definitely consider the red lingerie.”

Madison didn’t understand his fascination with her underwear, or how he’d correctly guessed her fondness for red silk, until she followed his gaze to some focal point at her hip. When she looked down, she saw her bra strap hanging from the closed drawer like a crimson snake in the grass. She quickly stuffed it back inside before pointing toward the door. “Out. Now.”

“Dinner is at five-thirty sharp. Do not be late,” he said as he walked out the door and closed it behind him.

The man’s overbearing behavior equaled his fortune, but he had a thing or two to learn about Madison’s determination. She didn’t appreciate his observations, even if he had been on target when it came to her clothing. Still, no sexy, bossy sheikh—even if he happened to be a king and her current employer—would dictate her choice in panties. In fact, Zain Mehdi would have nothing whatsoever to do with her panties. And the next time she had him alone, she planned to set him straight about what she expected from him. Namely respect.

The sudden knock indicated she could have an immediate opportunity to do that very thing. On the heels of her frustration, she strode across the room, flung open the door and greeted the offending party with, “More commentary on my underwear?”

When she saw the demure lady with silver hair and topaz eyes standing in the hallway, Madison realized she’d made a colossal mistake. Yet she couldn’t seem to speak around her mortification.

“I’m Elena Battelli,” the woman said as she extended her hand. “And I am not concerned with your undergarments.”

She accepted the gesture and attempted a self-conscious smile. “I’m Madison Foster, and I’m so sorry. I thought you were—”

“Prince Zain, of course.”

Realizing her state of undress had only compounded the erroneous assumptions, Madison hugged her arms tightly around her middle. “I know how this must look to you, but His Highness accidentally walked in on me.”

The woman sent her a knowing look. “Prince Zain never does anything accidentally.”

She wouldn’t dispute that point. “Regardless, nothing inappropriate occurred.”

“Of course,” Elena said, her tone hinting at disbelief. “Do you find your accommodations satisfactory?”

Who wouldn’t? The massive marble jetted tub alone was worth any grief Zain Mehdi could hand her. “Very much so, thank you.”

She took a slight step back. “Good. Dinner’s at six.”

“Prince Zain told me five-thirty.”

“I am afraid you’ve been misled,” Elena said. “Dinner is always served at 6:00 p.m. That has been the designated time since I’ve been an employee.”

Madison saw the woman as the perfect resource for information on the future king. “How long ago has that been?”

She lifted her chin with pride. “Thirty-four years. I arrived before Prince Zain’s birth to assume my role as his bambinaia, or in English, his—”

“Nanny,” Madison interjected, then added, “I speak Italian. I studied abroad in Florence my sophomore year in college.”

Elena’s expression brightened. “Excellent. I am from Scandicci.”

“I visited there a few times. It’s a beautiful place. Do you go back often?”

All the joy seemed to drain from Elena’s face. “Not as often as I would like. My life is here with the royal family.”

A royal family with adult sons who no longer needed a nanny. A keeper, maybe, but not a nursemaid. “How do you spend your days now that the princes are grown?”

“I am basically in charge of running the household while waiting for my opportunity to raise another generation of Mehdi children.”

Madison didn’t quite see Zain as father material, an opinion she’d keep to herself. “I’m sure you gained invaluable experience with Prince Zain.”

“Yes, yet clearly I failed to impress upon him the merits of self-control when it comes to the opposite sex. Otherwise, he would not be interested in your undergarments.”

They shared in a brief laugh before Madison revealed her opinion on the subject. “I assure you, Prince Zain will not be commenting on my personal effects if I have any say in the matter.”

Elena presented a sly smile. “A word of advice. Prince Zain is a good man, yet he is still a man. What he lacks in restraint, he makes up in charm. Stand firm with him.”

With that, she walked away, leaving Madison to ponder exactly what the future king might have up his sleeve when he’d told her the incorrect time for dinner. She highly doubted he’d forgotten standard palace protocol in spite of his lengthy absence. Perhaps he was simply trying to throw her off balance in order to be rid of her.

Too bad. She would definitely stand her ground with him from this point forward. And as far as dinner went, she’d ignore his edict and show up when she darn well pleased.

She was fifteen minutes late, yet Zain wasn’t at all surprised. Madison Foster possessed an extreme need to be in control. Granted, he had the means to break down her defenses, and he was tempted to try. Nothing overt. Nothing more than a subtle and slight seduction designed to make her uncomfortable enough to bow out and return to the States where she belonged.

