RASHAD WATCHED THE GREAT ORANGE-RED BALL sink below the horizon. It wouldn’t take long for there to be a drop in temperature that would continue to fall. Night descended fast in the desert. He had no concern. This had been his playground as a boy. He knew all of it. Should the unimaginable happen, such as another sandstorm, the GPS transponder he wore on his wrist would bring help.
He had no idea why Lauren wanted to visit the Garden of the Moon, but before the night was over, he would have his answer. She’d been quiet during their journey from the palace. Too quiet.
He looked back. Her white cloak flapped behind her as the wind blew here and there, tousling her blond curls. She rode as though she’d been born on a horse and allowed her mare, Zia, to follow behind his stallion. Smart woman, smart horse.
Zia was a product of the desert and had learned early to plant her hooves where Jabbar had already displaced the sand. That way she preserved her strength. Both horses had been packed with everything Rashad required for them to spend the night together.
His gorgeous tent intruder was out to seduce him in earnest. When he’d found her waiting in the sitting room, seduction had been on her mind. Unshed tears of a devil or an angel. It made little difference at this point.
Because she desired him on top of the mission she had yet to carry out, he was looking forward to the experience more than anything he’d anticipated in his life. Tonight there’d be a three-quarter moon. By the time they reached their destination and made camp, the lesser light would appear in the black canopy enveloping them.
Halfway there Rashad pulled back on the reins to allow Lauren time to come alongside him. He darted her a searching glance. Heat rising from the sand wafted before their faces. “Would you like to rest?”
“If you’re worried I’m tired, I’m not. But if you want to stop for a minute, that’s fine.”
“I think I do.” He reached for his water bag and drank his fill. She followed suit with her own.
Rashad had made camp hundreds, maybe thousands of times in his life, but never with a woman because he and his men always had to be on their guard. Having her along was an entirely new experience, and it raised the stakes.
As she lowered her bag, their eyes met. He could no longer see the color in hers, but the luminescence still shone through in the darkness. An enchantress. That’s what she was.
Eager to make camp, he tucked in his water bag and rode on without saying anything to her. She caught up to him again and stayed at his side. From time to time he gave her covert glances. To his continual amazement she looked around with an air of suppressed excitement. She seemed too happy. Nothing had ever twisted his insides like this before.
“We’re almost there. After we ride this long dune to the top, we will have arrived.”
“I can’t wait—” she cried, then raced up the slope ahead of him. She rode hard. The sight of her cloak flying behind her was like poetry in motion. Poor Zia had to be in shock.
None of his bodyguards had sounded an alarm. Clearly there were was no one out here tonight except the two of them. On a burst of exhilaration because he had another twelve hours alone with her, Rashad charged after her, bursting the bonds that had held him back.
Just once she looked behind her. When she saw him gaining on her, she laughed and urged Zia on. He overtook her before she reached the top. Feeling like a schoolboy, he leaped from the saddle.
While he waited for her to appear, he drew two parts of one of his tent poles from the camping gear and connected them. Once he’d buried the end of it in the sand, he tethered his horse’s reins to it.
In another minute she came riding up the crest. He walked toward her and reached for Zia’s bit to slow her down.
“That was wonderful!”
She dismounted without his help, sounding winded and carefree. If he hadn’t held her sobbing body in his arms several times, he wouldn’t know this laughing, happy woman was the same person. “What can I do to help?”
Rashad smiled as he led Zia to the pole to attach her reins. “We’ll unload the horses and put up our tent first.”
He’d purposely said our tent, not surprised he didn’t meet with any modest protest. They worked in harmony to get it erected. She exclaimed over the beautiful rug he’d brought to put on the floor of their small tent. More sounds of excitement poured out of her as he layered the rug with silk duvets and pillows.
“Those are going to feel good. You were right. It’s already getting chilly.” While they were watering the horses she said, “Are we going to make a fire?”
“No. It would spoil the effect.”
“What effect?”
“Moonlight. The essential ingredient to bring the garden to life. Didn’t Mustafa tell you?”
“No,” came her subdued response.
But someone else had.
“In the beginning, our tribe worshipped the moon god because they were a pastoral people who kept watch over their flocks at night. This garden you’re going to see represents the moon god’s abode. It’s a sacred place and ancient as time itself. The nearby oasis is the moon god’s gift to the tribe to make sure there’s an abundance of water to keep it green year-round. The palace was built there for that reason.”
“What a fascinating story. Thank you for enlightening me.”
For a long time she’d been playing her game with the expertise of a master, but once she saw the garden, he would bring it to an end. In a lithe movement he pulled a little pouch out of his saddlebag and handed it to her. “Here. Have some qandi.”
“What is that?”
“Candy. You Americans borrowed the word.”
He felt her smile as she dipped her hand inside and withdraw some sugar-coated almonds. “Um. These are delicious.” She took a few and gave him back the bag. He tossed several in his mouth before putting it inside the opening of the tent.
Rashad glanced up at the eastern sky. While they’d been busy, the moon had been making her ascent. It was time. “Walk with me up to the curl of the dune.” He reached for her hand. As their fingers entwined, he felt that same quickening in his blood, but it was much stronger than on the day of the sandstorm.
With each step of their short trek, he realized he’d been tempting fate all along. It was far too late to turn back now. He didn’t want to. In fact no power could make him. That was the terrifying part.
Lauren’s grandmother had told her that the sheikh had taken her to the Garden of the Moon, but she’d only talked to her about Malik and what had happened with him, not about the garden itself.
When they reached the edge and Lauren looked down, she could never have conceived of the sight that met her eyes. The man at her side squeezed her hand tighter, conveying emotion she thought she understood, but still waters ran deep inside him.
A drastic change had occurred in the landscape. The dune served as an escarpment. Below she saw fantastic formations laid out so perfectly, she let out a cry of astonishment. They looked like huge, fat topiary trees, the kind you see in the parterre gardens of the Orangerie at Versailles in France. Only they were made of sand sculpted by strange wind currents favoring this particular area of the dunes.
She was so staggered, it took her a long time to take it all in. Finally she exhaled a breath. “This is the most extraordinary, beautiful, out-of-this-world sight I’ll ever see in my lifetime. No wonder your tribe has always held this spot sacred. So do I,” she whispered.
It explained the half moon on the medallion King Malik had given her grandmother. Everything made sense. Her hand went