She snuck a quick glance at Osman and found him staring at her.
“What?”
A tiny smile played about his lips. “We find ourselves alone again.” His men had stayed down by the cars, no doubt with guns drawn.
She cursed the flash of heat that always accompanied eye contact with Osman. It was totally inappropriate of him to flirt with her like this. “I don’t want what happened last night to give you the wrong impression.”
“Don’t worry, it hasn’t.” His long robe reached right to the ground, but didn’t touch it. It must be tailored to his exact height. The pale-gold color of the fabric enhanced his naturally regal appearance. Osman would look kingly dressed in jeans on a Brooklyn street corner, but there next to the trickling fountain, with a dark turban wrapped tightly around his head and a dagger gleaming at his waist, he looked like something from an ancient legend.
“Good.” She didn’t feel at all reassured. She had a feeling they might be talking at cross-purposes.
“Last night only confirmed what I already knew.”
She wanted to ask if it confirmed that she was destined to be his bride, but that didn’t seem funny. What if he said yes? He’d only be blowing smoke to get into her panties.
“I’m not normally given to kissing men I’ve only known twenty-four hours.”
“Me either,” he said with a grin.
“You like to know men longer than that first?” Humor would break the tension gathering in the air like electricity before a storm.
He laughed. “Can you picture me kissing a man?”
“Yes. In that getup you could easily be a flamboyant participant in the New York City Halloween Parade.”
He looked hurt. Or pretended to. “You find our traditional dress foolish?”
She felt bad. “I’m sure it’s practical to protect yourself from the hot sun.” She didn’t mention how glad she was that it also hid the impressive physique she’d felt underneath it. She wasn’t sure she could even manage to have a conversation with him if he wore scantier attire.
“It’s awkward after so many years in Western clothes. You have to walk a certain way so the hem doesn’t wrap around your ankles.”
“Probably no one would be too surprised if you dressed in modern clothing.”
“No, but they’d be disappointed.”
“And you care what they think?”
“Of course. They’re my people.” The way he said it with pride tugged at something inside her.
“I suspect they’ll be lucky to have you as their king. When do you intend to ascend the throne?” Really, she was asking when he planned to get married, since that was a pre-condition.
“As soon as possible.”
11
Sam struggled to keep up with Osman now the crowd pressed around them down at ground level. “So you need to get married as soon as possible?”
“He does.” A rich male voice behind her, made Sam spin around. She recognized Osman’s brother Zadir, dressed in a long, sashed gray robe.
“And so do we.” Amahd, the youngest brother wore a cinnamon-colored robe. “So we’re here to make sure Osman doesn’t get distracted.”
Sam looked from Amahd to Zadir. Was she the distraction? Perhaps they saw Osman’s interest in her as an impediment to the more serious duty of choosing a royal bride, and they’d come here to put a stop to it.
Indignation stirred in her heart. Who were they to tell Osman whom he could pursue? Of course she wasn’t suitable material for an Ubarite queen—not that she’d want to be one—but it rankled to be told that to her face.
“Who is he supposed to marry?” It felt odd asking the question when her lips had locked with his in a passionate kiss only a few hours earlier.
The brothers glanced at each other, and she saw Osman glare hard at them. “I will marry the woman my heart chooses.”
“Very sensible,” murmured Sam. “Though I’d imagine you’re under some pressure to marry a strategically positioned noble’s daughter or perhaps the daughter of an ancient enemy you seek to pacify.”
Osman regarded her steadily. “You see marriage as a game of chess, in which each move is carefully planned for maximum effect?”
“Not for myself. Allan and I…” She stopped and swallowed. Allan and I was a relic of the past. It was hard to believe that a relationship she’d nurtured for two years could crumble so fast. Apparently her brain hadn’t quite caught up with reality yet. “I intend to marry for love and companionship.”
Osman’s brow darkened. “You will not marry Allan.” He spoke the name with distaste.
Her hackles rose. “I hardly see that it’s any of your business.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Zadir and Amahd nudge each other. What were they up to?
A blast of trumpets tore through the air and made her jump. “The ritual dancing is about to begin.” Zadir glanced from Osman to her. “This should be fun to watch.”
Sam peered at the crowds, wondering where Allan had gone. Hopefully, he captured good audio of the trumpets, because that would be hard to re-create.
“This way.” Osman gestured toward the north end of the marketplace, where red-and-yellow banners waved in the wind. Sam shifted her purse on her shoulder and started to walk with the throng, when she felt Osman’s hand at the base of her back, resting and guiding.
Heat melted from his palm to her core. She wanted to tear herself away and end the inappropriate and unsettling sensation, but was afraid to draw attention to herself. What did he mean by touching her in public? Possibly it was to defy his brothers, who wanted him to focus on choosing a proper bride, not waste his time with an American who’d soon be gone. She felt an answering flash of defiance. Who were they to tell her to stay away from Osman?