However, she could very well turn the tables by responding to his advances. Possible, but not likely, he decided when she entered the dining room wearing a slim black skirt that came right above her knees, conservative heels and a simple white blouse. A blouse sheer enough to reveal the outline of an equally white bra, most likely in an effort to prove her point. But he knew better. That professional, prim and proper persona only served to conceal the daring beneath her cool exterior. He’d wager the kingdom she had on a pair of brightly colored panties. Red panties.

A richly detailed fantasy assaulted him, one that involved sitting beside her and running his hand up the inside of her thigh and—

“Where would you like me?”

He thought of several answers, none of them appropriate. He chose the least suggestive one. “Are you referring to the seating arrangements, or do you have something else in mind?”

She approached the table and sent him a false smile. “Let me rephrase for the sake of clarity. Where do you want me to be seated?”

Zain gestured to the right of where he was positioned at the head of the lengthy table. “Here.” He waited for her to slide into the chair before he launched into his reprimand. “You’re late.”

She made an exaggerated show of checking her watch. “Actually, I’m fifteen minutes early, since it seems, according to Elena, dinner is and always has been at six.”

He’d been betrayed by his former governess and longtime confidante. “Now that I will soon assume my rightful role as king, dinner will be at five-thirty.”

She folded her hands atop the table, her gaze unwavering. “I suppose having your first royal edict involving dinnertime is preferable to, oh, say, changing the entire governmental structure.”

“That will be my second royal edict.”

She looked sincerely confused. “Are you serious?”

He smiled. “Not entirely, but I do plan to implement some much-needed change.”

“Change cannot occur until you are officially crowned, brother.”

Zain pulled his gaze from Madison to see Rafiq claiming his place at the opposite end of the table. “As disappointing as it might be to you, brother, that will happen in a matter of weeks. In the meantime, I plan to outline those changes to the council later this week.”

Rafiq lifted his napkin and placed it in his lap. “I have no designs on your position, Zain. But I do have a vested interest in the direction in which you plan to take my country.”

He fisted his hands on the heels of his anger. “Our country, Rafiq. A country that I plan to lead into the twenty-first century.”

Madison cleared her throat, garnering their attention. “What’s for dinner?”

“Cheeseburgers in your honor.”

When he winked, she surprisingly smiled. “I was truly looking forward to sampling some Middle Eastern fare,” she said.

“We’re having the chef’s special kebabs,” Rafiq said. “You will have to excuse my brother’s somewhat questionable sense of humor, Ms. Foster.”

After shooting Rafiq an acid look, Zain regarded Madison again. “I believe you’ll agree that a questionable sense of humor is better than no sense of humor at all.”

She shifted slightly in her seat. “I enjoyed meeting Elena. Will she be joining us?”

“Not tonight,” Rafiq said as one of the staff circled the table and poured water. “She has some work to attend to, but she sends her apologies.”

“She works much too hard,” Zain added. “I plan to put an end to that and soon.”

Rafiq leaned back in his chair. “I am afraid her work will not let up until after the coronation and the wedding.”

“Wedding?” Madison asked, the shock in her tone matching Zain’s.

“And who is the lucky bride?” Zain asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

“Rima Acar, of course,” Rafiq said. “We will be married the week before the coronation.”

Zain wasn’t at all surprised by the news his brother was going through with the long-standing marriage contract. He was surprised—and angry—over the timing. “Is this wedding a means to detract from my assuming my rightful place as king?”

“Of course not,” Rafiq said. “This wedding has been in the planning stages for years. Almost twelve if you consider when Father and the sultan came to an agreement.”

“Ah, yes, the age-old tradition of bride bartering.” Zain turned his attention back to Madison, who seemed intent on pushing fruit around on her plate. “We are destined to choose a wife from the highest bidder. Someone who will give us many heirs, if not passion.”

“As you, too, had your bride chosen for you,” Rafiq added.

Madison’s blue eyes went wide. “You’re engaged?”

“Not any longer,” Rafiq said. “Zain’s intended grew tired of waiting for his return and married another.”

He had thanked his good fortune for that many times over. “Her decision was for the best. I refuse to wed a woman whom I’ve never met, let alone kissed.” He leaned forward and leveled his gaze on his brother. “Have you kissed Rima? Have you determined there will be enough passion to sustain your marriage? Or do you even care?”

He could see the fury brewing in Rafiq’s eyes. “That is none of your concern. Passion is not important. Continuing the royal lineage is.”

“Procreating would be rather difficult if you cannot bear to touch your wife, brother. Or perhaps you will be satisfied with bedding her only enough times to make a child, as it was with our own parents.”

“Do not believe everything you hear, Zain. Our parents had a satisfactory marriage.”

