“Beshwistar.” He spoke the unfamiliar word softly.
“What does that mean?”
“It means have faith.”
“I haven’t come this far in life on faith. I prefer to rely on hard work and planning.”
He cocked his head slightly. A shaft of golden light shone through the tent wall and picked out the hard edge of his jaw. “Have you achieved everything you want to in this life, Samantha?”
“Of course not.” Her stomach clenched. It was hard being put on the spot like this. And something was building in the air, thickening it and making it hard to breathe. “I’m only twenty-six.”
“What do you dream of?” His expressive hands made a shape that suggested they were ready to carry her dreams.
She blinked. “Winning an Emmy.” She was trying to focus on things he couldn’t possibly give her. “And maybe an Oscar.”
“You’re ambitious. I like that.” One side of his mouth curved a little higher than the other. The effect was unbearably sensual. “I believe you’ll achieve your goals.”
“Beshwistar,” she said with a smile.
His eyes shone. “See, already you’re learning our language.” His hands seemed restless, like he wanted so badly to take hers back into their custody that he couldn’t keep them still. “Have you other dreams?” He lifted one dark brow.
“Of course. The usual stuff.” She tried to sound casual. “I’d like to have children.” Now, why was it a thousand times easier to say that to Osman than to Allan?
“You’d be a wonderful mother.”
“How do you know? I might be impatient and spank them.” She couldn’t help smiling.
“No, you’ll give them just enough discipline to balance your love but mostly you’ll enjoy them.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You know everything, don’t you?”
His self-confidence was both appealing and irritating at the same time. She lifted a brow.
He shrugged. “Not everything. And your willingness to challenge me is one of the things I find most attractive about you.”
“Oh.”
“I need a strong woman who can be my equal and bring out the best in me.”
“That’s good. But I’m not—”
She didn’t have a chance to say what she wasn’t because Osman stepped forward and claimed her mouth in a rough kiss.
13
Patience was never his strong suit.
Osman wrapped his arms around Samantha, gripping her in his embrace. The energy gathered between them had no place else to go but into this kiss.
Sam kissed him back with fevered passion that confirmed what he knew all along—she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Her protests that she didn’t want to marry him were understandable. The three-day nature of the festival made courtship a precipitously short affair, and if you weren’t prepared for that by your elders, then of course it was scary.
And wonderful.
Samantha was the one. He’d never been so sure of anything in his life. Every word that came out of her mouth, every gesture she made, only strengthened his conviction that he’d met his match.
Their tongues tangled, and he felt her fingers fist into his robe, clawing at his back. His muscles stung with the energy coursing through them. She couldn’t deny the powerful attraction between them. Her concerns were more practical: place of residence, work opportunities, access to friends and family. He’d take these issues one at a time and reassure her that her life would be different, but better.
He loved her sharp intelligence and her ambition. Of course his wife would win an Oscar! He’d make sure she had every resource at her disposal. And he knew she’d be a fine mother.
He didn’t remember his mother well. Just a few faded memories of warmth and affection still traveled with him through life. And his anger. She’d been taken from him so his father could satisfy his urges and still claim to be a moral and upstanding monarch. No man in Ubar shall ever divorce! No. Better to kill them.
Bitterness surged through him, and he clutched Samantha tighter. He’d never cheat on his wife. And he certainly wouldn’t end her life. His marriage to Samantha would cement his claim to the throne and begin a new era here in Ubar. With her at his side he’d be a father completely unlike his own—loving and supportive, enjoying his children and sharing his days with them as well as his beautiful wife.
Her nipples pressed into his chest, firm peaks of arousal. His hands roamed unchecked over her lovely body, exploring the slim arc of her waist and the lush curve of her behind through the silky dress he’d chosen for her. She looked so graceful and beautiful in Ubar’s native attire, with her long dark hair cascading down her back. He loved the way she walked through the marketplace, proud and tall, as if she’d lived her whole life here. Samantha was born to be an Ubarite.
Emotion filled his chest until he thought it would burst. How fortuitous that his future bride should appear—stranded and in need of assistance—on the eve of their traditional marriage festival. Yet another sign of the powerful call of destiny.
He’d grown hard against her, but she didn’t back away. Her fingers groped up his neck and touched his face, exploring, as their kiss deepened. The scent of her—like fresh, raw honey—almost undid him. It would be hard to wait for their wedding night to satisfy his passion for her, even if that would only be tomorrow night.
Tomorrow was the third day of the festival. The betrothal ceremony.
Samantha let go a sweet moan that heated his blood to fever pitch. He kissed her ear and neck before filling her mouth with his tongue the way he wanted so urgently to fill her with his thick erection.
But he could wait.
He tugged himself back gently and lifted his eyelids in time to see her eyes open, too, dilated with desire. Her lips red and swollen with kissing and her cheeks flushed with passion, no woman had ever looked more radiant.
She blinked and stared at him, looking confused. He wanted desperately to kiss her again but managed to restrain himself, because any further intimate contact was likely to lead to a different sort of explosion.
