Daring the Dynamic Sheikh Read online

  KRISTI GOLD

  has always believed that love has remarkable healing powers and feels very fortunate to be able to weave stories of romance and commitment. As a bestselling author and a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist, she’s learned that although accolades are wonderful, the most cherished rewards come from personal stories shared by readers.

  You can reach Kristi at [email protected], through her website at www.kristigold.com or snail-mail at PO Box 9070, Waco, Texas, 76714, USA. (Please include an SAE with return postage for a response.)

  Daring the Dynamic Sheikh

  KRISTI GOLD

  WWW.MILLSANDBOON.CO.UK

  To Marilyn P, my favourite “Red Hat” lady,

  talented writer and good friend

  Prologue

  During his university career, Sheikh Dharr ibn Halim had learned the finer points of economics, yet he had mastered the art of seduction. He knew how to take a lover beyond the limit, how to use the cover of night to reveal a woman’s secret passions and the light of day to heighten the pleasure. Yet over the past year, he’d learned all too well the devastation of love, a bitter lesson he would take with him the rest of his life.

  Dharr was only mildly aware of the activities commencing outside the apartment he’d shared with two roommates during his Harvard career. He was in no mood to celebrate his accomplishments, for with his degree came the end to his time in America and the beginning of his responsibility to his country. Tomorrow he would be leaving everything behind, including his friends, Prince Marcel DeLoria, second born son of a European king and Mitchell Warner, a United States senator’s son who knew all too well the burden of notoriety. Their time together had been a welcome distraction from the media’s attention, a means for escape and an opportunity for revelations.

  Dharr did not plan to make any disclosures during this farewell gathering. He chose to withhold the secret housed deep in his soul, never to be revealed to anyone. It was that secret that kept his thoughts occupied tonight as it had over endless nights in the recent past—he had fallen in love with a woman who had not loved him in return.

  Seated in his favorite chair, Dharr turned his attention to his friends. As always, Mitch had positioned himself on the floor of their shared apartment as if he had an aversion to furniture. Marc had claimed his usual place on the sofa.

  After a time, Mitch picked up the champagne bottle from the coffee table to refill each of their glasses. “We’ve already toasted our success,” he said. “Now I propose we toast a lengthy bachelorhood.”

  Dharr leaned forward and raised his glass in agreement. “I would most definitely toast to that.”

  With champagne in hand, Marc paused a moment before offering, “I prefer to propose a wager.”

  Dharr and Mitch exchanged suspicious glances. “What kind of wager, DeLoria?” Mitch asked.

  “Well, since we’ve all agreed that we’re not suited for marriage in the immediate future, if ever, I suggest we hold ourselves to those terms by wagering that we’ll all be unmarried on our tenth reunion.”

  Dharr knew he had a battle on his hands in showing his father the logic—and necessity—of waiting ten years to wed. He would endeavor to hold off at least that long, if he decided to marry at all. “And if we are not?”

  “We will be forced to give away our most prized possession.”

  Mitch grimaced. “Give away my gelding? That would be tough.”

  Dharr could consider only one thing, the painting hanging above Mitch’s head on the wall. That valuable piece was definitely his most cherished possession—now that the other had left him. “I suppose that would be my Modigliani original, and I must admit that giving away the nude would cause me great suffering.”

  “That is the point, gentlemen,” Marc said. “The wager would mean nothing if the possessions were meaningless.”

  “Okay, DeLoria,” Marc asked. “What’s it going to be for you?”

  “The Corvette.”

  “You’d give up the love mobile?” Mitch’s tone resounded with the astonishment Dharr experienced over the offer. Marc coveted the blessed car as much as he coveted women.

  “Of course not,” Marc said. “I won’t lose.”

  “Nor will I,” Dharr said. “Ten years will be adequate before I am forced to produce an heir.” And hopefully enough time to heal his wounds so that if he had to enter into a marriage, he would do so with honor, even if without love.

  “No problem for me,” Mitch said. “I’m going to avoid marriage at all costs.”

  Again Dharr held up his glass. “Then we are all agreed?”

  Mitch touched his flute to Dharr’s. “Agreed.”

  Marc did the same. “Let the wager begin.”

  Though Dharr would greatly miss the company of his friends, destiny dictated he accept his legacy and live up to his responsibilities. If the circumstances demanded he adhere to the marriage arrangement set out years before, at least he would have some satisfaction knowing that the young woman chosen for him had been born into his culture. She would understand his duty, his position, and what it would entail to be queen when the time came for Dharr to take over rule of his country, Azzril.

  Should that prove to be the case, and if he could not have the woman he loved, then he would settle for Raina Kahlil, simply because she was the same as him.

  One

  Ten years later

  She was nothing like he remembered.

  Shading his eyes against the April afternoon sun, Dharr Halim realized the extent of Raina Kahlil’s transformation from girl to woman as he covertly watched her from the deck of her California beachfront cottage. Several years had passed since those days when she’d possessed gangling limbs and unkempt braids. Today she was quite different, at least from a physical standpoint.

