# Heart of a Desert Warrior

Lucy Monroe

The Sheikh’s last challenge… Stepping off his private jet, in his designer suit, Sheikh Asad returns to his kingdom ready to secure his legacy. For beneath his starched white shirt beats the heart of a desert warrior! Iris Carpenter barely recognises the man standing before her. He’s even more magnificent than he was six years ago, and even more dangerous.Especially when the searing heat of his eyes burns hotter than the fierce desert sun. Iris can resist all she likes, but Asad knows it’s just a matter of time before the flame-haired temptress is back in his bed – where she belongs!

The rich tones that still had the power to send her heart on a drumroll and little pops of awareness sparking along her every nerve-ending belonged to a man she had truly believed she would never see again.

Iris stopped and stared.

Asad looked back at her, his dark gaze so intense she felt the breath leave her lungs in a gasp.

Despite his European designer suit and their civilized surroundings, he looked like a desert warrior. Capable. Confident. Dangerous.

His brown eyes stayed fixed firmly on her. Serious and probing. The humor that had used to lurk there was nowhere in evidence. He’d filled out since university days too—his body more muscled, his presence every bit that of a man of definite power. At six feet three inches he had always been a presence hard to ignore, but now …?

He was a true warrior.

Wishing, not for the first time, that she could ignore this man, she forced herself to incline her head in greeting. “Sheikh Asad.”

## About the Author

LUCY MONROE started reading at the age of four. After she’d gone through the childrens’ books at home, her mother caught her reading adult novels pilfered from the higher shelves on the bookcase … alas, it was nine years before she got her hands on a Mills & Boon® romance her older sister had brought home. She loves to create the strong alpha males and independent women who people Mills & Boon books. When she’s not immersed in a romance novel (whether reading or writing it), she enjoys travel with her family, having tea with the neighbours, gardening, and visits from her numerous nieces and nephews.

Lucy loves to hear from her readers: e-mail LucyMonroe@LucyMonroe.com, or visit www.LucyMonroe.com

Recent titles by the same author:

FOR DUTY’S SAKE

THE GREEK’S PREGNANT LOVER

THE SHY BRIDE

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Heart of a Desert Warrior

Lucy Monroe


www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Helen Bianchin …

it is said that good writing inspires good writers.

Your writing has inspired me

both in my life and in writing for years.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart

for the many hours of pleasurable reading,

the wonderful bits of advice and kind words

when I was the new kid on the block.

Your stories continue to inspire,

your books are my dear friends and

your characters beloved to my heart. Thank you.

## CHAPTER ONE

“YOU LOOK like you’re ready to face a firing squad.”

Her field assistant’s words stopped Iris at the top of the grand palace staircase.

Suppressing a grimace at what she could not doubt was his all too accurate assessment, she turned to face the college intern and forced a smile. “You look hungry.”

“Seriously, this is just dinner right?”

“Of course.” Just dinner.

Where they were supposed to meet their liaison while in Kadar; Asad, Sheikh Hakim’s second cousin, or something, and sheikh himself to a local Bedouin tribe, the Sha’b Al’najid. Asad was a fairly common Arabic name, meaning lion. An appropriate name for a man destined to be sheikh. Right? There was no reason to think that the man was her Asad.

No reason other than this awful sinking feeling that had not gone away since Sheikh Hakim had mentioned the liaison’s name earlier. Ever since agreeing to this Middle Eastern assignment, she’d had a feeling of foreboding that she’d done her best to ignore.

But it was getting harder with every passing moment.

“I’m not feeling reassured here,” Russell said as he stepped onto the stairs, his tone only half joking. “Dinner isn’t a euphemism for kidnap and sell to white slavers, is it?”

The ridiculous assertion shocked a laugh out of Iris. “You’re an idiot.”

Still, her legs refused to move.

“But a charming one. You’ve got to admit it. And who wouldn’t want to kidnap this?” he asked with a wink, having stopped to wait for her.

