“Of course.” Her pulse tapped at her throat, a quick hummingbird rhythm. Piper turned back to the receptionist, who had folded his hands in front of him and waited silently by the door. “Thank you for bringing me here,” she said softly. “I’d never have made it here on time without you.”

  “My pleasure,” he murmured.

  Then it was time to concentrate on the walk to her seat. Piper made it without tripping, without falling, without trying to curtsey again. She left one chair open between them. Better to see his face from there. If she sat too close—

  Well. If she sat too close, those eyes of his would make her forget what she’d come here to say.

  Prince Camil gave her a quick nod. “What is it you want to discuss? I understand you’ve been a constant buzz in my assistant’s ear.”

  Her face warmed all over again. The palace’s air conditioning was no competition for his voice. But Piper straightened her back, lifted her chin, and looked him in the eye. “I’ve been persistent because I’m passionate about the project idea I’ve come up with. I want to write a book about the Lovers of Al-Fahr.” These were Prince Camil’s great-grandparents, and Piper couldn’t begin to describe how much she loved their story. “I’ve done as much research as I can about the fairy tale of their romance—as much as I can using the information available to the public, anyway, but I know there’s more. I want to tell the real story. And in order to do that, I’ll need access to the palace archives. I need your permission to make that happen.”

  The story of Camil’s great-grandparents and their “magical” love was the first one he could remember hearing as a child. He’d grown up listening to it, repeated again and again at every available occasion.

  The whole thing was ridiculous.

  Too many of his relatives had held up that mythical story as their only goal in life, and too many of them had failed to ever attain it. Worse, their relationships usually crashed and burned in spectacular fashion. It was no surprise to Camil that real people couldn’t measure up.

  But right now, sitting at his conference table with Piper McCarthy, he could see the appeal in the story. Or perhaps the appeal was all her. It would be hard not to enjoy listening to her sweet voice, confident and melodic.

  “I need your permission,” she went on, “because the story has such a beating heart.”

  “Does it?” He let himself smile at her.

  She smiled back, her blonde hair escaping from her bun. “Oh, yes. Two people who shouldn’t be together fall in love, and through that love, they bring this emirate to where it is today. They were—” Both hands came up in front of her as if she held an invisible, priceless object. “They were perfect for each other and for their people. This place, all of Al-Fahr—”

  “Are you enjoying it here?”

  Piper shook her head a bit, but her smile didn’t falter. “In Al-Fahr? Yes, very much.”

  He didn’t know what had gotten into him, interrupting her like that. “My apologies, Ms. McCarthy. Visitors to our emirate have been on my mind lately.”

  She went pink at the words. “Especially ones who have been bothering your assistant?”

  Her boldness sent a shock of pleasure through him. People didn’t breeze into his conference room, fall all over themselves, and then recover enough to flirt. “The very ones.” This wasn’t strictly true—it was tourism in general that he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. More specifically, it was the project his father had tasked him with. A project that had plagued him for weeks. Bring more tourism to Al-Fahr. You have one year. But now, with Piper blushing and her blue eyes sparkling, his attention had become focused. “Now tell me. Where have you been bothering my assistant from? Are you staying with someone in the city?”

  “All by myself.” Camil didn’t imagine that she leaned toward him a little further. “I rented a little flat near one of the markets, and—” Both hands went to her chest. Piper tipped her head back, a simple rapture on her face, and something inside him pulsed with the urge to touch her. But then she raised her head and grinned at him. “I could listen to the sounds of the merchants and the haggling through my window for hours. And I do.”

  “But you could listen to that in any market anywhere in the UAE.” And more besides. The main problem for tourism in Al-Fahr was that they were so far from the coast. What was the draw?

  “Not like this one. This one is my market,” she countered.

  “I’ll see your market and raise you my palace.”

  “What?” She laughed.

  “I believe your market is special, but I have a palace. Care to compare the two? I’m in the mood to give a tour to one persistent tourist.”

