In the United Arab Emirates, Dubai is to Abu Dhabi what New York is to Washington, D.C. (or Sydney to Canberra). Basically, it’s the Gulf’s much larger and more modern desert city, housing malls with indoor ski slopes and man-made islands lined with condominiums. It’s in this city that Nulli O’Hara and Jason Reynolds share an unforgettable one night stand in my romantic suspense, More Than Strangers. They later meet again in Karachi, the equally exotic but much more dangerous commercial capital of Pakistan.

Giveaway: I’ll be giving away a copy of More Than Strangers as part of this event. All you need to do is leave a comment answering this question: What sport is Nulli watching? (Hint: The answer is in the excerpt.) Don’t forget to leave me a way to contact you!

Here’s the excerpt:

Nulli took a long sip from her champagne flute. Her floppy wide-brimmed hat danced in the desert wind. The match was exhilarating””the hard pounding of hooves, the crack of mallet against ball. Within seconds players raced from one end of the field to the other, chasing an elusive white target smaller than their fists. The even grass stood in stark contrast to sandy dunes. Spectators milled about as waiters circulated glass-filled trays carrying copious amounts of alcohol.

It was the Dubai Gold Cup. Over the past three decades, oil money had transformed sand into skyscrapers. The ruling elite had a fondness for fast horses and cars. Lamborghinis and Ferraris dotted the equestrian club’s parking lot. Their white-robed owners could be glimpsed through glinting glass windows that led to marbled halls. Nulli’s friend Zahra, garbed in flowing black cloth and a shayla headscarf, trailed behind her father and brothers. Though descended from Bedouins, the emirate’s citizens loathed to expose their skin to the desert sun. They donned uniforms in the guise of national dress and maintained a wary distance from foreigners who labored in their service.

Out in the open air, Italian suits and designer dresses vied for attention. Golden- haired socialites picked at caviar while their husbands drank beers and puffed cigars. This was a land of manicured hands and elaborate coiffures, where the scent of flowers and myrrh trailed after every female. Expatriates outnumbered the local population eight to one. Europeans, Australians, and Americans ranked highest in the displaced hierarchy. Their company cars were Porsches and BMWs, and generous housing allowances paid for palatial villas.

Nulli sat under one of the many canopied tents just outside the safety zone””a ten- yard border alongside the field. It separated spectators and grooms from the dangerous game. Her attention was focused on a single player. The rider readied to execute a perfect backhand. The mallet, arm, and body were as one. The pendulum swung, and the ball flew beyond the reach of other players. Standing in his stirrups, the rider raced after the moving target at a full gallop. The other players followed in his wake. He kept the lead. Another loud crack and the ball launched past the goal posts.

The player trotted over to change horses. Their gazes met. He waved, beckoning her to come over.

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