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Victoria entered the executive lobby, her eyes scanning the circular space. Could she get more ridiculous? Why did she keep doing this? The fiasco with Mr. Davar took place over a week ago. Apparently, not long enough for her to shake the absurd notion he might be lurking in some doorway waiting to turn her into mush again. She needed a Chai Latte in the worst way, something to calm her nerves. 

She paused at the receptionist's desk and picked up her mail."Miss Temple, would you please have a Chai sent up from the coffee shop?"

"Sure thing, Miss Ballard. Before you get started for the day, you probably need to check the lead article in the latest copy of A New York Woman. I'm sure you're going to get some questions concerning the story and I know you'd want to be prepared." 

"Okay, I'll look it over." Victoria headed for her office. Easing into her chair, she slipped off her shoes. A stack of correspondence needing her signature sat in the middle of the desk. Placing the incoming mail aside, she perused and then signed the necessary letters, just finishing as Miss Temple knocked and entered. 

"Here's your Chai Latte. Extra hot the way you prefer." 

"Thank you. I've signed these letters. You can take them back with you. Also, please hold my calls for an hour. I have the Addison contract to iron out and I don't want any distractions."

 Victoria heard the door click shut behind her receptionist. Picking up her drink, she blew on it twice and took her first careful sip. Perfect. The beverage was steamy, sweet, and energizing. She took a larger swallow and reached for this month's copy of The New York Woman. 

Chai spewed over her desk as she gasped for air. After a coughing spasm, the choking reflex released its grip on her throat. She stared at the culprit responsible for her near strangulation. A grainy photo of her likeness covered the front page of the prestigious magazine. The photo was unflattering, chosen she was sure, to enhance the caption below. Amazonia to Marry. 

Cringing in disbelief, she loosened her fingers from the creased edge of the magazine and flipped through the glossy pages, finding the article she wanted on page sixteen. 

Could this really be true? Victoria Ballard, known as Amazonia by her constituents, has yielded her shield and spear? If so, we wonder at the courage and identity of the brave man who would risk such an alliance. While this rumor cannot be confirmed, I'm sure we all await the outcome with eager expectation. Miss Ballard will shortly be co-hosting the annual Children's Charity Ball at Leighton Hall; perhaps the mystery man will appear then. 

She swiveled her chair to the left in search of the trash basket. Giving the magazine a toss, it hit its mark and dropped to the bottom of the receptacle with a satisfying plunk. Nothing was more irritating than having gross distortions about her private life put in print. Unfortunately, there was not a lot she could do about them. Being one of the youngest female VP's in her field created its own drawbacks and being press-worthy was one of them. When she turned up at the ball without an escort, maybe the press would finally get the message...no story about her marriage would ever be forthcoming. 

Having one man dictating her options was not in her life plan. She didn't have a need for a husband. She didn't want a husband. "End of discussion," she muttered. 

**** 

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The chilly night air seeped through Rashid's robe. His body, heated by a two-hour ride on horseback, welcomed the drop in temperature. Pulling in a deep breath, he let the earthy smell of cooling sand fill his nostrils. He loved the desert at night. A world of heat and light during the day, it transformed into a realm of romanticism after dark, becoming a place where a man could spin his strongest desires into momentary reality. 

At night, the molten colors of the day gave way to cool, raw hues. The nocturnal tones lurked in the darkness and morphed the land they touched. Much as the rocky hills turned blue and purple by the moonlight framed the dim landscape in secrecy. He wanted to stay and merge in silence with this world as only a solitary man could...but he was not alone. 

Sixty mounted riders flanked him. They waited in vigilant stillness, their weathered faces mirroring the rippled patterns of the windblown sand beneath them. The labored breathing of horses and the creaking of leather as riders shifted in their saddles were the only sounds intruding on the night's breezes. 

He and his small group had followed an old enemy to the edge of Ahalamin's eastern border. He needed to make a decision about Alkmud and his band of radicals. Sheik Kahanjar and his men were tired of waiting and rightly so. Theirs were the encampments harassed and herds stolen. 

At times such as these his failure to master the blending of his two selves surfaced. The prince of the people, and the man of the people, prioritized on two different levels. As a prince, he was well educated and traveled, comfortable among the world's elite. In this modern world, a prince was required to be patient, diplomatic. He could not cross borders to annihilate his enemies as his grandfather would have done. Now, there were treaties to honor, international law to consider. None of which satisfied the man in whose blood ran the primeval nature of the desert. Its unrelenting mastery over its own territory took decisive, sometimes unforgiving action. The same insistent force simmered under his skin and clashed with the civilized dictates of rulership. Sometimes, he craved the freedom of ordinary men. Men whose actions affected a small realm, not a nation's honor. 

Alkmud was growing more troublesome each day. He kept his militant camp a few miles outside Ahalamin's border. Moving often, he made tracking his location difficult. His band was growing, and from the sophistication of the weapons they carried, Rashid was certain they were being supplied with arms from someone with international contacts. Too many small militant groups were being absorbed into larger terrorist elements in this area of the world. He needed to eliminate such a possibility this close to his own border. 

"My lord," Califar spoke in an undertone as he leaned toward Rashid. "The men are restless. Should we advance?"

Rashid considered Califar's words. He was right. The edgy tension of the men around him was unmistakable. "Send out two riders. Have them locate and observe Alkmud's camp. They can make their report when the sun rises. Until then, we wait."

Rashid stared after the two riders Califar chose, their silhouettes growing smaller as they rode toward the east. He waited until the darkened vista enveloped them in its obscuring arms. Then, he moved his mount a few yards away from the other riders. He knew Califar moved forward with him. 

Turning in the saddle, Rashid glanced at the riders behind him. They waited for his decision. Resigned, he spoke to Califar. "We wait. Instruct the others to return to the oasis. I will follow before long." 

"Do you think to remain here alone is wise? Perhaps I should stay behind as well," Califar suggested.

Rashid smiled in acceptance of the man who would forever be vigilant, if not suffocating, in his protection. "I am in no danger here. Take the men back. Ease their impatience. I will follow soon." 

He listened while the muffled sound of mounted riders faded into the night. In solitude, at last, he gave his attention to the contentious mood plaguing his mind and burning his gut. Sheik Kahanjar and his men deserved his complete attention. They were loyal and his constant watchmen on his eastern border. They honored him with their allegiance because they respected his strength. 

He shook his head and sneered. A leader who could think of nothing but a woman would not keep their respect for long. Time was moving too slow. He needed to resolve this complication in his life. Once Victoria was safely inside his boundaries, she would not dominate his every thought. Until then, he needed to find a way to temper his own impatience.

Rashid Inspiration

An image of her played through his mind...mounted beside him, her pale hair uncovered and ruffled by the night's gentle wind, a vision of pastel beauty. What would she think of this land? Would she appreciate its antiquity and diversity? Could she allow herself to experience its wonder and passion? He was sure, at first, she would resist the change and adjustments needed. He would temper his impatience and give her time. Then he would teach her to love the land as he did. He would teach her to love...many things. 

His stallion pulled against the reins as if the passion rising in his master also coursed through his blood. Leaning forward, Rashid stroked Ali's strong, muscular neck. The flesh under his hand twitched with energy waiting to be unleashed. Leaning back in the saddle, he gave Ali his signal to move. The stallion lunged forward. Horse and rider raced the wind across the hills of shifting sand, their spirits merging, their hearts pounding like the hooves striking the cooling earth. 

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