The Widow And The Sheikh (Hot Arabian Nights, Book 1)

by Marguerite Kaye

  * * *

  She was gone a full hour, and could have spent another three in Fatima’s company. Compared to the other oases Julia had visited, this village was arid, so the small selection of hardy species which clung to life here was quite different from anything she had so far collected and documented. She took no samples, for the numbers of plants were sparse and she had no wish to disturb this fragile habitat, but her pencils flew over the paper as she took likeness after likeness, managing at the same time to extract sufficient information as to life cycles and usage with a combination of simple words and gestures.

  Returning to the canopied tent in the centre of the village, she wholly expected Azhar to be waiting impatiently for her to leave, but instead found him seated on a large cushion surrounded by a cluster of men and women, all of whom seemed to be talking at once. Mindful of her allotted role as objective observer, though she could not imagine what it was she would be expected to observe, Julia helped herself to a small plate of food and sat down on the periphery. The mood of the villagers seemed to be indignant. There was much shaking of heads and vehement denials of something. Whatever Azhar was saying, the villagers didn’t like it, to the extent where their indignation threatened to overcome their innate respect for their Prince. One man actually jumped to his feet, gesticulating wildly. Another said something that sounded inflammatory. The response was a shocked and suspenseful silence as they waited for Azhar to respond. As the silence stretched so long as to make the tension palpable, the man shuffled his feet, colour darkening his face, but when Azhar finally spoke his tone was mild, bidding the man to sit back down, and to explain the source of his anger, as far as Julia could understand.

  A small hand tugging at her cloak distracted her. She looked up to find not one but three children staring at her, and smiled. They needed no further encouragement, dropping on to the carpets which had been spread over the dusty ground, staring up with wide-eyed fascination at this unfamiliar and exotic stranger. On impulse, Julia opened her notebook at a fresh page and began to sketch. The simple line drawing of a camel was a resounding success. She tore out the page to be passed around and then drew a horse, which was met with the same reception. Morwenna, her father’s fat cat smiling malevolently at a mouse drew gales of laughter, encouraging Julia to abandon reality for the creatures who inhabited the Cornish tales she had loved as a child: a fantastical sea creature rearing out of the waves; a mermaid on a rock combing her fingers through her seaweed hair; and a wispy, wraith-like siren rising from the marshes. The smallest children fought to sit on her lap as she drew, watching entranced as her pencil flew over the paper. Fascinated fingers tugged at her long plait of red hair. Each drawing was greeted with bursts of laughter, awed exclamations, and cries for more and yet more. Only when a pair of much larger hands relieved her of her latest sketch did Julia become conscious of the time that had passed.

  Azhar crouched down to examine the drawing of an absurdly beautiful fairy with gossamer wings, while the most curious of the children, a fairy-like creature herself named Amira, peered over his shoulder. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘A Bucca,’ Julia replied. ‘They live in the tin mines and in the caves in Cornwall. If you see one, then you can be sure a storm is coming.’

  Azhar handed the drawing to the little girl and helped Julia to her feet. ‘I fear that a storm of a different nature may well be coming here,’ he said grimly.

  ‘Some of the villagers certainly seemed agitated.’

  ‘I thought at first that they resented my enquiries,’ Azhar said. ‘Like you, I saw the anger, but I assumed it was directed against me—my absence. It seems, however, that I insulted them when I asked why the yields from the mine had decreased so radically. They thought I was accusing them of idleness when they insist they work as hard and as productively as ever.’

  ‘So this mine too is not performing as well as you expected,’ Julia asked.

  ‘According to the accounts, and to the Chief Overseer of the diamond mines, who sits on the Council. He is a man of considerable experience, he inherited the position from his father before him. But his accounts do not tally with the word of these miners.’

  ‘What about the other mine that you visited?’

  Azhar shook his head. ‘I spoke only in general terms regarding working conditions to the miners there. I had no reason to question the yields quoted by the Chief Overseer. The mines are very old, it is not inconceivable that over time...’

