When a mysterious masked woman in the desert saves his life, a Royal Sheikh will use all of his resources to find her.
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She was born on the streets; he was born to rule…
Idella goes by one name only in the glamourous world of music. Her sultry voice mesmerizes millions, her albums have gone platinum, and her elusiveness is legendary. It is her other name, a code name that only a few people know, that drives her though—Dallas. She’s an assassin employed to eliminate some of the worst criminals in the world.
Sheikh Tarek Saif-Ad-Din understands that power and money can corrupt. It is his job to ensure the safety of his people, his country, and his royal family. After an attack leaves him near death, he swears he hears the voice of an ‘amirat khurafiat alsahra’—a desert fairy princess.
Helping a wounded prince was not part of the plan. Her mission was to eliminate the men trying to overthrow the royal family of Jawahir and prevent them from gaining control of the largest production of microchips in the world. The death of the two princes would be considered collateral damage in the larger picture. Yet—she can’t leave him.
In a dangerous dance between two identities, Idella must decide if she can trust Tarek enough to reveal who she really is—a singer, an assassin, and the woman who loves him. If she can’t, this mission may be final in more ways than one.
The sound of voices mixed with flashing lights. Tarek fought against whatever drug had been pumped into him, trying to process what was going on. Pieces of information fed into his brain: helicopter, voices, military uniforms. Someone was speaking to him, but the words weren’t registering. There was a pressure on his side, but no pain thanks to whatever he had been given.
He faded in and out of consciousness over the course of the flight. Awareness struck him when he was lifted out of the helicopter. He tried to sit up, but a firm hand prevented him.
“Qadir…,” he muttered in protest.
“They are searching for him. There’s nothing you can do now. Do you know who helped you?” his brother, Junayd’s deep voice asked.
He licked his lips. “an… ‘amirat khurafiat alsahra’, he croaked out before the darkness took him again.
Time passed slowly. He heard his brother making demands. He smelled the antiseptic of the hospital. Blinding light forced him to keep his eyes closed. His body rotated between being too cold or too hot. Threaded through each passage were memories of a woman’s soothing voice telling him that everything would be alright. That help was on the way and he had to live. That the world needed him in it. She needed him in it.
