by Jackie Ivie
Oh. Yeah. She remembered. She’d been wearing false eyelashes. Looks like one had dislodged. Evie tried to move her arm to pull it completely off but was stopped by the constriction of material about her.
What in the...?
She sat up clumsily. Looked about. She was in a different place this time. It was really quiet. And very cavernous. The same dim lighting effect was in place. She couldn’t tell for certain. Everything was covered with a filmy material. No. Wait. That was her. She pulled an arm free, reached her face, and started pinching and lifting at fabric. She got hair more than once. Masses of hair that felt like straw that had been glued into position. Oh. Yeah. She remembered that, too. She’d stepped into her shower in order to spray insta-freeze hairspray until her hair didn’t have a prayer of going anywhere. This hairstyle wasn’t moving. It would’ve survived a trip on a windy day in a convertible. Of course that was before she’d been jettisoned into the Atlantic Ocean, and then flown at hyper-speed through the night air. No wonder she’d looked like a banshee in the mirror earlier.
But what the hell was this cloaking nonsense? She was covered over with it. It was fairly weightless stuff. Tightly woven. It seemed to be in the same peach shade as the satin earlier. And there wasn’t an opening in the damn thing that she could locate. Anywhere.
Oh. Wait. Somewhere near her belly, Evie found a hem. She used it to yank material up and over her head. She wasn’t just taking huge breaths when she got free. She was gasping for air.
“Ah. You have awakened. That is good.”
“Yes. Very good.”
Feminine voices spoke and they were accompanied by quite a few giggles. Evie pivoted toward the sound. The volume of material wrapped about her didn’t move. And this purgatory just kept getting weirder and weirder. She peeled the errant eyelash off. Blinked. The view didn’t change. She’d been transported back in time or something. Five women stood in a row, each smiling and nodding, and looking like something out of an Arabian Nights movie. They were all voluptuous. Dark-haired. Wearing little more than loose trousers, with little midriff-baring tops. Each outfit was crafted of a different shade of fabric, while the gems adorning them would set a world-class financier back in shock.
If they were real.
“Okay. I’ll play,” Evie remarked. “Who. Exactly. Are you ladies?”
Two of them tittered. The other three smiled. Everybody exchanged glances. Great. Just great. She might as well be back in the dressing room for a beauty pageant. The one with the biggest bust line finally answered.
“We are your servants.”
“My servants?” She didn’t need to raise her brows. It was reflex.
“Yes. And if we do not hurry, you will be late.”
“Late? How can I be late?”
More tittering. More smiles. Evie barely kept from rolling her eyes.
“His Highness wishes to have you presented when you have been bathed and dressed.”
“You’re here to help me bathe and dress in order to be...presented? Didja really just say that?”
“Yes. Yes.”
They all nodded.
“To whom am I being presented again?”
The one with the large bust line answered again. “His Highness. The prince.”
“Oh. Yeah. Him. The prince of spiders. I remember now.”
“Spiders?”
“Arach-ni-something or other that sounded a lot like spiders. I had a really big headache, and may not have heard it right, but I didn’t really care, either. I’m not afraid of spiders, so if they’re in my purgatory, it’s a waste. Now, snakes I am not fond of at all. That would be a real test.”
Somebody giggled. Evie just kept talking. It was easier.
“Anyhow, now you’re telling me this prince guy wants me bathed and dressed because I’m not acceptable as I am? Is that what I’m hearing? Really? I mean...really?”
Nobody answered, although they all exchanged glances again. She guessed what they were thinking. Evie looked like shit. But the day she caved into an arrogant asshole’s demands was the day Hell froze over.
Oh. She better not even think like that. Not here. And not now. Somebody might be listening to her thoughts, and adding up points. Wasn’t that what happened in this state between death and heaven? Or...hell?
Well. Maybe it depended on which religion you were following. Her family had been Catholic. She hadn’t been exactly pious. Wow. If she thought of it, she hadn’t been to church in...
Oh, heck. Who cared how long it had been now? It was rather moot. She wasn’t going to be able to change anything. Besides, what were these ladies offering? The equivalent to a spa day, with five women helping her? Why did she argue? It actually sounded like a really nice idea.
Four hours later, it was an even better idea.
This suite of rooms contained a sunken tub so large she could swim laps if she wanted. Two of the women were masseuses, or really good at faking it, another one had spent hours working the tangles – as well as the extensions - from her hair, and the other servant woman was a fairly decent manicurist/pedicurist. The woman who’d spoke first was named Tamell. She was the one orchestrating everything, especially the ambience, moving large panels of drapes about, starting up some sort of sound system that contained stringed instruments Evie couldn’t place, adding the vaguest hint of incense to the air, and she’d even brought a silver platter that contained all kinds of cheeses, fresh fruits, and some really tasty flat breads to devour. Not to mention the perfection of the wine they poured for her.
Now this kind of pampering, she could really become accustomed to.