“I…” She swallowed. “I’m not going to be your wife.”
Her words hit him like a blow to the solar plexus. Couldn’t she see that their union was destined?
“I know you feel it, too, Samantha. Why do you deny what exists between us?”
“I feel…something.” Her eyes widened as she struggled to express herself. “Something intense and scary and not at all sensible. I can’t believe I’m kissing you here in the middle of the marketplace.”
She glanced around at the tent that hid them from the crowds. “Do people know what we’re doing in here? Is this what these tents are for?”
“They are for the private expression of passion.” He’d always thought the tents pointless as their main purpose was supposedly to give men privacy while they sung, which was laughable since you could hear every sound from the outside.
Now he had a better idea why the tradition persisted.
“Samantha.” He laid a hand softly on her upper arm and tried to ignore the fresh surge of arousal that rushed to his groin. “I realize our traditional courtship is alarmingly abrupt to a Westerner.”
“Do people really gamble their whole lives on such a short acquaintance?” Her eyes searched his face.
“They do. I admit that some know each other before the festival begins or at least their families know each other, but most of these young men and woman here had no intimate contact, or even a single moment to speak alone, before yesterday. As you know, all marriages in Ubar are permanent and binding.”
“And happy?”
“Our nation is ranked as the fourth-happiest nation on earth. You can see the statistics yourself in U.S. News and World Report. I’d hardly think that possible if people were rankling in miserable marriages.”
A tiny smile crossed her lovely rose-pink mouth. “I suppose you’re right. What’s the secret? Why do marriages that are r
ushed into work out better than ones where people date for a year or two and live together before tying the knot?”
“Commitment. Caring. Mutual support.”
“With a strict division of labor by gender roles, I imagine.” One slim dark brow raised.
“You’d be surprised. Ubar is one of the few nations on earth where women warriors train alongside men. It’s an ancient tradition here. And Ubarite men are proud of their expertise in the kitchen. I myself enjoy cooking as a form of relaxation.”
“You’re kidding.” She stared.
“Not at all. I find it tiresome that in the palace I have servants rushing around trying to do everything for me. Trust me that once I settle in we shall reclaim the activities we enjoy and let our staff take care of the rest. Wait until you taste my chicken flavored with black lime.”
A smile had started back across her mouth. A mouth he could easily imagine slipping a delicious forkful of his specialty into. And that he wanted to do other very intimate things to, as well. “You’re talking like this is really going to happen.”
“Because it is.”
She shook her head, still obstinate. “It really isn’t. Can we get out of here?” She looked around the tent and turned toward the door. He didn’t stop her. In fact, he was still smiling as he followed her out, blinking, into the hot late-afternoon sun.
He’d made his proposal. Yes, she’d rejected it, but that was hardly unexpected under the circumstances. Zadir was wrong—she hadn’t slapped his face. Allan also hadn’t tried to punch him, yet.
Samantha set off through the crowds, chin lifted, hair tossing in the breeze, already a queen whose subjects parted to allow her passage.
“Samantha looks pissed.” Amahd’s voice in his ear made him turn.
“Merely surprised.”
“I heard you singing. You’re lucky she didn’t understand what you were saying.”
“Nonsense. She understood it perfectly.” He put his arm around his more cautious brother’s shoulder. “She’s coming around slowly but surely.”
“Your self-confidence is an inspiration, brother, but you may find that American women are more independent-minded than you bargained for.”
“I know plenty about American women.” He smiled watching Samantha glide through the throng. His smile turned to a frown when he saw she was approaching her dreary male companion. “And I understand Samantha better than you can imagine.”
“You’ve kissed her, haven’t you?”
Osman slapped his brother’s back. “I’d never kiss and tell, brother. You should know that about me by now. But let’s just say that she admires me almost as much as I adore her.”
Amahd shook his head. “You usually do achieve everything you want, so I can only assume you’ll be victorious in your quest.”
“Count on it. Soon Zadir will be hunting his bride, and your turn will be here before you have time to gather your thoughts.”
“And I’ll be the only one of the three of us to marry a sensible, traditional Ubarite woman who’s actually suited to be a royal bride.”
“I’m sure you will. I admit I look forward to meeting Zadir’s choice. That should be interesting.” Zadir was a stereotypical middle child: wild, adventurous, longing for variety and excitement.
Amahd grinned. “Too true.” Then he let out a sigh. “But with my luck he’ll be unable to choose and I’ll have to wait for years to take my own bride.”
“You can always enjoy a girlfriend in the meantime.”
Amahd shook his head. “No respectable Ubarite woman would enjoy any kind of intimate relationship out of marriage.”
“I’m sure there are some lovely fallen women around who would enjoy your companionship.”
“You know me better than that, brother.”
“Anyone would think you were a virgin yourself with such high standards.”