  She lifted her chin. “I would like to compare them,” Piper said regally. “I can’t guarantee I’ll love the palace more.”

  He stood and offered her his arm. Piper took it, and he led her out of the conference room. “I can make one guarantee.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You haven’t enjoyed your market with a handsome prince.”

  Her face flushed, highlighting the blue of her eyes. “I can’t argue with that.”

  And she did not argue. Not when he took her through the sprawling gardens, the well-tended grass, green and soft, and the flowers like jewels. Not when he took her to the center of all that life and showed her the enormous water feature his father had designed himself. He took her to the galleries that housed the palace’s art collection and led her through the displays. He showed Piper the grand ballroom with its soaring ceilings and the herringbone hardwood floor that had been installed by a team of ten artisans over the course of two weeks.

  “Think of the dancing,” breathed Piper in the echoing space.

  “Don’t just think.” With her arm still on his, it was easy enough to take her hand and twirl her out. She moved easily with the motion and came back to him, breathless and laughing, and all of him pulled toward her in an attraction that wouldn’t be assuaged by a tour of the palace’s public areas. “What’s your verdict?” he asked her, his hand on the small of her back, her body held close to his. “Does it compete with the market?”

  She faked a serious frown, but her eyes shone in the dim ballroom. The scent of her skin was a delicate perfume—new flowers warmed by morning sun, so light he would miss it if she weren’t so close. “I’m not sure. Is there any more of the palace to see?”

  Camil leaned in so that his breath would brush the shell of her ear. “My private quarters are available.”

  “For—” Piper angled her head so his lips brushed her skin. “An hour or two of uncomplicated fun?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “And so you can make your decision. It would be rude of me to leave you wanting answers about which place is better.”

  “Take me there,” she said.

  Grab your copy of Sheikh’s Pregnant American

  Available October 14 2021

  Available for pre-order now! www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  Sheikh’s Surprise Son

  BLURB

  The desert stars align for passion and romance…

  Years ago, Sheikh Hadi Toma allowed himself one night of freedom, one night to be a normal young man. Little did Hadi know, his one night of passion resulted in a son—a son who has been adopted by his daughter’s quirky, pink-haired teacher, Willow.

  It isn’t long before Hadi realizes Willow might solve a major problem. He’s duty-bound to fulfill an ancient prophecy, and must marry during an upcoming astronomical event. Who better to marry than his son’s adoptive mother? Now he just needs to convince Willow. But is he marrying her for love? Or just to satisfy his superstitious family’s wishes…

  Willow may not be her son’s biological mother, but she’s fiercely protective of her little boy. Can Hadi, a gruff, taciturn man, learn to be a patient, caring father? Sure, he’s the sexiest man she’s ever met, but that’s not the point. Still, it’s hard to keep her priorities straight when she gazes into the Sheikh’s smoldering eyes…

  With the public demanding a fairytale marriage, can these two opposites find their very own happy ending?

  Grab your copy of

  Sheikh’s Surprise Son

  Available 21 October 2021

  Available for pre-order now

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  BLURB

  Hamid Al-Qasha has been a stickler for his country’s traditions ever since his father the king died when Hamid was just sixteen. But even he’s thrown when a merchant insists on paying a debt by invoking an ancient law allowing him to use his lovely daughter Talitha as collateral. Such payment is repugnant to Hamid, so while he accepts the bargain to keep tradition alive, he decides instead to treat Tali as an honored guest of his palace for one month. Yet before he knows what’s happening, Tali has charmed everyone in the palace, including Hamid’s young son. When a compromising but innocent picture of Hamid and Tali is secretly taken and made public, Hamid, in an effort to protect Tali’s honor, blurts out all is well—they’re engaged.