Yes, he’d just rudely commanded her not to marry her fiancé of six months. Except that she didn’t intend to marry him any more. Perhaps Osman only her best interests at heart because he’s seen nothing but the worst of Allan, who’d been surly and selfish for two solid days.
A couple whirled past them, holding a red and yellow banner high, big grins on their faces, then another, twirling through the crowd.
“This dance signifies how they’ll travel through life together.” Osman’s palm was burning a brand somewhere between her hips.
“I should find Allan and make sure he has everything he needs for filming.”
Osman’s lips pursed slightly. “I’m sure he’ll find you if he needs to. I suggest you experience the dance, so you can bring that knowledge to your art.” She could swear his fingertips pressed a little more into her flesh.
“My art? I’m the producer. I’m all about making sure the camera has batteries and the director has coffee in him.”
“Nonsense. Your vision is bringing the project to life. Anyone can see that.”
She blinked. It was true. This had all been her idea and neither of them would be here without her tireless efforts to get this documentary off the ground. She’d be the one hassling the editor and pursing distribution to make sure it eventually made it to the television screen—and the festival circuit—where its ideal viewers could find it.
“Come, Samantha. You shall dance under a banner.” He seized her hand and tugged her insistently but gently—if that was possible—through the crowd toward the small platform, where a knot of girls aged about seven handed out banners to the excited couples. Osman took one with a bow and a smile.
A glance around revealed that she and Osman were a good few years older than all the other dancers. People seemed to marry in their late teens here. Still, this was a chance on a lifetime to participate in an ancient ritual, even if she was only acting a part.
Osman took her right hand and wrapped it around the carved wooden stick that held the whipping colored silk, then wrapped his own large, warm hand over it. Her body responded with a shimmer of arousal. She wondered if Osman had this effect on all women or if she was uniquely susceptible.
They mo
ved through the crowd carrying their banner, and a smile plastered itself on her face. People stared at them as they twirled with the other dancers.
“If you’re not careful, people will think you’re choosing me as your bride,” she whispered in his ear.
“Yes.” He smiled mysteriously.
“It’s lucky they didn’t see you throw the garland over my head. Aren’t you afraid of shocking people?”
“Not in the least.” He slid his free arm around her waist and pulled her close as the pace of the music quickened. A quick glance confirmed that the other couples were dancing closer now, too. They whipped around in circles, banners high above their heads and bodies pressed together.
Excitement crackled in the air as the group’s exhilaration built to a fever pitch. She was lucky to experience this moment. It gave her new insight into the importance of ritual ceremonies where a group of people came together to share an experience.
Even though she wasn’t really experiencing this like them, because they were choosing the mate they intended to spend the rest of their life with and she was just trying the adventure on like a shoe she’d never actually buy because the heel was way too high or the color too flashy.
The crowd around them started clapping in time to the music, increasing the energy in the atmosphere. Osman’s powerful arm held her close. Her nipples grazed his chest with every movement of their feet, and grew so sensitive that their clothes felt nonexistent. His hand had strayed below her waist and from time to time his fingers grazed the top of her buttocks. She hadn’t thought that was an erogenous zone before, but it behaved like one now.
“How long does this go on for?” The real question was how much she could stand without exploding into flames. Last night’s kiss kept flashing across her mind, and his mouth—so close to hers—taunted her to kiss it again.
“Until dusk.” He leaned in until his lips almost brushed hers.
She jerked back, trying to preserve the last shreds of her sanity. Surely he didn’t intend to kiss her in front of all these people? It would be a mockery of the sacred ritual for him to simply toy with a foreigner he had no intention of marrying.
“These people have a lot more stamina than me because I need a rest.” Her body called for something a lot more invigorating than rest, but anything that would peel it away from Osman’s taut physique would be a lifesaver right now.
“That can be arranged.” He danced them over toward the arch she now recognized as leading up to the balcony. When they reached the stairs, he lowered their banner and led her by the hand.
“That was wonderful to experience.” She glanced around. Where had his brothers disappeared to? She’d forgotten all about them in the excitement of the dance. “I can see why you brought me a local outfit to wear.”
“You can’t dance through the crowds in khakis and a polo shirt.”
“Is that why you removed them? To make sure I couldn’t?” It irked her that he’d left her no choice.
“They will be cleaned and restored to you.” His calm and satisfied demeanor was getting on her nerves.
“What if I hadn’t wanted to dress like this?”
“I knew you’d enjoy immersing yourself in our culture.” His smile was infectious.
“How did you know that?” She tried to look serious.
“Instinct.” They stood at the balcony, looking down at the crowd they’d just left. Osman laid their banner to rest against the wall.
“Doesn’t it bother you that everyone was staring at us?” People were looking at them right now, up here on the balcony.
“No.” His enigmatic smile shone. “I don’t mind being the center of attention.”
“I suppose that’s lucky when you’re going to be a king.”
“Indeed.”
“So when will you choose your bride? It sounds like a fairly urgent matter.”
“I’ve already chosen her.”
