Heart of a Desert Warrior. Lucy Monroe

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      “No doubt.” He smiled as though her words had pleased him, then the smile melted away as if it had never been. “What we have now is beyond what my father experienced in the encampment. Though when he and the others visit, they still find it abysmally rustic.”

      “All of them?”

      “All but my youngest brother. He was born four years after they moved to Geneva.” Asad’s lips twisted wryly. “An unplanned blessing added to my parent’s family. He has said he plans to make his home here once he finishes university.”

      “And your parents are okay with that?”

      “Naturally. My father relies on the tribe’s business investments for his income. He knows better than to reject our way of life completely.” So, regardless of how unaffected Asad would like to appear regarding his father’s rejection of his way of life, there was something there.

      “He gave up his oldest son to the tribe,” Genevieve chided. “Any parent would feel that was a sufficient sacrifice.”

      Iris begged to differ, but she wasn’t about to say so out loud. Her parents would have happily given her up if it meant getting what they wanted. In fact, they had often made the trade-off of time with her for travel on their own. She’d never told Asad that she’d been sent to boarding school at age six, but then the fact had always shamed her.

      She’d thought there was something wrong with her that her parents had preferred to have her live with them only on school vacations. And even then, they weren’t always “at home” when she was.

      “Perhaps,” Asad replied to his grandmother, not looking particularly convinced. “I do not know how difficult the decision was for them. I know only that they made it, choosing life outside of the encampment rather than living here to raise me.”

      Genevieve clicked her tongue twice, as if gently chiding her grandson without saying anything overt.

      “You never told me this.” And Iris wasn’t sure that hadn’t been for the best.

      She’d been head over heels in love with Asad, but how much worse it would have been for her if she’d believed they had this pain in common and allowed herself to identify with him on such a deep level?

      “There was much we did not talk about.”

      “True. I didn’t even know you were going to be sheikh one day.” And he knew nothing of her childhood or her parents’ supreme indifference. She’d never told him the story of how she’d lost her virginity. Asad was oh so right; there was a lot they’d never spoken of. “Looking back, I realize I should have guessed based on your bearing alone.”

      “I did not mean to hide that from you.”

      She believed him. He had been so certain she knew the score, she did not believe he’d meant to hide anything from her. For the first time in six years, she admitted to herself that they’d both been spectacularly wrong in reading the situation between them. Not just her.

      That didn’t do a thing to alleviate her current anger with him for manipulating her into coming to Kadar, however.

      Genevieve rose gracefully to her feet. “I will refresh the tea.”

      Iris went to stand, intent on helping, but the older woman placed a staying hand on her shoulder. “No. Another time, I will teach you to make tea the proper way. Now you must stay here and renew your acquaintance with my grandson. He has so looked forward to seeing you again.”

      Nonplussed, Iris could do nothing but nod with as much graciousness as she could muster. She didn’t think it would do her company’s relationship with Kadar a good turn if Iris admitted she would rather renew the acquaintance of the rattlesnake she’d met on her last field survey than Asad’s.

      Asad waited until his grandmother had gone to say, “I never lied to you. I thought you knew I was meant to be a sheikh.”

      “I heard you the first time.” She glared at him, her current anger sufficient to fuel the nasty look, their past notwithstanding.

      “And?”

      What? Was he expecting her to congratulate him or something?

      “Do you believe me?” he asked with a tinge of frustration in his usually urbane tones.

      “Yes.”

      “Then why the look when grandmother left us to talk?”

      Really? He could not be that dense. “I guess an eidetic memory does not equate to people smarts.”

      His eyes narrowed in affront at her sarcasm. “You have changed.”

      “Yes.” She was no naive idiot anymore. “But seriously? How could you think knowing you would be a sheikh one day would have made a difference to me back then? I wouldn’t have been any more prepared to be dumped like I was.”

      “I did not dump you.”

      What happened to that famed honesty of his? “Excuse me, you did.”

      “I had obligations, a plan for my life I could not abandon.”

      “You didn’t want to abandon it. You didn’t leave me out of duty—you left because you never wanted me for a lifetime. I was just stupid enough to believe you did. That’s all.” And equally painful, she’d lost her best friend.

      “I am sorry.”

      He had said that six years ago too, with pity in his eyes. But not regret. If there was regret there now, she wouldn’t let herself see it.

      “It’s in the past.”

      “Yet I still see pain in your eyes when you talk about it.”

      She couldn’t deny it, but she sure wasn’t going to admit to it, either. She’d had all the pity she could stand from this man when she’d been that foolishly naive nineteen-year-old. Besides, she had something much more recent to deal with.

      “I can’t believe you engineered me coming to Kadar.” She made zero effort to hide how much knowledge of his manipulation infuriated her.

      He looked shocked by her anger. “I was doing you a good turn, making up for my abrupt departure from your life, if you will.”

      “You have absolutely got to be kidding me. You think being forced to work in close proximity to you is in some way a good thing?”

      “I am no monster. You used to enjoy my company very much, and I do not just mean in the bedroom.”

      “We were friends. We aren’t anymore!” She swallowed her next words and fought for control of her vocal cords. The last thing she wanted was for Genevieve to return to Iris shouting at the man she was beginning to realize was more dense than metamorphic rock.

      “We could be again.”

      “Why?” Why would he want to be?

      “I missed you. You missed me.”

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