  They are so not engaged, but what can Tali do except go along with the fake engagement to appease her angry father? Now, thanks to tradition, her stay at the palace must be extended for another month. As much as Tali embraces the modern and pushes the traditional envelope, she’s secretly glad to stay. Hamid may be a bit old-fashioned, but he’s not the tyrant her father is—plus his kisses make her knees weak and his sexy voice makes her insides melt. When they’re in public, he’s the perfect fiancé: caring, loving, attentive. If only it weren’t just a show for the paparazzi. If only she could stop her heart leaping every time she sees him. If only she were smart enough to not fall in love…

  Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s Fake Engagement

  (The Blooming Desert Series Book One)

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  EXCERPT

  Chapter One

  Usually, the King of Qasha could see the beauty in traffic in the capital city of Qasharouz. Traffic meant bustle. Bustle meant business. And business meant a thriving economy, for which he was ultimately responsible.

  Things were different today. After forty-five minutes of creeping through the mid-morning traffic jam, Hamid Al-Qasha—also known as his royal highness or simply the king to the people around the car and around the country—was done.

  “I’m getting out,” he announced to the others in the armored SUV. The SUV was one of a fleet reserved for the use of the royal family, and it was sandwiched by two others in the motorcade. It could survive a bomb dropping on it, but it could not make traffic go any faster unless he was willing to use its sirens and horns. Hamid wasn’t the type. Kings didn’t need a flashy entrance. He didn’t want a flashy entrance—not for this errand. All he wanted was to get the meeting over with.

  His driver met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Meet us there.”

  His head of security, a man named Amir Haik, was already out on the blacktop, holding the door open and scanning for threats.

  “Are you sure, Your Highness?” Hamid’s secretary Mahir, a stout man with bags under his eyes, hesitated. Hamid gave him a look. “Ah, yes,” said Mahir. “Walking it is.”

  The three of them and an additional guard left the SUV and made their way to the crowded sidewalk. Amir fell into place a few strides ahead of Hamid, the second man a few strides behind. Mahir struggled to keep up under the clear blue skies of the morning, hemmed in by the market buildings around them. This part of the market was alive with vendors and customers, chatting and negotiating at top volume.

  “You’re prepared for when we reach Rahman’s Fine Jewelry?” Hamid called to Amir, who had paused to let a gaggle of young women pass. They all stared at Amir, and then their eyes slipped to Hamid. He saw recognition light up their features. The king, one of them whispered, and she clutched her friend’s hand with a barely muffled shriek. They scurried away as if he might order them dragged from the market. A path opened up in front of them, people stepping back to get out of his way. Whispers that Hamid was in the market traveled faster than electricity. And no wonder: the royal family rarely mingled with the public, preferring a respectable remove and an air of mystery.

  “I’m prepared to seize assets, yes,” Amir said crisply. “Poor Rahman won’t like it.”

  “Poor Rahman should have paid back the money he owes.”

  “Yes.” Amir’s normally stoic face broke into a quick smile. “But now he has to face you. I wouldn’t relish it.”

  Hamid rolled his eyes. He’d met Amir years before, when they were both teenagers. Amir had gone on to take a position in the special forces. He still looked ready to go into battle, with his shaved head and solid muscles. Hamid didn’t trust anyone else to manage his security. And though Amir might look dangerous, he was only so to the people who threatened the royal family—particularly Hamid and his son, Rafiq.

  The streets cleared as they walked, the sidewalks getting wider and more clean-swept. People out shopping hurried to make way, though there were fewer of them in this part of the market. Their clothes were slightly more upmarket. The men wore jackets. The women wore lipstick. They didn’t stare as nakedly as the teenagers who’d crossed Hamid’s path before. He and his people were getting close to Rahman’s Fine Jewelry.

  Amir jogged ahead, pulling open the next door. A whoosh of air conditioning greeted them, and then the sparkling interior of the jewelry store. The Rahmans had been making jewelry in Qasharouz for almost as long as the royal family had been there. Hamid gritted his teeth with irritation. Yusuf, the patriarch and head jeweler, should have known better than to steal from the crown.

