Rescued By the Sheikh (Harlequin Romance Series #4004) [NOOK Book]

Read an Excerpt

Now she gazed at the abandoned dwelling with fascination.

The terra-cotta structure was the only building as far as the eye could see. In the distance, mountains rose to the clear blue sky, their edges softened by restless winds. Several miles behind her was the archeological dig she was working on. Today was her free day and she was once again exploring.

Climbing out of the Jeep, she reached for her camera and bag. Her sturdy shoes protected her feet from the shifting sand. The jeans were hot, but she needed their protection. Her loose-fitting top was the only concession to the heat. Even after being exposed to the climate for weeks, she wasn't used to the constant high temperatures. Seattle had cooler weather—and lots more moisture in the air.

There was little vegetation growing. A few scrubby bushes struggled near the open doorway. Sparse clumps of grass grew in scattered disarray. She looked around, searching for a water source. She'd learned quickly nothing lived in this arid land without a constant water supply. There must be a well or seep or something or noone would have built a house and made a home here.

Outside stairs climbed to the flat roof. There was no glass on any window, the thick walls kept the interior in perpetual shade, and the open spaces gave ventilation. Lisa knew she'd find a dirt floor and little left to define the family who had once worked the land. The wooden door stood ajar. She peeped inside. The interior seemed dark after the dazzling afternoon sun. Gradually, her eyes grew used to the dim light. Drifts of sand filled the corners. There was no furniture. She walked through the three rooms that comprised the dwelling, trying to imagine the family that once lived here. How had they eked out a living? Nomads roamed the land, moving their sheep from place to place to let them graze on the limited grasses that grew. The oasis where the team was excavating was the only place for miles that had abundant water—it even had shade, with palm trees surrounding the site.

She went to each window taking her time to gaze out, wondering what it would have been like to live here a hundred years ago. Life would have been hard. But the beauty of the Arabian desert captured her heart. She had never been in a desert before and found every bit of it fascinating.

Snapping a few pictures, she felt dissatisfied. This didn't really capture the feeling she was searching for. Enchanted with the harsh setting of the land, the contrasts she unexpectedly discovered between barren sand and lush oasis, flat scrub and tall mountains, she wanted to portray this stark beauty with the intent of having another book published. She had enjoyed some small success with two books already. This one had to be extra special. Like the land she was visiting.

Going outside, Lisa climbed the stairs, gingerly testing each step to make sure it would hold her. She didn't want to fall through! Once on the roof, she kept to the edges, knowing they would be the strongest parts of the structure.

Looking around, she smiled her delight. From here the view was spectacular. She waited a moment before raising the camera to her eye. The illusion of coolness given by the mountains had her longing for shade and a cold drink. But she was on a mission—she only had one day each week when she could borrow one of the Jeeps, and they were scheduled to wrap up the dig before fall, so her time was limited.

She relished each opportunity to take photographs of the unusual and the beautiful. Too many people were ignorant about this area. If her photographs could highlight the people and places, it would help foster a bit more understanding between cultures. Plus, it would give untold numbers a chance to view places they'd never be able to visit.

Turning to face the south, she followed the changing landscape from hilly to flat, from scrub-covered to open sand.

She raised her camera and began to snap pictures.

Once satisfied she'd captured this scene to the best of her ability, she leaned against the parapet that surrounded the roof and gazed into the distance, her mind full of imaginative thoughts. She hoped she could do justice to the haunting beauty of this solitary place. Moquansaid had an ancient history. The dig she was working on as photographer was tied to one of the ancient trade routes. Had the caravans marched by this place as well? Had long-ago inhabitants watched, dreaming of the far-off lands they'd never see? She could almost hear the stomp of camels, the calls of their handlers.

Lisa turned one more time, not imagining the soft rumble of thunder she heard in the distance. Was a storm brewing? She scanned the sky, it was still clear and blue. A slight breeze from the west caressed her cheeks. She shivered involuntarily. She hated thunderstorms.

Glancing at her watch, she noted it was time to head back to the dig. Dinner would be served in a few hours and she was thirsty. She had the requisite three bottles of water in the Jeep, but wanted to make sure she never got down to the last one.

