By The Sheikh's Command. Debbi Rawlins

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      She clearly did not want her private sanctuary invaded. Or perhaps it was his company she wished to avoid. The idea did not warm him. Women normally sought his attention.

      She got to her feet and started gathering his cup and the brandy and placing them on the tray. Her hands fumbled in her haste and the idea she wanted to get away from him grew stronger.

      He touched her wrist. “You seem nervous.”

      Her face ripened with color. “I already explained why I was edgy.” Her chest rose and fell with a deep shuddering breath, and his gaze drew to her breasts.

      Beneath the plain white T-shirt she wore, her nipples protruded. He dragged his gaze away, not wanting to embarrass her. And then he quickly released her, annoyed at his own physical reaction.

      “D-did you want anything else?” Her lower lip quivered and she hesitated picking up the tray.

      When she lowered her gaze, his own went back to her chest. Her breasts were small, the perfect size for the palm of a man’s hand, her nipples lush and tempting. Desire stirred in his belly and he clenched his teeth.

      Too bad she was a child. Not just because she was ten years younger than he, but her obvious lack of experience around men detracted further. Cord had warned him she was an innocent, but a brother’s viewpoint was not always reliable.

      Rafe mentally shook his head. Look how Aliah had fooled him. She had been sheltered, even cloistered for many of her young years, and she had turned into a hellcat nevertheless.

      But he did not want to think about his sister and the predicament she had created for him. Soon enough he would have to face the royal family and admit his failure.

      Brianna picked up the tray, her hands much steadier now. “I have a desk in Cord’s office. I’ll be in there if you need me.”

      “And if I need you now?”

      She blinked, and visibly swallowed. “Need me?”

      He smiled. “Go, Brianna. Go hide in your office.”

      A glint of temper flared in her eyes, but she said nothing. She gripped the tray with tight little fists and backed away from the table.

      He watched her go, admiring the fit of her jeans. Normally, he preferred the soft curves and expanse of leg revealed by a dress. But the way the worn fabric clung to Brianna’s backside had his body stirring again.

      Disgusted with himself, he turned away and focused on the fountain. He had given Cord his word he would care for his sister. That did not include troubling her with unwanted attention.

      The soothing sound of water reached his ears, and the lights lit the spray like a thousand diamonds. There was no balm for his damaged spirit like the power of water. Yes, he had wanted to know where the lake was so that he could find Brianna should she disappear. But he wanted the knowledge for himself, as well.

      He had much to think about before returning to Munir. Politically, he was now vulnerable. His cousin, Asaad, would seize the opportunity to vie for the throne. Although Rafe was the rightful heir, Assad had enough bloodline and connections to persuade the royal council his agenda was better suited to Munir’s interests.

      While he wanted Munir to remain a monarchy, Rafe was in favor of moving toward a democracy. The people had mixed opinions. Munir subjects were accustomed to being coddled and having decisions made for them. Since the land and surrounding sea were both rich with oil, and everyone was well fed, with filled pockets, the people had little interest in change.

      But some of the oil fields were drying up, and in order for the royal family to maintain their wealth, the difference in profits would come from the people. Asaad knew that as well as Rafe did, but his cousin was unwilling to sacrifice even a shadow of his assets. To that end, it was imperative he kept the people under his control, kept the country in the backward state in which it languished.

      Rafe watched the water cascade from the tiled fountain and took several deep even breaths. Meditation had become as important to him as sleep. Next week in Dallas, he would need all his energy and wits about him. The largest oil lease with the Dallas-based American company was about to expire. It would be up to Rafe to negotiate the best possible deal.

      Failing to bring Aliah back was serious. Failing to secure a lucrative deal would be unforgivable. Certain political suicide. Not that he was concerned. He had oil—something the Americans wanted and he knew how to do business with them. That was something he had over Asaad.

      His cousin had gone to London and Paris for his education. Although from what the family had heard, he’d spent little time on his studies. Rafe had lived in the United States for six years while attending Harvard. Before that, he had had an American tutor who taught him English from the age of four. And unlike Asaad who showed open disdain for Americans, Rafe liked them. He liked the progressive way they thought, the democratic way they governed and their humanitarian concern for third-world countries.

      And he liked American women. The way they dressed and smelled. He especially admired the way they spoke their minds on subjects ranging from politics to child rearing. Of course, in his country, women were not given the same freedom to be so outspoken, but then again, it had not stopped young women like Aliah.

      Rafe closed his eyes at the thought of his unruly sister. He hoped she truly had found what she wanted, and this marriage was not a mere act of rebellion. He did not believe so. Not the way she and Cord looked at each other, or the laughter they shared. Rafe had never heard his sister laugh so much as he had in the past few days.

      In a way, he envied her. True, the royal family and the people of Munir would not be happy, but at least her taking an American husband could be tolerated. He did not have that luxury. When he finally wedded, the bride would be well chosen according to Munir custom. The idea was a farce. Even as queen, his wife would have no power, or avenue to voice her opinions.

      No matter, he would have to find a wife soon before one was selected for him. His parents reminded him often he would soon be past his prime.

      Unwilling to dwell anymore on the unpleasant subject, he got up from the table and considered going for a ride to the Desert Rose. Not in the pickup truck but on one of Cord’s fine stallions. Between the Desert Rose and the Flying Ace, the quality of horses they bred would warrant many more scouting trips. Already he had purchased a small herd, but there was always room in the royal stables for another fine thoroughbred.

      More important, he would want to visit Aliah. Assure himself all was well with her husband and her new life in America. And of course he would be able to see Brianna.

      The thought startled him. Without a doubt he found her very beautiful with her long blond hair and clear blue eyes, and her reserved demeanor was most captivating. But he had not consciously been thinking about her.

      Still, she often stole into his thoughts, he realized, uneasiness crawling beneath his skin. He had to move, not sit and think. Brianna would be in her office. A trip to the Desert Rose in the moonlight would occupy him. Perhaps Mac Coleman was still in the stables so they could discuss the foal.

      Rafe changed into a pair of jeans, attire to which he had become accustomed while studying at Harvard but seldom wore now. He seemed to live in ties and suits, traveling in the family jet from one meeting to another to wherever the demand for oil led him. Staying here at the Flying Ace would do him good.

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