Gibran: Return of the Rebel Sheikh

DESERT KINGS

Gibran

Return of the Rebel Sheikh

By Jennifer Lewis

Desert Kings

Three brothers return to claim their thrones in remote and beautiful Ubar after their estranged father dies and divides his kingdom between them.

Gibran: Return of the Rebel Sheikh

Widowed queen Aliyah has resigned herself to a life of loneliness until a rough-mannered stranger intrudes on her solitude. A professional warrior and protector, Gibran has kept his distance from the palace he once called home—until his royal half brothers invite him into their midst. By profession and inclination, he keeps his emotions on lockdown, but finds himself falling under Aliyah’s quiet spell. Will these two lonely people dare to seize the love they crave?

The Desert Kings series:

Novella: Veronica: Stranded with the Sheikh

(Veronica and Zadir) FREE!

Book 1: Osman: Rescued by the Sheikh

(Samantha and Osman)

Book 2: Zadir: Bought for the Sheikh

(Veronica and Zadir)

Novella: A Christmas Wedding

(Veronica and Zadir; Samantha and Osman; Amahd and Mackenzie)

Book 3: Gibran: Return of the Rebel Sheikh

(Gibran and Aliyah)

Book 4: Amahd: Captivated by the Sheikh

(Amahd and Mackenzie)

Sign up for the new release newsletter at http://www.jenlewis.com.

CHAPTER ONE

Those who called him a ruthless bastard were right on both counts. The unclaimed son of a king and a servant girl, Gibran Al Nazariyah learned to blaze his own trail through life. Once hungry for a father’s love, he now rejoiced that the old man was dead and cold, and he could tread his hallowed halls as—at least for now—an invited guest.

Are you lost?

A woman’s voice disturbed him from bitter rumination. The trickle of a courtyard fountain concealed the sound of her approach, which set his nerves on edge.

Never.

She was young, almost a girl, dressed in rosy silk shot with gold thread and leading a black leopard by a golden chain. She gazed at him with big brown eyes. I’m Aliyah.

Of course you are. He took in the full vision of the king’s fifth and last wife, young enough to be his granddaughter. His heart filled with disgust for this young girl who’d shared an old man’s bed long enough to bear him two children.

Who are you? I don’t often see someone new in the garden.

So foolish in her innocent curiosity. My name is Gibran.

I’m glad to meet you. Her feline companion rubbed against her legs, pulling her dress close to reveal a shapely figure.

He grunted. He couldn’t say the same. This woman in her finery enjoyed the privileges of a king’s consort, unlike his mother, who would have been cleaning this leopard’s cage if she had the misfortune to still work here.

Are you looking for someone?

I’m waiting for someone. His esteemed half brother King Osman of Ubar was apparently taking an important call in private. A servant had led Gibran here and abandoned him to wait. Rather like leaving a wolf inside a den of cozy sheep, like this one with her soft, eager gaze and her sweet pink mouth. He cursed the arousal that flared in him. He’d been too long without a woman to satisfy his needs.

Maybe I can help you find him?

He doesn’t want to be found. He narrowed his eyes, partly to block out the annoying vision of her too-pretty face. No doubt that had been her meal ticket. Perhaps you can show me around the garden while I wait.

I’d be happy to. As he’d hoped, she turned and walked ahead, black cat slinking beside her and doing him the favor of tugging her dress tight over the most enticing backside he’d seen in months. There was something to be said for the mysteries of Ubarite dress. Her concealed body excited him far more than all the short-shorts he’d left behind in California.

You have two children.

She turned, eyes wide. Yes, Nasri and Parsia. How did you know?

It’s my job to know everything.

She blinked, showing lashes that would make a Paris prostitute cry. Why are you here?

I don’t know yet. If His Majesty ever returns, maybe I’ll find out.

The lovely Aliyah was beginning to realize she’d made a mistake in welcoming him so warmly. No doubt she lived such a sheltered life here at the palace it never occurred to her there could be a hostile intruder in her sanctum.

Her leopard must have sensed something in his energy because it arched its strong back and stared at him with glittering green eyes. Animals were dangerous in his business. In some ways they knew so much more than humans. Can I pet him?

