Clare McKay is a dedicated architect with no time for womanising men. That is, until she accidentally meets Sheikh Rafiq Al Kahil, an Arabian prince, known in the international press as the Playboy Prince. Clare is intent on not falling for his seductive charm, but when he asks her to design a mansion, he presents her with an offer that she can’t refuse. Once she finds herself alone with him in the Arabian desert, how long will she be able to hold out against his advances? And will he be able to cast aside his womanising past for her, as well as a secret engagement to an Arabian Princess?
Classic Fairy Tale Romance in the Desert
The Sheikh romance has been one of the great classic romance genres ever since Rudolph Valentino swept women off their feet in a desert tent, so when I moved out to the Middle East after my husband was offered a job here, I couldn’t help but be inspired to write one myself. The idea for The Royal Sheikh came to me soon after we arrived. I was out exploring some of the country, when I came across a deserted beach on the Arabian Gulf. Although I wasn’t swept off my feet by a royal Sheikh, I did see a Bedouin tent and some camels out in the distance, which set me thinking about who might live there and what they might be like . . .
Excerpt from Chapter 5
Clare has just arrived in the Arabian kingdom of Sheikh Rafiq to design his personal mansion. On her first night there, the Sheikh invites her out into the desert for an evening meal. This is what happens when she arrives:
. . . he led her towards a large black tent, only just discernable against the dark desert sky, with his arm still entwined around her body.
She stepped inside and was dazzled by what she saw. It looked like something out of Aladdin, or the Arabian Nights. Oriental carpets lay on the floor and hung from the walls. Hundreds of jewel-coloured silk cushions were strewn about the floor. In the centre were silver and gold platters piled high with food. In the corners, small clouds of incense billowed up from metal braziers. Clare gasped.
Rafiq gently sat her down next to him on one of the larger cushions.
“Drink some of this. It will make you feel better,” he said as he handed her a large glass of dark spiced liquid. She willingly accepted it and took a sip. He popped a small honey cake into her mouth, brushing her lips with his fingers as he did so. The cake tasted heavenly. She took another sip of her drink.
“You look more relaxed already. I am pleased, the last few times I’ve seen you, Clare, you have seemed very tense.” He stroked her hair.
Clare shuddered, but managed to reply, “You haven’t been very friendly either. In fact you practically ignored me earlier when I said that I wanted to see the building site.” She moved away from him onto another, smaller cushion.
“Do you know how to ride a camel?” he asked abruptly, and taking her hand, he took out to the back of the tent where a small group of camels stood tethered together.
“I’ve never even ridden a horse,” she told him.
Rafiq threw a richly woven saddle bag over one of the camels that was kneeling in the sand. He then lifted her up onto the beast and got on behind her. The skirt of her dress rode high up her legs. In vain she tried to pull it down.
He clasped her tightly around the waist and whispered into her ear, “Hold on tight”. With his free hand he pulled off the cord wrapped around the cloth on his head and used it to whack the camel, yelling out in Arabic as he did so. With a great lurch forward and then backwards that made Clare pull Rafiq’s arm more tightly around her, the camel arose and broke into a run.
They speeded off into desert and Clare could feel the hot wind against her face and bare legs. After several minutes riding, she began to get used to the lumbering motion of the camel and loosened her grip on the Sheikh’s arm. He yelled out again in Arabic. The camel stopped and dropped to its knees, making Clare resume her tight hold on Rafiq’s arm. He stepped off the camel and grabbed her around the middle. His large hands almost spanned her waist. He lifted her off and for a brief moment it was as if she was floating on the hot desert air.
“Here is the site of your building,” he announced.
“It’s your building, not mine,” she corrected him, as Mark had done earlier.
“No, it’s your creation. I will just be lucky enough to live in it once it’s built.”
She could smell salt in the air and was sure that she could hear the quiet lapping of waves breaking on the shore. She looked around and could see a deserted beach behind her. The moon had come out and it cast just enough light for her to see it reflected off the sea. It was beautiful. She wondered if he brought all of his women here.
Her defences rose again. “You only asked me to design the building, so that you could get me into your apartment.”
“Can you blame me for trying to find a way to get to know you better?” He sat down on the sand. She sat down next to him, slipped off her shoes and let the waves splash against her toes.
“Do you treat all the women you know like this?” she asked.
“I’m not sure what you mean. I am nice to you and you back away. I try to treat you like a business associate and you accuse me of ignoring you. How do you want me to treat you? What exactly do you want?” He looked hurt.
A pang of guilt struck Clare. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to end up as another one of your conquests,” she blurted out and started crying. And for the second time that evening, Rafiq held her in his arms and tried to comfort her.
Slowly her sobbing receded and he took her face in his hands. Tears still glistened in her sea-blue eyes. He looked deep into them and lent towards her. She could feel his breath hot on her skin.
“You have been honest with me. Maybe it is time that I was honest with you,” he said caressing her hair. “When I first met you Clare, all I saw was an exceptionally beautiful woman that I longed to know better.”
He twisted a long strand of her hair around his fingers. “When I saw you the next day in the cafe, I couldn’t believe my luck. I desperately tried to think of how I could stop you from slipping away again.” He pulled the strand of her hair a little tighter, drawing her towards him. Clare’s heart lurched along with it.
“I admit, asking you to design a house was just a way to see you again,” he said. “I didn’t really think you would come up with something I could use. Remember, all I’d seen of your work was a few sketches on the back of a catalogue.”
“You’re right,” she admitted, “it wasn’t much to go on.”
“However,” he said, letting go of her hair and staring at the sea before him, “when you came up with those designs, I couldn’t believe it. It was my dream house. The one I’d always wanted, but could never conceptualise. You understood my vision; you made it real.” He grasped her hands in his.
“You still haven’t told me why you ignored me,” she said. He gently squeezed her fingers, sending tingles shimmering up through her arms.
“I thought that was what you wanted; a business friendship.” He stood up, lifting her up with him and together they paddled along the gentle surf.
“I was scared of losing you. Also, I was a little caught up in the excitement of the project.” He gave her a broad smile. They walked a bit further, his body moving nearer and nearer to hers with each step.
“Do you swim?” he asked, looking longingly at the sea, or was it her?
“Yes, why?” she replied, excited but anxious at the same time.
“Come on then,” he said and slipped off his robe, letting it fall onto the sand at his feet. . .
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