With his shaggy mop of red hair and pale skin, he could have been her baby brother. If only. Her childhood would have been a lot less lonely with a sibling. Her parents hadn’t been cruel, only supremely uninterested. Their lives were complete with each other. They worked together, they played together, they traveled together and none of it included her.

She’d never understood why they’d had a child at all and had long since decided her advent into the world had been one of those “accidents” of faulty birth control. Though nothing had ever been said.

She couldn’t imagine what they would have done with a child like Russell; he didn’t fade into the background with grace.

No, no matter how many surface resemblances they shared, he would have been an even bigger cuckoo in their family nest than she’d been.

Nevertheless, Iris and Russell really did look like they could have come from the same gene pool. Oh, he had freckles and she didn’t, and his eyes were green rather than her blue. However, they both had curly red hair—like her mother—slightly squared chins—like her father—and skin as pale as the white sands of New Mexico. At five foot ten, Russell was average height for a man, just like she was for a woman at five-five.

They both tended to dress like the science geeks they were, though tonight she’d donned a vibrant blue sheath dress and a black pashmina. Instead of her usual ponytail, she’d pulled her hair back in a loose knot and even gone so far as to put on mascara and lipstick, though she almost never wore makeup. She was dining with a sheikh and his family after all.

Two sheikhs, her worried brain reminded her.

Russell was in his own version of dress formal, khaki slacks and a button-down oxford instead of his usual T-shirt and cargo pants.

Still, neither of them were all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips.

She groaned at his humorous conceit. “Anyone with half a brain would know better than to go through the trouble of kidnapping you.”

He laughed, not taking offense and not entirely masking a concerned expression she didn’t want to see.

No matter what, she would be fine. She would. She was no longer a naive university sophomore, but a professional geologist with an eminent private survey firm.

“So, why the long face?” Russell asked, taking another step down as if coaxing her to do the same. “I know you tried to get out of doing this assignment.”

She had, but then she’d realized how foolish she was being. She couldn’t go through her career refusing lucrative assignments in the Middle East just because she’d once loved a man who came from this part of the world. Besides, her boss had made it clear that this time, she didn’t have a choice.

“I’m fine. Just a little jet-lagged.” Forcing her feet to move, she started down the stairs.

Russell fell into step beside her when she reached him. He put his arm out for her and she took it.

She wasn’t dwelling on the possibility that Sheikh Asad was her Asad. Not at all.

After all, what were the chances it was the same man who had done such a good job decimating her heart six years ago that she hadn’t gone on another date until after she graduated? That it was the one man that she had hoped to live the whole rest of her life without ever seeing again?

Small. Almost nonexistent.

Right? Right.

So, her Asad had been part of a Bedouin tribe and, as she’d found out at the end, slated to be sheikh one day.

It didn’t have to be the same man. She was praying it wasn’t the same man.

If it was her Asad—or rather the Asad: he’d never really been hers and she had to stop thinking of him that way—she didn’t know what she would do. Working toward the coveted position of senior geologist with Coal, Carrington & Boughton Surveyors, Inc., she couldn’t refuse this assignment based on personal reasons. Not when she had been back in the office and definitely not now that she was already in the country.

She wasn’t about to commit career suicide. Asad had taken enough from her. Her faith in love. Her belief in the rosy, bright future she’d ached for and dreamed of. He didn’t get her career, too.

“What did the diamond say to the copper vein?” Russell’s youthful voice pulled her out of her less than happy thoughts as they made their slow way down the stairs.

She rolled her eyes. “That joke is as old as the bedrock in Hudson Bay. The answer is—nothing, minerals don’t talc.”

It was a hoary old joke, but when he laughed, she found herself joining him.

“I’m glad to see you still have a sense of humor.” The deep voice coming from the hall below didn’t sound happy at all.

In fact, it sounded almost annoyed. But Iris didn’t have the wherewithal to worry about that little inconsistency. Not when the rich tones that still had the power to send her heart on a drumroll and to spark little pops of awareness along her every nerve ending belonged to a man she had truly believed she would never see again.

She stopped her descent and stared. Asad looked back at her, his dark chocolate gaze so intense, she felt the breath leave her lungs in a gasp.

