Heart of a Desert Warrior. Lucy Monroe

the series was canceled.

      “Yet you watched it, for me.”

      This trip down memory lane was getting distinctly uncomfortable.

      “I’ll admit this is not what I expected.” She waved her hand, indicating the encampment around her.

      “You had expectations?”

      “Naturally. It’s a poor geologist who doesn’t do her homework on the area she’ll be surveying.”

      “But you had no idea you would be coming to a Bedouin encampment.”

      “You never know.” It was not quite a lie, but not the admission he was looking for, either.

      “This is true. Six years ago, neither of us would have suspected you would be here.”

      Actually, she had … right up until he’d broken up with her. She had no more interest in rehashing that particular bit of history than anything else about the months they’d been together. “You said some things are still traditional?”

      “Many things.”

      She saw what he meant when they entered a huge tent toward the center of the encampment. A curtain bisected the area horizontally from the entrance. In the center, was a single overlapping panel embroidered with two giant peacocks, their feathers fanned out in a display of the beautiful jeweled tones the birds were known for.

      The curtain created the public reception area the Bedouin homes were known for, but it was much larger she was sure than the average tent boasted. With no evidence of the famed television, Iris had to assume this wasn’t the communal tent he’d mentioned earlier.

      Rich Persian rugs covered the ground of the main area, but instead of chairs, there were luxurious pillows in silks, velvets and damasks with lots of gold, purple, teal and a dark sapphire blue. Low tables dotted the expansive area and while the outer walls were the typical woven black goat hair, inside the walls were covered in richly colored silks.

      “Russell and I are staying here?” she asked with a sense of foreboding.

      This was no normal Bedouin tent. Situated where it was in the compound and considering the luxury of the interior, she had no doubts who this particular dwelling belonged to. Sheikh Asad bin Hanif Al’najid.

      “You are, yes. Russell will stay in the tent with your equipment.”

      “What is this tent, a harem, or something?” she asked in faint hope.

      “This is my home.”