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risk. If anyone at work finds out… if my father finds out…”
    He put his hand on her knee and squeezed gently. “No one’s going to find out. I don’t want that either.”
    Oh, he was good at this. He knew how to look at her with heat in his eyes to warm her cheeks and set her pulse racing. If he made love the way he kissed…
    “I don’t know, Khaled.”
    “I’m not talking about anything serious, Olivia. Just warming my bed in your freezing cold house. A little bit of fun. It couldn’t be any more than that even if we wanted it to. I’ll have to go back to Saqat soon, and be the dutiful heir courting his suitable bride.”
    “Suitable?”
    He looked away from her. “Saqati. Arab. Muslim. From the right sort of family with the right sort of views.”
    “Not much like me, then.”
    “Not much, no.”
    Well, at least she knew where she stood. A little bit of fun with no hope of ever becoming more than that. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Are you going to show me this island?”
    He took them in the small, inflatable dinghy. It was fun clambering over the rocks and poking into the small pools of water left by the tide. Khaled showed her the puffin nests.
    “The males build the nests for their partners,” he told her.
    “How conservative and reactionary.”
    “They share child care between them.”
    She laughed. “Okay, I’m impressed with that.”
    “They’re enlightened birds,” he said with a perfectly straight face, but a giveaway twinkle in his eye.
    “Tell me about Saqat,” she said. “How enlightened are the people there?”
    He spoke with obvious affection and pride in his country. They might not have the wealth of other Arab nations—not yet , Olivia pointed out—but they were a strong people, hardworking and happy. Saqat had come through the recent sweep of revolution fever in the Middle East relatively unscathed. His father was a good ruler, and he had established a form of government that allowed the people to be involved in the future of their own nation. He listened to the ministers he had gathered around him, and they listened to the people they represented. Saqat might not have the glittering resorts or the ostentatious displays of wealth, but his people had access to hospitals and schools.
    “Even the women?” Olivia asked.
    Khaled raised an eyebrow. “Especially the women.”
    “Sorry.” She felt foolish. She had pictured women in veils and full-length burkas, not permitted to speak to anyone and confined to their homes, and she could tell Khaled knew it.
    He rolled his eyes, but his smile was friendly. “We are not stupid, Olivia. We know that we cannot continue to live in the ways that worked a hundred years ago. Our people have access to the rest of the world through the Internet. They communicate and they know how life can be. We want everyone—men, women, and children—to have what is best.”
    “But Saqat is a Muslim nation?” She’d done some research, after all, before MCI Oil drew up their contract.
    He nodded. “The majority of our people are Muslim, yes, but we are not governed by Islamic law. We have always practiced religious freedom in Saqat.”
    “I’m impressed.”
    Khaled turned away, staring out to the ocean. “My father is a very impressive man.”
    “He certainly has an impressive son.”
    He laughed briefly without looking at her. “He did once,” he said, so softly that Olivia had to lean forward to catch his words.
    “Khaled?” She laid her hand on his arm. “What do you mean by that?”
    He shrugged. “I was never meant to be the heir. My brother Djalil was three years older than me—he was bigger, stronger, smarter. He was groomed to follow in our father’s footsteps from the nursery, and he would have done it. He wouldn’t have hesitated to develop the oil wells. He would have seized the opportunity to give the people of Saqat everything they deserve.”
    Olivia moved closer. “What happened?” she