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Chapter Two

HARPER HAD BEEN FIFTEENwhen she first met the sheikh. He had been twenty-four then, was still known as Jeremy, the bastard prince – and “more or less” engaged to Sapphire March, the only daughter of Senator Samuel March. It was in one of the dinner parties hosted by the palace for her father, the kingdom’s newly minted hero, when Jeremy had caught sight of her seated quietly in the corner, engrossed in learning about the rich history of the kingdom of Ramil. It was pretty much like1001 Arabian Nights,only it was real, which made the accounts all the more fascinating.

“Marhava, qalifa.”

The words had her automatically looking up, and she had found herself gaping. Black hair, dark eyes, olive skin, dressed in the traditional costume of his kingdom: a whitethobemade of the highest quality of cotton, with a semi-loose fit that nonetheless emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and the impressive length of his form.

An Arabian prince come to life, she had thought foolishly back then, and if he had also chosen to don the headdress that came with it, she would have probably been tempted to rub her eyes and blink, wondering if the prince from the history book she was reading had somehow managed to leap off the pages.

But then his words sank in and she scowled up at the stranger, saying frostily, “I’m not a little girl.” She really, really hated how petite she was, more so when the guy she had been crushing on in high school had once told Harper she looked like she was still in middle school.

“Sorry, my bad.”

The colloquial words, as well as the way it was delivered so easily, had her blinking. Who was this guy? He looked local, but he sounded as American as her.

“I’m Jeremy, by the way.” And with that, Harper’s question had been answered, and the guy’s lips twisted when her eyes widened in recognition. “I’m guessing you know who I am?”

“Prince Khalid’s son.”

“You mean, his illegitimate son.”

“A son is a son is a son.”

He blinked. “Is that...supposed to make sense?”

“Yup.” Harper was equally puzzled. “Why wouldn’t it?”

After a moment, the guy simply smiled. “You’re right. A son is a son is a son.”

She looked at him suspiciously, asking, “Why do I get the feeling you’re just humoring me?”

“That would be an ungentlemanly thing to do, don’t you think?”

Harper opened her mouth to tell him he didn’t seem like much of a gentleman to her, but he beat her to speaking, murmuring, “You still haven’t told me your name.” And the way his eyes gleamed told her it was deliberate. He had known exactly what he hadn’t let her say.

She glared at him, but the guy’s lips only curved in a wider smile.

More dazzling, too, Harper thought, uneasily.