  He broke off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘I have a horrible feeling that with each question I ask, I dig another shovelful of sand from my own grave.’

  His tone was rueful, but his eyes were troubled. ‘You could always refrain from digging any deeper,’ Julia said, knowing that the suggestion was impossible.

  ‘Unfortunately, my instincts insist that I dig deeper. If the Chief Overseer has been systematically defrauding the Treasury, then it is best that I uncover it now, and resolve the issue on Kamal’s behalf.’ Azhar shook his head. ‘It is time we left, we have another two hours ride before we reach our camp for the night. Was your time spent with Fatima profitable?’

  ‘Extremely.’

  ‘And you have made a number of new friends, I can see,’ Azhar said, smiling down at the children. ‘Though their demands seem to have prevented you from enjoying your food.’

  ‘I forgot all about it,’ Julia said, looking at her almost full plate in surprise. ‘Will you catch us a hare for dinner?’

  ‘I think I may be able to do slightly better than that,’ Azhar said intriguingly. ‘Shall we go?’

  * * *

  He was silent and pensive as they journeyed further east, brooding over what he had learned. His remark about digging his own grave had been intended to be flippant, but in truth the situation was both serious and concerning. To accuse such a senior figure as the Chief Overseer of dishonesty was unprecedented. The very nature of the role and the sums involved demanded unimpeachable probity. The holder of the post must enjoy the complete trust of the King. That the man was also a member of Council—Azhar would have to have incontrovertible proof. Punishment for such a crime would be grave, but the dishonour it would bring not only to the perpetrator, but to his whole family was almost worse. He had to be very sure of his facts, for the consequences were so dire for all concerned, including him. Such an accusation had not been made in living memory.

  Yet if it was true, the light it cast on Kamal’s judgement was also extremely worrying. If the man proved to be corrupt, it would reflect very poorly indeed upon his brother’s astuteness. It was one thing to prop Kamal up, quite another to expose him as gullible, though how such a heinous offence could be kept quiet, even if it was for the good of the kingdom—but here Azhar drew his thoughts to an abrupt halt. If the matter proved to be as grave as it seemed, Kamal must deal with the consequences. Azhar could identify the issues, he could even assist with putting a strategy in place to deal with them, but the longer-term implications were his brother’s problem.

  Azhar had his own business to return to. A business which he had created, nurtured and expanded, and which must be suffering from his prolonged absence, no matter how diligent his agent might be. Freedom. It was tantalisingly close. He must keep that goal as clearly in sight as Julia did. In a little over two weeks, freedom would be his, secured at an even greater cost than he had anticipated when he first arrived. Every passing day brought new concerns to the surface. Every question he asked begat only more questions. He was weary of it.

  A little over two weeks was all the time he had left with Julia. He didn’t want to think about that either. Tonight, he would forget all of it. Today he had played the Prince, tonight he would be simply a man alone with a desirable woman in the middle of the desert.

  * * *

  The camp was set up on the edge of the small oasis, which was little more than a deep round pool and a stand of palm trees. The two tents sat at right angles to each other, their tastefully striped coverings and
decorative golden tassels a far cry from the simple construction that Julia had last camped in. A thick rug was spread on the sand in the awning of the larger tent of the two. A fire was set ready to be kindled. Lamps were hung from the awnings, ready to be lit. The sun was already setting behind them as they arrived, casting a golden glow over everything.

  ‘What do you think?’ Azhar asked.

  Julia stared at the scene in wonder. ‘Is this real? It looks quite fantastical. How on earth did all of this get out here in the middle of the desert?’

  ‘I ordered that it be so.’

  ‘And here, as if by magic, it is. Is this one of the treats you promised me?’

  ‘I wanted your lasting memory of the Qaryma desert to be much more pleasant than your last experience,’ Azhar said, helping her from the saddle.

  ‘Drugged, robbed and left for dead. Until you came along and saved me, that is.’ She undid her veil and pulled off her headdress, shaking out her heavy plait of hair. ‘When I am back in Cornwall, my memories of Qaryma will not be of the desert, magical and beautiful though it is, they will be of you and our fleeting time together.’

