The Sheikh's Captive American: Zahkim Sheikhs Series, #1

By Leslie North

Sheikh Tarek of Zahkim doesn't believe in superstitions or hunches, so when an old woman tells him an angel will fall from the sky and save him and his tiny kingdom, he ignores such a prophecy—until Tess Angel crashes into his life. Literally. Now he's struggling with an attraction to this very modern woman—but her life is worlds away from his own. There’s no chance of a future for them, but in the present moment, he can't keep his hands off her. 

After her jet crashes, Tess Angel is stuck in Zahkim with a gorgeous sheikh, and she has a hunch they could be soulmates. But this sheikh keeps telling her he's a rational man who doesn’t believe in true love, and while his grandmother is scheming to keep Tess in Zahkim, Sheikh Tarek seems willing to let her go on her way. Can she convince him there's more to this world than facts and numbers—and that true love can overcome any obstacles?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leslie North
• Release date: Mar 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386756552

Book preview

Prologue

Tarek Rahim watched as his cousins and friends, Nasim and Arif, leaped with a whoop down the curved steps of the Sheldonian Theatre, their academic gowns flapping behind them. He followed at a more dignified pace .

We're free, lads! Nasim shouted.

Tarek shook his head. Happy as he was to have completed his Oxford education, he couldn't quite bring himself to crow. Other graduates laughed and jostled around them, greeting their families, and Tarek pressed his lips together. For a moment, he could only think of his parents. Five years ago, an automobile accident had taken their lives. He wished they could see him now.

Blinking, he pulled himself back to the moment. He could already hear the rattle of shackles coming to bind him to the throne of Zahkim, inherited from his father. His grandmother, Amal, had been acting as regent until he finished his education. Tomorrow he must become Sheikh Tarek of Zahkim, and the thought wasn't appealing.

Nasim jabbed an elbow into his ribs. We are going to party right up until we have to pour you onto the plane home. Let's get rid of these robes and head to the Sunset Lounge.

Arif chuckled. You only want to go there because of that bartender who gives you doubles. It's amazing you got your degree, given how much attention you paid to women and drink instead of your studies.

I had to make up for you, Nasim said, slapping Arif on the back. Tarek smiled. They did tend to give Arif a hard time about his resistance to hedonistic delights.

Tarek thumped his cousin's back as well. Don't worry, Arif. I'm sure we can find a woman to interest you tonight. It's our last chance in England to live like the English.

An hour later, they crossed the street and headed to the upscale bar they’d made their own over the last four years. Arif had his eyes on his mobile, as usual.

No phones tonight. Tarek plucked the device from Arif's hand and stuffed it into his own pocket. Only friends. Who knows when we'll have another chance to do this.

And no being maudlin, Nasim said.

Tarek straightened into a mock-formal pose. I am a serious man, Nasim.

Nasim snorted, and Arif said, Tell that to the first year whose shampoo you replaced with mayonnaise.

They laughed and turned toward the entrance, where chatter and laughter spilled out. The evening was descending, and streetlights flickered on up and down the sidewalk. The peculiar smell of Oxford—something not quite like sour milk—hung in the air. Tarek shivered in a cool gust of wind. He'd never become accustomed to the cold of England. He'd just reached the corner of the building when an old woman stepped from the shadows of an alley and grasped Tarek's wrist.

The woman looked older even than Tarek's grandmother. In the dim light, he couldn't see much but bright blue eyes and wisps of gray hair escaping from the black scarves swathed around her head and shoulders. A baggy dress draped her figure, and she smelled faintly of beer.

I'll tell your fortune. Such handsome men, such tangled paths…

Not tonight, mother. Shaking her off, Tarek reached for his wallet. No futures. We want only this moment.

But Nasim stepped between Tarek and the old woman. It's the perfect night—we have only the future ahead of us. Let's hear her out.

Arif frowned and stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. Do you really want to know? There's more to it than you realize.

Tarek pulled two fifty-pound notes from his wallet and pushed them into the woman's gnarled fist. Find yourself some food and a place to sleep, mother. I'm not thinking about the future until I must.

She grasped his arm and pulled at him until he had to bend closer. She spoke clearly, but so softly only he could hear. An angel will fall from the sky and land at your feet, sheikh. She will save your country, but only if you fall at her feet in turn. Trust your instincts, my son.

Tarek stared at her, but she only gave a smile and faded into the gathering night.

Nasim broke the silence with a nervous laugh. I'm not sure what you just bought.

