Free The Sheik Who Loved Me by Loreth Anne White Page A

inexorably toward her, he felt his lips move closer to hers. So close he could feel the warmth of her breath against his mouth. It took all his strength to hold back. To not press his lips down on hers. “Sahar.” His voice came out rough and deep. “I meant it when I said thank you…for helping Kamilah.”
    She stared silently up at him, her lips parted. The look of hurt and frustration in her eyes tore at his heart. He moved a stray gold tendril of hair from her face, hooked it behind her ear. “In the desert,” he said softly, “rain is a gift directly from the gods. There is nothing more spiritual than rain in the desert. Because it not only brings life, it is life.”
    He cleared his throat. The look in her eyes had forced him down this track. And he could no longer turn back. “You blew in with the rain, Sahar. And like the rain you brought the life back to my child. You awakened her. And me. That’s the reason behind my choice of name. Sahar. It means dawn, to awaken. A time of new beginnings. Of growth. Life. I want you to know that. I want you to know why I chose it.”
    Time stretched as she stared up into his eyes, a range of unreadable emotions crossing her face.
    “It’s a beautiful name, David,” she said finally, her voice thick and husky. “Thank you.” She looked away. “I wish it really was mine. I mean, to keep…forever.”
    And David suddenly felt sick. Because nothing about this woman in front of him could be forever. It was simply a matter of days before she was history. He’d do well to remember that fact. But right now trying to send her away seemed about as logical as trying to stuff the rain back into the clouds, as trying to roll the morning sun back into the night.
    “I…I really should go to bed,” she said. “Good night, David. And thank you for your hospitality, for your help.” She turned to go.
    He watched the sensuous sway of her hips as she walked the length of the dining hall, her spine held stiff, her chin held high, her luxurious reddish-gold hair rippling across the small of her back. He swallowed against the thickness in his throat. He hadn’t been any damn help at all. He’d been suspicious, resentful and ridiculously turned on by this woman.
    He’d been focused only on himself and Kamilah and how this woman was rocking their boat. Not on her anguish, her loss. And he could kick himself for the way things had gone tonight.
    “Night, Sahar,” he whispered as she slipped through the doorway into the corridor.
    But there was no one to hear him.

    O’Reilly peered through the dim blue haze of smoke. He spotted Lancaster at the far end of the bar. He made his way through the crowd, edged in next to him. “You’ll never guess who dropped in on the ambassador’s little soiree this evening.”
    “Who?”
    O’Reilly glanced over his shoulder, leaned forward and dropped his voice so that it was drowned by the bar racket. “Rashid’s very own Dr. James Watson.”
    Lancaster’s body stiffened. “And?”
    “They have her. On Shendi Island.”
    “Jesus, you’ve got to be joking—she survived the storm?”
    “You betcha. And get this, she claims to have amnesia. According to the doctor, she has no idea who she is. Apart from that, she’s fine.”
    Lancaster threw his head back and roared with laughter. He stopped almost immediately. “What did the doctor want from the ambassador?”
    “Rashid sent him. Our sheik is trying to find out who she is. He wants the ambassador to get the word out.”
    “Kill it.”
    O’Reilly grinned. “Already done. Rashid will never be the wiser.” O’Reilly motioned to the bartender to bring him a whiskey. He took a swig, then paused. “What if…I mean, what if she really can’t remember? What if she’s not faking?”
    Lancaster studied his drink. “Then we’re safe. In the meantime, we wait to see if she makes contact. If she doesn’t, we pose as loving relatives, go in, neutralize her. If she does make