The Sheik Who Loved Me by Loreth Anne White Page B

nature’s awesome power. It was something he related to. Wholeheartedly.
    It was that very sense of purity, of man alone against nature, that had kept driving him back into the harsh ways of the desert for most of his life. It was the clarity he found out there, the brutal honesty, the essence of life that drew him into the oceans of sand and endless horizons.
    Out in the Sahara man was stripped to the bare-bone basics. Hunger and thirst was a constant. And the focus was on the present. It was harsh. But it was true.
    And as he watched her, he began to understand how she’d managed to suck him into the moment earlier in the morning. It was because it was a state he’d so often aspired to. It was the very thing that kept drawing him back to the wild open spaces of his beloved Sahara. And now he’d glimpsed it in her.
    He wondered, though—would she be this free once her past came to reclaim her? Would she lose that unabashed magic when she found her place in the pecking order of the civilized world again, when she discarded Doc Watson’s old garb and once again donned the lush silks and tailored linens he had no doubt she was accustomed to wearing?
    He chewed on his cheek, wondering what she’d look like in silks and gold. Would the clothes and adornment change how he viewed her? Maybe if she dressed in the couture to which she was accustomed she might actually remember more about her past, about herself.
    Again Kamilah chuckled. Sahar laughed heartily in response, the sound of it rich, enticing.
    He could feel it inside him.
    His smile deepened. And on impulse, he swiveled, reached over his desk, picked up the phone and punched in a number he hadn’t called in a very, very long time. It was the number of a high-end boutique in Cairo. And as he waited for the sales clerk to pick up, he felt just a little playful. The sensation caught him off guard—and it felt good.

    Sahar and Kamilah took refuge from the midday heat in the shadows of one of the palace courtyards. They sat on an intricately carved marble bench, sipping the iced mint tea Fayha’ had brought them. While they sipped they listened to the soft tinkle of water spouting from the mouths of ornate stone lions that reared up around the fountain in the center of the enclosed garden. The air was heavy with sensual warmth and the heady scent of flowers.
    The palatial surroundings seemed surreal to Sahar. She felt like Alice, slipping through the looking glass of her old world into the alternate reality of a Middle-Eastern fantasy. She was sure that any minute she’d wake with only a massive bump on the head to show for it all. She wiggled her toes in the jasmine-scented air, not sure if she actually wanted to wake up. Because this dream came complete with a dark and dangerously seductive Arabian prince. The memory of their morning ride began to stir her blood once again. She couldn’t believe how she’d let herself go.
    She laughed at herself. What a twit. Of course she’d slipped into the moment, because that’s all she could do. She only had the present. No past. And therefore no future to contemplate—at least not until she had an identity. She’d be crazy to let herself go like that again. Besides, she still had the lurking sensation of danger when she looked into his face. But that only intensified his mystique. And despite the fact he set warning bells clanging in her brain, she knew if David Rashid so much as looked at her with those smoldering eyes again…she laughed nervously.
    “What are you laughing at?” Kamilah asked.
    Sahar glanced down at the little girl sitting companionably at her side. An old leather-bound book rested on her lap.
    “I’m laughing because I’m a silly fool in a crazy dream,” she said. “And if I don’t laugh about it, I’ll cry.” Sahar nodded toward the book in Kamilah’s lap. “What book is that you’re reading?”
    Kamilah lifted it, pushed it reverently into Sahar’s hands. Sahar read the title and