  ‘Then we must make the most of what little time we have left,’ Azhar said.

  The sun was disappearing fast from the horizon. The air was cooling rapidly. The thick silence which heralded the transition from day to night descended. Julia caught his gaze. ‘And what, pray, does making the most of it involve?’

  Azhar’s smile was sensual. ‘That very much depends on you.’

  ‘Actually,’ Julia said, pushing his headdress back to run her fingers through his hair, ‘I too have resolved to make the most of our precious time together.’

  ‘And what, pray, does that entail?’

  She rested her hands on his shoulders and stood on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his ear. ‘That very much depends on you,’ she whispered.

  His hands tightened on her arms. Julia nipped the lobe of his ear. She was nervous. What if he rejected her? What if he thought her overtures foolish, or naïve or simply unexciting? She knew that such thoughts were self-destructive, but they crept in, hovering at the edge of consciousness as she pressed a kiss to his jaw. It was rough with the day’s growth. Her own skin was gritty with the sand that permeated everywhere. She felt hot and damp and singularly ill suited for seduction. Defeated, she stepped back. ‘I think I’d like to freshen up.’

  But as she turned away, Azhar pulled her back into his arms. ‘In a moment.’ He tilted her face up, to look into her eyes. ‘Julia, whatever you are thinking, be assured that you are wrong.’

  ‘You can’t possible know what I’m thinking.’

  He stroked her cheek, trailing his fingers down her throat. ‘Have you forgotten what I told you, that there is nothing more effective in igniting a man’s desire than a woman’s passion? To see the fire in your eyes, to feel the fire in your blood as you touch me, it sets me on fire too. Do you remember?’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten, but...’

  ‘You are the most desirable woman I have ever met, Julia.’ Azhar kissed her eyelids. ‘I look at you, and I am aflame.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I want you as I have never wanted another woman.’ He pulled her tight against him. ‘You can do nothing that will quell that passion. Everything you do ignites it. Do not be afraid, Julia.’

  ‘I’m not afraid.’

  ‘Then forget what has happened in the past. You are not that person. Not now, not here.’

  She nodded. She closed her eyes. She twined her arms tightly around his neck. And when she put her lips on his, she discovered it was very easy indeed to do exactly what he asked of her.

  He tasted of salt and sand and heat. His mouth was warm, his lips soft, his hands feather light on her shoulders, her back, her sides, setting her pulses racing, setting her skin tingling. Did her touch do the same to him? He said so, and he wouldn’t lie, but...

  ‘Julia?’

  She dragged open her eyes.

  ‘Stop thinking.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? You had no problem switching that clever mind off the last time,’ Azhar said.

  Her insides clenched in anticipation, but she shook her head. ‘The last time it was—you were—it was for me. I want to reciprocate, only—only I am not sure what to do or how to do it,’ Julia finished on an embarrassed whisper.

  ‘You do not have to—I told you, I take my pleasure from yours, Julia.’

  ‘I know.’ She risked looking at him, and discovered that his eyes were dark with desire. It gave her courage. ‘I want to know if it’s the same,’ she said with a small smile. ‘Whether I can take my pleasure from yours. Will you help me find out?’

  His laugh was deep, throaty and intensely arousing. ‘You are the most surprising woman I have ever met. Has any man ever been asked such an irresistible question?’

  ‘Does that mean you will?’

  He caught her roughly to him, kissing her deeply. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It means that I will. With pleasure. In fact with what I am certain will be mutual pleasure.’

  Chapter Eight

  Julia’s kisses had aroused him beyond belief. Her shy, delightful plea to be permitted to pleasure him stirred Azhar’s blood. Patience, he told himself, but what he really needed was control, and he wasn’t sure how much of that he could muster.