  As she waded along the surf’s edge, Raina moved with a grace as fluid as the ocean waves, her legs still long and lithe only with much more substance. Her gold-brown hair flowed over her shoulders like a cloak, trailing down her back where it touched the hollow of her spine below her waist. But it did not provide enough cover to completely conceal her golden flesh exposed by a two-piece swimsuit that left little to the imagination.

  As far as Dharr could discern, she had yet to detect his presence, her gaze focused on a seashell she was examining as she headed toward him. Her distraction allowed more time to assess the unanticipated conversion.

  She wore three silver loops in the lobe of each ear and a turquoise beaded necklace the color of her swimsuit. Her limited attire revealed the rise of her full breasts and her bare torso where Dharr’s gaze tracked a path down her abdomen to her navel that sported a half-moon silver ring. Below that, the curve of her hips and thighs heightened his awareness of the drastic changes in her. And his awareness that as a man, he could appreciate those changes.

  But the last time Dharr Halim had encountered his intended bride, she’d been in her early teens and engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a young boy who had dared to challenge her. Dharr wondered if she would attempt the same tactics when she discovered that he’d come to escort her back to Azzril.

  Considering the way she carried herself—with unmistakable poise and confidence—Dharr suspected that her hellion attitude had undergone little alteration. When she sent him a look that might wither another man, he realized his assumption had been true. He had prepared himself for her reluctance, bolstered by information that should convince her to return home, despite the fact she had chosen to ignore his recent correspondence. He had not exactly prepared for the way his body reacted when he considered her fiery attitude might translate well beneath the cover of satin sheets, in the light of day or the dark of night. And that would be a fantasy
he should resist. He had recently decided that he had no intention of upholding the marriage contract, cemented by the knowledge that she had rejected their culture. Out of respect for her and her father, he would maintain his distance even though he recognized he might be sorely tempted to do otherwise.

  Without halting her progress, Raina strode up the stairs leading to the deck, assessing him much the same as he had her, yet she did not look happy over his unexpected presence. Somewhat surprised, yes, but definitely not pleased.

  Stopping before him, she tossed the shell over one shoulder and braced both hands on her hips. “Well, as I live and breathe, if it’s not the dashing Dharr Halim. Are you here to torment me like you used to?”

  Her voice had lost all semblance of an Arabian accent, replaced by a distinct American tone, with a touch of sarcasm Dharr chose to ignore. He could not quite ignore her proximity or her body. “It is good to see you again, Raina.”

  “Answer my question. Why are you here?”

  “Do I need a reason to visit?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes, you do. It’s been what? Fifteen years since we last met?”

  “Twelve, to be exact. I was attending Harvard at that time and came home the summer before you left Azzril with your mother. Your father brought you to the palace for a visit. You were fighting with the cook’s son.”

  “And you intervened, as usual.” She hinted at a smile that quickly disappeared. “That was a long time ago, so don’t you think I’m entitled to be a bit suspicious over your sudden appearance?”

  “I promise my intentions are honorable.” Even if his thoughts at the moment were not. A man would have to be struck blind—or a eunuch—not to have a reaction to her attire, the soft lines of her form that would feel quite exquisite against his hands.

  She chafed her palms down her arms. “Let’s continue this inside. It’s kind of chilly out here.”

  She did not have to inform him of that fact, Dharr thought wryly when his gaze rested on her breasts. On the other hand, he was extremely warm.

  Stepping to one side, he made a sweeping gesture toward the cottage. “After you.”

  “Good thing you didn’t say ‘ladies first.’ I wouldn’t have let you in.”

  As he’d suspected, she had not changed in regard to her independent spirit, but at least she had said it with a smile. “I would not presume to make such an error, Raina.”

  “Good.” She glanced toward the drive where he’d parked the plain white sedan. “No limousine? No armed guards?”

  “It’s a rental car. Guards are not necessary at the moment.” He smiled. “Unless you intend to throw me out.”

  “That depends on why you’re here.”

  With that she passed by him, bringing with her the smell of sea and sun and a pleasing citrus scent. Once inside, she indicated a high-back stool at a bar that divided the small kitchen from the living area. “Have a seat. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

  Modest came to mind as he surveyed the area containing only a few pieces of furniture, followed by the awareness of light when she flipped two switches, completely illuminating the room and revealing a host of colors. Many different colors in varying hues, as if an artist’s pallet had exploded, sending paint throughout the room. It suited her, Dharr decided, for she had always been a rather colorful character.

  Dharr pulled back the stool and seated himself, expecting Raina to take the chair next to him. Instead she said, “I’m going to change and while I’m at it, you can tell me why you’ve come.”

  She swayed toward a bath diagonal to the counter and within his view, yet she left the door open, offering no protection or privacy from prying eyes—his eyes, in this instance. He could see the front of her torso in the vanity mirror she faced due to the open door. Although he thought it might be best to avert his eyes, he couldn’t seem to force his gaze away from her body, admittedly intrigued that she would be so uninhibited.

