His Defiant Desert Queen(12)

                Pretending. Faking. Fighting.

                “Ready?” Sheikh Karim asked as she reached his side.

                “Yes.”

                “You have no suitcase, no clothes?”

                “I have a few traveling pieces here, but the rest is in my suitcase.” She clasped her oversized purse closer to her body. “Can we go get my luggage?”

                “No.”

                “Will you send for it?”

                “You won’t need it where you are going.”

                Her eyes widened and her lips parted to protest but his grim expression silenced her.

                He held open the door. The car was already running.

                “It’s time to go,” he said firmly.

                Swallowing, Jemma slid onto the black leather seat, terrified to leave this scorching desert, not knowing where she’d go next.

                Sheikh Karim joined her on the seat, his large body filling the back of the car. Jemma scooted as far over as she could before settling her blazer over her thighs, hiding her bare skin. But even sitting near the door, he was far too close, and warm, so warm that she fixed her attention on the desert beyond the car window determined to block out everything until she was calm.

                She stared hard at the landscape, imagining that she was someone else, somewhere else and it soothed her. The sun was lower in the sky and the colors were changing, darkening, deepening and it made her heart hurt. In any other situation she would’ve been overcome by the beauty of the sunset. As it was now, she felt bereft.

                She’d come to Saidia to save what was left of her world, and instead she’d shattered it completely.

                The car was moving. Her stomach lurched. She gripped the handle on the door and drew a deep breath and then another to calm herself.

                It was going to be okay.

                Everything would be okay.

                Everything would be fine.

                “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, blinking back tears.

                He said nothing.

                She blinked again, clearing her vision, determined to find her center...a place of peace, and calm. She had to keep her head. There was no other way she’d survive whatever came next if she didn’t stay focused.

                “Where does this elder, Sheikh Azizzi, live?” she asked, keeping her gaze fixed on a distant dune. The sun was dropping more quickly, painting the sky a wash of rose and red that reflected crimson against the sand.

                “Haslam,” he said.

                “Is it far?”

                “Two hours by car. If there is no sandstorm.”

                “Do you expect one?” she asked, glancing briefly in his direction.

                “Not tonight, but it’s not unusual as you approach the mountains. The wind races through the valley and whips the sand dunes. It’s impressive if you’re not trying to drive through, and maddening if you are.”

                He sounded so cavalier. She wondered just how dangerous a sandstorm really was. “The storm won’t hurt us?”