Mills & Boon New Voices: Foreword by Katie Fforde. Ann Lethbridge

into her core.

      No matter how she sliced it, she was in big trouble here. A few days might as well be an eternity.

      “What do you think?” Zafir asked.

      Genie could only stare at the undulating sand dunes—no, mountains—spreading as far as the eye could see. She’d excavated in the desert before, she knew what sand dunes looked like, but she’d never seen anything so beautiful as the pink-tinged dawn sky, the red sand that glistened with moisture which would soon be burned off by the hot rays of the sun—and she’d certainly never witnessed it from the back of a white Arabian mare.

      The horse’s delicately arched neck belied her strength. She’d run up this mountain of sand as fleet-footed as a gazelle. Now she stood, her nostrils flaring, her proud head held high, her bridle dripping with tassels that shook with each prancing movement.

      Genie turned in the saddle. Zafir was staring at her. He sat his mount so easily, the white fabric of his dishdasha a sharp contrast with his stallion’s bay flanks. He looked at home here, regal and otherworldly—like someone she should never have met in a million years.

      “Well?” he prompted.

      “It’s amazing, Zafir.”

      He turned his head, his profile to her as he gazed over the dunes. It stunned her to realize that he very much looked like a king. How had she never noticed that royal bearing of his?

      “I wanted to show you this before, but it was not possible. I am glad you are here to see it now, despite the circumstances.”

      Her heart throbbed. Why did he have to do this to her? Why did he have to remind her of how much she’d once loved him?

      “I’m glad too,” she said, though she wasn’t really sure if that was the truth. Far better to be over the border, still in her encampment, digging through sand and rock and not knowing Zafir was here—so close and yet so far. In many ways, though he sat beside her now, he was farther from her than he’d ever been.

      Untouchable. Unapproachable. A king.

      Genie sucked in a cool breath. The desert air was frigid at night, but it was beginning to warm as the sun crept upward in the sky. Soon it would be too hot ever to believe it had been cold only hours before.

      Zafir threw one leg over his horse’s head and jumped to the ground. “Let us walk before we return to the camp,” he said.

      Genie dismounted and fell in beside him. They walked along the top of the dune without speaking. The sand made it difficult to go fast, so they took their time—almost as if it were a companionable morning stroll.

      Like they’d used to do when they’d get up early and make the walk to the bakery first thing in the morning. “Should we get the donuts or the sunflower bread?” she said, and then wished she hadn’t. How ridiculous to bring that up!

      But he glanced over at her and smiled. “The donuts, of course.”

      “That was a simpler time,” she said softly, not looking at him. Simpler because she hadn’t known what was expected of him, because she’d believed they shared something deep and meaningful. How wrong she’d been.

      “Indeed. But everyone grows up, Genie. Life does not sit still because we wish it to.”

      “No.”

      He stopped and turned toward her. His face was limned in the dawn light, the hard planes and angles both harsher and more beautiful because of it. Dark eyes gazed at her intently.

      “There is no reason why we can’t recapture some of that feeling,” he said.

      Her heart thudded in her throat, her temples. A few hours ago she’d been Dr. Geneva Gray, renowned archaeologist. Now, she was Genie Gray, the lovesick student who’d once had a passionate affair with a desert prince.

      And he was tempting her with the promise of more. How could she want him again when he’d hurt her so deeply?

      “I’m not sure that’s wise,” she said.

      But he closed the distance between them, his body so close, so vibrant in the cool morning air. “Why wouldn’t it be, Genie? We are adults, and we still want each other. This is not a crime.”

      “No, but it feels too much like digging up the past.”

      His smile was almost mocking. “Ah, but isn’t this what you like to do? Dig up the past?”

      “Not all things need to be dug up,” she replied, her pulse hammering in spite of how calm she tried to sound.

      His head dipped toward her in slow motion. She knew she should move away, but she closed her eyes automatically, waited for the touch of his lips against hers.

      It didn’t happen.

      She opened her eyes again, to find he’d stopped only inches from her mouth.

      “I do not believe what you say, Genie Gray. And neither, it seems, do you.” He straightened and turned toward his mount. “Come, we must return to the camp before the sun is up.”

      Chapter Four

      GENIE had never been to Al-Shahar before. Though the city was ancient, and rife with ruins to be explored, Zafir’s father had not allowed any excavation to take place. Nor had the previous kings before him. Zafir was the first to suggest it was possible, and she had to admit that the prospect excited her. She had to hope that he would still allow her to do so, regardless that he’d claimed she first had to sleep with him in order to get the commission.

      He’d not mentioned it since last night, and she wondered if perhaps he’d merely been angry and acting on emotion from the past instead of truly intending to force her into his bed.

      Not that it would take much to force her, she thought disgustedly. In spite of everything—the hurt and pain and anger—she still felt something in his presence. Something she’d never felt with anyone else. Was she adult enough to handle a casual affair? To know he was a king and that he could never, ever have a real relationship with her beyond the physical?

      She turned her attention to the city as they passed through the ancient gates at one end. The ruins of the old temples sat on a point that was higher than the rest of the city, with the exception of the palace. She could see them clearly in the distance as she sat up straighter and pressed her face to the glass.

      “You want very much to get your hands into the dirt there, don’t you?”

      She turned to the man sitting beside her. He was still dressed in the robes of the desert, but the ceremonial dagger was gone. And he was still as breathtaking as he had been from the first moment she’d seen him again.

      “You know I do. It’s a fabulous opportunity, Zafir.”

      She expected him to tell her that she knew what she had to do to gain the commission, but he said nothing of the sort.

      “I would not have offered it to just anyone—no matter that it’s past time this city’s history was explored and preserved for future generations.”

      Warmth blossomed. “I appreciate your confidence in me.”

      He shrugged and turned away. “You must be very good at what you do.”

      “Must be?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you find out before you hand over this commission to me?”

      His gaze was sharp, assessing. “Should I give you this commission, there will be no need.”

      “I’m not sure how you can say that. It’s important work, and you should get the best to do it.”

      And why was she saying this? Why place any doubt in his mind?

      Because she wanted him to know she was the best, not just to give it to her because she was the only archaeologist he knew. Assuming he did so, of course.

      Zafir