Rafiq—always their father’s defender. “Satisfactory? Are you also going to dispute that the king played a part in our mother’s—”

Rafiq slammed his palm on the table, rattling the dinnerware. “That is enough.”

Zain tossed his napkin aside and ignored the woman setting the entrée before him. “I agree. I have had enough of this conversation.” He came to his feet and regarded Madison. “Ms. Foster, my apologies for disrupting your meal.”

Without even a passing glance at his brother, Zain left the room and took the stairs two at a time. He had no doubt that after the display of distasteful family dynamics, he would have no need to seduce Madison Foster. She would most likely be taking the first plane back to America.

With a plate balanced in her left hand, Madison knocked with her right and waited to gain entry, affording the king the courtesy he hadn’t shown her earlier that afternoon.

“Enter” sounded from behind the heavy wooden door, the gruff, masculine voice full of obvious frustration.

Madison strode into the room, head held high, determined not to show even a speck of nervousness, though admittedly she was a little shaky. More than a little shaky when she met his stern gaze and realized he didn’t look at all thrilled to see her.

She set the plate on the desk and sat across from him without waiting for an invitation. “Elena sent you some pasta and the message that if you don’t eat, you’ll be too weak to rule.”

He didn’t bother to stand. Instead, he stared at her for a few moments before he pushed the offering away. “You may tell Elena I will eat when I’m hungry.”

She’d been stuck in the middle of one argument too many today. “You can tell her. Right now, we need to discuss your upcoming plans.”

He leaned back in the brown leather chair and tented his hands together. “I assumed you would be well on your way home by now.”

“You assumed wrong. I’m determined to see this through.”

“Even after we aired our family grievances at dinner?”

He had a lot to learn about her tenacity. “I’ve heard worse, and now I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Proceed.”

She would, with caution. “Do you have a strategy for overcoming your playboy reputation?”

“My reputation has been overblown, Ms. Foster.”

“Perception is everything when it comes to politics, Your Highness. And believe what you will, you’re in a political battle to restore your people’s faith in you. You’ve been gone almost ten years—”

“Seven years.”

“If you were a dog, that’s equivalent to almost fifty years.” And that had to be the most inane thing she’d said in ages, if ever. “Not that you’re a dog. I’m only saying that seven years is a long time in your situation.”

He hinted at a smile. “Do you own a dog?”

“Yes, I do. I mean, I did.” Clearly he was trying to divert her attention from more pressing concerns by using her former pooch. “Could we please get back on point?”

“Yes,” he said. “The point is I am quite capable of overcoming my exaggerated reputation by demonstrating there is more to my character.”

He was so sure of himself. So sexy in his confidence, and she hated herself for noticing. Again. “Can you really do that? Can you persuade the world you’re a serious leader when you can’t even convince your own brother you’re committed to your duty?”

His dark eyes relayed an intense anger. “What did Rafiq tell you when I left the table?”

Not as much as she would’ve liked. “He only said that he’s worried you’ll take off again if the pressure becomes too great.”

“Despite what my brother believes, I am not a coward.”

“I don’t think anyone is calling you a coward.” She sighed. “Look, I realize you have a lot of pride, but you might want to give up a little and realize you need someone in your corner. Someone who can serve as a sounding board during this transition.”

“And you are that someone?”

“I can be. And if you’ll allow me to use my connections, I can help establish some allies, and every country needs those. Even small, autonomous countries. I also still contend that you could use some help with your public addresses.” When he started to speak, she held up her hand to silence him. “I know, you have a degree and you’re intelligent and articulate, but I don’t see the harm in brainstorming content.”

“I still see no reason why I would need to consult anyone on what I wish to say or how I wish to say it.”

She was making no headway whatsoever. “What about the press? Wouldn’t you like to have someone serve as a buffer to make certain they convey the proper message?”

“I have Deeb for that.”

Deeb had about as much personality as a paperweight. “But if you show the world that you have a woman at your side, and one you’re not engaging in a torrid affair, that would send a clear message you’re not the player everyone believes you to be.”

He studied the ceiling and remained silent for a few seconds before he brought his attention back to her. “Should we proceed, I have to be assured that whatever you might hear or might learn within these sacred walls will not be repeated.”

Madison sensed impending victory, and possibly some serious secrets. “You can trust me to maintain confidentiality at all costs. But I have to know if there’s a scandal that could surface in the foreseeable future.”

“Not if I can prevent it. And at the moment, that is all you need to know.”

Madison could only hope that he might eventually trust her enough to confide in her. Otherwise, she couldn’t prepare for the worst-case scenario. “Fine. Then you agree to accept my help?”

He streaked a palm over his shaded jaw. “For the time being, and as I stated earlier, you must agree to my terms.”

