The Sheik Who Loved Me Read online

  The room spiraled in on her. Her heart pounded painfully against her chest wall. She groped wildly for the back of a chair.

  David’s arms shot out to steady her. “Sahar! Are you all right?”

  “I…I…I’m fine. Just…a…a bit dizzy.”

  “It’s the heat,” he said angrily. “I shouldn’t have allowed you to work in the garden. I’ll send for Watson.”

  “No!” She shook her head. “No. No, I’m fine…really.”

  But she wasn’t. She was a mess. Because in the instant she’d seen the map, she’d known that Sheik David bin Omar bin Zafir Rashid was one of the world’s wealthiest and most influential industrialists, an enigmatic man with considerable interests in oil, uranium and diamond mines not only in Azar but around the world. She also knew he was a shadowy and mysterious figure who did his best to stay out of the press. But he was a figure who nevertheless fueled the hunger of tabloid journalists who’d touted him as one of the Europe’s most eligible men since the death of his wife.

  She didn’t know how she knew all this. But she did. Her mind had somehow taken the bits of information he’d just given her and filled in all the gaps at once, hitting her brain like a bolt of electricity, instantly overloading her circuits. And she reeled with the shock of it.

  She tried to force the river of jumbled facts roiling in her brain into some kind of sensible order. But she couldn’t.

  Somehow she also knew he was smuggling uranium into Libya as well as selling it on the black market to Korea. Uranium for nuclear weapons. Weapons that would be aimed at the U.S. and Britain. He was a bad guy. Her enemy.

  She pressed her hand to her head, tried to stop the spinning. How did she fit into all this? Who was she? Why did she know these things? Had she read it all in newspapers, tabloids? Seen it on TV?

  She couldn’t have read the black-market stuff in papers, could she? Because if it was common knowledge surely he’d be behind bars? A wanted man? She pushed her hands harder against her temples.

  But no matter how hard she pressed she couldn’t stop the sickening spinning. And as the facts churned through her brain, they swamped in a suffocating flood. She tried to draw in a breath, couldn’t. The room lurched wildly. She felt herself sway.

  “Sahar, tell me what’s going on? You’re pale as a ghost.” He tried to take her hand.

  She waved him off. “I was just remembering…” She clamped her mouth shut. Instinctively. She’d been going to tell him she remembered who he was. But something inside made her stop. Dead. Something told her it was a matter of life and death.

  Oh God, why? Would this man kill her if he knew what she knew?

  Her stomach heaved. She was going to throw up. She clutched at her belly, bent over. “I…I think I need to lie down for a second.” And as she spoke, her knees sagged under her.

  David was there in a flash. He caught her, scooped her up, carried her to the door, kicked it open with his foot.

  “I’m taking you to your room, and then I’m getting Watson.” His words were clipped, efficient. His boots clacked loudly on the hard stone floors.

  “Please no, David. I…I just need a rest. You…you were right, it’s the sun, I shouldn’t have been out. I’ll be fine. Really.”

  And something cold sank in her stomach as he carried her to her room. Because she knew she had to hide her knowledge from him. She instinctively knew she couldn’t tell him what she knew about him. Because her life…the lives of others depended on it. She just didn’t understand why.

  David kicked open the door to her bedroom and laid her gently on the bed. The ceiling spun madly. The fan was spinning, too. Or was it? Maybe it was just her head. She closed her eyes, but still everything swirled in a mad maelstrom of grays and blacks.

  David moistened a piece of cloth using the jug on the nightstand and pressed it gently to her forehead. His touch was impossibly tender. She began to breathe easier. She felt the oxygen finally going back to her brain.

  “Rest,” he said. “I’m going to call Watson and ask his advice.”

  “I’m okay. Just a bit of sunstroke. I’m sure I’ll be one hundred percent after a rest.”

  “Here.” He raised her head slightly, put a glass of water to her lips. “You must keep hydrated.”

  She sipped greedily, looking up into his eyes as she did, reading deep concern there.

  “I don’t care what you say, Sahar, I’m going to speak to Watson. You might be having complications from the head injury.”

