Her Desert Prince

He flashed her a white smile that trapped the air in her lungs. “Grateful enough to let me call you Lauren?”

The way he said her name in his deep voice with that beautiful accent made it sound exotic.

“Of course.”

“I saw it printed in your passport, which I have in my possession.” His piercing dark eyes traveled over her, missing nothing. “Lauren is a beautiful name, almost as beautiful as its bearer.”

Heat spread through her body like wildfire. “What do I call you?” she asked rather breathlessly.

Something flickered in the dark recesses of his eyes as he ate his food. “Rafi. It’s easier than the rest of my name which is too long and difficult for a foreigner to pronounce.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “I like the shortened version. It reminds me of the spaniel I once had.”

“Why is that?”

“Her name was Taffy,” she rattled on before realizing he probably thought she was flirting with him. You are flirting with him, Lauren. Her escape from death had turned her into someone she didn’t recognize. She tried to gather her wits, but this was all still like a dream. “Did you ever have a pet growing up?”

“Several, but they may not be the kind you imagine.”

“That sounds intriguing.”

His eyes glimmered in the candlelight before he asked her another question. “Where were you intending to stay after you arrived here?”

She let out a small cry. “That’s right—my reservations—I don’t know the name. The documents from the travel agency in Montreux are in my small suitcase. I’m afraid I’m not thinking too clearly yet.”

“That’s because you’ve been in a sandstorm and have come out of it with your life irrevocably changed.”

Irrevocably. Because of this man, that was the precise word.

“I’ll be happy to explain the circumstances to the concierge if you’ll give me the information. The staff placed your suitcases in your bedroom. Would you like me to get it for you?”

“No, thank you. I’ll do it.” She stood up, but she still felt fragile. “Just a moment, please.”

Lauren felt his eyes on her back as she walked through to the bedroom and knelt down to open her small case. She found the envelope that held all her travel plans on top and shut the lid, then went back to the other room.

With a wordless exchange he took it from her. Their fingers brushed, sending warmth through her nervous system before he opened the flap to peer inside. When he found what he was looking for, he pulled out his phone and made a call. Except for a few words, she understood no Arabic. The conversation went on for several minutes before he hung up.

He eyed her with an enigmatic gaze. “Is there anyone else you need to inform about what’s happened? Anyone to let know where you are?”

“No.” With her grandmother gone, she was quite alone.

“Don’t tell me there’s no man in your life missing you, because I wouldn’t believe you.”

“There’s no one important in my life. Only Paul, a friend, who is probably out on a new, exciting assignment for his French newspaper at the moment.”

“Won’t Paul want to know you are safe from harm?” His voice had fierce undertones. He talked with so much authority, she found herself opening up to him.

“Actually, I would prefer it if Paul didn’t know about what happened to me. You see, he proposed to me before I came here and I turned him down. I’m not in love with him and it would seem wrong of me to ask him to come to my aid now. I think it’s best if he moves on with his life and finds a woman who will love him in return.”

Rafi stared at her over the rim of his coffee cup. “After meeting you, I daresay I doubt he’ll ever get over you.”

“That’s very flattering, but of course he will.”

“I wasn’t flattering you.” His remark set her body trembling. “What about other friends?”

“They don’t expect to hear from me this trip.”

“Why not?”

“Because I came to try and get over the worst of my pain after losing my grandmother recently. They know that,” she muttered, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice, but not succeeding very well.

“You were close to her?”

There was something about this man that made her want to confide in him. Maybe it was because he’d saved her life by getting her to the doctor in time. Whatever the reason, she didn’t feel like holding back.

“Very. Both my parents died when I was six months old. She was the only mother I ever knew. I miss her horribly.”

“I can understand your wanting to get away for a while, but why the desert, why here? This part of the Nafud is particularly harsh.”

“I suppose it’s because it’s one place I’ve never visited, and it holds no past memories for me.” Only Celia’s.

“You’re a world traveler?”

“Yes, from the time I was a little girl.”

A definite stillness filled the room before he said, “Under the circumstances, I’ll leave you alone to grieve. Silence is the medication for sorrow. If you need anything, you have only to pick up the phone by your bed. Nazir, one of my assistants, will take care of you and send for me or the doctor should you need us.”

“Thank you.” She lowered her head. “I’d be very remiss if I didn’t tell you how grateful I am to you for saving my life.”

“I only sped up the time so your recovery could take place under Dr. Tamam’s care.”

“I’m still thankful,” she insisted. “Be assured, you and your staff will be well paid for your services.”

Without giving her a response, he started to leave. Being the head of security, she supposed he had too many calls on his time for her to expect his company like this again but she selfishly wished he didn’t have to leave yet. “Rafi?”

He turned his dark head in her direction. “Is there something else you need?”

There were a lot of things she discovered she needed. “No, but you’re obviously on intimate terms with the king. Please let him know how grateful I am for everything. The room is beautiful beyond description.”

