Clem shook her head. “Tearing at each other's hearts? If you were that concerned about my heart…if your own heart was that invested…” She’d had an argument in mind when she stared the sentence, but Samir shifted his weight from foot to foot and it brought out all the subtle lines of his muscles beneath his clothes. A cannon fired somewhere near her heart, the boom kindling another wave of desire between her legs.

  She needed a nap. All the travel was messing with her head and lowering her defenses. Those defenses had been hard won, and it was more than a little irritating that they could be knocked down by an international flight or two. Clem was tougher than this. She’d made it this far in life without help from royalty, and she could do it again.

  The corner of Samir’s mouth quirked.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said.

  He raised both hands in the air. “I had no comment.”

  “I can see your face, Samir.”

  “I’m sorry,” he insisted. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings at lunch. I thought you were perfectly satisfied with a temporary marriage, and I—”

  He never stopped talking, did he? He was going to talk until at last she agreed with him, and Clem was never going to agree with him, because somewhere in her heart she did not want a temporary marriage. Not at all.

  But it was clear that arguing with Samir wouldn’t end this. And he looked so good. He looked so at home. He would look even more at home without his shirt on.

  Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, she stepped forward, yanked him down by his lapels, and kissed him.

  He tensed and then kissed her back.

  “Shut up,” she told him, inches from his face, her body alight with a simple want: his body in bed next to hers. On top of hers. Inside hers.

  “What will I do if we’re not having a conversation?”

  “Me,” said Clem.

  She pulled Samir inside her suite, and this time he was the one who kissed her, his hands going around her waist and tugging her closer.

  Then she slammed the door. Behind them.

  11

  “We’re leaving the palace.”

  Clementine turned away from the wardrobe she was looking into and gave him a sultry pout. “Good morning to you, too, Sheikh Samir.”

  He laughed. “Good morning. I thought I’d lead with the more important news of the day.”

  “Your wife deserves to be worshipped first, not informed of changes to her schedule. Who said I was leaving the palace?”

  When Samir had left Clem’s suite the night before, she seemed to have forgiven him—at least a little—for what had happened at lunch. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, and it still nagged at him. It nagged at him more now that they’d spent another afternoon in bed together. When they shut the world outside and left all their obligations behind, they were a good fit. An excellent fit. He had to stop thinking about that now, or he’d have her spread out on the crisply made bed inside thirty seconds. How could a man be conflicted on so many levels?

  He pushed the thought out of his head. “You’re still my wife for the moment, and that means you’re going to accompany me to one of my favorite places.”

  “I’m still your wife, so don’t I get to set—” Clem blinked. “Your favorite places?”

  “Yes.” Samir leaned against the doorframe and watched her close the wardrobe carefully and face him. “When I was younger, I spent a lot of time with my uncle—my father’s brother. He was the liaison to the desert tribes then.”

  “The desert tribes,” Clem said slowly. “You mentioned that at some point during the flight. Or…in Paris, but…”

  “But you were too busy enjoying the city to pay much attention.”

  She laughed. “If I was, it was your fault.”

  Clem was beautiful this morning in one of the dresses they’d bought in Paris. There hadn’t been enough time to sort through her new things before lunch the previous day, but clearly someone had, and now the patterned fabric slipped down to the perfect length, just above her knees. The dress reminded him of springtime, of fresh flowers and dew on leaves.

  Or maybe that was the scent of Clementine’s shampoo, which had left delicate traces of jasmine through the room.

  “Please,” he scoffed, a strange lightening in his chest. “As if I’d take a woman on a trip to Paris and make it anything less than incredible.”

  Clem raised one eyebrow. “You were telling me about the desert tribes.”

  “My uncle was liaison when my father was king, before…before he gave up his position.”

  Clementine frowned. “I thought your brother was just coming into power. Or training to be king. Something like that?”

  “Before my uncle gave up his position.” Samir’s heart beat faster at the thought of what his uncle had done. “He was matched with a woman and fell deeply in love with her, but she died before their wedding.” Clementine let out a soft noise of regret. “He refused to marry again, even though the tribes stand by the tradition of the royal sons being married by age thirty. So he gave up his position as liaison.” Samir had been told the story a hundred times, but as the words came out of his own mouth, they seemed…different. The story sat heavier on his heart for some reason he couldn’t quite pin down.

  “He gave up his position in the family for love?” Clem’s blue eyes were fixed on his.

  “In a way,” Samir said. “He was still a member of the family. According to my father, he had less and less to do as the years went on.”

  “Oh,” Clementine said.

  “Anyway.” Samir straightened up from the doorway, feeling expectant. “My brother was liaison up until my father wanted him to start taking over the running of the kingdom. Now the duty has fallen to me, and I quite like it.” He didn’t normally speak of his responsibilities in this way, but here in the room with Clem, it felt natural. “I like it out there. Away from the city.” Away from everything.

  Her eyes on his seemed to see right into his soul. The room was still, with morning light streaming in through Clem’s window and catching her hair, and Samir felt a flash of boundless possibility.

  “The desert, huh?” Clem stuck out one hip and considered him.