  Oh, she was having complications all right. He didn’t know the half of it. But she couldn’t try to think anymore. Fatigue pressed down on her. She lay back, closed her eyes.

  David covered her with a cool cotton sheet and stroked her hand as she fell into a deep sleep.

  David closed the door quietly behind him. Sahar had spooked the hell out of him by fainting like that. But she was probably right. It was most likely sunstroke. Still, he’d sound Watson out on her symptoms.

  He leaned against the closed door, rested his head back against the wood. And as he relaxed, he began to smile. She was one hell of a character. Stubborn, strong, principled. Intelligent. Sexy as sin. Fun.

  Fun? That hadn’t featured in his life for two years. Yes, she’d put the word back into his existence. And for the first time in his life he had opened up fully to another human being, about his childhood, his family, his dreams. And it didn’t leave him feeling the slightest bit vulnerable. It made him feel good. He’d shared, and it only made him feel stronger. He was able to share with Sahar because he connected with something deep inside her. Whoever she was, surely that would never change?

  And she cared about him.

  For the first time David Rashid dared feel hope. He dared to dream that once Sahar’s true identity was discovered, things might not have to come to a grueling halt. That maybe, just maybe, she had a past that wouldn’t necessarily tear her away from Shendi. At least not right away. Because he cared for her. A lot. In ways that went way deeper than the heat of raw desire.

  That little seed of hope began to grow deep in his belly as he fed it with his imagination. His smile widened, and inside he felt light, exhilarated. Because in some way he felt as if he’d found a friend. And by God it felt good.

  In the distance he heard the rhythmic chop of helicopter blades and sobered instantly. He was a fool to think this might last. To even begin to dream it was to set himself up for failure. And he didn’t tolerate failure.

  He checked his watch, listening to the sound of the chopper grow louder. That would be Tariq. Good. He needed to put his mind to work. The two of them had a ton of business to get through. They only had two days before Tariq left for the mines in northern Azar.

  And continuing to build solid relations with Tariq was just as important as rebuilding a nation. David brusquely shoved other thoughts from his mind and went to greet his half brother.

  Chapter 9

  A soft knocking at the bedroom door roused Sahar from the sleep of the dead. She blinked into the shadows, confused. It was darker, a little cooler. She squinted at the clock. Goodness, it was early evening. She must have slept the afternoon away. And with that realization came the sinking recollection of what had happened earlier in David’s office.

  The knocking sounded a little louder. She tensed. She wasn’t ready to confront David yet. She needed to think. “Who is it?” Her voice came out rough.

  Fayha’ poked her head around the door. “It’s me, Sahar. Are you decent?”

  Relief swooped through her. “Oh, Fayha’, come on in.”

  The housekeeper pushed the door open wide, motioned to another young woman who wheeled in a trolley piled high with boxes each tied with a sleek burgundy ribbon and each embossed with the same little gold logo.

  “What’s this?” Sahar asked.

  Fayha’ beamed. “Clothes. Mr. Rashid had them flown in from Cairo. They just arrived on his helicopter with Mr. Tariq.”

  Sahar frowned. “David had clothes
flown in? For me?”

  “A whole wardrobe.”

  “From Cairo?”

  “Mr. Rashid has his pilots fly in supplies weekly from both Cairo and Mombasa…as well as other places if need be. It’s how he likes to run things on Shendi.”

  Fayha’ ran her eyes over Sahar and smiled gently. “Besides, it’s about time you got out of those old clothes of the doctor’s. They need a wash.” She gestured to the trolley. “Shall we leave it here in the corner?”

  “Um…yeah. Thanks.” Her head was still groggy from sleep, her brain still thick with unrelated facts and dark shards of memory.

  Fayha’ closed the door with a soft click.

  Sahar swung her feet over the bed and padded over to the pile of boxes. The labels read Boutique L’Avalle, El Qâhira. She’d heard of L’Avalle, a distinguished and prohibitively priced world-class designer label. She’d also heard that El Qâhira, or Cairo, was the fashion capital of the Arabic world.

