Lord of the Desert. Diana Palmer

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      Despite the jet lag so often talked about, they woke rested and hungry at eight o’clock the next morning and dressed in slacks and shirts, anxious to find breakfast and start looking around the ancient city that had once been part of the Roman empire.

      The concierge pointed them toward the elaborate breakfast buffet and introduced them to a licensed city guide who would pick them up two hours later for a look at the city. They were cautioned by him never, never, to go onto the streets alone, without a guide. It seemed sensible to follow that rule, and they agreed to wait for the guide inside the hotel.

      “Did you notice the price of the buffet?” Maggie asked when they were seated for breakfast. “Barely one dollar American, for all this.” She frowned. “Gretchen, how would you like to live in Tangier?”

      Gretchen laughed. “I like it here very much, but how would Callie Kirby do without me in the law office?”

      Maggie gave her a long, silent stare. “You’re going to grow old and die in that law office, alone and in a shell,” she said gently. “Daryl’s defection was the worst thing that ever happened to you, coming right on the heels of your mother’s death.”

      Gretchen’s green eyes were sad. “I was a fool. Everybody saw through him except me.”

      “You’d never really had any attention from a man,” Maggie pointed out. “It was inevitable that you’d go mad over the first man who treated you like a woman.”

      Gretchen grimaced. “And all he wanted was the insurance money. He didn’t have any idea that the ranch was mortgaged to the hilt, and that there wasn’t going to be any money. We’d have lost the ranch if my big brother Marc hadn’t had a savings account big enough to pay off the part in arrears.”

      “How sad that Daryl got out of town before your brother got to him,” Maggie said coldly.

      “Marc scares most people when he’s in a temper,” Gretchen reminisced with a smile. “He was something of a local legend even before he left the Texas Rangers to join the FBI.”

      “Marc loves you. So do I.” Maggie patted her hand and smiled. “I was like you, in a rut. I decided that I needed a leap of faith, a great adventure to pull me out of my complacency. So I’m going to Qawi to be personal assistant to the ruling sheikh of the whole country,” she added. “How’s that for a leap of faith?”

      Gretchen chuckled. “About as big a one as you’ll ever make, probably. I hope you know what you’re doing,” she added. “I’ve heard some scary things about Middle-Eastern countries and beheadings.”

      “Not in Qawi,” Maggie said easily. “It’s very progressive in culture, with an equal mixture of religions which makes it unique in the Persian Gulf. And all that oil money is going to make it cosmopolitan very quickly. The sheikh is very forward-thinking.”

      “And single, you said?” she teased.

      Maggie frowned. “Yes. You remember his country was invaded about two years ago, and there was a big scandal about it. I watched several news broadcasts that told about it. There were some rumors about him, too, of an unsavory nature, but his government explained them.”

      Gretchen sipped coffee. “Maybe he’ll be gorgeous and sexy and look like Rudolph Valentino. Did you ever see that silent movie, ‘The Sheikh’?” she continued dreamily. “Just imagine having a fantasy like that actually come to life, Maggie. Being abducted by a handsome sheikh on a white stallion and having him fall madly in love with you! I get goose bumps just thinking about it.” She frowned. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be a modern woman. Probably I should be dreaming about throwing a handsome sheikh onto my horse and riding away with him as my captive.” A long sigh left her lips. “Oh, well, it’s only a daydream after all. Reality is never that adventurous, not for me. You’re more the type for gorgeous, sexy men.”

      Maggie laughed hollowly. “I don’t have much luck with gorgeous, sexy men,” she said.

      Gretchen knew she was thinking about her foster brother, Cord Romero. “Well, don’t look at me,” she mused, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “I only attract gigolos.”

      “Daryl wasn’t a gigolo, he was a garden slug. You should only date men who belong to your own species,” she said haughtily.

      Gretchen burst out laughing. “Oh, you make me feel so independent and brave,” she said, and meant it. “I’m really glad you asked me to come with you on this vacation and paid more than your part so I could afford it,” she added gratefully. “Even if I do have to fly back alone. I’m going to miss you,” she said quietly. “We won’t get to go shopping together or even talk on the phone at holidays.”

      Maggie nodded solemnly. She was flying from here to Qawi. Her role as personal assistant to the ruling sheikh would be to assume responsibility for public relations, court functions, and organization of the household duties. It would be a challenge, and she might be homesick for Texas. But she’d told Gretchen once that anything was better than the hell of being around Cord Romero, who had made it obvious that she was never going to be part of his life.

      Both had been orphans, adopted by a Houston society matron. They weren’t related, but Cord treated Maggie like a relative. He’d married a few years back and his wife, Patricia, had committed suicide after he was almost fatally wounded and he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give up his career as a government agent. Soon after her death, he left the field of law enforcement and went to work as a professional mercenary soldier, specializing in bomb disposal.

      It was what he did now, and Maggie had managed to keep her distance from him quite comfortably until the sudden death of their adoptive mother. Maggie had married a few weeks later, but her elderly husband had been an invalid and died only six months after their marriage. She and Cord had avoided each other ever since. Gretchen wondered what had happened, but Maggie never spoke of it.

      When Cord unexpectedly returned to Houston and moved in the same circles Maggie did, in between foreign assignments, she applied and got a job in another country. One which, ironically, Cord had casually told her about. He’d come back from a job in Qawi just recently, helping disarm old land mines from a guerilla invasion. When Maggie had looked into the job, she’d found that it paid handsomely—much more handsomely than her own position as a financial advisor. She was determined to make a clean break from Cord this time.

      On the way, she decided to have a vacation. She’d invited her friend Gretchen along, mainly because Gretchen had been so very despondent after the death of her mother and the tragic betrayal of her one serious boyfriend. So far the trip had been wonderful. But soon, Maggie would fly on to Qawi and Gretchen would have to board a plane alone for Amsterdam, from which she’d fly back to Texas.

      It would be lonely for Gretchen, but she’d get a glimpse of the world. She needed that. She’d nursed her mother through cancer twice in the past six years. Gretchen was twenty-three and she was as naïve as a teenager in a convent school. She hadn’t had the opportunity to date much, with her mother so ill—and so possessive of her only child. Gretchen’s father had died when she was ten and her brother Marc was eighteen, and that had made their lives much harder. Marc lived with Gretchen and the foreman and his family on their ranch in Jacobsville, Texas, when he could get home. Marc СКАЧАТЬ