She also had to admit that the people of Sharjah loved Khalid.
She had seen respect in the eyes of those she had met in the street, and she was well aware that no one would have answered her questions if Khalid had not been with her, urging those she met to treat her with respect. He’d given her amazing access to his culture. But that still wasn’t a story that would please her editor and break a story that needed to be told about the dark side of this world’s repression of women.
The road widened and Khalid pulled up in front of an imposing square building made from the rose-colored desert stone. A sign noted it was the Sharjah Natural History Museum. Another sign pointed to a wildlife center.
Shutting off the engine, Khalid asked, “Where would you care to start?”
“How about you pick?”
Khalid laughed. “For once, you allow me to lead—and at a time when I would rather you pick.”
“Fine. Wildlife first—it’s getting dark, then museum.”
“Ah, but many of the wild animals wake at night.”
Rolling her eyes, Casey lifted her hands. “Okay, then museum first. Is this how you end up getting your way so often.”
His smile warmed. “Having my way with you is an easy thing to desire.”
Cheeks warming, Casey wondered if there was something else under his words. She ducked out of the vehicle and headed up to the museum, trying to ignore that flash of heat—and her body’s interest.
So far she’d done great at keeping Khalid at arm’s length. If he kissed her again, she wasn’t going to bet on her being able to say no to him—and she wasn’t so sure she was going to get out of this pretend engagement with her heart intact. Khalid was charming, handsome—and a sultan’s son. There was no way he was ever really settling down with a Midwestern girl like her. She didn’t fit into his world, and he…well, she was just going to keep telling herself that he wasn’t her type.
But she kept thinking about having a wild fling with him.
Khalid seemed to know the place quite well. He led her on a tour of the museum that lasted a couple of hours and covered every kind of animal to be found in Sharjah, including reptiles and insects she’d just as soon avoid to the birds, fish and elegant Oryx.
“It is my father’s pride that we have a large heard of Oryx—they were hunted almost to extinction, much like your American bison.”
Leading the way into an aviary—a lush garden area, Khalid asked, “Are you hungry?”
She hadn’t thought about it, but realized now that she hadn’t eaten all day. “I could eat,” she replied.
Taking her hand, he led her out to a patio area under the stars. Lanterns lit the area, and awnings flapped in the cool desert breeze. Thick, red pillows had been placed around a low table, which was set with candles and plates. “Tonight, we dine in the traditional way.”
Khalid led her to one of the pillows and gestured for her to sit. He sat on the pillow next to her, his legs tucked to one side. Waiters in robes came out with basins, towels and urns of water so they could wash their hands. From somewhere, she heard a band tuning up the traditional instruments—flue of some kind, drums and a stringed instrument. They began to play a slow, haunting melody.
As the food began to arrive, Khalid explained the dishes—ouzi, a baked lamb with rice and lqeimat, a sweat bread smothered in chopped dates and honey—and spoke of how his father was using this place to demonstrate how Sharjah could become more sustainable by planting an organic garden and using advanced irrigation and ways to pull water from the dew in the air.
“I wish him to build a desalination plant, but my father insists that is too expensive.”
“You and he—you don’t see eye to eye on much. Have you ever thought you’re too much alike?”
Khalid frowned. “No—he is all business.”
“And you’re all pleasure. Because you don’t want to be like him—is that it?”
His frown deepened. He shook his head and smiled. “The talk grows too serious. Let’s have entertainment.” Straightening, he clapped his hands.
Women came out to dance, but not in the costumes she would expect. Instead of flashy belly dancers, two women in veils and striped robes came out to sway to the music. Another two women came over to Casey and sat next to her, spreading out what looked like brushes and paste of some kind.
“Henna,” Khalid said. “A bride must be decorated. My father will be pleased to see you wearing henna on your arms. And don’t worry—it lasts only a few weeks and then washes off and slowly fades.”
Casey gave her arms over for the designs, and then the woman gestured for her to change position and give them her feet as well. They giggled as they worked, Khalid fed her dates and she leaned back, swept away by the beauty of the stars and the music.