  When she reached for the ties around her neck, hidden beneath her hair, Dharr asked, “Do you not have a bedroom?” His voice held a noticeable edge, reflecting the sexual jolt he’d suffered when considering he might see more of her than he should.

  The suit now unsecured, she anchored the top with one arm across her breasts. “You’re looking at it.”

  Yes, he was, and he liked what he saw when she lowered the top—teardrop breasts tipped with russet nipples that would fit perfectly in his hands and mouth. The house, however, did not interest him. He scooted the stool beneath the counter to hide his reaction to her.

  “Now tell me to what do I owe this visit?” she said as she slipped the bottoms down. Dharr could only make out faint details of her well-shaped buttocks due to the vanity concealing the reflection from her waist up and her hair, which covered most of her back. Yet it was enough to leave him nearly bankrupt of all thought.

  He cleared his throat. “Had you read my letters, then you would know why I have come.”

  “What letters?” She slipped a silky coral shirt over her head and Dharr watched the fabric slide down, imagining his own hand doing the same over her hair, or her bare back. Only he would keep going, lower and lower…

  “Dharr, what letters?” she asked as she pulled her hair from beneath the shirt and tugged on a pair of underwear made of sheer lace. Black lace, and barely enough fabric to be considered an article of clothing.

  He shifted on the stool once more. “I’ve recently sent two letters. Did you not receive them?”

  Finally she worked a pair of loose-fitting slacks up her hips, turned and came back into the room. “I didn’t get any letters. Did you send them here?”

  “I had my assistant send them. Perhaps they went to the wrong address.”

  She pulled her hair up and secured it with a black band high atop her head. “I’ve just recently moved from my mother’s house. Maybe she has them.”

  “Perhaps she does.”

  She leaned over the counter and scrutinized him with golden eyes as clear as a fine gemstone. “I could call her and ask, but since you’re here, why don’t you just tell me in your own words what they said?”

  The news that Dharr had to deliver would not be pleasant, therefore he would work his way into it. He rose from the stool and walked past her into the small living area, stopping to view a canvas resting on an easel near the large paned window facing the driveway. The painting was of a young girl turned profile, standing in the midst of a desert, looking out over mountainous terrain. The child appeared small and lost among the expanse of sand.

  He glanced at Raina now leaning back against the counter. “Did you do this?”

  “Yes, I did. It’s a memory I had of Azzril when I was a little girl. I remember feeling very insignificant in all that open space.”

  “It’s very good,” he said, then strolled back to the counter and reclaimed his place across from her. “Do you support yourself with your art?”

  She crossed her arms and propped them on the counter. “No. I teach at a small private college. I have a master’s in art history. And you still haven’t answered my question. What did your letters say, and what are you doing here?”

  “I am here at the request of your father.”

  Her eyes narrowed, flashing anger. “This better not have anything to do with that archaic marriage arrangement.”

  “I assure you it does not. As far as I am concerned, that no longer exists.”

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Try telling that to my father. I’m sure he’ll have something to say about it.”

  “You will have to take that up with him when you see him in the next few days.”

  She straightened. “Papa’s coming here?”

  “No. Your father wishes you to come to Azzril immediately. He sent me to escort you back.”

  She sighed. “Dharr, I’m an adult, not a child. I don’t just up and leave when my father says so, I don’t care what he wishes.”

  “What if it is your father’s final wish?”

/>   “I don’t understand.” Raina sounded unsure and looked almost as forlorn as the child in the painting.

  Dharr had hated saying something that he did not exactly believe to be the truth, but Idris Kahlil had insisted Dharr present a dire situation to convince Raina to come to Azzril. Yes, the former sultan did have a potentially serious illness, yet suggesting he was pounding on death’s door was somewhat an exaggeration.

  “Your father quite possibly has a heart condition, Raina. He has been restricted to bed rest at this time.”

  Her face was shrouded in disbelief. “He was just here to see me two months ago.”

  The revelation took Dharr aback. As far as he’d known, the sultan had not been in contact with his daughter beyond phone calls. “He has been here?”

  “Yes. Every year, sometimes twice a year, since I left Azzril. The last time I saw him, he looked fine.”

  “He’s not a young man, Raina.”

  “But he’s so strong. I can’t believe…”

  Dharr thought he detected tears before she lowered her eyes. He felt compelled to provide comfort and took her hand into his, somewhat surprised when she failed to pull away. Her long, delicate fingers seemed fragile in the well of his palm and he experienced a surge of protectiveness toward her, as he had many years before. “You are his only child, Raina. His only family. He needs you to be with him during his recovery.”

  She raised her gaze to his, optimism replacing the distress on her beautiful face. “Then he’s going to recover?”

  Undoubtedly he would, Dharr thought. The sultan was not a man to let illness restrain him for long. “The physicians are not certain about the extent of his condition at this time, but he’s in no imminent danger. They are being cautious and watching him closely. He has been resting comfortably since his departure from the hospital.”

  She pulled her hands from his grasp, leaving Dharr feeling strangely bereft. “He’s not in the hospital?”