Duty, Desire and the Desert King Read online

  “Running away, again, Dr. Tornell? And yet aren’t you the expert at teaching women to stand their ground and face their fears, look reality in the eye?”

  “Yes. But I’m also the expert who says women should trust their gut, and my gut says you are dangerous—”

  He laughed, and his laughter silenced her.

  She lifted her chin. “I’m deadly serious, Sheikh Fehr.”

  He smiled, but his eyes were cold. “Then act like a scientist, because that’s what I want. I’m most certainly not interested in the woman in you.”

  “That’s good, because the woman in me despises the man in you.”

  Dear Reader,

  Harlequin Presents® is all about passion, power and seduction—along with oodles of wealth and abundant glamour. This is the series of the rich and the superrich. Private jets, luxury cars and international settings that range from the wildly exotic to the bright lights of the big city! We want to whisk you away to the far corners of the globe and allow you to escape to and indulge in a unique world of unforgettable men and passionate romances. There is only one Harlequin Presents. And we promise you the world….

  As if this weren’t enough, there’s more! More of what you love every month. Two weeks after the Presents titles hit the shelves, four Presents EXTRA titles go on sale! Presents EXTRA is selected especially for you—your favorite authors and much-loved themes have been handpicked to create exclusive collections for your reading pleasure. Now there are more excuses to indulge! Each month, there’s a new collection to treasure—you won’t want to miss out.

  Harlequin Presents—still the original and the best!

  Best wishes,

  The Editors

  Jane Porter

  DUTY, DESIRE AND THE DESERT KING

  All about the author…

  Jane Porter

  Born in Visalia, California, I’m a small-town girl at heart. As a little girl I spent hours on my bed, staring out the window, dreaming of far-off places, fearless knights and happy-ever-after endings. In my imagination I was never the geeky bookworm with the thick Coke-bottle glasses, but a princess, a magical fairy, a Joan-of-Arc crusader.

  My parents fed my imagination by taking our family to Europe for a year when I was thirteen. The year away changed me (I wasn’t a geek for once!), and overseas I discovered a huge and wonderful world with different cultures and customs. I loved everything about Europe, but felt especially passionate about Italy and those gorgeous Italian men (no wonder my very first Presents hero was Italian).

  I confess, after that incredible year in Europe, the travel bug bit, and I spent much of my high school and college years abroad, studying in South Africa, Japan and Ireland.

  After my years of traveling and studying I had to settle down and earn a living. With my bachelor’s degree from UCLA in American studies, a program that combines American literature and American history, I’ve worked in sales and marketing, and as a director of a nonprofit foundation. Later I earned my master’s in writing from the University of San Francisco and taught junior high and high school English.

  I now live in rugged Seattle, Washington, with my two young sons. I never mind a rainy day, either, because that’s when I sit at my desk and write stories about faraway places, fascinating people and, most importantly of all, love.

  Jane loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 524, Bellevue, WA 98009, U.S.A. Or visit her Web site at www.janeporter.com.

  For Ty and our new baby boy, Mac Bran Gumey.

  It’s going to be a wonderful Christmas!

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Monte Carlo

  SHEIKH ZAYED FEHR, the middle brother of the three powerful Fehrs, read the letter yet again. It had been typed on the heavy ivory parchment of the royal Fehr family but the correspondence came from Khalid, the youngest brother, instead of eldest brother, Sharif, the king.

  The letter was short and uncomplicated. Khalid’s words were simple enough.

  Zayed’s hand shook.

  He blinked. He, Zayed Fehr, the heartless Fehr, could barely breathe. Pain hot and hard and sharp exploded in his chest once, twice and again. He exhaled against the shock of it.

  Khalid had to be wrong. Khalid was mistaken. Surely if this were true Zayed would have heard something on the news, heard something before this formal letter.

  It just couldn’t be.

  Couldn’t.

  And Zayed, the heartless, knew for the first time in fifteen years he wasn’t heartless because his was breaking now.

  Sharif, his beloved big brother, was missing. His plane had crashed somewhere in the Sahara Desert and he was presumed dead.

  Effective immediately, Zayed needed to marry and come home.

  Because Sharif’s son was three and not of age to rule, Zayed would be king.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Vancouver, Canada

  “SHEIKH ZAYED FEHR is here? In Vancouver?” Dr. Rou Tornell repeated, her hand shaking ever so slightly as she removed her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose.

  She told herself it was fatigue making her hand tremble; exhaustion was only to be expected after a seven-week book tour.

  She told herself it had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with Sheikh Zayed Fehr, the younger brother of King Sharif Fehr, and the only man who’d ever hurt or humiliated her the way he had.

  Jamie, Rou’s assistant, moved forward toward the desk where Rou was working on her laptop, concern creasing her brow. “Yes. He’s…here.”

  “What do you mean, here?” Rou demanded, her normally cool voice now wobbling with shock.

  “I mean, here. In this hotel.”

  “What?” Rou shoved the glasses back on her nose and stared at Jamie in consternation. She normally wore contact lenses for appearances but in the privacy of her hotel suite she preferred the comfort of glasses. “Why?”