“I may have fallen to the siren song of desire while under the influence of a more decadent society.” Amahd had lived in London, where the nightlife was legendary, for several years. “But from now on I intend to conduct myself with the propriety befitting a future monarch.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“So don’t waste time. Hurry up and get married.” Amahd’s stern expression made Osman laugh.
“I’m on it.”
Samantha was hugely relieved to hear that they planned to return to the palace that night. Osman reassured her that they’d swept the entire area for explosives, and he was confident there was no immediate danger.
She rode next to him in his own car—he insisted on driving himself—with Allan once again in the backseat. His phalanx of men drove in two black SUVs, one in front of them and one behind them, probably with guns pointed out the windows. It was embarrassing being part of such a royal cavalcade, as everyone on the road out of Nabattur stared as they drove across the plain from the private royal gate and rejoined the traffic of vans and donkeys and camels on the main road.
“Did they catch the person that laid the explosives?” Sam wondered why no one had mentioned it.
“Not yet. We have some leads. Footprints were examined and recorded at the explosion site outside the walls, but it turned out they belonged to one of my men. Unfortunately, the explosion itself was so hot that it incinerated the car almost completely, and we’ve been unable to determine even what caused it. The explosion in the mountains is still a mystery. Our security forces are looking for the site of it. The mountains keep their secrets in many ravines and hidden passes.
“Is there anyone here who could be angry that you’ve stayed away so long and now you just turn up and intend to rule?”
“Absolutely. I have to ask myself that question almost every time I look into a face.”
“This might sound impertinent, but do you trust your own men?” She glanced back at the SUV behind them. She hadn’t paid much attention to the security staff before. They all looked rather faceless and alike in their long striped robes and beige turbans. They almost made an effort to disappear. She wondered if they resented devoting their lives to waiting on someone who’d inherited a right to rule.
“As much as I trust anyone.” He shot her a wry smile. “One can never be fully aware of another’s motives.”
“They come with you everywhere and know all your movements. You should get them investigated.”
“They were my father’s trusted confidants.”
She glanced sideways at him. She had a feeling this question would annoy or offend him but she asked it anyway. “Were you ever close to your father?”
Sure enough he shot an aggressive stare her way. “Father and son always have their differences.”
“You blame him for your mother’s death.”
“They told everyone that she had a brief illness.” He stared straight ahead out the windshield.
“But you don’t believe that, do you?”
She watched his jaw work.
“No. I don’t.” He turned to her, fire in his eyes. “My father and I kept our distance from each other for many reasons. I won’t lie and say that I’m sad he’s dead. He was a cold and cruel man who lived for his own pleasure and cared little for the feelings of others.”
“Do you care for the feelings of others?” In for a penny, in for a pound.
“Of course I do.”
She was about to ask him why he kept insisting he was going to marry her when she’d clearly told him she wasn’t. But the realization that Allan was in the backseat jolted her just in time and she bit her tongue. “I suppose you don’t have to care all that much when you’re the king. Everyone has to do what you say whether they like you or not.”
“That’s not true at all.” He turned to her with genuine concern in his eyes. “When it’s your responsibility to run a country, it’s of the utmost importance to have everyone’s respect, even their love.”
“Or they’ll lead a revolution against you.”
“Exactly.” She saw his mouth quirk into a smile
.
“It’s possible that someone’s trying to do that already.” She glanced around at the other cars on the road. They’d left the donkeys and foot traffic behind and were now speeding along at about fifty.
Something gave her an uneasy feeling. Maybe it was the knowledge that armed men, possibly of uncertain allegiance, occupied the cars in front of and behind them. The sun was setting almost dead ahead, with blinding brilliance, behind a crumpled range of mountains, and in the middle distance she could see the palace—a city in its own right—rising up out of the arid plain.
“Can we put some music on?” Anything so she didn’t have to talk to him. Just looking at him was a challenge. She couldn’t understand why she could be so fiercely attracted to a man she barely knew and who she didn’t even like much.
Especially with her own used-to-be-fiancé in the backseat. It was hard to remember she hadn’t even broken up with him properly yet. She’d have to do that as soon as they wrapped the filming tomorrow. Anxiety torqued in her gut. That would be hell. She still cared about Allan even though she no longer wanted to share her life with him. Breaking up with someone was much worse than being dumped in her opinion. You had to make all the hard decisions, and there were someone else’s feelings to worry about. The last time she’d broken up with a guy—a graphic artist she’d once worked with—he spiraled into a depression that had taken him months to come out of.
Men were mysterious and worrisome creatures. Still, Allan wasn’t likely to become unhinged because he didn’t seem to have strong feelings for her.
“Help yourself to the radio. And good luck with that.” He grinned.
She turned on the volume and turned the dial. Nothing but static in either direction. At last she found a station, but it was a man shouting in Arabic and his accent was so thick she couldn’t understand a word. On the AM station she found some music, discordant singing with a high-pitched flute in the background.
“I think you need to start a radio station,” she muttered, as she searched the darkest reaches of the AM dial.
Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology Page 51