the two together caused that same delight tinged with pain she felt around Catherine and Sheikh Hakim. It was so clear that Asad loved his daughter and that pleased Iris because it meant she had not been entirely wrong about this man six years ago. She’d thought he would make a wonderful father and she’d been right, but knowing he’d had his child with another woman sent salt into old wounds.
“Oh, I am sorry.” The little girl looked around and locked gazes with Iris, her dark eyes widening. “Who are you?”
“Nawar,” Genevieve chided, coming back into the room with a laden tray the cousin jumped forward to relieve her of.
It was clear from the extra cups and amount of food that Genevieve had expected the child’s return with her minder, a woman about fifteen years Asad’s senior with soft brown eyes.
The little girl looked properly chastised, her expression going contrite. “I did not mean to offend.” She put out her little hand from her position in her father’s arms. “I am Nawar bin Asad Al’najid.”
She sounded just like a miniature grown-up and Iris was charmed. She took the little girl’s hand and shook gently. “My name is Iris Carpenter. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bin’asad.”
“Thank you. Why do you call me Miss Bin’asad?”
“Iris is being polite,” Asad answered before Iris could.
“Oh. But I want her to call me Nawar. It is my name.”
Iris had spent very little time around small children, but she thought Nawar must be exceptional. “I will be honored to call you Nawar and you may call me Iris.”
“Really?” the girl asked. She looked to her grandmother. “It is all right?”
“If she gives you permission to do so, yes,” the older woman said with firm certainty.
“Iris is a pretty name,” Nawar offered.
“Thank you. It is my mother’s favorite flower.” She’d decided her mother chose the name so she would not forget it as easily as she and Iris’s father forgot their only child. “Nawar is lovely, as well. Do you know what it means?”
“It means flower. Papa named me.”
Iris did not know why Asad had named his daughter rather than his wife doing so; perhaps it was a Bedouin tradition, though that sounded rather odd considering the other cultural norms she had read about among his nomadic people.
It was those norms that made it possible for Iris to stay in Asad’s familial tent, but would have made it impossible if he did not live with his grandparents. She could wish he’d broken more cultural norms and moved into his own dwelling, so she didn’t have to.
“Your papa is very good at naming little girls, I think.”
“I do, too.” Nawar smiled shyly. “What is haranguing? Do you know?”
Asad huffed something that could have been a laugh.
Iris stifled her own humor and answered, “It’s like nagging.”
Nawar turned her head to glare at her father. “I don’t nag, Papa.”
“Sometimes, little jewel, you do.”
The little girl sniffed and it was all Iris could do not to burst out laughing. An urge Iris surprisingly felt several times over the next hour, while sharing more tea and refreshments with Asad’s family. His grandfather joined them not long after Nawar had arrived, evincing the same pleasure in Iris’s presence as Genevieve had done.
Iris expected Russell to arrive any minute, but the minutes ticked by and he didn’t. When she asked, Iris was told he had been given a tour of the encampment by one of Asad’s tourist liaisons.
She couldn’t quite suppress her disappointment at the news. “Oh, I would have liked to have joined him.”
“I am glad to hear you say so. I planned to give you a tour later,” Asad said with satisfaction.
Iris just stopped herself from gaping and said, “I wouldn’t want to take up more of your valuable time as sheikh.”
The man was relentless. He wanted to renew their friendship and he would make that happen. One way or another. Maybe he did regret the way things had happened between them and this was his attempt at making up for it, but still … she hadn’t imagined that predatory look in his eyes, either.
He probably saw nothing wrong with adding sex to their friendship. He’d done it once before, after all.
“Nonsense, you are a guest in our home. Asad would not dream of neglecting you while you are here,” his grandfather said with finality.
Iris thought she knew where the younger sheikh had gotten his arrogance, and it wasn’t from a stranger. But the older man’s point about the Bedouin tradition of hospitality could not be ignored, either. From what she had read, it was not a matter of pride, but one of honor.
And honor could not be dismissed.
“May I go, Papa?” Nawar asked.
Iris smiled at the little girl in encouragement, but Asad shook his head. “You will be napping, I am afraid.”
“I’m not tired.” Nawar negated the words almost instantly by rubbing her eye with her small fist. “I want to go.”
Her father pulled Nawar into his lap and kissed her temple. “You need your rest, but be assured Iris will still be here when you wake and for many days after. Won’t you, Iris?”
Iris could do nothing but agree. Asad and his cousin had maneuvered her neatly into a situation she saw no way out of without severe damage to her career.
Genevieve showed Iris to her room while Asad put Nawar down for a nap.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” Both private and luxurious, the apartment was larger than she’d expected.
The bed was ground level and a single, though. Covered in rich silks a deep teal color she’d always loved, it looked very comfortable nonetheless. Graced with fluffy pillows Iris was certain just from looking at them were of the finest down, the bed tempted her to simply sink down and take her own afternoon nap.
Genevieve nodded and smiled. “Asad had someone come in and change the decor to better fit in with the rest of our home after Badra’s death. During their brief marriage, moving this room alone was almost as big of a job as moving the entire encampment.”
“I’m … this used to be the princess’s room?” Iris asked faintly, relieved that while still luxurious, it wasn’t anywhere near as ostentatious as Genevieve implied it had once been.
Though the fact the princess had called it her own would explain the amount of space dedicated to it in a Bedouin tent, regardless of the fact the sheikh’s dwelling was probably one of the largest in the encampment.
“Oh, yes.” Genevieve indicated the fabric wall the bed butted up against. “Asad’s room is just on the other side.”
“But
