Falling For The Sheik. Carol Grace

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      Prologue

      Sheik Rahman Harun skied the way he did everything else—expertly, wholeheartedly and a little recklessly. It was the end of a perfect day at Squaw Valley and he was making one last run. Even though the sun was setting, he hated to call it quits. He loved the rush of the wind in his face as he was doing tight stem turns. It was getting cold, but he didn’t stop. The snow, which had been slushy on the surface was now freezing into ice. He didn’t want to quit. Not yet. Sure, he was tired and not as much in control as he’d been an hour ago, but he was following a giant slalom trail, his skis one inch apart, his boots touching, carving a single track through the snow. It was pure ecstasy.

      It would have been even better if he’d had someone to share the fun with. Skiing with Lisa had been exciting. They’d had a friendly competition to see who could go higher, faster and take more chances. He couldn’t quite believe she would never ski with him again. Even now, whenever he saw a woman in a bright red fitted ski jacket, her body curved gracefully as she sped down the hill, he felt the pain all over again when he realized it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her. Lisa was dead.

      Every time he got off the lift, he expected to see her with her goggles hanging around her neck as she reached out to grab his hand. One more run, she’d say. Come on, Rahman, just one more. But there would be no more. Lisa had taken her last run. He felt the tears sting his eyelids. He reminded himself that sheiks do not cry.

      He stayed on the marked trails today. If Lisa were here she’d be leading him into deep powder in closed areas, taunting him to take a chance on getting lost or buried beneath an avalanche. When he’d try to talk her out of something risky, whether it was skiing or hang gliding or bungee jumping, she’d tell him he was no fun and she’d pout until he coaxed her out of it. One last challenge and she’d paid the price. So had he. They’d had good times, but those carefree days were over for good. Not only for Lisa, but for him, too. Nothing would ever be the same.

      His twin brother Rafik would have loved the skiing today. He’d have been right there with him, every turn, every jump over every mogul. They’d learned to ski together as children on vacation in the Alps. They competed in everything—tennis, golf, racquetball and skiing. But Rahman was alone today. It was about time he got used to it. It was time to face the fact that relationships and friendships were all transitory. Nothing was permanent. Life was fragile and loneliness had a way of hitting him when he least expected it, like a sudden blast of cold wet snow.

      Tomorrow a big group of his friends would arrive. That ought to help him out of his funk, but sometimes he felt even lonelier in a crowd. He missed Lisa’s laughter. He kept thinking of the things they’d planned to do together. Take a safari in East Africa, take up snowboarding, bicycle through France. He could still do those things, but what was the point of doing them alone?

      His brother wasn’t available anymore, either. Rafik had recently gotten married which had left a big hole in his brother’s life. Not that he didn’t like his brother’s wife. He did. But everything was different now that Rafik had someone to share his life.

      With the sun gone behind the mountain the light had changed. There were no more shadows, no way to see the dips in the snow. The landscape became featureless and indistinct. His skis clattered when they hit the frozen snow. Then they skittered. He was going too fast and he was out of control. The ground rose up to meet him and he tumbled head over heels down…down…down. The wind whistled in his ears, the snow clung to his skin. His head felt like a rubber ball banging against an icy cement floor.

      When he finally came to a halt, only a few feet from a snow-covered oak tree, every bone in his body felt shattered by the impact. He lay spread-eagled, facedown in a drift of snow, waiting for the pain to subside. Rahman wondered where his skis were. His new parabolic skis that allowed him to ski better than he’d ever skied before. The skis with the excellent bindings that released so he hadn’t seriously hurt himself.

      His mouth and his ears were full of snow and he ached all over, but he was okay. He was fine. Just a little sore and a little woozy. Fortunately his poles were still attached to his wrists. In a minute he’d get up and look for the skis then he’d ski down the hill and quit for the day. As soon as his head cleared and he caught his breath…He gave himself more than a minute. More than five minutes. Then he lifted his head, braced his arms against the ground and felt a spear of pain go through his chest.

      Through a haze he realized he wasn’t going to ski down the hill after all. He lifted his head and tried to yell for help, but the only sound that came from his lips was a moan.