He’d changed. Oh, he was still gorgeous. His hair still a dark brown, almost black and with no hint of gray, but instead of cropped close to his head like it had been back in school he wore it shoulder length. The different style should have made him seem more casual, more approachable. It didn’t.

Despite his European designer suit and their civilized surroundings, he looked like a desert warrior. Capable. Confident. Dangerous.

His brown eyes stayed fixed firmly on her. Serious and probing. The humor that used to lurk there nowhere in evidence.

He had close-cropped facial hair that only added to his appeal, as if he needed any help in that department. He’d filled out since university days, too, his body more muscled, his presence every bit that of a man of definite power. At six feet three inches, he had always been a presence hard to ignore, but now? He was a true Middle Eastern sheikh.

Wishing, not for the first time, that she could ignore this man, she forced herself to incline her head in greeting. “Sheikh Asad.”

“This is our liaison?” Russell croaked, reminding her that he was still there.

It didn’t help. The young intern was no competition for her attention to Asad and the feelings roiling up from the depths where she’d buried them when he left her.

Putting his arm out to Iris, Asad showed no sign of noticing Russell at all. “I will escort you to the others.”

Her frozen limbs unstuck and Iris managed to descend the remaining stairs. Giving in to her urge to ignore at least his suggestion, she stepped around his extended arm and headed to where she’d met earlier with Sheikh Hakim, his wife and their adorable children. If she was lucky, the dining room would be in the same part of the palace.

“Do you know where you are going?” Russell asked from behind her, sounding confused.

Asad made a sound that almost sounded like amusement. “I do not believe Iris has ever let a lack of certainty stop her from going forward.”

She spun around and faced him, long-banked fury unexpectedly spiking and with it not a little pain. “Even the best scientist can misinterpret the evidence.” Taking a deep breath, she regained the slip in her composure and asked with frigid politeness, “Perhaps you would like to the lead the way?”

Once again, he offered his arm. Again she pushed the bounds of polite behavior and ignored it, simply waiting in silence for him to get on with showing them where they were going.

“Just as stubborn as you ever were.”

And she wanted to smack him, which shocked her to her core. She was not a violent person. Ever. Even in the past, when he’d hurt her almost beyond bearing, she’d never had a violent thought toward him. Just pain.

“That’s our Iris, as immovable as a monolith.”

Asad didn’t ignore Russell this time. He gave the younger man a look meant to quell.

Seemingly oblivious, the college intern grinned and put his hand out to shake. “Russell Green, intrepid geological assistant, one day to be a full-fledged senior geologist with my own lab.”

Asad shook the younger man’s hand and inclined his head slightly. “Sheikh Asad bin Hanif Al’najid. I will be your team’s guide and protector while you are in Kadar.”

“Personally?” Iris asked, unable to keep her disquiet out of her voice. “Surely not. You are a sheikh.”

“It is a favor to my cousin. I would not consider relegating the duty to someone else.”

“But that’s unnecessary.” She wasn’t going to survive the next few weeks if she had to spend them in his company.

It had been six years since the last time she’d seen this man, but the pain and sense of betrayal he’d caused felt as fresh as if it had happened only the day before. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but hers were still bleeding hurt into her heart.

She still dreamed about him, though she called the images she woke to in the dark nightmares rather than dreams.

She’d loved and trusted him with everything inside her, believing she finally had a shot at a family and a break from the loneliness of her upbringing. He’d betrayed both her emotions and her hopes completely and irrevocably.

“It is not up for discussion.”

Iris shook her head. “I … no …”

“Iris, are you okay?” Russell asked.

But she had to be okay. This was her job. Her career, the only thing she had left in her life that mattered, or that she could trust.

The only thing Asad’s betrayal had left her with. “I’m fine. We need to join Sheikh Hakim.”

Something glimmered in Asad’s dark chocolate gaze, something that looked like concern. She wasn’t buying it, not even if someone else gave her the money to do it.

He hadn’t been concerned about her six years ago when they had been lovers; it was too far a stretch to think he was worried about her now, when they were little more than strangers with a briefly shared past.