Descending the steep stairs was harder than going up. A gust of wind strong enough to knock her against the wall came from nowhere, startling her. She scrambled for a hold, losing her balance and slipping on the step. She fell almost halfway down. The hard edge of the stones bruised her legs and hands. But when she stopped falling, it was the throbbing in her ankle that worried her the most.

Slowly she sat up and checked her camera. A scrape on the edge, but it looked intact beyond that. She'd hate to lose her camera—or what she had on this roll of film.

Using the wall for leverage, she tried to rise. Instant pain shot up her right leg. She sank down with a groan. The ankle that had been throbbing now burned with agony.

She rubbed it gently, feeling it swell even as she massaged.

Great, how was she to drive back to the camp if she couldn't use her right ankle? The Jeep was old and cranky—and a stick shift to boot. She needed both feet to drive the thing. Maybe it was a temporary knock that would ease if she just rested it for a little while.

The rumbling she'd heard earlier sounded louder. She looked up. The sky overhead remained cloudless despite the increase in the wind. It was blowing steadily now from the southwest. She bit her lip in apprehension. She disliked thunderstorms and certainly didn't want to be caught in one alone. At least being with others helped her maintain some control when the horrific memories threatened.

But with a cloudless sky, could that be thunder? Maybe it was the echo of a jet high in the sky.

She searched to the west, stunned to see what looked like a dark brown cloud sinking to the horizon. Two brief rainstorms had caught them unaware at the dig during the last couple of weeks. The rain poured furiously down for about ten minutes, yet before an hour had elapsed, all traces disappeared. The desert was a thirsty place.

Unless her ankle made a miraculous recovery in the next five seconds, she was going to be caught in the storm. Flashes of that night in the rain she'd lived through as a child danced in her mind.

The thunder sounded continually now. She inched closer to the building, remembering. Could she get inside and out of the rain in time? The roof had seemed solid, it had supported her weight when she'd been on it. If she stayed away from the open windows, she should at least keep dry.

Not like the night that had taken her mother's life. She'd been drenched for hours before rescue workers found them. Lisa inched closer to the house, trying to forget the trauma of her childhood, seeking shelter from the coming rain.

She scooted a bit more. Her hands were scraped and stung from trying to stop her fall. She could hardly rest her injured foot on the ground—it hurt under its own weight. Her camera and case were slung across her shoulder, both her hands were free. Maybe she could crawl. She did not want to get wet. She might not be able to shut out the sound of the storm, but she could avoid a repetition of the night that had changed her life.

The cloud was growing closer. She had to move.

Suddenly a man on a black horse appeared on the horizon. She watched in amazement as he rode the steed at top speed directly toward the building. In only seconds she recognized the traditional Arab robes and headpiece—the trailing end was wrapped across the man's face, leaving only his eyes visible.

The horse scarcely slowed when he reached the house. The man jumped off and caught a glimpse of Lisa.

He spoke in Arabic.

She shook her head, not knowing how to communicate. A glance over his shoulder had her eyes widening in dismay. The brown cloud was closer, blotting out the horizon to the southwest.

"English?" he said.

She looked at him.

"Yes. What's that?" She looked back at the bank of clouds. It wasn't a thunderstorm after all. It didn't look like a tornado, but it appeared ominous.

"Come on," he said, motioning her to the doorway, already leading his horse there.

"I can't walk," she said, mesmerized by the clouds.

"I've sprained my ankle." The noise was growing, like a freight train.

He muttered something, then came and stooped to pick her up, camera, case and all.

"There's no time," he said, almost running into the building, the horse right at his shoulder.

"Sandstorm," he said, flinging a cloth over the horse's head and then wrapping himself and Lisa in his loose robe and sinking down against the wall.

She was nose to nose with a stranger, sitting across his lap, wrapped in the cotton material that smelled like sunshine.

Before she could protest, however, the wind began to howl. Stinging grit hit her arm and hands. She could feel the air pressure change. Her heart pounded. Fear tasted bitter in her mouth. It was different yet like the night she'd waited so long for help. No rain, but the noise was deafening.

"Ow," she said, pulling her hands in against her chest, between herself and the stranger. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her and lowered his head. He tugged the material over them better and leaned against the wall. Despite the thick walls of the house, the air was filled with sand. The cloth sheltered them, cocooned them.