  The staff at the front of the store scattered, disappearing through a curtained entrance to the side. Hamid didn’t have any business with them. He only wanted Yusuf, whom he found in the spacious back workshop, bent over a piece of jewelry with another man at his side. Slowly, slowly, Yusuf raised his head from the work in front of him and then sank into a bow. The other man stepped back, eyes wide.

  “Your Royal Highness.” Yusuf put on a faltering smile that did nothing to distract from the beads of sweat at his hairline. “It’s a pleasure having you in my humble shop.”

  “I’m not here for pleasure.” Hamid stepped up to the workbench, only a few feet from Yusuf, and Amir stuck close to his side. “You know exactly why I’m here.”

  “If you’d like to commission another piece for the jubilee, I’d be honored to—”

  “Stop, Yusuf.” The other man’s lips snapped closed. “Would you rather I announce to the whole city that your design has been irrevocably tainted by the fact that you stole from the crown?”

  “Theft is the first of the charges,” Amir chimed in, taking an official document from his pocket. “There are others, of course. Obstructing—”

  Yusuf held his hands up. “I’m not attempting to obstruct anything, your highness. Were you not pleased with the ring?”

  These questions threatened to drive Hamid mad. Yusuf, as one of the prominent jewelers in the city, had entered his own design into a competition. The prizewinning ring would be presented to the Queen Mother as part of the upcoming Qasha Jubilee celebrations. Hamid felt the weight of all two hundred years since the Al-Qasha family united the nation’s regions and established the country pressing down on his shoulders. Yusuf had won the contest, of course, but then he’d asked for his payment in advance. After the piece had been delivered, he was mistakenly paid the exorbitant sum twice. He had been dragging his feet about returning the money ever since.

  And with the jubilee growing nearer each day, Hamid couldn’t stand it. The media would seize on the thief the palace had elevated, and it would tarnish the coverage of the event.

  “Read the rest of the charges, Amir.”

  “Theft from the crown, a charge of treason,” Amir said crisply. “Knowingly deceiving the crown, a charge of treason. Failure to return royal property—”

  “Wait, wait.” Yusuf’s face had gone quite pale. It wasn’t the first time Hamid had seen a man’s face go that particular shade of white. He’d been king since he was sixteen, upon the sudden death of his father, and that meant holding people responsible for their actions. It meant observing the traditions that his father had held in such high esteem. Let Yusuf squirm. “Your Highness, there’s another solution.”

  Ah. So Yusuf did recognize that there was a problem. The other man swallowed hard.

  “Quickly, then. I don’t have all day.”

  “Your Royal Highness—”

  Hamid stared across at Yusuf, daring him to argue that he should be forgiven. Behind a temporary wall in the back there came a rustling sound, then a little gasp. It drew Hamid’s attention like a magnet. What was going on back there? Curiosity roared to life, but he didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t let it show on his face. He never would. Yusuf’s eyes flicked to that back wall, and he squared his shoulders.

  “It is, of course, my fault entirely that the celebrations have been...tainted by this disagreement. You’re right to stick to the laws.” Yusuf gained steam. “You’re absolutely right, Your Royal Highness, and I admire you for it. Of all the rulers my family has served under, you are the one with the greatest knowledge of the law and the sense to apply it fairly.”

  What was he getting at? Hamid said nothing to interrupt him. He’d learned years ago that silence could gain him more than bluster.

  “So I’d like to invoke one of our most ancient traditions,” Yusuf continued. “The tradition of family collateral.”

  Family collateral was indeed one of Qasha’s most ancient traditions. Hamid blinked. It had been used in previous centuries, when debts to the monarchy or the upper class could be satisfied by offering a person up as collateral for a debt. To Hamid’s knowledge, it hadn’t been used in many decades. But technically—and Hamid had always been very interested in the technicalities of his society, which ultimately held the whole thing together—it was within the bounds of the law for Yusuf to do it.