Asad did not offer his arm again, but turned and began walking in the direction she’d been going to begin with.

So she had guessed right in this instance.

Go her. Sometimes her intuitive thoughts were on target, at least when it didn’t come to people.

“So Asad tells us you went to the same university.” Catherine smiled without malice, genuine interest shining in her gentian-blue eyes.

Nevertheless, the memories her words evoked were not happy ones for Iris. Iris forced something that resembled a smile and a nod. “Yes.”

“It’s funny you should have met.”

At the time Iris had believed it destiny. She’d been studying Arabic as her second language, a common practice for those in her field, but it had felt like more. Studying the language of his birth had felt like a common bond between them, as if they were meant to be together.

She had believed him to be an incredible blessing after nineteen years of feeling like she never really belonged to, or with, anyone. She’d thought she’d belonged to Asad; she’d been convinced he belonged to her.

She’d been spectacularly wrong. He didn’t want her, not for a lifetime, or even beyond their few months together. And he was not hers, not in any sense.

“It was one of those things….” Asad had come on to her in the Student Union. He’d flirted, charmed and when he asked her out, she hadn’t even considered saying no.

“The Student Union building knew no class distinctions,” Asad added when it was clear Iris wasn’t going to say anything else.

“Not in age or social standing,” Russell agreed. “I met a billionaire’s daughter in the Student Union at my university.”

And Iris had met a sheikh. Not that she’d known it. Back then, he’d just been plain Asad Hanif to her. Another foreign student availing himself of an American university education.

“She was sweet,” Russell continued, “but she doesn’t know the difference between sedimentary and igneous rock.”

“So, not a friendship destined to prosper,” Sheikh Hakim observed, his tone tinged with undeniable humor.

“Our friendship prospered.” Asad gave her a look as if expecting Iris to agree, even after the way their friendship had ended. “Though I knew little of geology and Iris had no more interest in business management.”

“The friendship didn’t last, which would indicate our differences were a lot more important than they seemed at first.” She’d managed to say it without a trace of bitterness or accusation.

Iris had never really considered herself much of an actress, but she was channeling Kate Winslet with her performance tonight. She’d managed to get through predinner drinks and the first course of their meal without giving away the turmoil roiling inside her to her hosts, the Sheikh of Kadar and his wife, just Catherine please.

Asad laid his fork across his empty salad plate. “Youth often lacks wisdom.”

“You were five years older than me.” And worlds wiser and more experienced.

He shrugged, that movement of his shoulders she knew so well. It was his response to anything for which there was no good, or easy to articulate, answer.

“Anyway, I hope my words haven’t made it seem I’m looking to renew any old friendships.” Chills of horror rolled down her spine at the thought. “I’m not. I’m here to work.” It was her turn to shrug, though it was more a jerk of one shoulder.

She’d never done casual well when it came to Asad, but it didn’t matter. She was in Kadar to work and then she would be out of his life once again, just as fully and completely as before. As she was sure he would prefer.

And she was never returning to Kadar. Not ever. No matter how lucrative a promotion depended on it.

“It would be a shame to travel so far from your home and spend no time experiencing the local culture.” Asad’s gaze bored into hers with predatory intent.

She remembered that look and her heart tightened at receiving it here, in this place, after everything that had passed between them and in his life particularly since their breakup.

“I’m sure living amidst your tribe will give both Iris and Russell the perfect opportunity to experience much of our culture,” Catherine said with a smile aimed first at Asad and then Iris. “I love staying with the Bedouin. It’s such a different way of life. Though why it always seems there’s more trouble for our children to get into in the city of tents than at home, I don’t know.”

She winked at her husband and Sheikh Hakim gave her such a look of love and adoration, it was both wonderful and painful to see. Here was a couple who loved each other every bit as much as Iris’s parents, but who adored their offspring with equal, if different, intensity.

Then the full import of Catherine’s words hit Iris. “We’re staying with Sheikh Asad’s tribe?” she asked in shock. “But I thought this would be our home base.”

The beautiful Middle Eastern palace that still managed to feel like a home for all its glamour and size.

