The Sheikha’s Unexpected Protector: Desert Sheikhs, #2

By Leslie North

He once destroyed her life; now he's getting the chance to save it.

Princess Salari moved to Paris after her father, the king of Kattahar, exiled her. But when she hears about his sudden death, she's ready to come home. After ten years away, she's stunned by the sight of Kalif, the man who destroyed her life. Her former childhood friend and the only man to ever break her heart has morphed into the sexiest royal guardsman she's ever seen. Although she refuses to even entertain the thought of falling for his seductive glances again, she won't have a chance to avoid him. Someone doesn't want Salari back in the palace, and they'll stop at nothing to make sure she ends up dead. With no choice but to accept Kalif's protection, she'll have to guard her heart against the one man who can destroy it.

Kalif Nazat never expected to be tasked with guarding Princess Salari. She still despises him, despite his attempts to apologize for his part in her exile. He'd had no good options that day ten years ago, and even the lesser of two evils had terrible consequences for the only woman he'd ever loved.  But with someone wishing Salari dead, he figures keeping her alive is the only way he can redeem himself. As the killer closes in, he'll risk his life to keep her safe, and in turn risk losing his heart forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leslie North
• Release date: Sep 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386344452

Book preview

1

The phone rang.

Salari stared at the bright screen, a line slowly forming between her eyes. The phone ringing wasn’t an issue. She received calls all the time, every day.

But this phone call wasn’t like the rest.

This one had the country code of her home prefacing the number. The country she’d been exiled from ten years prior. The country she hadn’t been to since the day she’d left.

Salari swallowed, jerking her gaze up to the balcony window overlooking the cobblestone French street below. A warm, spring breeze reached her. She hadn’t thought about Kattahar in what felt like ages.

After the fifth ring she swiped the phone on, pressing it to her ear. From below, a violin played, no doubt a street performer wooing a crowd. In Arabic, she said, Hello?

Sister.

She drew a sharp inhale. It had been far too long since she’d heard this voice, and even longer since she’d seen his face. Her little brother. The only man she’d ever trusted in her life. The only one who hadn’t completely and irrevocably burned her.

Zatar. She blinked rapidly, sitting on the edge of her bed. Her apartment in downtown Paris was quaint, modest even. For how little money she lived on compared to her previous life in Kattahar, she thought she’d done quite well for herself. Not that anyone back home cared…except for Zatar.

How are you calling me? she asked, gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles hurt. Occasionally he’d do a video chat with her over a third-party platform. But ever since their father had discovered Zatar maintaining contact with her, after Zatar called to inform her of their mother’s death, the calls came more rarely.

Their father was a tyrant; there was no soft way of putting it. And as much as it hurt to be the object and unfortunate victim of his wrath, she still missed the Dada of her childhood. The man who’d seemed invincible and heroic; that black-bearded giant who could toss her so high into the sky, his robes flowing; the same one who murmured the familiar lines of his favorite prayers in her ear as she fell to sleep each night.

The man who had cast her out of her only home because he chose to believe a guard over his only daughter.

We don’t have to hide anymore, Salari. Zatar’s voice sounded deeper than she remembered. Or maybe wearier. She couldn’t imagine what life had been like for him in her absence. And in a way, even though it stung for too many years, she was happy to have left Kattahar. Now she had her own life in France…one she’d built with her own hands. Full of quirky friends and vintage purses and lazy strolls to the neighborhood bookstore to pick up lovingly worn books. You are free to come back home now. Our father has died.

Salari’s mouth parted as the news penetrated her. Sadness didn’t crop up, not immediately at least. She stared out at the gently moving trees of the square, the tops of heads moving beyond her window as pedestrians lollygagged and meandered down the street. This was a land of pleasure, of savoring, of deep satisfaction. Kattahar had turned into restriction and shame by the time she left.

Wow. This is a lot to take in. She sank onto the edge of her bed. How did he…die?

An accident. Zatar expelled a breath. He got very bad about gambling in his later years. He’d come and go so frequently…there was a helicopter crash. No survivors.

Salari brought a hand to her forehead. Emotions finally prickled across her chest. God. That’s…

For the better, Zatar finished. And in the silence that followed his words, Salari felt solidarity. Zatar was the only person who had believed her and stuck by her side once her father cast her out ten years ago.

Are you king now?

I am. Zatar’s pride radiated across the miles. Much has changed, sister. I even found my future queen.

She sucked in a breath, tears filling her eyes now. No. You can’t be serious.

I am. And you must meet her instantly. Tell me you’ll come home. I’ll send a plane for you. Just say the word.

