Heart of a Desert Warrior. Lucy Monroe
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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 [email protected], 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
MILLS & BOON
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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