“It’s part of the garden suite.”

Lauren sucked in her breath. King Malik had arranged for her grandmother to stay in a private part of the palace with its own garden. Was it possible this suite was the one? The hairs lifted on the back of her neck.

He studied her for a moment. “Are you all right, Lauren?”

“Yes.”

“You need a lot more rest before I’m convinced of that. When you’re up to it, you’re welcome to walk out and enjoy the flowers through that portico. Some are quite exotic. On occasion, the queen herself tends the garden.”

She put a hand to her throat. “I don’t know why I’m so lucky.”

After a slight pause he said, “When word of your near-tragedy reached King Umar, he insisted you remain in this suite as his guest for as long as you want.”

His guest.

Lauren’s heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Was King Umar a son or a grandson or even a great-nephew of King Malik? Lauren was closer to getting information about her grandfather than she knew.

“That’s incredibly kind and generous of him.”

His black eyes gleamed. “It’s my hope that while you are recovering, the garden’s beauty will lift the sadness over your grandmother’s passing from your heart.”

Deeply touched by his words, she whispered her thanks. Bereft after he’d gone, Lauren couldn’t move any further than the nearest couch because a new weakness had attacked her, brought on by his nearness and the potent male reality of him.

She sank down and rested against one of the satin cushions. Her thoughts darted back to her grandmother who’d been a world traveler from an early age. Celia had come to Al-Shafeeq because it had been reported by a family friend highly placed in the government that this desert oasis blossomed like a rose. It had sounded so romantic to her, she’d deemed it a place she had to see.

While wandering through its palatial gardens, her waist-length blond hair had happened to catch the eye of King Malik. What had happened after that had been like a tale from the Arabian Nights tale and Celia had become enslaved by a love so powerful that Lauren’s mother, Lana, had been the ultimate result.

Lauren thought about the flowers on the patio, but she was too tired to walk out there yet. Inwardly she had the presentiment that if she went out to look at them, history might repeat itself. Lauren could well imagine being so enamored of Rafi, she would never want to leave Al-Shafeeq.

His powerful image swam before her eyes until they closed and she knew no more.

Rashad stood outside the suite and rang Dr. Tamam to give him the latest update. “Our patient was well enough to shower and eat a solid meal today.”

“That’s good. What did you find out about the medallion?”

He pursed his lips. “Nothing yet.”

“Ah?” The surprise in the older man’s voice was as unmistakable as it was understandable. “Then you must have felt she still wasn’t recovered enough to withstand an interrogation.”

The doctor was reading Rashad’s mind. Lauren had paled a little before he’d left her suite. That part was genuine. In fact everything she’d said, every reaction, had seemed genuine to him, especially her relief that Mustafa hadn’t died.

He could still feel the imprint of her lovely body molded to his while word of the near-tragedy had sunk in. She’d shed convincing tears of relief.

As for her pain over her deceased grandmother, there were degrees. Upon wakening, her first thought had been for the medallion she’d lost. Rashad had noticed she’d been careful not to give him a full description of the gold circle.

His instincts were never wrong. She was holding a secret.

The first thing Rashad needed to do was to ascertain if the medallion was real or a fake. Quite apart from her role in all of this, he wanted the answer for himself. Of the eight male members of the family alive today, including himself, none had reported their medallions lost or stolen. It had to be a fake—some kind of joke, perhaps—but he wouldn’t be able to get to the bottom of it until he’d talked to their gold expert.

In the next breath he phoned his mechanic. After being assured his helicopter had been serviced and was ready for flight, he slipped along a passage and across a private courtyard to the place where it was waiting.

Accompanied by his bodyguard, he flew to Raz. Once they’d set down, he hurried into the plant to consult the goldsmith who’d fashioned Rashad’s ring. The old man was getting on in years.

“Come in, Rashad. Your face looks like thunder. Yesterday everyone was rejoicing!”

Grimacing, he sat down at the work table across from him. “That was yesterday.” He pulled the medallion and chain out of his pocket and placed it in front of him.

Hasan stared at him in puzzlement. “Whose medallion is this?”

“That’s what I need to know.”

“You mean someone in the royal family has lost theirs?”

“Maybe. I found it … accidentally. Could it be a fake?”

“Why don’t you go do something else for a little while, then come back and I’ll have answers for you.”

Rashad spent the next hour discussing plans with the engineers drafting designs for the new processing plant. Being an engineer himself, he gave his input before returning to Hasan’s lab. The goldsmith gave him a speculative look.

“The medallion is twenty-four-carat gold, but the minting technique with respect to the dyes and style indicates it was made somewhere between 1890 and 1930, give or take fifteen years. I couldn’t duplicate what was produced back then.” He shook his head. “I have to believe this is not a fake, nor is the chain.”

“So,” Rashad murmured, “unless someone lost their medallion during that time period, the only other explanation I can come up with is that the family goldsmith at the time could have made an extra one in case of loss.”

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