Salari’s lip trembled as she stared out at the blue sky of the Parisian afternoon. Home? She already was home. But it didn’t seem right to say that…especially if she hadn’t given her first home a second chance.

I…this is so sudden, she said.

Salari. Zatar’s voice had a firm edge to it. It has been too long. We must mend what little remains of our family.

His words dissolved her resistance in the way that only her little brother could manage. She could manage a quick visit. That seemed right. That seemed fair.

I’ll come, she blurted, before she could change her own mind. But I need some time. Just the idea that she could return would take some adjustment, let alone actually doing it. She could think of plenty of parts of Kattahar that she missed, and even more had faded from memory. Even though there was one part of Kattahar that would never ever erase itself from her memories, no matter how hard she tried.

I’ll arrange for a plane to get you, Zatar said, sounding eager. Just tell me when you’re ready. You can call me anytime. We’ll talk. But you must at least come in time for my wedding. And then you’ll be home…back where you belong.

Salari hung up the phone in a stupor, her stomach hanging somewhere between excitement and dread.

Of course it would make sense for her brother to welcome her back with open arms. They’d been as close as two siblings could be.

But he didn’t understand the painstaking years she’d survived in order to build up her French life. To truly rediscover her joie de vivre, which their father had all but extinguished in her.

She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to her father, not that he would have allowed it. And going back now put her at a high risk of having to say hello to the man who’d started it all.

The man who both broke her heart and betrayed her.

The man who she still held responsible for her graceless exit from her homeland.

The only man she’d ever loved.

Kalif!

The king’s voice snagged his attention as Kalif headed though the zoo for a routine inspection of the grounds. He hung a left, knowing exactly where the new king could be found: the lion enclosure.

Your highness. Kalif came up to the gate, gripping the iron bars as he watched the scene inside. The king’s lioness had given birth six months ago, and the young cubs romped happily around his and the queen’s feet.

Aren’t they just adorable? Zatar’s eyes shone as he smiled over at Kalif. He was more and more like a new dad every day; he even lost sleep if any of the cubs had something remotely bothering them. His fiancée Alexis shook her head, grinning.

You ask him this every day, she chided. I swear, you’d fire him if he said no.

Exactly. Kalif laughed, crossing his arms. Though they are cute.

Zatar came toward him, looking every inch a happy man. Ever since his father’s death, the palace had become a paradise. No more tension and fighting. Zatar treated all the royal guardsmen fairly and spent his days bettering the country’s economy. Life had taken a significant turn for the better; in fact, it was almost perfect.

Almost. Except you still don’t have her.

Kalif forced himself not to think of her, wouldn’t even let himself think her name. Luckily, she didn’t come up much in the palace. Her exile ten years prior made it easy to erase any reminders of her.

She just refused to leave his headspace, the final, unconquerable frontier.

I need you to run an errand for me. Zatar came up to the enclosure gate, resting a palm against an iron bar. A very important dignitary is arriving later this morning, and I need you to bring her to the palace. She’ll need security and must be protected until she sets foot in the palace.

Of course. In the back of his mind, he thought of her again. Really, every waking moment since Zatar’s father’s death had him wondering if maybe now she’d try to return. Even his cells hoped for it, but it felt like a fool’s fantasy. He’d ruined any chance of her returning. And who will be visiting?

Zatar waved his hand, dismissing the question as he headed back toward Alexis and Sala. You should leave now. The plane lands in one hour.

Kalif nodded, knowing better than to press for more information. He and Zatar had grown up like brothers, but Kalif served the king, not his own curiosities. Kalif’s father had been the captain of the royal guard during his childhood; when his father passed three years ago, Kalif had stepped into his role. A strange echo of what happened to Zatar, which made Kalif relate to him even more as a brother.

Kalif hummed to himself as he wound his way out of the zoo and headed for his private quarters. Receiving a foreign dignitary required a specific style of dress, the olive drab formal military uniform hanging in his closet. He buttoned the fitted shirt, smoothing away an errant crease in the dark slacks. Over his jet-black hair, which was often swept to one side, he placed the small, black beret with pins that denoted his rank as captain of the royal guard.

The drive to the airport was boring and dusty, as most rides along the royal highway were. The private airport sat just a few miles down the road from the palace, the official reception point of all entering dignitaries, celebrities, and more.

Kalif parked in the VIP spot by the entrance and got out of the car, leaning against the passenger-side door to wait.

Next arrival is in ten minutes. The airport manager breezed by, heading for the automatic doors at the entrance. Royal flight from Europe.

That’s mine, Kalif said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He hummed to himself as he waited, watching the lazy goings on of the airport: the janitor sweeping the sidewalk, a catering truck unloading a delivery for whatever private jet needed it. Nearby, a hangar sat partially