Yes. He’s a little tense around strangers.

Very wise of him. He bent and stroked the cat’s richly mottled black fur. The action placed his face next to her gold-ringed hand, skin soft and nails patterned with henna. So different from his mother’s work-worn hands.

Anger flared in his chest that this woman sold her soul to the old devil in exchange for a life of ease. He rose, towering over her by almost a foot. Your husband must have been three times your age. Did you keep your eyes closed and think of a more appetizing lover?

Her soft pink lips parted in a gasp. She stepped back, tugging the cat with her. She was going to run away. He realized in a flash that he didn’t want that to happen.

Excuse my foul manners. I’ve lived among rough people for too long and forgotten how to act like a civilized man.

He felt her gaze burning into him, taking in the expensive Saville Row suit that belied his words. He’d deliberately worn Western dress to set himself apart from this Arabian Nights setting and all its ancient and—for him—painful history.

He was my husband.

I know. And I doubt that was your choice. He spoke softly. I know how it works here, where the old ways rule.

Tears had sprung to her pretty eyes, and she tugged at her cat, trying to leave again. The black beast wouldn’t take its eyes off him.

Don’t go. You’ve been so polite and welcoming, and I’ve repaid you with venom you didn’t deserve. My mother once worked here. Nabila Al Nazariyah.

Her face showed no spark of recognition. No doubt she hadn’t arrived until after he’d rescued his mother from scrubbing the floors here and placed her in a palace of her own.

He paused, wondering if he’d regret what he was about to say. The king was my father.

She blinked, long lashes wet with tears, mind working a mile a minute. Your mother was one of his wives?

No. She wasn’t.

Her mouth formed a round O as that sank in. Gibran’s mother was the king’s mistress. The one no one ever spoke of. His Majesty Nizwan Bin Rashid Al Kilanjar outlived four wives—murdered them, if rumors were to be believed—but his mother had never been acknowledged and nor had he. A lowly servant was hardly the appropriate consort for a monarch.

He saw the tiniest hint of a frown mar her perfect brow. Why are you really here?

Don’t worry, the king knows who I am. He’s taken the bold step of inviting me here to talk about security measures to protect all of you. Perhaps he hopes that DNA runs thicker than resentment in my blood. He attempted a smile, but from her reaction it obviously wasn’t successful. Social niceties were never his thing. He was more comfortable blowing stuff up than making small talk.

Which was a shame, when he was here with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and could do nothing but offend her.

Did you grow up here? She turned her body half toward him, as if reconsidering flight. Her cat never blinked.

Until I was eight. Then my father decided I was too much of a loose cannon and packed me off to boarding school in France. When I’d had enough of that I joined the French Foreign Legion. Now I specialize in security. I’ve protected several world leaders.

He cursed himself for bragging. But this woman’s steady gaze unmanned him. He could see how a king might risk the humiliation of taking such a young woman to his bed just to enjoy her soft touch in private. He’d like to get her alone and peel off her expensive dress. Which would not be a good idea.

So you’re here to figure out who’s bombing us.

He paused. Bombing us? He’d been told of a car explosion, no more details than that. He’d assumed a small device wired inside. Is the country under attack?

The palace is. It has antimissile defenses, and I know Osman wants to make sure they’re up to date.

Because missiles have been fired. He tried to sound matter of fact.

Yes. Distress tightened her pretty face. Several people have died.

Interesting. The situation here was more complicated—and deadly—than he’d been told. That piqued his professional interest and his personal curiosity. Do you know who the targets are?

King Osman, King Zadir, His Majesty Amahd.

Who will be king of the third province as soon as he takes a bride. Someone is targeting the ruling family.

She nodded. We never experienced anything like this when my husband was alive. Things were quiet and had been for decades.

For centuries. He cocked his head. Something has stirred a hornets’ nest here. Gibran had a fondness for hornets. They could take down prey larger and faster than themselves and live to do it again.

Can you help? I’m scared for us. For my children.

Her faith in him touched his stony heart. And her beauty and sensuality touched an entirely different part of him. He took her gold-ringed hand and pressed it to his lips, enjoying the softness of her pampered skin and drinking in the rich, female scent of her. I’d like nothing more than to help you.

