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Heart of a Desert Warrior
LUCY MONROE
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 LucyMonroe@LucyMonroe.com, 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
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
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 laughed, not taking offense and not entirely masking a concerned expression she didn’t want to see.
No matter what, she would be fine. She would. She was no longer a naive university sophomore, but a professional geologist with an eminent private survey firm.
“So, why the long face?” Russell asked, taking another step down as if coaxing her to do the same. “I know you tried to get out of doing this assignment.”
She had, but then she’d realized how foolish she was being. She couldn’t go through her career refusing lucrative assignments in the Middle East just because she’d once loved a man who came from this part of the world. Besides, her boss had made it clear that this time, she didn’t have a choice.
“I’m fine. Just a little jet-lagged.” Forcing her feet to move, she started down the stairs.
Russell fell into step beside her when she reached him. He put his arm out for her and she took it.
She wasn’t dwelling on the possibility that Sheikh Asad was her Asad. Not at all.
After all, what were the chances it was the same man who had done such a good job decimating her heart six years ago that she hadn’t gone on another date until after she graduated? That it was the one man that she had hoped to live the whole rest of her life without ever seeing again?
Small. Almost nonexistent.
Right? Right.
So, her Asad had been part of a Bedouin tribe and, as she’d found out at the end, slated to be sheikh one day.
It didn’t have to be the same man. She was praying it wasn’t the same man.
If it was her Asad—or rather the Asad: he’d never really been hers and she had to stop thinking of him that way—she didn’t know what she would do. Working toward the coveted position of senior geologist with Coal, Carrington & Boughton Surveyors, Inc., she couldn’t refuse this assignment based on personal reasons. Not when she had been back in the office and definitely not now that she was already in the country.
She wasn’t about to commit career suicide. Asad had taken enough from her. Her faith in love. Her belief in the rosy, bright future she’d ached for and dreamed of. He didn’t get her career, too.
“What did the diamond say to the copper vein?” Russell’s youthful voice pulled her out of her less than happy thoughts as they made their slow way down the stairs.
She rolled her eyes. “That joke is as old as the bedrock in Hudson Bay. The answer is—nothing, minerals don’t talc.”
It was a hoary old joke, but when he laughed, she found herself joining him.
“I’m glad to see you still have a sense of humor.” The deep voice coming from the hall below didn’t sound happy at all.
In fact, it sounded almost annoyed. But Iris didn’t have the wherewithal to worry about that little inconsistency. Not when the rich tones that still had the power to send her heart on a drumroll and to spark little pops of awareness along her every nerve ending belonged to a man she had truly believed she would never see again.
She stopped her descent and stared. Asad looked back at her, his dark chocolate gaze so intense, she felt the breath leave her lungs in a gasp.
He’d changed. Oh, he was still gorgeous. His hair still a dark brown, almost black and with no hint of gray, but instead of cropped close to his head like it had been back in school he wore it shoulder length. The different style should have made him seem more casual, more approachable. It didn’t.
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 used to lurk there nowhere in evidence.
He had close-cropped facial hair that only added to his appeal, as if he needed any help in that department. 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 Middle Eastern sheikh.
Wishing, not for the first time, that she could ignore this man, she forced herself to incline her head in greeting. “Sheikh Asad.”
“This is our liaison?” Russell croaked, reminding her that he was still there.
It didn’t help. The young intern was no competition for her attention to Asad and the feelings roiling up from the depths where she’d buried them when he left her.
Putting his arm out to Iris, Asad showed no sign of noticing Russell at all. “I will escort you to the others.”
Her frozen limbs unstuck and Iris managed to descend the remaining stairs. Giving in to her urge to ignore at least his suggestion, she stepped around his extended arm and headed to where she’d met earlier with Sheikh Hakim, his wife and their adorable children. If she was lucky, the dining room would be in the same part of the palace.
“Do you know where you are going?” Russell asked from behind her, sounding confused.
Asad made a sound that almost sounded like amusement. “I do not believe Iris has ever let a lack of certainty stop her from going forward.”
She spun around and faced him, long-banked fury unexpectedly spiking and with it not a little pain. “Even the best scientist can misinterpret the evidence.” Taking a deep breath, she regained the slip in her composure and asked with frigid politeness, “Perhaps you would like to the lead the way?”
Once again, he offered his arm. Again she pushed the bounds of polite behavior and ignored it, simply waiting in silence for him to get on with showing them where they were going.
“Just as stubborn as you ever were.”
And she wanted to smack him, which shocked her to her core. She was not a violent person. Ever. Even in the past, when he’d hurt her almost beyond bearing, she’d never had a violent thought toward him. Just pain.
“That’s our Iris, as immovable as a monolith.”
Asad didn’t ignore Russell this time. He gave the younger man a look meant to quell.
Seemingly oblivious, the college intern grinned and put his hand out to shake. “Russell Green, intrepid geological assistant, one day to be a full-fledged senior geologist with my own lab.”
Asad shook the younger man’s hand and inclined his head slightly. “Sheikh Asad bin Hanif Al’najid. I will be your team’s guide and protector while you are in Kadar.”
“Personally?” Iris asked, unable to keep her disquiet out of her voice. “Surely not. You are a sheikh.”
“It is a favor to my cousin. I would not consider relegating the duty to someone else.”
“But that’s unnecessary.” She wasn’t going to survive the next few weeks if she had to spend them in his company.
It had been six years since the last time she’d seen this man, but the pain and sense of betrayal he’d caused felt as fresh as if it had happened only the day before. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but hers were still bleeding hurt into her heart.
She still dreamed about him, though she called the images she woke to in the dark nightmares rather than dreams.
She’d loved and trusted him with everything inside her, believing she finally had a shot at a family and a break from the loneliness of her upbringing. He’d betrayed both her emotions and her hopes completely and irrevocably.
“It is not up for discussion.”
Iris shook her head. “I … no …”