“Our current encampment is far closer to the mountainous region you will be surveying,” Asad said, an inexplicable tone of satisfaction lacing his words.

## CHAPTER TWO

“STAYING WITH the Sha’b Al’najid will save you a lot of time in travel,” Sheikh Hakim added.

“But …”

“You’ll love it, trust me,” Catherine said. “While Asad has taken the tribe in a different direction than Hakim’s grandfather did, their way of life has much in common with that found millennia ago. It will be an amazing experience, believe me.”

Iris would be in purgatory, but at least the encampment would only be their home base, she tried to tell herself. “I’m sure I will enjoy it very much,” she lied through her teeth. “What time we spend there, at any rate.”

Catherine looked inquiringly. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“When we’re in the field doing the type of survey Kadar has requested of CC&B, a team spends most of its time in a portable camp,” Iris explained. “It really wouldn’t make much of a difference if we maintained a home base here, or in the Bedouin encampment.”

“You are not staying alone in a camp with nothing but this pup for company.” Asad’s voice, laced with possessive bossiness, brooked no argument.

And shocked Iris to the core. She didn’t understand why it mattered to him. And that possessiveness was completely at odds with a man already taken himself. She must have imagined it.

The first to admit that reading people was not her strong suit, she nevertheless felt a shiver of apprehension skate along her spine.

“It’s not as if we share a cot, just a tent,” Russell said, no doubt trying to assuage any conservative sensibilities.

And doing a really bad job of it, Iris thought.

Asad’s features set in a mask she was sure had more in common with his warrior ancestors than modern man. He gave Russell a look that made her self-defined intrepid field assistant shrink into his chair.

“Not acceptable.” Just two words, but spoken with absolute authority in a tone she’d heard only once from Asad.

When he was telling her they had no future in words that could not be denied.

Russell squeaked. Catherine’s look tinged with concern. Iris’s heart ached with memory while she fought to maintain a facade of indifference.

Sheikh Hakim frowned. “My cousin is correct. It would be neither safe, nor appropriate for you to camp in such a manner.”

Iris could see her escape route disappearing in front of her eyes while the chilly sense of dread inside her grew. She couldn’t give up without a fight, though. “I assure you, I’ve been on several field assignments, in the States and abroad, and never had a problem with it.”

Just not in the Middle East.

“Nevertheless, I am responsible for the safety of those within my borders,” Sheikh Hakim said with a shake of his head. “Asad is right, a two-person camp in the mountains is an unacceptable option.”

Asad simply looked at her with an immovable expression she would never forget. He’d used it also when he said goodbye. “As I told you earlier, I will see to your safety.”

“My safety isn’t your responsibility.”

“On the contrary. I have decreed that it is.” Sheikh Hakim’s friendly manner dissipated in the face of his arrogant assurance.

Right. And Sheikh Hakim was a very important client. His country was paying CC&B a great deal of money for this survey. She was compelled to accept the way he wanted the field work handled. Either she backed out of the assignment, or accepted the constraints surrounding it, including Asad as her liaison.

She’d accepted that backing out of the assignment wasn’t an option before she ever left the States.

“Not having a moving camp could make the initial sample gathering and measurements take significantly longer,” she said by way of her final sally.

“Swift is not always better,” Sheikh Hakim said implacably. “Your safety must come first.”

“Would you be more comfortable with a male team lead?” she asked, seeing a possible way out. If the sheikh asked for it, her career wouldn’t be affected adversely. It was understood that some parts of the world did not deal as well with female geologists. “My superiors could arrange for my immediate replacement if that would make you more comfortable.”

“Not at all. I am confident your work will be more than acceptable,” Sheikh Hakim said smoothly.

Russell was staring at her like she’d offered to dance naked on the tabletop. Okay, so normally, she’d bristle and fight tooth and claw to avoid being replaced simply on the basis of gender, but these were special circumstances.

“It surprises me you would make the offer.” Asad sounded just as disbelieving of her words. “I remember a woman who would not stand for the idea that men made better geologists than their female counterparts.”