Clearly he needed to maintain control. She’d give him a little leeway for now. “Fine. Perhaps now would be a good time to spell out your terms.”

“If I disagree with your advice, you’ll refrain from arguing,” he said.

That could prove to be a challenge. “Okay.”

“You will consult me before you plan your soirées, and you will let me approve the guest lists.”

Considering his lack of popularity, it could prove to be a short list. “Fair enough.”

“And you will adhere to my schedule, which means I will decide the time and the place for our meetings.”

“I assumed your study would be the most appropriate meeting place.”

“It might be necessary to find a more private venue.”

Now she had her own terms to present. “As long as it’s not your bedroom.”

He smiled. “You’re not the least bit curious about my royal quarters?”

Oh, yes, she was. “No. Anything else?”

He feigned disappointment. “I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve determined what I expect beyond what we’ve already discussed.”

Talk about being vague. But she’d accept vague as long as she could continue as planned. “We’ll go over your upcoming schedule in the morning, Your Highness, and plan accordingly.”

“Call me Zain.”

Her mouth momentarily dropped open over the request. “That’s a bit too informal, don’t you think?”

“When we’re alone, I want you to call me by my given name. Otherwise, our agreement terminates immediately.”

What kind of game was he playing? Only time would tell, and Madison hoped she didn’t find herself on the losing end.

She came to her feet and tugged at the hem of her blouse. “Whatever floats your boat, Zain. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my room to relax.”

“You are excused. For now.”

Madison had only made it a few steps toward the door before Zain uttered the single word. “Black.”

She turned and frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You’re wearing black lingerie.”

Did the man have X-ray vision? “Why are you so fascinated with my underwear?”

His grin arrived slowly. “Am I correct?”

She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “That’s for me to know—”

“And for me to find out?”

She should’ve known he’d been in America long enough to learn all the little sayings. “That’s for me to know, period. Anything else? Or would you like to discuss your royal underwear?”

His grin deepened. “I have nothing to hide.”

That remained to be seen. She intended to leave well enough alone before she was tempted to abandon the good-sense ship. Before she gave in to the tiny little spark of awareness or the slight full-body shiver brought about by his deadly smile. “I’m going now.”

He finally rose from the chair. “I suggest you watch the sunset from the terrace outside your room. I’ll have Elena send up some of her special tea to help you relax.”

She’d be more relaxed as soon as she got away from all his charisma. “What kind of tea?”

“I’m not certain,” he said as he strolled toward her and stopped only a foot or so away. “I’ve never tried it. I do know it is formulated to help a person sleep.”

She’d probably have no trouble sleeping the moment her head hit the pillow. “Thank you, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’re welcome.” He reached out and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “If the tea doesn’t help you sleep, my room is next door to yours. Feel free to wake me.”

“What for?” As if she really had to ask.

“Whatever you need to help you relax.”

She suddenly engaged in one heck of a naked-body fantasy that made her want to run for cover. “I assure you I won’t need anything to help me relax.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t be changing my mind.” She turned toward the door then faced him again when something dawned on her. “By the way, if all this innuendo is some ploy to scare me off, save your breath. I’ve been propositioned by the best.” And the worst of the worst.

He looked almost crestfallen. “I’m wounded you would think I would resort to such underhanded tactics.”

Maybe she had overreacted a tad. Some men just happened to be blessed with the flirtation gene. “My apologies if I’m wrong about your motives.”

“Actually, you are correct,” he said. “That was my original plan. But you have bested me, so I promise to behave myself from this point forward.”

She had a hard time believing that. “Well, in case you should get any more bright ideas, just know it will take more than a few well-rehearsed, suggestive lines to send me packing. I’ve spent many years studying human nature, and I know what you’re all about.”

He braced a hand on the doorframe above her head. “Enlighten me, Madison.”

The sound of her name rolling softly out of his mouth, his close proximity, was not helping her concentration. “You use your charm to discourage perceived threats to your control, and to encourage the results you wish to achieve, namely driving people away. But beneath all that sexy macho bravado, I believe you’re a man with a great deal of conviction when it comes to his country’s future. Am I correct?”

“Perhaps you are only projecting your need for control on me. I believe at times giving up control to another is preferable. Have you never been tempted to throw out logic and act on pure instinct?”

Her instincts told her he wasn’t referring to a professional relationship. “Not when it comes to mixing business with pleasure, if that’s what you’re asking. Don’t forget we’re trying to repair your reputation, not enhance it.”

He had the nerve to show his pearly whites to supreme advantage. “Sometimes the pleasure is worth the risk.”