An odd feeling skittered through her when he rested his gaze on her face. She felt like he was talking about her. Which was ridiculous. “Won’t she be angry when she hears you’ve been dancing with me?”
“Not in the least.” He picked up her hand, turned it over gently and kissed it. Heat flashed through her at the touch of his lips to her palm.
“Why?” She tried to transform her sudden desire into indignation. “Do royal brides expect to be cheated on before they’re even married?”
He laughed. “Any royal bride should be treated like a goddess. That’s my opinion.”
“Then where is she? Surely she’s wondering why she isn’t sharing the ceremony with you today.”
“I doubt that very much, since she doesn’t seem to realize she’s my intended bride yet.”
Was he talking about her? Sam let the idea drift through her mind. Impossible. There was no way a royal heir would choose her as his future bride on a single day’s acquaintance. Which meant that he was standing here flirting with her while talking about some other woman he intended to marry. Heck, it hurt her! That kiss last night had been the final deathblow to her relationship with Allan, but it clearly meant nothing to Osman. He thought little of using her has a plaything before tossing her aside for a more serious relationship.
She steadied herself with a deep breath. “I think you should go propose to her. If you wait too long she might marry someone else.”
He nodded. “True. But there’s a right time for everything, and if I tell her too soon she might laugh at me.”
“You can’t handle being laughed at?”
“Not where such a serious matter is concerned.” His eyes glittered. She tugged her gaze away. It was cruel of him to taunt her like this. No longer breathless from dancing, she was restless to move again.
“I think I should go find Allan and see if he needs anything. Don’t forget that I’m here on business.”
The shadow of a frown crossed his brow. “Since I want nothing more to make sure your business is a pleasure, I’ll accompany you.”
She wanted to tell him she’d prefer to go alone but couldn’t think of a way to say it without being rude. “Any idea where he might be at this time of the day?”
“Most likely he’s filming the couples taking refreshments together before the singing starts. In fact, perhaps we should do the same.” He glanced at something over her shoulder, and she looked around to see his two men, accompanied by his brothers Amahd and Zadir, arriving with large woven hampers.
Sam surreptitiously rubbed her perspiring hands on her green-gold silk ensemble and reflected that once again she did not appear to be in command of her own movements.
The men spread out a patterned rug, then covered it with steaming dishes and plates. They poured glasses of pale-pink liquid and sliced lemons and honeydew melons and placed dishes of them on the rug.
Sam’s stomach growled, and she cursed it for betraying her like the rest of her body.
“Help yourself.” Osman gestured for her to sit, then sat cross-legged right next to her. His brothers sat on opposite corners of the rug and made themselves heaping plates of savory rice and barbequed meat. Unable to resist the delicious-looking feast, Sam piled some on her own plate, while Osman beamed with satisfaction.
“Did you enjoy the dance?” asked Amahd. He had kind eyes, now she was able to look closely.
“It was…Invigorating.” She bit into a tasty barbequed rib. “I’m impressed that everyone can keep it up for so long. I guess they’re a lot younger than me.”
“Youth gives strength, but not stamina or wisdom. I suspect you could outlast all of them if the need arose.” Osman’s eyes flashed as he sipped from his glass.
“Hopefully I won’t be tested on that. I’m used to lurking in the shadows making phone calls, not twirling around in the center of the action.”
“Then I’m glad I pulled you out of the shadows today.”
“You look radiant in our traditional attire.” Zadir looked on approvingly. “The local beauties might be seething with envy
at seeing you dance with their king.”
“I do hope not. I’m sure they can figure out that I’m just a guest here.” She looked at the brothers. “If you both need to marry as well, how come you don’t have partners with you?”
“Unfortunately in our country it’s traditional for siblings to marry in order of birth,” explained Amahd. “It can be exasperating when the oldest is so slow to choose his mate.”
“So even if you met the woman of your dreams, you can’t marry her?”
“Not until Osman ties the knot.” Zadir tilted his head and regarded her with dark eyes that must have broken many hearts. “Since we aim to implement some important social changes, we hope to soothe the traditionalists by sticking with more harmless customs like this.”
“I’m surprised your parents aren’t involved in choosing your spouse in such a traditional culture.” Sam sipped the pale-pink drink, which turned out to be water flavored with rose and lime.
“No doubt they would be if they could.” Osman tore a piece of steaming flatbread. “But all are dead now. Our father is survived only by his last wife, Aliyah, who is considerably younger than us and thus not exactly the voice of experience.”
Sam blinked. “I’m sorry to hear your mother died. Was it a long time ago?”
“Our mothers,” said Zadir softly. “We were all born of different mothers.”
Sam frowned. Osman has assured her that men in this country only married once, so how was this possible? It seemed too rude and probing to ask. “Aren’t you all close in age?”
“We’re a few years apart,” said Amahd enigmatically. Then he started talking softly to Zadir about something involving a horse. It was an obvious attempt to change the subject. Which Osman had done before when his mother was mentioned. Was there some dark secret here?
Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology Page 49