  He left her briefly to prepare the bathing tent. The bath stood ready, as he had ordered, scented with rosewater. The candles set on the low table where the oils and soaps had been set out were quickly lit. Soft drying cloths were laid in a neat stack. At the rear of the tent, the trunk containing Julia’s clothing lay open. In the space at the front, around the bath, were thick rugs, velvet cushions, a table set with her brushes and combs. He had thought only of her comfort when ordering it to be set out like this, but being surrounded by familiar personal possessions would serve equally well to relax her.

  Holding back the tent flap, Azhar beckoned to her, relishing the look of wonder on her face as she took in the unashamedly luxurious tent. ‘If ever I had any doubts that you were a prince,’ she said, her eyes gleaming, ‘they are well and truly dispelled. No mere mortal could conjure such wonders from thin air. It must have taken an army of servants to set the camp up. Where are they?’

  ‘I have made them disappear. I am not a prince, I am a magician,’ Azhar said.

  She laughed. ‘Whichever you are, you have certainly worked your magic. Thank you. This is completely indulgent and wholly unnecessary but...’

  ‘I like to indulge you. Take your time. There is no rush.’

  He turned to go, but Julia called him back. ‘A bath such as this is most soothing after a day spent on a camel,’ she said. ‘You told me so once, and I discovered you were right.’

  She was nervous, but she was also—there was a look in her eyes that made his heart race. ‘I remember,’ Azhar said.

  ‘‘And—and if I remember correctly, you also told me that a massage was of great benefit to tired limbs and bodies.’

  ‘That is true.’

  ‘We have both been on a camel all day. I presume your limbs and body are as tired as mine?’

  She was blushing wildly, but she was looking straight at him. Her courage staggered him, even as her daring made the blood thunder in his ears. ‘Julia, you do not have to...’ He stopped short, realising how easy it would be for her to misinterpret his words. ‘If you are asking me to share your bath with you then I would like that,’ he said. ‘I would like that very, very much.’

  Her smile was his reward, partly relieved, partly nervous, but mostly pleased. It touched him, that smile. He had no doubts of her ability to arouse him—she only had to look at him to do that—but he wanted very much to prove it to her. He wanted her to see how much she aroused him, and by doing so, to be assured of her own potent attraction. The line between encouragement and direction was a fine one, but he was determined to tread it.

  ‘If we are to bathe we must first remove our cl
othes. All of them,’ he said, slipping off his cloak before unfastening hers.

  Julia hesitated only briefly before pushing her headdress off, unfastening the buttons of his tunic with shaky fingers. He kicked off his boots. She did the same. He unfastened the belt which held his trousers in place. She undid the buttons of her own tunic. He stepped out his trousers. Julia untied the sash at her waist and stepped out of her wide pantaloons. Her breasts rose and fell quickly beneath her tunic, the only item of clothing she still had on. He wanted to tear it from her but forced himself to wait, not wanting to rush her, more importantly not wanting to wrest control from her.

  Her eyes fixed on his, she lifted the tunic over her head and dropped it to the floor. Her arms fluttered up to cover her breasts, but she stilled them, standing proudly naked under his gaze. ‘Julia,’ was all he could manage. His whole body ached with desire. He could not resist touching her. Taking her long braid of hair in his hands, he undid the ribbon and began to untangle it, running his fingers through the fiery river of red, letting it ripple out over her shoulders, down her back, over the creamy mounds of her breasts. Her nipples were dark-pink peaks. The silky curls between her legs were dark auburn. He could count her ribs, she was so slender, and yet the flare of her hips from her narrow waist was delightful.

  ‘Julia,’ he said, touching her carefully, reverently, her arms, her waist, the curve of her bottom and her breasts. His breath was ragged. Hers was shallow. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to sink his shaft deep inside her. But he waited, because that was what she wanted.

  ‘Now you,’ she said.

  He lifted his tunic over his head and dropped it to the floor, horribly conscious of his engorged shaft jutting proudly from his body. He knew women found his body desirable. He had never been self-conscious about his flesh. But he could not recall ever standing like this, flamboyantly aroused, being blatantly examined by a woman he was absolutely certain had never so blatantly examined a man in such a way before. He found himself hoping he pleased her, something he had never before doubted to be true.