  “You told him you didn’t have time to see him in Portland. Or Seattle. So he’s flown to Vancouver and he’s here now.” Jamie smiled nervously, hands fidgeting. “And I don’t think he’s going to go away until you see him. Apparently it’s urgent. Life or death, or something of that nature.”

  Life or death. Just the sort of thing her father would say. Zayed was cut from the same cloth. Gorgeous, wealthy, famous, shallow and self-absorbed. It was always about them, what they wanted, what they needed. She despised playboys and movie stars, loathed self-indulgence, and loathed Zayed Fehr most of all.

  Zayed might be Sharif’s brother, but he was truly the black sheep of the family. A desert prince without a care, or sense of responsibility, or propriety, for that matter. Rou gestured unhappily. “I don’t have time to see him—”

  “You do now, actually—”

  “But I don’t want to see him.”

  “Have you ever seen him?” twenty-three-year-old Jamie asked breathlessly.

  “We’re acquainted,” Rou answered flatly, unwilling to admit to more than that. Jamie certainly didn’t need to know the details of their painful, embarrassing encounter three years earlier. Suffice it to say that Zayed Fehr would never be a man she respected, or trusted.

  “He is really good-looking,” Jamie added, eyes bright and cheeks pink.

  “He is,” Rou answered with an exasper
ated sigh. “He might even be physical perfection. He also has an ungodly amount of money, a shocking amount of power, but that doesn’t make him a good person.”

  Jamie’s shoulders lifted and fell. “He seems nice enough. Actually, he seems very nice—”

  “You’ve seen him?”

  “Well, yes. He’s here. In the outer room.”

  “In my hotel suite?”

  Jamie’s blush deepened. “I told him he could wait there. I thought perhaps you had five minutes now. The media escort won’t be here for another half hour and they’re doing your makeup at the TV station.” She saw Rou’s expression and hurriedly added, “He really is desperate to see you.”

  Rou shuffled the papers before her, trying to cover her panic. Zayed here, now? Zayed outside her door, waiting in her suite?

  “Did I do something wrong?” Jamie asked nervously.

  Yes, she wanted to shout. “No,” she answered instead, swallowing hard even as she became aware that her hands were damp and her heart racing.

  She was also aware that Jamie was suddenly close to tears, and the last thing she wanted—needed—was Jamie crying. Jamie tried so hard, and was a lovely girl and usually an efficient assistant. Rou couldn’t blame her for falling under Zayed’s spell. Zayed wasn’t just gorgeous and rich, he was also charming and charismatic and women fell at his feet. Even she—cool, logical scientist—had fallen at his feet.

  “I thought you’d have five minutes,” Jamie stammered.

  Rou pressed her hands to the desk edge to stop their trembling. Of course she did. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was, she didn’t want to spare Zayed Fehr five minutes. She didn’t want to see him. Not even for five seconds. “How long has he been waiting?” she asked as silence stretched.

  Jamie’s pink cheeks grew rosier. “A half hour.”

  Rou blanched inwardly, although years of experience as a therapist allowed her to remain expressionless. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “I…” Jamie’s shoulders lifted and fell. “I…”

  “Never mind. It’s all right.” Rou squared her slim shoulders and tucked long, fine blond hair behind one ear. “Send him in. I’ll see him. But five minutes. That’s all he gets.” Her voice firmed and her chin lifted. “Make sure he understands.”

  Zayed stood in the suite’s outer room waiting to be admitted to see Rou Tornell, bestselling author, international speaker and professional matchmaker.

  It was the professional matchmaker part that made his upper lip curl ever so slightly.

  Who would have ever thought that Sharif’s timid little protégée would end up an international speaker, never mind an exclusive, professional matchmaker?

  Who would have thought that introverted, academic Rou Tornell would understand sexual attraction, much less romantic attachment?

  Zayed was usually too chivalrous to make comparisons among women, but with Rou Tornell it was impossible not to. She was the coldest, stiffest, stuffiest woman he’d ever met, and while Sharif said she was merely focused, Zayed’s experience made him suspect she was seriously repressed, maybe even clinically depressed.

  If it weren’t for Sharif, he wouldn’t be here today.

  But then who would have ever imagined that Sharif, just four years older than him, would disappear? Who would have thought the Fehr royal jet would crash?

  Zayed’s eyes closed briefly as ungodly pain ripped through his chest. The pain felt even hotter and more vivid now than it had been when he’d first received the news five days ago. Since then he’d flown home to Sarq to see his youngest brother, Khalid, who was trying to keep things together until Zayed could return and take over.

  Zayed had also spent time with Sharif’s queen, Jesslyn, and the children. Four children all stunned and grieving, missing their adored father.

  It was worse at the palace than he’d imagined. The grief, the fear, the heartbreak. No one knew what had happened. It was as if the plane had just fallen from the sky. No warning, no signal of distress, no radio call for help. The plane was just gone. Tomorrow it’d be a week since the disappearance.

  On day fourteen, by law, Zayed would inherit the throne.

