The Desert Kings: Duty, Desire and the Desert King / The Desert King's Bejewelled Bride / The Desert King

“I’m here to find you a wife,” she added shortly. “That is it.”

“Right.” He cocked his head, considered her legs, her silken tumble of hair, the dark pink staining her cheeks and smiled wickedly.

“So we’re in perfect understanding? We will keep our relationship professional. We won’t indulge in any more touches, kisses, flirtations. This is business, and there’s a science to the business—”

“I was wrong about you, you know. You’re very interesting. And very appealing, especially when you’re in a righteous mood.” He smiled. “A man likes a proper challenge. And you, my buttoned-down, uptight, prudish Dr. Tornell, are a proper challenge.” With a last smile in her direction, he left.

Rou tumbled into the living room and down onto the white couch the moment Zayed disappeared and reached for a ruby pillow to squeeze against her chest. Buttoned-down. Uptight. Prudish?

How dare he? How crass. How arrogant. How perfectly Zayed Fehr!

There was no way she could find a good wife for him. No decent woman would take him. He was horrible. Arrogant. Sexual.

Sexual. And then she bit her lip and closed her eyes and tried to block out the way he’d kissed her and the way her body had responded and the way she imagined making love would be.

It’d be good.

Maybe even great.

Oh, God. She had to get out of here.

In bed, it took forever for Rou to relax. She tossed and turned so long that she eventually turned the light on and reached for a book, but even the book couldn’t hold her attention.

The problem was Zayed. The problem was his kiss. The problem was she still felt too warm and so emotionally and physically stirred.

That kiss was unlike any kiss she’d ever experienced. It had made her ache and burn. Made her want to take things further. She’d never enjoyed sex before, but with Zayed she knew it’d be different. Everything with him was different.

With him she didn’t feel frigid. She felt. She wanted. She needed. Desired. Hungered.

She’d always been accused of being so cerebral, and maybe it was her own fear that kept her emotions and desires in check, but her body hadn’t ever been important. Yet tonight when Zayed kissed her, her body stunned her by coming to life, expressing needs. Wants. Demands.

She found the revelation both wonderful and awful. Wonderful because she relished feeling alive. Wonderful because she’d never felt this way before. And yet awful because she knew once she left here, she’d never feel this again.

It was close to three before she fell asleep, and nearing eight when she woke. Her head ached and she groggily stumbled from bed to the living room to look out the French doors where the sun was still rising and painting the sky shades of pink and rose.

Still wearing her cozy, pale blue pajamas, Rou pulled her hair into a messy ponytail, plopped on her glasses and grabbed her laptop. She carried it to the couch and opened her e-mail to see if she’d gotten any responses yet.

None of the three women she’d contacted last night had responded to her e-mail yet, and instead of being disappointed she felt relief. Not that she was supposed to feel relief. She was here to do a job and she was failing. That wasn’t good.

To combat her guilt, Rou wondered if she should send another batch of e-mail invites, but then admitted that her efforts were futile at best.

There was no way she was going to come up with a bride for him in twenty-four or thirty-six hours. No way a sane woman would hop on the royal jet, arrive here, talk to Zayed for sixty minutes and agree to marriage.

Instead there had to be someone else, someone closer, someone already familiar with Zayed Fehr. An ex-girlfriend perhaps. A friend of the family’s. A second or third cousin.

She was just opening one of her spiral notebooks to begin brainstorming when a soft knock sounded outside her suite.

“Come in,” Rou called, hoping it was Manar with coffee and some biscuits.

Instead a pretty brunette in a simple belted cream dress appeared between the columns. She stood at the top of the stairs and smiled wanly at Rou. “I haven’t been a very good hostess. I’m so sorry. I should have welcomed you earlier. I’m Jesslyn Fehr—”

“Queen Fehr!” Rou was on her feet and rushing forward to greet Sharif’s wife, who was descending the stairs into the sunken living room. Rou didn’t know if she was expected to bow or curtsy. “I don’t expect you to play hostess while I’m here. Never. I already feel bad intruding during this time. I know you have so much to deal with right now.”

Jesslyn’s hand lifted, fell. She looked dazed, lost. “Unfortunately, I don’t actually have enough to do. I’m finding it hard to stay busy. Nothing lets me forget. Not even the children.”

Up close, Rou saw the strain in the queen’s face, her pallor, and the deep shadows beneath her eyes and lines at the creases. “How are you?”

Jesslyn tried to smile and failed. “He has to come back. I can’t do this without him.”

“Come, sit.” Rou gestured to the couch. “And I’m sorry I’m not dressed. I was enjoying working in my pajamas.”

“The best way to work,” the queen answered. “When I was a teacher I spent entire weekends in my pajamas grading papers.” Jesslyn took a seat on the couch opposite Rou’s. “Have you had coffee? Anything to eat?”

“I’m fine—”

“I haven’t had breakfast, either, and would enjoy sitting here, talking to you, while we had a bite.” She paused. “If you don’t mind.”

Rou could see why Sharif loved Jesslyn, and her heart squeezed with grief. Jesslyn was beautiful but real, humble and down-to-earth. “I wouldn’t mind. Not at all.”

Jesslyn leaned over and pressed a nearly invisible button on the leg of the low coffee table. Almost immediately a robed attendant appeared. “Yes, Your Highness?”

“Mehta, could we perhaps have coffee for two? And if Cook has any of his breakfast pastries, a few of those would be nice, too.”

Jesslyn glanced around the living room after her attendant left. “I haven’t been here in a while. This is where I stayed when I first came to the palace. But it’s still beautiful with the courtyard and the morning sun.”

Rou followed the queen’s gaze. “It’s an extraordinary suite.”

“Have you been outside yet? Explored the garden?”

“No, but I should. I’ll make sure to go out later this morning.”

The queen nodded absently. “It was their room, you know.”

“Whose?”

Jesslyn turned to look at her, her eyes filled with sadness. “The girls. The twins. Jamila and Aman. These rooms are rarely used. I think you and I have been the only ones to stay here since they died.”

Rou was shocked. She’d had no idea. “You were friends with them?”

“Best friends. We met in school and then later shared a flat. We were all on holiday in Greece when the accident happened.” Her lips tightened. “They died a week apart. It’s how I met Sharif. At the hospital, the day before Aman died.”

She blinked, looked across at Rou. “I can’t lose him. I can’t live without him. He’s everything. He’s my hope and my heart.” Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them back, and forced a smile as well as a turn in the conversation. “I understand you know Sharif.”

Rou had to blink back tears of her own. “Yes. I earned the Fehr scholarship when I was at Cambridge. Over time I got to know your husband, the king. He was a wonderful mentor, very kind, very generous.”

Jesslyn’s expression cleared. “You’re the psychologist?”

Rou nodded, a lump in her throat. “Yes.”