Page 3 of The Sheikh's Desert Princess

Eva peered at the tall tribesman dressed in traditional flowing white robes, his head covered, a dark red ring of twisted fabric around the headdress.

She noted his features. His eyes. They were dark, intense pools, their gaze fixed intently upon her. The hood of his garment hung loosely around his head creating a slight, temporary shadow making it difficult for her to make out the exact details of his features.

All she could tell was that he didn't look particularly friendly, Eva told herself. He was demanding why she was here?

"I'm a journalist," Eva declared.

The man's brows furrowed. "I know that. But why have you come here?" he demanded.

Eva ran a gaze around the thronging mass around her. "Isn't it obvious?" Eva stuck out a hand in his direction. "I'm Eva Braddon. Journalist."

The man's gaze dropped to her extended hand and she saw him frown slightly, as if doing that had somehow caused offence.

Eva kept her hand outstretched, determined to force some kind of response from the man. Her curiosity had been stimulated. "And you are?" she asked.

The man continued to ignore her hand of friendship, instead returning his gaze to her eyes. Something shifted inside Eva after that gaze settled on her again. She was aware that her heart had suddenly quickened. Maybe it was the heat of the sun, she told herself.

"Don't you realize you're in great danger here?" he stated firmly.

Eva felt her face flush and saw his brows narrow. Had he noticed her reaction? "What are you talking about?"

"This is not a safe place for a woman," the man said.

Eva's jaw tightened for an instant. "Really," she declared in a flat voice. She looked around the fort. "Doesn't seem dangerous to me."

The man sighed sharply. He took a step closer to Eva. "You don't really know what this is, do you?"

"Of course I do," Eva snapped. "Its the annual Qazhar tribal gathering. Everyone knows that."

"They do?" he said. "And who exactly are they?"

"Everyone knows that this is the former tribal place of the Al Shirah family," she explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Eva saw the man's eyes widen suddenly he nodded.

"Is that so?" he asked.

Eva nodded and looked toward the crumbling walls. "Although there doesn't seem to be much left of the place," she said casually. She tilted her head. "It does still have a kind of quaint romantic charm, though," she added.

She heard the man draw in a sharp breath. His eyes flashed with a sudden and very obvious indignation. "Quaint!" he snapped. He glanced quickly around at the crowd of tribesmen. "Do you know who you're talking to, Miss Braddon?"

Had he just sarcastically spoken her name?

Eva shrugged. "I don't believe you properly introduced yourself."

His eyes narrowed as if he was sizing her up. Then he lifted his hands and drew back the hood of his robe. Eva held back a gasp.

She immediately knew who he was.

Thick dark hair settled down onto his wide shoulders. Even features were crowned by the strong, broad ridge of his brows; his jawline was set in a determined line; full, sensuous lips twisted slightly into a sardonic smile.

The sight of his features had taken Eva by surprise. She could see why people had described him to her previously as one of the most handsome sheikhs in Qazhar.

The man ran his gaze idly around Fort. "This quaint place was once my family ancestral home," he announced.

"You're Riaz Al Shirah?" she asked breathlessly.

He did not say anything in response, merely lowering his head. She was sure there was a hint of quiet victory in that gesture, Eva told herself.

Eva paused and examined Riaz's features. This was the fabled sheikh of the desert? The man who had given up a life of luxury and wealth to come and live his life as a desert chieftain? Eva gazed at him trying to reconcile what she already knew about the him with the man standing before her.

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