LITMIR.BIZ

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said—”

      “A bunch of camel dung, because facing what I want doesn’t mean I get to have it.”

      “You’re kind of complicated.”

      “I’m an emir, complicated defines my life.”

      “Is there something we could do that wouldn’t put us at risk for exposure?” She felt like a fugitive in witness protection asking, but as much as he was now disparaging his own arguments, he’d been right.

      Having her recognized with him wouldn’t do him any favors. Not because she wasn’t good enough, but because—like he’d said before—she was just too different to fit in with his life.

      She ignored the tiny voice that said she’d been fitting in pretty well with his family the past two days.

      He smiled. “You are willing to spend time with me, even after I behaved like such an ass?”

      “Yes.” A smile played around her own lips. “But we have to stay in stealth mode.”

      If she had a chance to spend time with him before the inevitable and growing-closer expiry date of their association, she’d take it.

      “We could go into the desert. Our family has been going to the same retreat since the first melech.”

      “Like your Camp David?”

      “If Camp David stepped out of an Arabian Nights fantasy, yes.”

      “Really?” She made no effort to hide her enthusiasm.

      “Absolutely. Will you come with me?”

      The spark of uncertainty and steady burn of desire in his espresso gaze decided her. “Yes.”

      “Pack a bag. We’ll spend at least one night.”

      “Can you afford to take this time off?”

      “Taking myself out of the equation for the moment will actually make it easier for my father to effect his own form of diplomacy.”

      “That sounds ominous.”

      “Not really, but he yells a lot more than me. He can posture without me there as a witness to force the others to draw a line in the sand.”

      “Not a hard thing to do in the desert.”

      “But sandstorms have a habit of obliterating those lines.”

      “And Melech Falah is the sandstorm?” she asked.

      “Yes.”

      “Then what are you?”

      “The voice of rationality everyone will want to deal with after three days of my father’s chest pounding.”

      “It’s good cop/bad cop.”

      “On an international scale, yes.” He grinned, clearly pleased with himself and his father.

      She couldn’t help returning the smile.

      * * *

      Sayed hadn’t been exaggerating. The royal family’s retreat was like a set from Arabian Nights, only every silk hanging and antique Turkish carpet was genuine.

      They spent three days exploring the desert, Sayed showing Liyah the beauty of his country in his own unique way.

      And they made love. Often and in romantic settings she would never have envisioned.

      The last day, he took her to an oasis where he had a semipermanent tent set up. He said the herdsmen used it, but when he took her inside it smelled of sweet jasmine and was filled with silk blankets and pillows.

      She twirled around, her silk abayah flowing gently around her. “This is no herdsmen’s tent.”

      “No, today it is the tent for the emir and his lover.”

      She didn’t deny the label like she might have three days before. Their affair might be short-lived, but she would never be the same and she didn’t think he would, either.

      They made love that night into the wee hours. Stars glittered in the cornflower-blue sky as they cuddled, facing the pulled-back curtains of the tent opening.

      Security guards were in smaller tents around, but she’d learned to forget they were there. Strange how quickly a person could become adjusted to things like that.

      She curled around his body, his arms holding her with fierce possessiveness and a sense of security no weaker for its lack of permanence.

      “When is the blood test?” she asked.

      “Dr. Batsmati will draw a sample tomorrow morning.”

      “And the blood test is one hundred percent accurate?”

      “This one is, yes. It’s why we had to wait a minimum of five days from making love.”

      “Then I guess I’ll move to a hotel soon.”

      “You are assuming it will be negative.”

      “Aren’t you?”

      “No,” he said, shocking her. “I’ve prepared for a positive result.”

      “What do you mean? What will happen if I am pregnant?” The question was academic as far as she was concerned.

      Her body had already started responding as it usually did the week before her period.

      “A royal wedding.”

      “What? What are you saying? We aren’t getting married.” Considering her feelings for him, she should have been thrilled at his words, but panic made her heart race instead.

      She didn’t want him trapped into marriage.

      “If you are pregnant with my child, it is the only course of action open to us.”

      “But I took the pill. I’m not pregnant.”

      He shook his head. “One thing you learn in high-level politics is how real a chance even five percent, much less twenty, can be.”

      “But marriage? You can’t be serious.”

      “Never more so.” He looked down at her, his expression too shadowed to read in light provided by the moon and stars. “Don’t you want to marry me?”

      “That’s not the point.”

      “No, it is not. The point is that you will not raise our child alone.”

      “Why can’t we share custody? I could move to Zeena Sahra.” There was nothing to return home to. No one who would care if she made her life halfway around the world. “There are hotels there. I could continue to build my career.”

      “And be what to our child?”

      Was that a trick question? “Her mother.”

      “How do you propose to do that without causing a great scandal?”

      “And you don’t think marrying me—a chambermaid—would do that?”

      “Lead chambermaid,” he said, proving he remembered their first meeting. “And something more when you weren’t taking a job to provide you access to your father.”

      “You’re still nowhere near my orbit, you said so yourself.”

      “There will be a media furor.” He sounded way less bothered by that than he should be. “But nothing like the ongoing existence of a woman in my son’s life who is not my wife.”

      “You can’t want to marry me. I’m not princess material at all.”

      “I disagree. You have already proven to have more heart and honorable intent than Tahira ever did—at least where I am concerned. You are articulate and intelligent, self-controlled, as well. Once you have the proper training, the rest of the world will be able to do nothing but admire

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