  “Yes. In twenty minutes.”

  “All right,” Clem said. “My other work can wait.”

  They were nearly to the oasis where the tribe spent most of the season when Clem turned away from the window of the SUV. “How often do you come here?” They’d gone through miles of undulating dunes under the clear blue sky, and as always, the weight on Samir’s shoulders lifted as the tents came into view.

  “I spend more time here than I do at the palace,” he admitted. “Perhaps three weeks of every month.”

  Clem’s eyebrows listed. “That’s more time than I would have expected, for a person like you.”

  “Like me?” He laughed. “What does that mean?”

  “You look so at home in a fancy suit.” She surveyed his outfit—a button-down over pants that were more suitable for desert work than palace life. “You look at home like this, too.”

  They pulled up at the edge of the oasis, shaded with trees, and Samir helped her out of the SUV.

  “Oh,” Clem exclaimed. “It’s not…” She took a big breath. “You can feel the water in the air.”

  “That’s why we’re here. Let me show you.” He led Clem to the largest tent and was gratified by the anticipation written all over her face. When they were nearly there, the cloth covering the doorway opened, revealing a man with tan skin and loose, flowing robes. He smiled widely at them.

  “Sheikh Samir,” he said, his voice smooth and low. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Chief Jazir.” Samir stepped forward, clasping arms with the chief.

  “Come in out of the sun,” the chief said, and the moment they were all inside the tent, he turned to Clementine. “You must introduce your new wife. When I heard the news, I was quite surprised.” He said all of this with a twinkle in his eye, and Samir paused to take it in. The chief’s face showed no wariness, but maybe that was for Samir’s benefit.

  “This is Clementine,” Samir said, beckoning her forward. But she was standing a half-step behind, eyes wide. It took her a beat before she realized Samir had said her name, and then she rushed forward.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “This is beautiful.”

  Samir looked again at the tent he had visited hundreds of times. The furnishings were background to him, but when he saw it as she must, it was quite stunning, for a tent that traveled through the desert. Sumptuous carpets covered the floor, and the furniture had graceful lines. It wouldn’t have looked out of place in the palace.

  Chief Jazir reached out and took her hand in his, bowing his head over it. “Welcome to our home.”

  “I’m so glad to be here,” Clem said, and Samir absolutely believed her.

  “I’d like for you to meet my daughter,” Chief Jazir said, and as if on cue, Maryum breezed in from another section of the tent, wearing a robe in a similar style to her father’s, but far more elegant.

  She came to the small gathering by the door. “I heard you got a wife, Samir. And we weren’t invited to the wedding.”

  “I was hardly invited,” he joked, and she laughed. “This is my wife, Clementine Llewellyn.”

  “Of the United States?” Maryum’s eyes danced. “Come. Tell me the whole story.” Maryum took Clementine by the arm, and the two of them went over to some soft chairs and sat together.

  Just like that, she was fitting in.

  Samir felt Jazir’s eyes on him. “I came to—”

  “Present her, of course,” Jazir said. “It’s tradition for the liaison’s new wife to be introduced to the tribes. Everyone is at work preparing a celebration feast.”

  “A feast?” Samir shook his head. “You don’t need to do that. I didn’t plan—”

  “Plan,” laughed Jazir. “No need to make plans, Sheikh Samir. We’ve planned it for you, and your tent is ready. How long will you be staying?”

  “Just the day,” Samir told him. He honestly hadn’t planned on Clem sitting right down with Maryum, but part of him was relieved. Their laughter rose from the opposite side of the tent. “But if all goes well, we’ll be back.” We’ll. It sounded so right on his tongue, and yet he couldn’t commit to it. Being able to sit with the chief’s daughter for a bit of small talk was one thing, but life in the desert?

  He couldn’t ask it of her. Not when their marriage was meant to end in three months.

  “I see,” said Chief Jazir. “Come out. Say hello to everyone.”

  Maryum must have sensed them preparing to leave, because she brought Clem to the door. “Everyone will want to see you,” she said.

  “Do I look all right?” Clem patted at her hair. “I guess it’s too late for that now.”

  The two women laughed, and all of them went out to the village center.

  It was abuzz with motion, with the women cooking and the men assembling a set of large tables.

  “It smells delicious.” Clem raised her nose and took a deep breath, and Samir did the same. To him, it was delicious, yes—but it also smelled like home. He could feel himself relaxing into the rhythm of the day, and they hadn’t even been in the village an hour.

  Maryum put her hand on Clem’s arm. “Stay here with your new husband. We’ll be finished with preparations by—”

  “Oh, no,” Clem said. “I want to help.”

  Maryum’s smile couldn’t have been broader as she led Clem away from Samir. He had the sudden urge to grab her by the elbow and keep her close, but he resisted. She was perfectly safe here, and he couldn’t expect to keep her within arm’s length for the next three months. Even if he did want to. Which he didn’t. He was not going to get attached. Not now.

  But he couldn’t help smiling when he saw her with all the women of the village.

