#1 New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen gives readers plenty of heat in a sultry tale of love and betrayal in the hot desert sun.   Four years ago, after Cory Brandel’s passionate affair with Sheikh Damon El Karim ended, she gave birth to his son—and kept it secret from him. When Damon finds out the truth, he kidnaps the boy and takes him across the world to his desert kingdom, knowing Cory will follow.   Damon vows to punish Cory for depriving him of his son and heir, but does he really mean to imprison her in his palace until she surrenders to him? It is savage, unthinkable—but because she is fighting for her son, Cory has no choice. Time seems to have deepened the alarming heat of her attraction to this desert pirate, and Cory knows he has only to stoke her body and she will go up in flames. In rage, Damon had intended to bind Cory to him by force, but instead he is bewildered by his need for her touch. Until now, Cory never understood Damon’s loneliness, but is she strong enough to give him the enduring love that he needs? Iris Johansen is the New York Times bestselling author of many novels, including Killer Dreams, On the Run, Countdown, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, and No One to Trust. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia. One "Did you find her?" Selim asked as Damon was stepping out of the jeep. Then, as Damon took off his hat to wipe his brow, Selim had his answer; it was in the bleakness of Damon's expression, the emptiness of his eyes. "Too late," Damon said wearily. He snapped his fingers. The driver of the jeep pressed on the accelerator and the vehicle took off toward the garage across the courtyard. "She was already dead," he muttered, closing his eyes. "So small. Dear God, she was so tiny lying there in the sand. I never want to see anything like that again." "Perhaps you won't have to," Selim said gently. "Perhaps it won't happen again." Damon's lids lifted to reveal eyes that glittered with moist brilliance. "And perhaps it will, if I take no action. Perhaps there will be another life thrown away as if it had no value." Selim hesitated, wanting to give comfort and yet knowing there was none he could give. What Damon said was true. He was the only one who could prevent another death, but the effort to do so might cause him even more pain than he was experiencing now. "Did you render judgment?" "No." Damon gazed out at the shifting dunes of the Sedikhan desert that were now painted blood-red by the rays of the setting sun. The sky was blood-red too. It was as if the entire world were covered in blood, Damon thought numbly. "Damon, you have to render judgment." Damon whirled to face him. "Do you think I don't know that?" he asked harshly. "But not now, dammit. I keep seeing--" He turned abruptly and climbed the steps leading to the palace. "I'll wait. Raban isn't going anyplace. Marain says the tribe will be content to stay put right now. I need to get away and try to get some perspective." "But you know even now what your judgment will be." "True. However, I don't have to give it. Not yet." An edge of desperation mixed with the weariness and pain in Damon's voice. "Not yet." Selim caught up with Damon as he reached the front door. "Not yet," he agreed quietly. "But soon." Damon paused before the twelve-foot double doors, the crimson light illuminating the strong, almost brutal planes of his face. "Soon." A servant threw open the brass-studded mahogany doors and they entered the mosaic-tiled foyer. Damon rubbed the back of his neck to ease the tension constricting the muscles. "Dear Lord, I'm tired. I feel as if part of me drained out and into the sand back there." "Go to bed. There's nothing important you have to attend to before . . ." Selim's words trailed off. "Damn! I forgot about Updike. He arrived this morning and has been waiting to see you. Do you want me to put him off?" "What's it about?" "He wouldn't tell me." Selim shrugged. "But he says it's important enough to warrant the bonus you pay for special information." Damon grimaced. "Then I guess I'd better see him." "Now?" "There's no need to make myself particularly presentable," Damon said sardonically. "Updike's not very good at hiding his belief that I'm something of a barbarian. Give me ten minutes to splash some water in my face and fix myself a cool drink. Then bring him to the library." Selim nodded and started to turn away. "Thanks, Selim." Selim glanced back over his shoulder. "For what?" "For not reminding me of my duty." "Why should I rake you over the coals when you do such a good job yourself?" Selim asked lightly. "I just give thanks every day that I'm not the sheikh of the El Zabor." He started down the long hallway. "The sheikh will see you now." Selim Abol made a face. "But there had better be something damn interesting in that briefcase you're carrying. He's not in a very good mood at the moment and might prove difficult." "When isn't he