Tarek hunched a shoulder. How had she known he was a sheikh? Was it a guess because he looked Middle Eastern? What had she meant about saving his country? From what? He shrugged off her words. If his country was on the line, he’d trust his intellect, not his instincts.

Chapter One

Five years later…

Tess coughed, choked, and panicked in that order. She couldn't move. A hammer pounded her left temple. A wave of nausea threw bile into her throat. She swallowed it and pushed both the nausea and the dizziness down. Glancing around, she saw a silver tray canted against a seat, her laptop upside down on the floor—and in two pieces—and all manner of other items scattered around the interior of the plane. The broken computer brought memories rushing back—Phil's voice on the jet's PA telling her to buckle up, the sea of brown, broken by a flash of green, the scream of metal, and impact somewhere in a desert. She'd been reviewing balance sheets and the proposal from Riya about investment in Sharma Entertainment, not paying attention to their route .

Now she was more worried about living to see another day.

She glanced down. Still strapped into the flight attendant's seat, right behind the cockpit, she could hardly move. Where Phil had told her to go—safer than the passenger seats. The straps that had saved her life now held her captive. Her chest ached where she’d jolted against them upon impact. A laugh of relief bubbled up. She released the buckles, stood, and staggered a step. The floor slanted to the right and forward, as if the mid-size jet had buried its nose and wing in the sand.

Tess?

Phil's voice came out faint and slurred. He'd been her pilot for years and her father's pilot before that; she'd never forgive herself if something happened to him on the job. Miraculously, the door to the cockpit swung open freely. Phil's lucky pilot's hat still perched on his tight gray curls. A bloody gash oozed red on the side of his head, and his black skin had an ashen cast.

Glancing back at her, he asked, You all right?

Better than you. What happened? Tess eased up next to him. The control yoke had been pushed into his right thigh, pinning his leg to the seat. She glanced out the cracked windshield to see nothing but sand and rocks.

Bird strike. A whole damn flock of something came out of nowhere. They were the same color as the desert—I could barely see them. He shifted in his seat and grimaced. Help me get out, then we'll figure out what to do next.

Tess started unbuckling his harness. Radio?

Phil shook his head and put a hand to the bleeding gash. I got off a mayday. But I expect the birds took out the antenna. Breadcrumbs are going—someone with a locator should be able to find us—but I don't want to wait. I've seen a guy crushed under a car before—I'll end up losing this leg if I don't get free. Push the yoke forward, and I'll slide out. On three.

Tess shoved the yoke forward. Sweating and swearing, Phil pulled himself up and out of the seat. When he was free, she grabbed his arm and helped him out of the cockpit. She lowered him into the seat she had just vacated.

Sweat dripped into her eyes and stuck the back of her shirt to her skin. She wished she'd put on shorts, not jeans. At least her long-sleeve boho shirt was loose and light. They'd lost air conditioning, and the interior of the plane was heating up quickly. She grabbed the first aid kit and some water from the galley, stuffed them into her backpack, and came back to find Phil standing on one foot and popping open the door. A blast of hot air rushed in.

We've got to get out of this tin can, he said.

You're going to need help. That leg doesn't look so good.

Phil grinned. At least I got both feet.

Tess lowered the steps, and Phil eased himself from the jet. She followed and couldn’t help keeping one hand out as if she could catch him if he fell. Tess took one glance back at the plane—it had been beautifully sleek, but now it looked ready for the junk heap. She followed Phil's tracks to the shade of a rocky overhang.

She gave Phil a water and then turned in a circle, looking for…anything. Sand, rock, and for a change, some distant purple mountains. It might have been a better landing spot than the Red Sea or the Persian Gulf, but not by much.

Phil was leaning back against the rock, eyes closed. She dug out the first aid kit. When she had his head bandaged and the bleeding stopped, she turned to his leg, which was puffing up like he had a pillow under his skin.

You're not walking on this, she told him. I'm going for help.

Not a good idea, Tess. Someone should be along. We got that—

Mayday out. Yeah, you told me. And there's the transponder that should be telling folks our position. That's assuming there's tech enough around here to be listening. She shook her head. Didn't we fly over an oasis as we were coming down? One with some black tents?

Yeah. Should be due north. Five miles, maybe.

That’s half my daily run. And I've got a feeling we'd be better off with any kind of help.

Phil managed a crooked smile. You built an empire on instinct—I guess you’d better listen to it now.

She smiled back and patted his arm. I'm leaving you most of the water. I'll pack a couple of liters with me. She pulled out her cell phone—amazingly still intact. Thank god she’d had it in her pocket, not sitting out on the table. "No