Midnight in Arabia: Heart of a Desert Warrior / The Sheikh's Last Gamble / The Sheikh's Jewel

“Not the way he looks at you, he’s not.”

She didn’t ask what way that was because she already knew and wasn’t up to false protestations.

Russell told her anyway. “Like he wants to devour you. If a woman looked at me like that, I’d have a heck of a time staying out of her bed.”

“Right.” That at least, deserved some proper skepticism. From what she’d seen over the summer, Russell didn’t have any more of a social life than she did. “You’re as wrapped up in your work as I am.”

“But I’d take time away from my precious rocks for something that intense.”

“That’s why you go clubbing every Saturday night, because you’re looking.”

“I never go clubbing … oh, you were making a point. I still say if I walked into it like you have here, I’d go for it.”

“You wouldn’t. You’re every bit as gun-shy as I am. You’re just being an idiot,” she said fondly.

Russell should know just how damaging such a course of action would be to her. He’d had his own broken heart, as he’d confided to her over a bottle of potent wine on their first assignment in the field together.

“You’ve said that before. Good thing I’ve got such a high IQ, my confidence in my own intelligence is bulletproof.”

She snorted. “IQ measures your ability to learn, not your common sense.”

“You saying I lack common sense?”

“If the fossilized fragment fits …”

“Aren’t you the clever one?”

“How far from here to our first sampling site?” she asked.

“According to my satellite GPS, about an hour in a Jeep, provided we can travel pretty directly.”

She nodded.

“We should ask Sheikh Asad. After all, he is our guide while we’re in country.”

“He’s a sheikh. I’m sure he’s got someone else we can go to.”

“And you call me an idiot.”

“What does that mean?”

“The sheikh’s not leaving our guiding up to anyone else and you know it. He wants to handle you … um, I mean this little geological expedition personally.”

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_4a46271c-9de0-579b-bd9a-b33676297fa2)

IRIS rolled her eyes, but didn’t reply to Russell’s obvious innuendo.

At any rate, she couldn’t exactly deny it. Her field assistant was right. Not only had Asad insisted on being their go-to guy, she was pretty sure he’d want to accompany them on their first foray out of the encampment. She could only hope he would limit himself to the one time.

Her instincts told her to hope all she wanted, but the man was going to become her shadow, big-time busy sheikh or not.

Asad proved her first supposition right later that evening when they were all sharing dinner in his tent.

For the sake of her own sanity, she tried to talk him out of it. “That’s not necessary. I’ve been doing this for almost four years, Asad. I know what I’m doing and Russell can read his pocket transit with the best of them.”

“Nawar is looking forward to an excursion. Would you deny her?”

The little girl in question was looking up at Iris with pleading brown eyes.

Oh, not fair. Iris shook her head. “Of course not.”

“But can this wait until the day after tomorrow? Grandmother has planned a welcome feast for your arrival.”

“What? Why?”

“You are our guest,” Genevieve said, as if that explained everything. “It would be bad manners not to do so.”

“But surely Russell and I can start our work tomorrow and return in time for dinner?” she asked, feeling desperate.

She had to get away from Asad’s home and remind herself why she was in Kadar.

“It will be much more than a simple meal,” Asad said.

Genevieve smiled in a way that was catching. “I thought perhaps you would enjoy witnessing the preparations and this aspect of our way of life.”

It would be churlish to refuse, but how Iris wished she could do so. “I would love to. Thank you for the offer.”

“I could go on my own and start the measurements,” Russell offered.

Surprisingly, it was Asad who shook his head before Iris had a chance to veto the idea. “While traditionally, men do little to prepare the food, we will have our own things to attend to for the feast. You must not miss the opportunity to experience this part of our world.”

“Thank you, Sheikh Asad.” Russell smiled, his youthful eyes glowing with excitement at the thought. The traitor.

Asad inclined his head.

“Grandmother has said we will have mansaf. It’s my favorite, but we don’t have it very often,” Nawar piped up.

“Is it?” Iris asked with a smile for the tiny girl so unlike her father in looks, but so similar in every other way. “If I remember correctly, that used to be your father’s favorite, too.”

She’d even tried to make it for him once, looking up a recipe online for the traditional stewed lamb and yogurt sauce served over rice. An indifferent cook, Iris had been disappointed but not surprised when the dish had turned out only so-so, even to her palate. Asad had thanked her for the effort, but informed her that traditional Bedouin food had to be prepared in the traditional way—over a campfire—to carry the full flavor.

It was a criticism and excuse for the dinner’s mediocrity all-in-one and she hadn’t been exactly sure how to take it. Any hurt feelings she might have had were dispelled by the passionate lovemaking that followed dinner, however. He’d made it clear that no matter the outcome, her efforts had been very much appreciated.

She didn’t repeat the mistake of attempting to cook food from his homeland for him again.

“It still is,” Nawar said with a giggle. “Grandmother says we are just alike.”

“I’m sure your grandmother is right.” Iris ruffled Nawar’s hair.