  Intrigued, she removed the top box, set it on the bed, slid the ribbon off and lifted the lid. She peeled back the pale-green tissue paper and her breath caught. It was the most beautiful green fabric she’d ever laid eyes on. She fingered the texture. It was liquid silk. As she let it slip through her hands it caught different aspects of the light, which made the color shift and shimmer from jade to emerald to turquoise. She’d never seen anything like it.

  Sahar held it up to her face, swung around to face the mirror. The entrancing fabric caught the light in her eyes.

  But when she moved, the color shifted to a predominant jade green. Once again she stilled, and she had that strange gnawing feeling, like there was something vitally significant about this particular hue of green.

  She shook it off, set the gown aside and quickly opened the other boxes. David had thought of everything. There was delicate lacy underwear, sports and workout gear, bathing suits, robes, eveningwear, cool sundresses, shorts, tees, tank tops…all in her size. The man just didn’t cease to amaze her.

  And she couldn’t help smiling.

  She felt like a kid at Christmas. She had no idea what she usually wore but she liked what she saw in the boxes. It was a mix of elegant femininity, sleek athletic lines and something a little playful, even a tad daring.

  Is that what world-famous industrialist David Rashid thought of her? Or had the boutique owner second-guessed his taste? It didn’t matter. Just the idea that he’d thought to do it was intriguing, endearing…intimate. And more than a little titillating. The whole thing sent a crazy spurt of warmth through her.

  Then she saw the envelope that had slipped to the floor. She scooped it up, opened it, took out a card the same color as the ribbons on the boxes and embossed with the same gold logo. She read the bold handwriting.

  “Join us at nine for a late dinner in the grand dining hall. P.S. Do not wear anything of Watson’s.”

  Sahar giggled, her blood zinged. She felt slightly heady, as if she were a schoolgirl invited on her first date with the dark prince.

  She almost immediately pulled herself together. This was ridiculous. This girlish reaction wasn’t part of her usual repertoire of behaviors…was it?

  She sat back on the bed, pushed her knotted hair back from her forehead. David Rashid was confusing the hell out of her. And it didn’t help that her head was a mess to begin with. She stared at the boxes and their beautiful bounty.

  So he was famous. And wealthy. And mysterious. Perhaps even dangerous. It didn’t necessarily mean he was evil, did it? She’d probably read about him. And if there was anything more sinister, well it was probably simply tabloid gossip and speculation worth zip. She felt in her heart, her gut, that he was a good man. A man of integrity and brutal honesty. That was the David Rashid she’d come to know in the short time she’d been on Shendi Island.

  And the reason she’d felt so odd in his office, well, that had to have been because of the sun and overexertion so soon after her accident, she told herself. And because the heat had scrambled her senses she’d found herself filling in the blanks with dark nonsense.

  But deep, deep down, no matter how much she tried to rationalize it all, there remained a sharp biting sensation that wouldn’t go away, warning her to be cautious, telling her that being open could be dangerous. That lives were at stake.

  And because of that, she knew she wasn’t going to tell David about those dark thoughts. At least, not until she knew more.

  And what did that make her? A liar? Dishonest?

  Ah, what the hell. She jerked off the bed, made for the ensuite bathroom. Whatever it meant, it didn’t mean she couldn’t take a bath, put on an evening gown and enjoy his company over dinner. She’d just be careful. She’d go with the flow. Because what else could she do? She was stuck in the prison of her mind, and until she had all the facts, she wasn’t capable of rational judgment or action. She felt it was now simply a matter of time until her memory returned fully, until she solved this mystery. She was sure of it.

  She turned on the taps, and the water gushed from the fish-shaped mouths of brass faucets. Sahar tipped a capful of bath bubbles into the stream of water and watched it froth.

  She stepped into the tub, sank down into the fragrant, foaming water, closed her eyes and let the warmth soak deep into her skin. She felt her muscles begin to relax and allowed her mind to go blank. Steam slowly curled up and filled the room, and Sahar felt herself begin to drift into a warm, dreamlike haze. She imagined herself dancing in the beautiful green gown David had bought for her. She was in his strong arms, swirling, twirling under the stained-glass dome. Sahar smiled softly to herself. She could almost feel the motion, see the colors of the fabric of her exquisite gown shifting under the light from emerald to turquoise, to…

  Jade!