  They opened their circle and let her in, but there was one problem—she didn’t speak Arabic. He saw her shoulders tense as she looked for a place among them and something to do, but then Maryum was there, translating as much as she could. Even so, there was no way she could keep up with all the chatter.

  It didn’t seem to matter.

  “How do you say, ‘Hello, my name is Clementine’?” he heard her ask.

  Maryam gave her the words, and Clem immediately tried them out.

  The rest of the women clapped, then laughed. Samir wanted to clap, too. Her pronunciation had been wanting, but she’d tried. He couldn’t picture another woman wading right into the fray like Clem had. He could picture his “ideal” bride waiting for him back at the palace, kissing him goodbye every time he left.

  Clem surprised him. She impressed him. And the pride he felt…

  He hadn’t seen it coming.

  “Give me credit,” Clementine said, over in the group. “Maryum, how do you say, ‘Give me some credit’?”

  More laughter, and then the women pulled Clem into their circle. They made a space for her. A strange ache flashed across Samir’s chest. He hadn’t exactly done the same. It was a limited space, what he’d given to her, and he’d made it clear where the boundaries were. As the women of the tribe let Clem hover over the cooking fires, he saw exactly how limiting he’d been.

  And he didn’t love it.

  12

  “Clementine.”

  The familiar voice was a balm on Clem’s nerves. She was surrounded by new voices, new faces, and an unfamiliar language, and it made her feel the same high-key nervousness she’d felt at the beginning of the convention in Vegas. It had seemed only natural for her to pitch in with the feast preparations. The way she’d grown up, standing on the sidelines would get her nothing at all, so she’d reacted without thinking to Maryum’s suggestion that she stay with Samir. It was a little brave, but it was also overwhelming. The cooking fires were hot, and even the shade of the trees wasn’t enough to keep her from sweating. Or maybe it was the constant effort of listening to the conversation around her and waiting for the tidbits of Maryum’s translation that reminded her of test days back in high school. So when Samir called for her after an hour, she whirled around eagerly.

  Too eagerly. She brushed her hands together and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Yes?”

  He inclined his head toward the rest of the village. “Let me show you around.”

  She took another glance around the circle of women, who were still working diligently. Spiced roasted meats, rich with herbs, all of it crackling and popping. Maryum caught her eye. “Go. We have a beautiful village.”

  It was true—they were literally in a desert oasis, and what Clementine had seen so far was something out of a storybook. “I would like to see more,” she admitted.

  Maryum gave her a friendly push toward Samir. “Go.”

  As she stepped toward Samir, he offered her his hand, and a thrill went down her spine. She looked into his dark eyes as she took it. There was pride there…and something else, too. Something she couldn’t name.

  Samir led her away from the courtyard and through the tents. As soon as they were away from the fires, the heat lifted. A gentle breeze played across the back of Clem’s neck, and Samir dropped her hand, only to place his own on the small of her back.

  What was he doing? Yes, they’d spent hours in bed the night before, but that had only been physical attraction. They had that in spades. But the quiet sort of affection he was showing her now was different.

  They came to a greenhouse out past the tents. It was in a loose row with several others.

  “This is where they’re growing the Omirabad crocuses,” said Samir.

  “That’s what your deal with Howard was about,” Clem mused. “This is where the magic happens.”

  He laughed. “Some of the magic, yes. A lot more of the magic is in harvesting and separating the stigma from the rest of the flower. The stigma is used to make saffron.”

  Clem knew just enough to know that saffron was big business. “What do the tribes want with a person like Howard?”

  “Under the current system, most of the flower goes to waste.” Samir looked thoughtfully at the greenhouse. “I wanted to put more of the flower to use, instead of sending them all for saffron processing. Howard has the distribution systems in place to get them into high-end decorators’ hands…and others, too, from what I gathered.” He frowned. “This is how the tribes make most of their income, which allows them a certain amount of financial freedom. But they’re tied closely to the success of the country, too. It benefits us all if they can get more from the crocuses.”

  “Is there something special about them? Aside from being used for saffron?”

  “The entire plant, from corm to flower, has been recognized for its quality,” Samir said, and Clem knew without him having to say it that he’d been brought up to feel pride in the Omirabad crocuses. She didn’t have a single doubt that his uncle must have spent a lot of time here with the tribe, Samir by his side, and her image of him shifted and blurred. He was a prince, yes, but when he spoke about the flowers, it was as if another version of him appeared in front of her. “They’ve been awarded international honors for the flower as well as the flavor of the spice, which is unique to our product.”

  “You’ve worked here, haven’t you?” Clem leaned back into his palm, a subtle movement.

  “In the greenhouse? Of course.” Samir’s eyes crinkled. “I have many happy memories of being here with my uncle.”

  “Wow.”

  “You’re surprised?”

  “When I met you at the bar that night, I didn’t have the impression that you…got your hands dirty,” said Clem. She couldn’t imagine Samir ever having to worry about when he might be picked up by a social worker and shuttled to a new home. But his life now…if he spent most of it here and not at the palace, then Samir wasn’t the person she’d assumed he was. It didn’t put him on her level. No way. But she felt closer to him in a way that would be hard to articulate, even if she wanted to.