“I didn’t say he would be a better geologist.”

“Naturally not. You graduated at the top of your class, did you not?”

“I’m surprised you know that.” But then it might well have been included in the information CC&B had supplied about her to Sheikh Hakim.

Asad shrugged again. “I kept up with you.”

No, really, he hadn’t. She’d never heard from him again after he left, though a mutual friend had told Iris when Asad had married a year after returning to his home. She’d spent the weekend crying off and on, for once Iris’s studies unable to assuage the ache of loneliness and grief.

Then she’d buckled down, determined not to let anyone or anything stand in the way of the one dream she had left. She’d even continued her studies in Arabic, though until this assignment, she’d had no chance to use them in more than a few written translations and phone calls.

“I’m surprised your wife isn’t with you,” she said to change the topic and to remind herself forcibly why this man could not be allowed past her defenses.

No matter what the circumstances she would be forced to live in over the coming weeks.

And really? Where was the man’s wife? What woman would prefer to stay at a Bedouin encampment when she could be visiting the local palace? And how did his wife feel about Asad promising protection and guidance to his former girlfriend?

But then, that at least, was an idiotic question. No way did the princess know anything about Iris.

Iris certainly hadn’t known anything about Princess Badra when she’d been dating and sleeping with Asad.

Asad had known, though. He’d known he had no intention of spending his future with Iris. He’d known he planned to marry the virginal princess, not the American geology student who spent every night in his bed for ten months.

He’d seduced her anyway, treating Iris like his girlfriend when she was nothing but his mistress.

An old-fashioned word for an ugly, outdated position she would never have willingly taken. Or so she told herself.

The most painful truth of all, the one that had woken her in nighttime sweats more than once, was that even had she known he would never be hers, Iris was not sure she would have been able to walk away from what he offered her naive, love-struck, nineteen-year-old self.

“My wife died two years ago.” Asad’s voice pushed into Iris’s raw thoughts.

She met his eyes in genuine shock and polite words tumbled out of her mouth in stark reaction. “I’m sorry.”

Asad didn’t reply, but looked back at her with an expression both predatory and implacable.

The room and people around them faded from her awareness for a frozen moment as she met his gaze, her body frozen in shock, her mind blank with reaction and her heart stuttering in horror.

A married Asad was bad enough, but a widower? The thought sent terror shaking through her not-so-mended heart.

The helicopter blades whirled overhead, making discussion within the bird impossible except over the shared radio pieces. Asad had his fill of public discourse the night before when all he’d wanted to do was drag Iris out of the dining room and take her somewhere they could be alone.

He could not pretend what he wanted to do was talk, either, though it was not entirely off the agenda.

It had taken considerable self-control to stop himself from going to visit her in her room, but he needed to follow his plan. A plan that had a better chance of success once she was living in his encampment, not minutes from the royal airfield at the palace.

The level of animosity in Iris’s expression and voice when she wasn’t doing her best to suppress it, surprised him. It had been six years since he’d returned home. Surely she was not still angry at the admittedly abrupt end to their association.

Had he to do it over again, he would have handled it differently. But when they’d been together, he hadn’t realized she’d been thinking in terms of the future, either. He’d assumed from her actions and circumstances that she knew nothing they did together could be permanent. He hadn’t counted on her Western viewpoint on feminine sexuality, or her ignorance of his status.

In his arrogance, he’d believed everyone knew he was a future sheikh. It was no secret after all. But Iris did not gossip, and she was a geology student who, he learned later, knew next to nothing about the students in her own discipline, much less the others that attended the large university with her.

When she’d told him she loved him, he’d taken it as his due. The usual response of a female in a sexual relationship with a man, but he hadn’t believed she meant it.

He still wasn’t sure he bought the idea of everlasting love, though his cousin’s marriage to Catherine was something special. Even Asad could see that.

Nothing like his own marriage, which had been nothing more than a series of lies and subterfuge.

Still, he could have been kinder when he had to end their months-long affair. He realized that now.

