The Desert Sheikh's Innocent Queen: King of the Desert, Captive Bride. Jane Porter
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he wanted to do.
CHAPTER FIVE
KHALID was woken by the sound of his phone ringing. Groaning as it continued to ring, he reached out and grabbed the small wireless phone from the table beside his bed.
He recognized the number immediately. His eldest brother, Sharif.
Answering, he rolled over onto his back. “You’re a king and a newlywed,” Khalid said, his deep voice husky with sleep. “What are you doing calling so early?”
“You promised me you wouldn’t break any laws.”
Khalid rolled his eyes. “I didn’t.”
“The president of Jabal wants her back.”
“He’s not the president, he’s a dictator, and the Red Cross and United Nations are both extremely concerned by his regime’s disregard for human life.”
“Khalid, this is serious.”
“I know it is,” Khalid answered mildly, but both of them knew that Khalid was the Fehr brother least likely to compromise. “And Olivia’s not going back. Not now, not ever.”
Sharif sighed heavily. “You freed her by illegal means.”
“I rescued her from Ozr, which is synonymous with hell and you know it.”
“You claimed her. You claimed her as your fiancée.”
“Yes, I did.” “That’s a lie—”
“Not if I marry her.” Khalid nearly smiled at Sharif’s sharp intake.
“That’s ridiculous,” Sharif protested tersely. “You’ve spent the past ten years making it clear that you’re not interested in people, or relationships or emotions. You’ve pushed everyone close to you away. You don’t even return phone calls—”
“She’s in trouble.”
“The world’s in trouble, Khalid. That doesn’t mean you can save everyone.”
“I’m not trying to save everyone.”
“No?”
“No.”
Sharif muttered something unintelligible before adding, “They believe your Miss Morse is part of a huge drug ring.”
“She’s not,” Khalid answered flatly.
“But what if she is?”
Khalid fell silent. He’d considered the very same point. What if Olivia wasn’t innocent? What if she was part of this drug smuggling ring? What if the others were just better at the game and she was the one who got caught?
What if there weren’t any others involved?
What if she’d lied to everyone about everything?
“I’ve run a background check on her,” he answered after a moment. “There is nothing in her past that indicates she has the experience, or worldliness, to pull something like this off. She lives in the middle of nowhere—a small town in the south—and it’s a genuine small town, population thirteen thousand.”
“Just the kind of girl to crave fame and fortune.”
“Her mom’s a homemaker, her older brother is a carpenter and builds houses.”
“Khalid,” Sharif said, a caution in his voice. “You can’t mean to marry her—”
“Why not? You married a schoolteacher. I can marry a travel agent.”
“Not funny. I knew Jesslyn for years. She was best friends with our sisters. Furthermore, she wasn’t a criminal.”
Khalid, uncomfortable with the mention of Aman and Jamila, rolled into a sitting position, naked save for the sheet partially covering his lap. “I won’t marry a criminal.”
“Not even to save her. Because I know you. You have this thing about rescuing broken creatures, but marriage is different. You can’t damage your name—our name—for someone like that. It’s not fair to my children, or our brother—”
“I know,” Khalid interrupted, smothering his irritation. Sharif had always played the heavy. It was a role he seemed to relish. “I’ve a week to uncover the truth, and I promise you, I intend to do everything I can to uncover the truth.”
“What if a week isn’t enough, brother?”
Khalid ran his hand through his short hair, trying to comb it flat. “Then we’re all in trouble.”
Hanging up, Khalid stepped into a loose pair of cotton pajamas and walked to the balcony, where he drew the curtains open, revealing the pyramid bathed in pink morning light.
One week, he thought. One week wasn’t long. He had a lot to do in seven days, a lot to learn, and the best way to learn was to observe.
He needed to get Olivia alone, away from the crowds and noise and distractions of Cairo. He needed to find out just what happened that day she was arrested. He also wanted to find the group she’d been traveling with, including the elusive Elsie, who’d allegedly given the drugs to Liv to carry.
So the first order of the day’s business was to ensure Liv had phoned home last night as she’d promised she would before she went to bed.
The second was to make their engagement official—which included putting a ring on Liv’s finger.
And the last was to learn more about this fiancée of his, and the best way to do it was to leave urban Cairo behind for the old Egypt, the one of pharaohs, temples and archaeological digs.
Liv was already awake and dressed in a pretty blue-and-white seersucker sundress when Khalid appeared. She’d been sitting in the living room having coffee and flipping through one of the many newspapers the butler had presented her earlier.
“It’s everywhere,” she said, looking up when Khalid entered the room. “It’s in every paper, on the front page, and again inside other sections. Your engagement is front page news.”
“Our engagement,” he corrected evenly, reaching for one of the papers off the table. He was dressed very casually in a European wardrobe of dark slacks and a long-sleeved white shirt with the cuffs folded back.
“When does this end?” she choked, sitting up taller. “How does it end?”
“It doesn’t. We’re in this together. For better or worse,” Khalid said, shooting her a hard, narrowed look. He’d just showered and his hair was still damp, his jaw freshly shaven. “It could be worse, too. You could still be in Ozr.”
She just looked at him, her stomach a bundle of nerves. Perhaps he didn’t find the idea of a marriage of convenience intolerable, but she did. She wanted to love the man she married. She wanted to be wooed and won, swept off her feet, and fall head over heels in love.
She wanted a proper wedding, too, but then, didn’t every girl? Over the years Liv had imagined her wedding in detail, from the white silk dress to the pale pink floral swags in the white steepled church.
“I’m not marrying a man I don’t love,” she said almost fiercely, her cheeks burning. “And when I do meet him, Sheikh Fehr, I’m not getting married without my mother attending.”
“I appreciate your romantic sentiments,” he answered, dropping one paper and reaching for another. “I do. And as a man who had two younger sisters, I understand how important romance is for you women. But romance isn’t practical. And romance isn’t going to save you so I suggest letting go of the fairy tale to focus on reality. By the way,” he continued, “how did you sleep last night?”
“Well enough, I suppose,” she answered hesitantly. “Why?”
“No bad dreams?” he persisted.
She