“I thought you promised to behave.”

He straightened and attempted to look contrite. “My apologies. I was momentarily struck senseless by your analysis.”

Before she was momentarily struck stupid and kissed that smug, sexy smile off his face, Madison made a hasty exit.

She hadn’t lied when she’d admitted she’d been propositioned before. She had lied when she’d claimed she hadn’t been tempted to cross professional lines, because she had—the moment she’d reunited with Zain Mehdi.

## Three

Perception is everything…

Zain had to agree with Madison on that point. He’d always been perceived as a man with a strong affinity for attractive women, a fact he could not deny. Yet that standing had provided the means to carry out his covert activities over the past seven years, and earned him the Phantom Sheikh title. His absence had always been blamed on a lover, and most of the time that had been far from the truth. Most of the time. He hadn’t been celibate by any means, but he had not had as many affairs as what the media had led people to believe. If he had, he would have been perpetually sleep deprived.

He also recognized that giving in to temptation with a woman like Madison Foster—an intelligent, beautiful and somewhat willful woman—could possibly lead to disaster. Still, he wasn’t one to easily ignore temptation, even if wisdom dictated that he must. And at the moment, Madison looked extremely tempting.

Zain remained in the open doorway to his suite in order to study her. She stood at the veranda’s stone wall, looking out over the valley below, her golden hair flowing down her back. She’d exchanged her conservative clothing for more comfortable attire—a casual gauze skirt and a loose magenta top that revealed one slim, bare shoulder. He didn’t need to venture a guess as to the color of her bra, since she didn’t appear to be wearing one. That thought alone had him reconsidering the merits of wisdom.

Zain cleared his throat as he approached her, yet she didn’t seem to notice his presence. Not until he said, “It’s a remarkable view, isn’t it?”

She sent him a backward glance and a slight scowl. “Why do you keep sneaking up on me?”

He moved beside her, leaving a comfortable distance between them. “My apologies. I did not intend to startle you. I only wanted to make certain you have everything you need from me.”

She faced him, leaned a hip against the wall and rolled her eyes. “Are we back to that again?”

“My intentions are completely innocent.” Only a half-truth. He’d gladly give her anything she needed in a carnal sense.

She took a sip from the cup clutched in her hands. “Sorry, but I’m having trouble buying the innocent act after your recent admission.”

That came as no surprise to Zain, and he probably deserved her suspicions. “I will do my best to earn your trust.” He nodded toward the cup. “I gather that’s Elena’s special tea.”

“Yes, it is, and it’s very good.”

“Do you have any idea what might be in it?”

She lifted that bare shoulder in a shrug and took a sip. “I suspect it’s chamomile and some other kind of herb. I can taste mint.”

He turned toward her and rested one elbow on the stone barrier. “Take care with how much you drink. It could be more than tea.”

“Too late. This is my third cup, and do you mean alcohol?”

“Precisely.”

“Is that allowed?” she asked.

“Elena is free to do as she pleases, as is everyone else in the country, within reason. We’ve always had a spiritually, economically and culturally diverse population, due in part to people entering the borders seeking—”

“Asylum?”

“And peace.”

She turned back to the view and surveyed the scene. “Then Bajul is the Switzerland of the Middle East?”

“In a manner of speaking. I might not have agreed with all my father’s philosophies, but I’ve always admired his determination to remain neutral in a volatile region. Unfortunately, the threat to end our peaceful coexistence still exists, as it always has. As it is everywhere else in the world.”

She took another drink and set the cup aside. “The landscape is incredible. I hadn’t expected Bajul to be so green or elevated.”

“You expected desert.”

“Honestly, yes, I did.”

Another example of inaccurate perception. “If you go north, you’ll find the desert. Go south and you’ll find the sea.”

She sighed. “I love the sea. I love water, period.”

He took the opportunity to move a little closer, his arm pressed against hers as he pointed toward the horizon. “Do you see that mountain rising between two smaller peaks?”

She shaded her eyes against the setting sun. “The skinny one that looks almost phallic?”

That made him smile. “It is known as Mabrứuk, our capital city’s namesake. Legend has it that Al-’Uzzá, a mythological goddess, placed it there to enhance fertility. Reportedly her efforts have been successful, from crops to livestock to humans.”

“Interesting,” she said. “Do people have to go to the mountain to procreate, or does it have a long radius?” She followed the comment with a soft, sensual laugh. “No pun intended.”

Discussing procreation with her so close only made Zain’s fantasies spring to life, among other things. “I suppose it’s possible, but that’s not the point I was trying to make.”

She turned and leaned a hip against the wall. “What point were you trying to make, Your Highness?”