Aliyah didn’t know what to think of this brusque new stranger. She didn’t like him. She certainly didn’t trust him. His sleek suit contrasted with his sun-scorched skin and rough manner. He spoke her language like a native, but didn’t act or move like an Ubarite. He showed no deference to her, not even common politeness.

And now he’d taken her hand and kissed it. Frozen to the spot, she had no idea how to react. Should she snatch her hand back and run, or was that the reaction he’d hoped for?

She gritted her teeth and tried not to react at all. The touch of his mouth on her skin was gentle, surprising since everything else about him was so harsh. No doubt a man like this expected women to swoon at his feet. His looks were both flashy and rugged, with the aristocratic features of the man he claimed as his father and a seductive beauty that must have come from his mother. Her husband took only the most beautiful women to his chambers. He’d told her that himself.

Would he never give her hand back? She struggled to keep her feet still as unfamiliar sensations gathered inside her. He’d lifted his lips from her skin but held her fingers close, inhaling her scent like a stallion sniffing a mare.

She’d suffered through worse. Much worse! And always been grateful that she hadn’t made a scene. Live to enjoy another day—that was her motto. As long as her children were carefree and happy and could benefit from the education she’d been denied, she could put up with almost anything.

Finally he let go of her hand, very slowly and with an odd look on his face. She tucked it into the folds of her dress, anxious to rub away whatever evil magic now made her skin burn hot and cold.

Am I interrupting something? A female voice, filled with curiosity and amusement, made her start.

It was her new sister. Samantha was Osman’s wife and everything Aliyah wished she could be herself. Brilliant, accomplished, educated, and well-traveled. She was also kind and warm, and Aliyah hoped desperately that as they both overcame the language barrier between them, they could become firm friends. And now Samantha would think she’d indulged in some kind of inappropriate flirtation.

Nothing at all! She spoke quickly. I just greeted a stranger here in the garden. She tried not to stammer in her haste to distance herself from this odd and uncouth man. His name is Gibran… Did he use the dead king’s name like her, or his mother’s? He’s here to discuss security matters with Osman.

Ah. Samantha’s manner chilled slightly as she sized up the tall, sun-bronzed stranger. No doubt she had far greater insight into character than Aliyah, whose knowledge of the world barely stretched from here to nearby Nabattur. My husband is on his way. In a casual dress of white linen, with gold sandals on her feet, and her long dark hair falling down her back, Samantha looked as regal in Western clothing as she did in the ornate local attire. She wore little jewelry or makeup but outshone the most highly decorated women in the land. No wonder Osman had fallen madly in love with her at first sight. I understand that you are his half brother and thus a member of our family.

Gibran looked at her steadily. The rumors are true.

I’m glad to welcome you back to Ubar. I hear it’s been many years since you visited.

Your welcome is unnecessary. He seemed to grow even taller in the silence that followed his gruff statement. I visit Ubar regularly since my mother still lives here. I built a home for her in the southern hills.

That’s wonderful. I didn’t realize she was still alive.

Aliyah froze. The untimely deaths of all the king’s former wives were never discussed.

Gibran cocked his head. Since the king never saw fit to marry her or claim her as his woman, he never had a need to murder her, either.

Aliyah could barely breathe. How did he dare to speak so boldly right here in the palace? If her husband—his father—was still alive…

Thank Heaven he wasn’t.

That’s something to be grateful for. Aliyah admired Sam for coming up with a thoughtful response.

Indeed it is.

Aliyah’s heart ached for Gibran. She could tell that his brashness sprang from deep hurt, and suddenly she longed to embrace him into the bosom of the family. Except that she lived here as an outsider herself, hoping each day not to accidentally annoy the new king who’d returned, like Gibran, from many years in exile.

All Gibran’s brothers had come of age abroad, sent to boarding schools and universities in England and the U.S.A, and had only returned home when their estranged father’s will surprised them by dividing the country into three provinces, and making each brother the ruler of his own region.

Gibran! King Osman’s voice boomed from the archway leading into the garden from the palace. I’m pleased to finally meet you. He marched forward, hand extended. He also wore a dark Western suit with a pale shirt and a dark patterned tie. She, Aliyah, was the only person dressed in colorful native attire, like a child among adults. Her cat Tassi rubbed reassuringly against her legs. At least one creature looked up to her.