  It hit her like a bucket of ice. She gasped. Her eyes flared open and she jerked upright in the tub, her heart thumping hard. That was it! That was why she’d felt there was something so significant about that particular color, that shade of green. That was why it had felt so familiar, so right when she’d held the fabric against her skin. Jade…no, Jayde. Her name was Jayde!

  Her heart almost tripped over itself in her excitement. She leaped up from the tub, spilling water onto the floor. She grabbed a towel, almost slipping on the tiles. She had to tell David. She had remembered her name! It was Jayde Ashton. Yes, that was it, her last name was Ashton. She had her name. And that alone would jog the rest of her memory free in minutes, hours. She was sure of it.

  She rushed to her bedroom door and pushed it open. And froze. A bleak coldness descended over her. She couldn’t tell David. Not yet. Because Jayde Ashton had something deep and dark to hide from Sheik David bin Omar bin Zafir Rashid. She was now certain of it.

  But what, dammit?

  She sank onto the bed, towel wrapped around her. She had her name, but she still couldn’t make her mind go beyond that. She still couldn’t grasp who Jayde Ashton really was and why she knew—and felt— these things about David. And she still couldn’t explain the sense of ominous portent that grew stronger and more sinister with each snippet of memory recalled.

  Jayde Ashton walked into the grand dining hall at five after nine, a thrilling cocktail of excitement and anxiety zinging through her blood. The new gown skimmed her high strappy heels, giving her stride a bold and feminine confidence. She knew she looked damn good. She’d washed her hair and piled it into an updo with tendrils escaping and curling along the nape of her neck. She’d also clamped an exotic copper band around her upper arm and added a choker with a single large amber stone that rested against the hollow of her throat. She simply felt like a goddess.

  David sat at the head of a long table of dark wood set with ornate crockery and crystal glasses that shimmered in light cast by two massive antique silver candelabras. He was deeply engrossed in conversation with a man who had his back to her. The man was of remarkably similar stature to David and had the same blue-black hair, only longer. Music, a soft lilting African-Arabic mix
underlaid with the gentle rhythm of drums, played in the background.

  David’s head jerked up as he sensed her presence. The man seated at his side glanced up.

  Jayde’s blood went ice-cold.

  She recognized the stranger’s face instantly.

  He was Tariq Rashid. David’s half brother. He had the same basic bone structure as David yet his face was wider, his skin slightly darker. His nose was a little broader, slightly crooked, as if it had been broken once. And where David’s wild and dangerous look was somehow refined with an elegance, this man’s was not. He looked rougher, coarser.

  Nausea swooped through her stomach, but she fought it off with a forced smile.

  Roll with the punches, Jayde. The pieces are coming together. Breathe. Think. Think. How do you know this man?

  Although she recognized Tariq, she could read no obvious reciprocal recognition in his coal-black eyes as they studied her with brazen male appreciation. Jayde swallowed her anxiety and approached the table.

  Then it hit her. Lancaster!

  She almost stumbled on her high heels.

  Gerry Lancaster, her handler, had shown her a photograph of Tariq Rashid. He’d also shown her black-and-white photos of David Rashid. He’d shown them to her…and agent Michael Gibbs. With David O’Reilly. In the briefing room. On a screen.

  She and Gibbs had been sent to spy on David Rashid!

  Her breathing faltered. She swayed on her feet. Oh, God, she was a spy. An agent for the British government. She had a handler. It was all coming back. That whole wretched ball of tangled yarn was unraveling in her brain, swamping it, strangling logic. She pressed her hand to her temple. She had to sort it all out. Quick. Before she made a horrific mistake. Dammit, why had she been sent to spy on him?

  Because British and U.S. intel had recently discovered Rashid uranium was going into a covert Libyan nuclear weapons program. And some of it was also being sold to Korea in exchange for technological expertise.