#1 New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen combines romance and adventure in this exotic tale of finding the love of your life—in the last place you’d ever look. She was stranded in a deadly sandstorm when he rode to her rescue like a desert prince on his black stallion. On a lark Billie Callahan had come to the Middle East to play a minor film role in a desert epic. Suddenly she found herself starring in a real-life romantic adventure. Cowboy, hero, friend of sheikhs and princes, David Bradford spoke like a poet in the drawl of his native Texas. What was this mysterious, eccentric, and irresistibly seductive man doing in Sedikhan, and what did he want with an ordinary woman like Billie? Her curiosity piqued, Billie followed David to the lavish pleasure fortress he called home, with its armed guards and adoring staff. He warned her that the pleasure he offered her would last forever. What he didn’t know was that Billie only believed in now. 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. Chapter One Shades of Lawrence of Arabia, Billie Callahan thought in stunned amazement: The prince of the desert was a golden man! She impatiently brushed strands of copper-colored hair away from her face, her eyes intent on the rider on the black Arabian stallion galloping toward her over the dunes. Her hair whipped again around her face, stinging her cheeks. The wind was definitely rising, and, standing on the top of a tiny hill, she was exposed to its full force. It seemed now to attack her clothing as well, snatching at her shirt and pants like a starving animal who’d cornered its prey and couldn’t wait to devour it. When the Jeep had conked out a short way down the road, she’d thought it would be a good idea to climb the little hill to see if she could determine how far she’d have to walk to reach Zalandan. Now she wasn’t at all sure it had been such a good idea. She felt very vulnerable on this lonely promontory, and the sight that met her eyes wasn’t all that reassuring. Golden sand dunes rolled for miles to merge with the rapidly darkening skyline. A flash of lightning illuminated the cliffs on the horizon, but they seemed so terribly far away. Beyond those cliffs lay the safety of the city of Zalandan, Yusef had told her, but she’d never make it there before the storm struck in force. The wind lifted and swirled the sand in wild, ghostly patterns, the crests of the dunes moving like whirling dervishes. She’d better try to get back to the Jeep and the slight protection it offered. She took a last curious glance at the rider on the black Arabian stallion before she turned and started down the hill. She’d first seen him as a blurred figure on the horizon. Despite the predicament she found herself in, the sight of him caught at her imagination. Dressed in a white flowing burnoose that contrasted dramatically with the lustrous black coat of the horse, he looked graceful and dynamic. A prince of the desert from one of those old forties technicolor epics, she’d thought bemusedly. All he needed was a sword and a harem girl thrown across the bow of his saddle to complete the fantasy image. He came from the direction of the cliffs and probably was a resident of Zalandan, but he had all the dash of a desert brigand or a bedouin sheikh rather than a city dweller. And that was why she’d been startled when he’d come close enough for her to see his coloring. His hair wasn’t raven-black, as she’d expected, but a dark gold burnished by the sun. In the few months she’d been in Sedikhan, she’d never seen a blond native of this Mideastern country. Yet native he must be, judging by that flowing burnoose, and particularly by the way he managed the stallion. Well, whoever he was, she mustn’t expect help from him, she thought with a shrug. He probably wasn’t headed in her direction anyway. Undoubtedly he would swerve to take the road leading to Yusef’s village, some thirty miles across the shifting dunes. Even if she was the rider’s objective, he might be more of a threat than a help. No, she couldn’t count on anyone but herself. But, then, when had she ever wanted it any other way? She’d weathered many a storm, both mental and physical, and she’d overcome this one too. She reached the bottom of the hill and fought to keep her footing. The gusts seemed to try to lift and sweep her away as if she were just another of the millions of grains of sand they dominated so easily. The sand stung her cheeks now, and she closed her eyes to keep out the sharp particles swirling all around her. “What the devil are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” The voice was rough and masculine, and she opened her eyes to see her desert prince slipping lithely out of the saddle only a few yards from her. The wind was shrieking so loudly that she hadn’t even heard the s