He would never admit to anyone but himself that his harsh and immediate withdrawal had been the result of feelings he wasn’t used to dealing with. He’d become more attached to Iris than he’d expected to. And much to his chagrin, had realized at the end of their time together, that she, more than anyone or anything else, had the possibility of undermining his carefully laid plans.

So, he had walked away. And stayed away.

And had forced his mind to shut down every time he thought of her until his ill-fated wedding night, when inevitable comparisons and conclusions had to be drawn. Conclusions that had destroyed what was left of his own naive beliefs about women and sex.

Iris hadn’t been a virgin, but she’d been honest, loyal and surprisingly innocent. He’d believed Badra untouched, but that had been a lie of monumental proportions, as was so much about her. The woman who had considered herself too good for a Bedouin sheikh had traded on deceit and Asad had not even had a glimmer until their wedding night.

Even so, his anger at Badra had muted over time to be replaced with indifference. So that when she had died all he had felt was relief to be free of her, only marginally tinged by sadness for their daughter, who saw less of her mother than the Parisian clothiers Badra favored.

Once married, he’d been unable to keep thoughts of Iris completely banked. Though that surprised him, he chalked it up to the fact that they had been even better friends than they were lovers. He’d kept up with her academic and work career, but had stayed away from her personally. He was not Badra. Asad did not cheat.

He did not understand this passionate fury barely contained in Iris, not after so much time. He slid a glance at her only to find her looking out the window of the helicopter, her eyes too unfocused to be seeing anything of real interest in the desert below.

Her body and attention turned from him, but he would change that. It had been six years. Two years since his wife’s death. Enough time for all that he had planned. He would wait no longer.

The low mountains loomed much closer than at the palace when the helicopter made its descent for landing.

“Hey, where are the camels?” Russell asked as he climbed out of the helicopter right after the pilot.

Asad did not answer. He had not liked the way the field assistant referred to Iris proprietarily, and with such familiarity, the night before. Though he doubted very much that the two shared a relationship outside of work, Asad felt possessive of the friendship that had not been allowed to flourish by his marriage.

He offered his hand to help Iris alight. After a moment of inaction while she stared at his hand as if it were a snake set to strike, she very clearly gritted her teeth and then reached out to take it.

He smiled into her lovely sky-blue eyes, carefully blanked of emotion. “Welcome to the Bedouin of the twenty-first century.”

Iris looked around them at the landing pad and the SUV parked on its edge. “I understand camels are not quite the mode of transport they once were.” She met his gaze again and choked out a laugh which he enjoyed hearing very much. “But a Hummer?”

He shrugged. “What can I say? Our tribe is more affluent than most.”

“Why is that?”

“My great-grandfather purchased land rights in three adjoining countries along our usual travel route so our tribe would always have a place to camp. At the time, political unrest dictated the move, but we rarely avail ourselves of that land for encampment anywhere but in Kadar.”

“But the land in the other countries, it’s making money for you?”

“It is.” The once-beautiful landscape was marred by oil rigging that pounded away with a noise that others might learn to sleep through.

He never would. “Oil.”

“Lucky you.”

“Some might say so.”

“I think pretty much everyone would say so.”

He didn’t reply, but turned to give instructions to the tribesmen waiting for them to move the geologists’ luggage and equipment to the Hummer. Asad made sure Russell ended up in the other SUV for the drive.

The Sha’b Al’najid encampment was nothing like Iris expected. Erected in the shadows of the small mountain range in the southernmost part of Kadar, it truly looked like the “city of tents” Catherine had referred to.

“You must have high-producing wells.”

“They are sufficient as a base for our needs.”

“A base?”

“My grandfather invested intelligently if modestly on behalf of our people. I have continued that tradition, though perhaps not as modestly.” Satisfaction glowed in Asad’s dark gaze. “We continue to do what we are best at as a people, as well.”

“What’s that?” she asked, her curiosity stronger than her desire to avoid conversation with him.

“The Bedouin are known for their hospitality. Our tribe offers the opportunity to live the Bedouin life for tourists from the cities of Kadar and abroad. The Sha’b Al’najid still run trading caravans across the desert and for a sufficient fee, one may join in this venture, also.”