Gibran shook Osman’s hand, his body rigid as if braced to take a blow. Both men were so tall, so imposing, their features different but chiseled from the same noble stone. She hoped they could become friends and brothers.

I never thought I’d be invited to set foot in this place. Gibran cocked his head slightly. You surprise me.

You’re the best at what you do. We need your help. I hope that the family connection will only enhance our business arrangement, if we can agree to such an arrangement, of course. Aliyah could hear a slight edge of steel in Osman’s voice. He didn’t fully trust this virtual stranger. Let me show you our defenses.

Sam shot Osman a pointed look. Aliyah saw it clearly, though Gibran couldn’t because Sam was behind him. Sam didn’t trust him. She didn’t think he should learn their secrets. And perhaps she was right. He’d been so rude and prickly, perhaps his intentions were ill.

Osman showed no sign of having noticed and placed a hand on Gibran’s broad back as he ushered him toward the inner tower of the palace, where the security staff monitored images from hidden cameras and where the antimissile defenses were located. Aliyah stayed behind, with Sam. Once they were out of earshot, Sam turned to her, a tiny frown on her lovely face.

He’s not quite what I expected but I’m going to try to like him.

He’s…different. Aliyah had every reason not to like him. He’d insulted her to her face. Pressed his lips to her hand until her body heated and it was all she could do not to turn and run.

She’d never met anyone so defiant of convention and the basic rules of common politeness. Especially right here in the royal palace! She spent her days tiptoeing around trying desperately not to offend anyone.

Maybe that’s why she found him so intriguing.

CHAPTER TWO

Gibran followed Osman along a stone path toward the center of the palace complex.

Thanks for coming, Osman turned to him. I didn’t want to explain the situation fully until you were here.

In case I decided to side with your enemy? Gibran couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t wanted to come here. He knew he’d feel a fresh wave of anger and resentment at being the black sheep of the family, the bastard son no one acknowledged.

Osman stilled, turned to him and stared him right in the eyes. Energy flashed between them with palpable force. Each of them could crush a smaller or less determined man quite easily, but against each other they would be formidable foes.

His half brother might not have Foreign Legion training, but he could destroy an enemy with a soft-spoken order, should he be so inclined.

I invited you here as my brother.

Osman’s words took him by surprise. Odd emotions welled in his chest at the unfamiliar hand of friendship being offered. He shoved them down. The only brother who did not inherit a share of the kingdom.

Osman lifted a brow. Some could argue that I am the one who should be angry that I didn’t inherit it all.

Are you? The kingdom had been divided into three in the late king’s will, a portion for each of his three estranged and exiled sons.

A smile tugged at Osman’s broad mouth. No. We all bring something different to the table, and we’ll work better as a team than individually.

Very generous of you. Gibran allowed his skepticism to show in his voice.

Although I can’t offer you a share of the kingdom, I would like you to participate in securing it from our enemies. I’m in a position to reward you handsomely.

I’m sure you are. He cast a glance at the lavish mosaics of semi-precious stone that seemed to decorate every surface in the palace. Although I have no pressing need of your money.

I’ve read of your success in protecting Sultan Atullah from the rebels, and helping stabilize his nation. And in securing the Febriz oil wells from ongoing sabotage.

I have also saved the life of the French president and rescued a Columbian heiress from a kidnapping, lest you think I never leave the Middle East.

Osman gestured for them to continue walking. Your skills and talents are no secret. You should be proud of all you’ve accomplished.

Pride makes one foolish. He wanted to curse his arrogant half brother for patronizing him. He didn’t need any praise or pats on the back, especially not from a man born suckling on a silver rattle and a queen’s breast.

True. But we need your expertise. Since I returned to Ubar we’ve been under constant attack. A couple of small, low-tech explosions didn’t worry us too much at first. But now we’re being targeted with rocket-propelled grenades. Although two of the bombers have died in their efforts, and we were able to identify them, we still have no clear picture of their motives.

Has anyone issued demands? They swept along a wide hallway and up some stairs toward a heavy