  It was impossible. Zayed was not a ruler, or a leader. He did not belong in Sarq. The desert was no longer in his blood. He craved rain, not sun. Skyscrapers and penthouses were now home.

  But Jesslyn’s face—her eyes so haunted—remained with him. As did Khalid’s silent, endless grief. And maybe it was this that pierced his heart.

  I need you, Khalid had whispered as they hugged goodbye. We all need you. Come home.

  Khalid had never asked Zayed for anything. None of them had ever asked Zayed for anything. Sharif was the one they had all turned to. Sharif was the eldest, the rock, the center of the family.

  But now…now…Sharif was gone.

  Just like that.

  No wonder Jesslyn looked like a ghost. No wonder Khalid hadn’t slept in days. Their world was turned upside down. Nothing would ever be the same.

  The door to the suite’s living room opened and Jamie, the young personal assistant, pretty and a little plump, stepped out and closed the door behind her.

  “Dr. Tornell can meet with you now,” she said, round cheeks darkening with a rush of color. “But I’m afraid she’s on a tight schedule as she has several media appearances this afternoon before tonight’s book signing so it’ll be for just a few minutes.”

  “Not a problem,” he answered easily, thinking it was already so very Rou Tornell. Busy, busy, busy. So very self-important. He checked his smile as he followed the assistant through the door into the living room.

  He’d taken just a few steps into the room when he spotted Rou at a corner desk in the lovely sitting room, a laptop open before her. She was wearing glasses today, her long blond hair unceremoniously tucked behind her ears. Blond, thin, bookish and tense, Rou Tornell exuded the warmth of an ice cube. Her personality was about as interesting. But she was successful, and reputedly the best in her field, and that’s what he needed.

  The assistant disappeared, discreetly closing the door behind her.

  “Good afternoon, Sheikh Fehr,” Rou greeted him as the door shut. “I’m in a bit of a rush, but I understand from Jamie that you’re apparently desperate to see me.”

  Her frosty tone didn’t escape him and his lips compressed. Forget ice cube, try iceberg, he thought cynically, realizing she hadn’t changed, and she never would. “I wouldn’t say desperate, Dr. Tornell. Determined is probably more accurate.”

  She leaned back in her chair, folded her hands together, her gaze stony. “I can’t imagine how I might be of service to you,” she added coolly, hating how her pulse was already too quick.

  She didn’t like him. She’d never like him. And the only reason she’d agreed to see him today was out of courtesy to Sharif.

  “It’s been a while,” he said, approaching. “Two years?”

  “Three.” Rou felt a jolt as Zayed neared. He was even more magnetic than she’d remembered; she’d forgotten how he owned a room, how he seemed to become the room. And then there was his height, and his build, and how his clothes had been tailored to lovingly drape him. Her father had owned a room the same way, but then her father had been one of the greatest film stars of his day.

  But Zayed was no film star, nor pop star. He was a sheikh who acted more Western than the most Western man. A sheikh with billions of his own, never mind his family’s fortune, a man who did what he pleased, when he pleased, and how he pleased. Even if he hurt others in the process.

  Her jaw tightened and she flexed her fingers ever so slightly.

  It still vexed her that he had hurt her. She shouldn’t have let a man like him have that kind of power. But then, she hadn’t thought he did.

  Yet there was a positive that came out of the painful and humiliating episode. It was the insight she gleaned into his character, insight which became her second bestselling book, He’s No Prince: Detecting the Bad Boys, Pla
yers & Con Artists So You Can Find True Love.

  “That long?” he answered with an equally cool smile. “It seems like just yesterday when we first met.”

  “Does it? Probably not to Pippa. She’s had two babies since.” Rou’s gaze met his and held, even as her stomach squeezed into knots. God, she hated him. Hated that he’d hurt her, hated that he’d mocked her, hated that he’d made her realize she would never trust men, and never find true love of her own.

  “Two for Lady Pippa? She’s been busy, hasn’t she?”

  And just like that, Rou flashed back to the weekend they’d first met at her client Lady Pippa Collins’s wedding in Winchester. Sharif was to have been there, but at the last moment he couldn’t attend, and apparently his younger brother the Prince Zayed Fehr of Sarq had taken his place.

  Pippa had been the one to introduce them during the reception. “Sheikh Fehr,” Pippa had said, stopping Rou in front of the sheikh’s table, “I couldn’t let you leave without meeting my dear friend Rou Tornell.”

  Zayed Fehr had risen to his feet, and it was the most regal, elegant rise Rou had ever seen.

  Like Sharif, he was tall, very tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist and at full height he stood easily a full head and a half taller than Rou, and she wasn’t short. And while Sharif was handsome, Zayed was alarmingly, unnervingly good-looking. Dark gold eyes. Jet-black hair. Smooth jaw not quite square but distinctly male, and it balanced his strong nose and high cheekbones. They were, she thought rather dizzily, cheekbones that a model would kill for. He must photograph beautifully. But then, he was model beautiful in person. Part of her knew she could never really trust him, as beautiful men were the most savage and selfish of all, but another part of her wanted to like him because he was, after all, Sharif’s brother.