Heather Graham by Arabian Nights Read Free Book Online Page A

to guide her into the masculine realm of the emirs and sheikhs. If nothing else, Raj at least was proving to be a blessing. He was younger—much younger than she had expected from the reputable agency. But what he lacked in age he made up for in charm. She had told him only that she needed to reach an Arabian sheikh; he had assured her he was a Bedouin by ancestry himself, and a devout Muslim. If anyone could guide her through the male-dominated society of Muslims, it was he. “Well, Raj,” she said softly, “we’re here.”
    Raj gave the woman a wide smile. His teeth were beautiful and perfect against his bronze complexion. “Yes, miss, we’re here.”
    Alex sighed as she gathered her bag, a simple and large goatskin satchel, in her arms. “Raj,” she said with soft determination. “I appreciate your respectful manners, but I am not a miss. If you must address me formally, I’m a doctor. A Ph.D. I spent eight years of my life studying to achieve that title!”
    She smiled softly as she finished the little speech, and young Rajman felt his heart take on a little flutter. She was surely one of the most beautiful creatures Allah had ever deigned to put on earth. But there was something more about her, something that had swept away his heart since he had first appeared at her hotel room door that morning.
    Her determination was like steel, and yet she was not a hard woman. There was a gentleness about her that was a cloak over the steel, tempering it, guiding it. She was firm yet quiet, and her voice was soft thunder. Her smile was like the dazzling stars in a desert night sky.
    And she certainly was bright, Raj added to himself dryly. He remembered her expensively tailored suit of the previous day; but now, to wander into a world more alien to Westerners than even Cairo, she was clad in the simple robes of the Arab fellahins, or peasants. She wore a veil respectably drawn over the lower portion of her face. Her hair, a color too soft to be that of the sun, too golden to be the color of the moon, was discreetly covered with a hooded shawl.
    Raj realized suddenly that he was staring at her as stupidly as a lovesick goat. He snapped himself out of his paralysis, reminding himself that he was on a mission—a very important mission—for the man he adulated almost as much as Allah.
    “Yes, indeed, we are here!” he said quickly, the tassel of his fez bouncing about his face. “First we must inquire about the sheikh through the authorities. It is possible we may find him in his city palace.”
    With a premonition of impending difficulty, Alex doubted that as she and Raj threaded their way through the tiny—but growing—bustling airport to a small center cubicle that offered information in English. Alex breathed a thankful sigh for American oil interests as she questioned a handsome young man about getting around and finding Ali Sur Sheriff.
    “A bus will take you over the highway bridge to the mainland,” the Arab man in a neat European suit told her. “Sheikh Sheriff has a palace in town, but I do not believe he is in residence now. His tribe is largely Bedouin, and the sheikh spends a great deal of time with his people.” The man hesitated a moment, then added softly, “He seldom consents to meet with outsiders.”
    I already know that, Alex thought silently, but I must see him. She realized suddenly that the man was staring curiously at both her and Raj. She had dressed out of respect for Arab custom and to blend with the mainstream of Arab life as much as possible, but she realized that she must appear strange. She was so very fair.
    As they left the information clerk behind, Raj lowered his mouth close to her ear and whispered, “You’d best let me do the speaking from now on. They are not accustomed to meeting many American women. It is seldom that even the oil workers bring their wives here, and when they do, they remain within their own communities.”
    Alex nodded mutely. She was paying him a small