LITMIR.BIZ

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marquise cut is boat-shaped, pointed at both ends and one of the most popular cuts today although it dates back to the 1700s.”

      She watched him tip the ring this way and that, amazed at how the ring glowed all the way through, glinting with bits of fire and light. “It’s very pretty.”

      He glanced up at her. “But not right for you?”

      “It’s very dramatic,” she answered.

      Smiling, Mr. Murai replaced the large marquise cut diamond ring and picked up another. “This is a rose cut, and the rose cut was developed in the sixteenth century. As you can see, it’s a very glamorous, very elegant look. Some people think it’s classic Hollywood, others see it and think of the crown jewels. You’ll notice there’s a flat base and all the facets radiate from the center.”

      It was beautiful, but not her. The setting was beautiful, too, but it just felt too … old, too much like what a grandmother might wear. Not that her grandmother had ever owned a diamond bigger than a half carat.

      “Not for you,” the jeweler guessed, slipping the ring back and reaching for another. “This one dates to the 1600s and it’s known as the cushion cut. Note the square or rectangular shape and the rounded corners. Many people think a diamond’s brilliance is particularly enhanced by this cut.”

      “That’s gorgeous, too,” she said, but there was no way she’d ever wear a ring that big, or a stone that large. “How big a carat is that?” she asked, just out of curiosity.

      “Just under twelve carats.”

      “Heavens,” she choked, recoiling. “Twelve carats? Who could afford that?”

      “Your fiancé,” Mr. Murai answered evenly, putting the ring back. “His brothers. Their friends.”

      “I’m sorry, but I find it almost offensive—” She broke off apologetically. “I just couldn’t in good conscience ever wear something like that when I know half the world is starving. It doesn’t seem right.”

      Khalid abruptly moved forward, leaned over the open briefcase and searched the trays of rings. “That one,” he said, pointing to a two-and-a-half-carat yellow pear-shaped diamond in a platinum band. Smaller diamonds sparkled at the prongs.

      Mr. Murai took the ring out of the case. “One of my favorite rings,” the jeweler said, twisting it to capture the light. “Very classic, and very, very elegant.”

      It was beyond beautiful, and it wasn’t something she would have ever chosen to try, but there was something in the shape and the design that captured her imagination.

      “Try it on,” the jeweler encouraged.

      Uncertainly Liv slid the ring onto her left hand and gazed down at the flawless diamond, the palest yellow. The ring made her skin look creamy, while the stone itself reminded her of sun and sweet, ripe fruit and lemon meringue.

      She turned her hand to the light, then dropped her hand low and finally brought the ring up near her face to inspect the exquisite setting more closely.

      “It suits you,” Khalid said quietly.

      She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed. “It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen.”

      “Is there anything else you’d like better?” he asked.

      “No,” she answered breathlessly, curling her fingers, feeling the weight of the stone against the back of her finger and the smooth warm fit of the platinum band on her skin. “But it’s too much, far too much—”

      “That is the ring,” Khalid said, turning to Mr. Murai. “Can we have it sized this morning and returned to us before our noon flight?”

      Mr. Murai nodded. “Not a problem.”

      “We’ll leave for the airport at eleven-thirty,” Khalid added.

      Liv looked at him, and then back at the ring, which was still enormous at two and a half carats, and yet it was also beautiful, beyond beautiful, and she couldn’t believe it was going to be hers.

      It shouldn’t be hers. She wasn’t really going to marry Khalid. She was going to go home and get back to her job and become just Liv Morse again, but until then, would it be so awful to actually wear something this lovely? God knows, she’d never have anything like this again.

      Girls like her didn’t own jewels. Girls like her just admired them in magazines.

      “I’ll have the ring sized immediately,” the jeweler answered, “and will personally bring it back to you.”

      After Mr. Murai left with his briefcase of rings, Liv stood at the window with the view of the Great Pyramid, feeling increasingly pensive.

      She shouldn’t have said yes to the ring. It wasn’t proper. Nice girls—good girls—didn’t accept expensive gifts from men, much less from men like sheikhs and desert princes.

      Her mother would have another heart attack if she knew Liv was even wearing a ring like that.

      “It’s just a ring,” Khalid said flatly, standing not far behind her. “You haven’t damned your soul yet.”

      She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Yet.”

      His generous mouth with that slightly bowed upper lip curved in amusement. “Most women love trinkets.”

      “Sheikh Fehr, yellow diamonds aren’t trinkets.”

      “I don’t think you can continue with the Sheikh Fehr title now that we’re engaged.”

      “But we’re not really engaged.”

      His faint smile disappeared, and his chiseled features grew harder, fiercer. “On the contrary, we really are, and in just a few hours you’ll have the ring to prove it.”

      CHAPTER SIX

      MR. MURAI returned to the hotel by eleven with the sized ring and by eleven-thirty she and Khalid were in the car, heading for the airport.

      At Cairo’s executive airport they boarded the royal jet for Aswan, the southernmost outpost of ancient Egypt, a city five hundred and fifty miles south of Cairo.

      During the first half hour of the flight, Khalid stared out the window, reflecting on the early morning phone call from his brother.

      Sharif had been wrong about several things, but he had been right when he said that Khalid had pushed people away and severed relationships. Khalid didn’t want anyone dependent on him, much less emotionally dependent. He needed space—freedom—and he wasn’t ready to give it up.

      He’d do what he had to do to get Olivia home, but this wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about emotion. It was duty. Pure and simple.

      The flight attendant appeared to tell them she would soon be serving lunch, and proceeded to set up a table that locked into the floor in between their club chairs, turning the sitting area into a cozy dining room.

      Liv glanced at Khalid as the flight attendant spread a pale gold linen cloth over the table. She didn’t want to be intimidated by him but there was something overwhelming about him. She didn’t know if it was his silence, or the stillness in his powerful frame, but he reminded her of the desert he lived in. Remote, detached, aloof. A desert—and a man—she wanted nothing to do with.

      Horrifying tears suddenly started to her eyes. She reached up and knocked them away with a knuckle. She hadn’t cried in Ozr. She certainly wasn’t going to cry now, but she’d gotten her hopes up. She’d thought—imagined—she was free. She’d thought that once she left Jabal with Khalid she was just one step away from home. But instead of home, they were setting off on a different journey. A new journey. A journey she wasn’t ready, or willing, to take.

      The flight attendant served their first course, sizzling prawns, on the Fehr royal china, with its distinctive geometric gold-and-black

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