“Like a Dude Ranch?” she asked in disbelief.

“I have never been to a Dude Ranch, but I believe the intent is similar. Others of my brethren tribes do this, as well. It provides our people the opportunity to continue with millennia of cultural and living traditions while others are afforded the opportunity to experience this unique way of life.”

“You sound like a travel brochure.”

“I have written more than one of them.”

A grin sneaked up on her, despite her feelings toward him. “It can’t be too traditional with Hummers instead of camels.”

“We still have many camels, I assure you.”

“Do you still move camp?”

“Twice a year, rather than seasonally, but yes.”

“Do you stay in Kadar?”

“We do. This too is different, but preferable to other tribes who have settled permanently on lands granted by the government.”

“I see.” Though she wasn’t really sure she did and was afraid he could hear it in the uncertainty of her tone.

“Within our encampment you will find modernizations mixed with traditions that are thousands of years old.” And he was clearly proud of that fact.

“Are those electric cords?” she asked in shock as she noticed the thick black rubber-coated cords snaking through the sand.

“They are. We have a bank of solar panels strategically placed five hundred yards in that direction.” He pointed away from the mountains to a spot that was no doubt ideal for sun exposure.

Incredible. “So, I can use my laptop?”

“It is better for you to charge your battery between uses. Our power is limited and certain measures must be taken, but there is even a television in the communal tent.”

“I didn’t know there was such a thing in a Bedouin encampment. I thought most of the socializing happened in individual homes.” Or outside in the courtyard-like areas between the tents.

At least according to the research she’d done on Bedouin living back when she’d thought she’d had a reason to do so.

“The communal tent was created for the tourists to gather in groups, but my people have found they enjoy its use, as well.”

“And its television.”

“Some British and American programs are very popular.” His shrug said some things must change, but others would remain the same. “I confess to a craving for Law & Order when I returned home six years ago.”

They’d used to watch it together. He’d called the crime drama his weekly mindless entertainment. She never quite got that, but she’d suffered through the program’s dark plots and emotional angst for the sake of spending that time with him.

“Do you still watch it?” he asked.

“No.”

“It was never your favorite.”

“No.” Though she hadn’t stopped watching until the series was canceled.

“Yet you watched it, for me.”

This trip down memory lane was getting distinctly uncomfortable.

“I’ll admit this is not what I expected.” She waved her hand, indicating the encampment around her.

“You had expectations?”

“Naturally. It’s a poor geologist who doesn’t do her homework on the area she’ll be surveying.”

“But you had no idea you would be coming to a Bedouin encampment.”

“You never know.” It was not quite a lie, but not the admission he was looking for, either.

“This is true. Six years ago, neither of us would have suspected you would be here.”

Actually, she had … right up until he’d broken up with her. She had no more interest in rehashing that particular bit of history than anything else about the months they’d been together. “You said some things are still traditional?”

“Many things.”

She saw what he meant when they entered a huge tent toward the center of the encampment. A curtain bisected the area horizontally from the entrance. In the center, was a single overlapping panel embroidered with two giant peacocks, their feathers fanned out in a display of the beautiful jeweled tones the birds were known for.

The curtain created the public reception area the Bedouin homes were known for, but it was much larger she was sure than the average tent boasted. With no evidence of the famed television, Iris had to assume this wasn’t the communal tent he’d mentioned earlier.

Rich Persian rugs covered the ground of the main area, but instead of chairs, there were luxurious pillows in silks, velvets and damasks with lots of gold, purple, teal and a dark sapphire blue. Low tables dotted the expansive area and while the outer walls were the typical woven black goat hair, inside the walls were covered in richly colored silks.

“Russell and I are staying here?” she asked with a sense of foreboding.

This was no normal Bedouin tent. Situated where it was in the compound and considering the luxury of the interior, she had no doubts who this particular dwelling belonged to. Sheikh Asad bin Hanif Al’najid.

“You are, yes. Russell will stay in the tent with your equipment.”

“What is this tent, a harem, or something?” she asked in faint hope.

“This is my home.”