Lisa could hear nothing beyond the rage of the wind and the sound of sand hitting against the old structure. If she'd been caught outside in this, she wouldn't have survived.

Snuggling closer to her rescuer, she forgot about her ankle, her pictures, even her memories of the automobile accident. She couldn't imagine the havoc this wind would cause. Right now it was hard to breathe. Even wrapped in the cloth, sand seemed to permeate everywhere. She shifted slightly, her nose pressed against his neck. She could smell the male scent of him, mixed with the dry sand. The shrieking wind almost made her deaf. How was the poor horse faring?

Time seemed suspended. All normal senses were gone, only the pounding of her heart, the difficulty breathing and the relentless wind had any meaning. She could feel the strong arms holding her, was grateful for the protection the cotton cloth afforded. She wished the wind would stop. The surreal sound, the constant bombardment of sand was driving her crazy. Would it never cease? She could hardly breathe, couldn't think, could only exist and cling to the stranger.

And remember a dark night on a deserted road, the relentless rain, the cold and the loneliness. At least she was tightly held today. She wasn't alone.

Endless time later the wind began to grow quieter, or was her hearing going? She chanced opening her eyes, but could see nothing except the strong jaw of the man holding her. It was as dark as twilight. Would the sand bury the old house? Would they be lost and not found for a hundred years until another archeological dig chanced upon this place?

A few moments later he stirred and pulled away the cloth.

She gulped a breath of air, still full of the musty scent of sand. Dust danced in the returning sunshine.

"I think the worst is over," he said, looking out the window opening. More sand had drifted into the old structure. The horse stood patiently to one side, head lowered, back to the wall beside the window, the cloth the man had flung over his head still in place.

Lisa still sat in his lap, still burrowed against him. Slowly she sat up, feeling awkward. Looking up, she realized her face was scant inches away from his. Dark brown eyes gazed back. How did she thank a man who had probably saved her life?

She made to move, but the pain in her ankle shot through and she gasped, sitting back down hard on his legs.

"Omph," he said.

"Sorry. My ankle really hurts." She glanced around, searching for something to help her stand. The man gingerly moved her until she sat on the ground and with one smooth motion rose and went to his horse. He eased the cloth from the animal's head and brushed some of the sand off his long neck. The black color had turned dun with the coating of sand.

"Do you have those often?" Lisa asked, watching. It was still hard to breathe. Her nerves were settling now that the worst was over. Her heart still raced, however. What if she'd been alone? She would not have known what to do.

He turned and looked at her and she caught her breath. His dark eyes seemed fathomless. His skin was the color of teak, his features sharp and beautiful. She normally didn't think of men as beautiful, especially one with as much blatant masculinity as this one. But her mind couldn't come up with another word. Her fingers itched to lift the camera and capture him forever on film.

"Not often. But always with little warning. Aside from your ankle, are you all right?" he asked. He came over and stooped down, reaching out to brush his fingers lightly against the swollen skin above her shoe.

"Looks bad," he said.

Even his light touch hurt.

"I hope it's sprained and not broken. Is there any way I could get you to drive me to my camp? I'll never be able to manage on my own." She didn't know if it was appropriate to offer money or not. She didn't want to offend him.

"You're out here alone?" he asked in surprise. His dark eyes were steady as they held hers.

Lisa felt as if she were looking into a deep, dark mysterious pool. What secrets did this man hold? And why did she suddenly wish she could uncover them? Her usually practical nature took flight. She was consumed with curiosity about her rescuer. What stories could he tell of the desert?

"I'm with an archeological excavation just a few miles north of here."

"The Wadi Hirum dig," he said with disgust, glaring at her.

"You know it?" She couldn't ignore his changed attitude. Was there something wrong with the dig?

"I was with my uncle when he signed the paperwork authorizing it. He considered it a valuable piece of undiscovered history." He rose and went to the window, leaning on the sill, his attention no longer on Lisa.

"You don't approve, obviously," she said.

"No. I'm more interested in damming that pass to create a reservoir to help the current inhabitants than in learning about ancestors who are long dead."