The Desert Kings. Оливия Гейтс
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she became, and the warmer she became, the faster her heart beat.
Why did she have to do this around him? Why couldn’t she treat him like any other man? Why did she care that she felt so dowdy and gawky and dull?
Because a little part of you likes him, a small voice answered inside her.
A little part of you wants him to like you back.
Ridiculous! she silently flashed, cutting off the little voice. He’s shallow and unkind, selfish and untrustworthy. Why would I like him?
But when Zayed’s head suddenly turned and he fixed his gold gaze on her, her stomach flipped and her chest grew tight and she drew a quick, panicked breath, terribly dizzy.
This was such a bad idea coming here with him….
“This is Isi,” he said, nodding to the buildings and landscape beyond the window, “Sarq’s capital city.”
Grateful for the distraction, she turned her head to have a better look at the city that gleamed beneath the hard glaze of sunlight. So many of the buildings appeared new, and fountains and palm trees lined the wide, elegant boulevards. Whereas there were robed women on the streets, there were also a surprising number in fashionable Western dress.
Their caravan of armored Mercedes limousines turned down a long drive bordered by towering stuccoed walls covered in lush purple-and-pink bougainvillea, while soaring palm trees dotted the drive with puddles of sunshine and shadows.
The cars stopped as massive wood-and-iron gates, gates that had to be easily ten feet tall or more, swung slowly open and then they were passing through the gates and around more walls until Rou got a glimpse of a sprawling pink building marked by fanciful domes and arches.
“The palace,” Zayed said gruffly.
She glanced at him, saw the mixture of pride and pain in his face and turned back to the view of the elaborate compound.
The entrance, marked by exquisite carved columns and a gold-painted dome, was suddenly filled with white-robed staff. They lined the entrance, bowing, welcoming Zayed home.
A prince’s welcome.
Security opened the car door and stepped back so that Zayed could exit. She’d expected him to move on toward his staff, but once again he turned to her first, helping her from the car and waiting for her to adjust her suit skirt and jacket before they moved forward.
Once she was ready, they walked inside, between the silent, bowing staff, and through the carved columns into the cool, serene interior.
Whereas the exterior of the palace was pale pink like a delicate flower, the interior walls were painted white and the ceiling a mosaic of gold and blue. Columned hallways led in every direction and priceless sculpture filled the airy halls. It was spectacular, and Rou, who had visited her share of palaces, had never seen anything so wonderful, or so exotic. This was like something from Arabian Nights, or a Hollywood film set.
“It’s amazing,” she breathed, as Zayed turned to her after greeting key staff. “This is where you grew up?”
His lips curved ruefully, the first smile since the phone call earlier that morning in Vienna, and something in his smile made her heart turn over. His smile hinted at the boy he’d once been, a boy she suspected he rarely acknowledged. “This is home,” he admitted.
She felt another quick stab of feeling, a strange protective emotion she didn’t understand. “You are a prince, aren’t you?”
His smile slowly faded. “You wouldn’t know it from the way I behaved. Is that what you’re saying?”
“No! Not at all.” She put an impulsive hand on his sleeve, shocked that he so misread her, but when Zayed glanced down at her hand, she realized she’d committed a faux pas. Commoners probably weren’t allowed to touch the royal family.
Embarrassed and uncomfortable she pulled her hand away, clenched it into a fist and hid it behind her back. “I should get to work. Just show me to a desk and I’ll wait for my computer.”
Zayed turned to one of his staff, spoke in a language she didn’t understand and then turned back to her. “Arrangements have been made for you to use one of our family suites.”
He saw her expression and added, “Don’t worry. It’s no longer in use and it has good light, plenty of space where you can work and access to a small private garden should you need some fresh air.”
The servant in the white robe stepped forward. “If you will come with me, my lady,” he said formally, bowing to her.
The room Rou was given wasn’t merely a room, but an entire suite of rooms, one of those elegant compounds down a columned, arched corridor. Late, lingering sunlight poured through the arched glass doors, flooding the sunken living room with light, turning the silk pillows on the couch into glowing gems. A massive arrangement of fragrant coral-hued roses dominated the low table in the middle of the room and scented the room with spicy perfume.
A young robed woman appeared under one of the arches. “Welcome,” she said shyly with a bow. “I am Manar, and I am to make you comfortable. I will be here with you as long as you are here.”
“Thank you, Manar. That is very kind of you, but I don’t really need anything. Just my computer so I can start working.”
“It is here,” Manar answered with a gesture toward a small antique desk in the corner of the room. The desk had been angled to provide a view of the garden wall, and her briefcase sat on top of the desk.
“Wonderful.” She pushed up her suit’s wool sleeves and approached the desk. “I think I’m set then.”
Manar looked at her doubtfully as Rou took a seat at the desk. “You do not wish to bathe or change?”
Rou was already pulling out her computer and preparing to set it up. “Hmm?” she asked, realizing Manar was waiting for a response.
“You do not wish to change into something more comfortable for work?”
Rou shook her head briskly, determined to do what she needed to do so she could leave as soon as possible. “No. I’m fine. But thank you.” And then she was turning her computer on and all thoughts were on the work before her.
Alone in the living room, she adjusted the reading light on the desk, and stacked her notebooks next to her computer, and prepared to enter the information she’d learned this morning and during the flight. But her fingers wouldn’t obey. She balked at completing the online spreadsheets.
It just seemed wrong to do this.
It seemed wrong to be helping Zayed find a wife this way. Her gut said that Zayed needed a love marriage, not an arranged marriage. Her gut said he was a man with deeper feelings than he let on. But he wasn’t asking for her intuition, he wanted her skills to pair him with a suitable woman. At least, if there was sufficient time.
Just input the rest of the profile, she told herself. Do what he’s hired you to do.
But still she couldn’t type. Her fingers wouldn’t respond. Her mind wouldn’t respond.
When she closed her eyes in frustration all she saw was Zayed, and not just his beautiful profile but his tortured expression, and she could hear his anger and she knew there was something else bothering him, something else eating at him. Only what?
Yet her obsession with Zayed was beginning to annoy her. She was here to work. This was business, pure and simple. So why then was she so conflicted?
Why was she acting so out of character? Rou never let herself dwell on emotions. She didn’t cater to them or acknowledge them and certainly didn’t give in to them. Emotions were the enemy of the scientist. Thoughts, logic, reason—those were the basis for all scientific theory.
She just needed to focus on science now. Needed to clear her head and remember what was important, what mattered.
Theory.