Except that all of that preparation was to get her outfitted like they were, and then she got another length of fabric wrapped about her that they called a chador, and she was pronounced ready. She wasn’t wearing any of the necklaces and bracelets and anklets and other gems they’d shown her. Some were so big they screamed fake. Nope. Not for her. Her only adornment was the toe bands on a pair of flat-heeled sandals. There was a band of colored stones adorning the loop that held each big toe. They were surprisingly comfortable, if a bit hard to keep on. And if she hadn’t been so tipsy, she probably wouldn’t have been quite so docile and agreeable.
She followed Tamell through dimly lit corridors, trying to ignore how decadent and sensuous it felt to have real silk skimming her. Breasts. Belly. Buttocks. She didn’t even wear undergarments. Wow. She was actually getting turned on here. In purgatory? Was such a thing even possible? Well. It couldn’t be entirely her fault. It was a combination of things. The full-body massage. The wine. The erotic caress of silk on her nakedness. That wasn’t the worst of it, either. She felt about as strong as a wet noodle, and twice as wobbly. She was even giggling as they approached two huge-ass doors.
Evie tried to discern the height of them while Tamell lifted a door knocker that looked heavy. It sounded even heavier as a resounding boom reverberated about them.
“Why...are we knocking?” Evie asked.
“I must leave you now.”
Tamell would have already deserted her except that Evie had gripped her elbow and stopped her. “What?”
“My presence was not ordered.”
“Excuse me? Ordered? Didja just say ordered??”
“No one is allowed into the prince’s presence without receiving permission.”
“Oh. No. Rewind and repeat that. You did not say what I just heard.”
“Ah. You have received permission to enter. I must leave you now. Your servant.”
Tamell bowed to her, exhibiting more cleavage with that move, and somehow she’d gotten her elbow free, too. Evie was blaming the wine now.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I will be in the harem, if you have need of me.”
“The what? Oh. Lady. I sure hope that’s a punch line because it had better be a joke. A really big one.”
Harem? Oh. Somebody was getting an earful.
Tamell didn’t answer. Evie watched the
woman’s shadow flit between columns as she exited. She felt like she’d just been deserted at the opening to the devil’s lair or something. And this place was really enormous. She craned her neck to look up. She couldn’t see the ceiling. Her breathing even felt like it echoed. This place made the rooms where she’d been look small. Who the hell needed this much space? And why?
She stopped trying to find the ceiling. Pivoted on the cute little sandals and faced the big doors. Well. Prince Arachnid was about to provide some answers. That’s what was going to happen, because, even if she was dead, she was still Evelyn Warner. And she wasn’t known for taking things lying down.
The doors started opening. Jointly. On their own. Evie waited until they’d gapped enough to slide through and started walking. And then she was doing the best job in her life of pretending indifference. Good night! There wasn’t a speck of the room that wasn’t sparkling with what was probably gold. And silver. And all kinds of what might actually be precious stones. She couldn’t tell the light source. It was flickering but it didn’t look like torches. They seemed to be scattered all along what walls she could see through even more of the ornate immensity of columns. A forest of them lined what looked like a path, while a gorgeous carpet ran the entire length of it. It was a plush rug, too. Her little sandals sank into the pile. It didn’t look real. And directly through the center of the room, she caught a blur. No. A figure. It was flying toward her at a speed she couldn’t follow, and then it slowed and became a man.
He came to an abrupt stop before her. Close enough to feel his breath. Near enough to touch. His crimson and gold robes ruffled a bit before they settled about what looked like a really lean, muscled frame. Evie’s eyes widened as she looked up. She couldn’t help it. If this was the prince, she was in trouble. He was tall. He had brown hair with the slightest hint of beard growth on his chin and upper lip. And he was gorgeous. Her jaw dropped. He had to have the lightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. They were almost silver. Strikingly silver. They flashed in an odd fashion as she watched.
And she damn near sighed.
CHAPTER FIVE
What was he doing? Thinking?
Ah!
Daron would have ground out the cry of frustration if it wouldn’t draw even more attention to his failure. He settled with working at controlling a rate of breathing that threatened to drop him. Did nothing work? Was he truly such a weakling? A complete loss at self-control? He didn’t know why he asked. The answer was obvious. Why...he’d even lost control over his enthralling power. The last thing he wanted was to mesmerize her by flashing his eyes so they resembled silvered mirrors. And yet he must have.
She was looking up at him with a wide-eyed, rapt expression right now.
He’d spent the entire day setting this up. He was to be seated on his throne. Aloof. Slightly disdainful. He would wait for her to approach him. He wasn’t to give away anything. Nothing about how she affected him. He wasn’t going to allow her to even sense what she meant to him.
And what happened?
The moment she came through the doors, he’d shot from his seat, propelled without thought right at her. If he hadn’t reined in when he did, he’d have probably barreled right into her again. Had her enwrapped within his arms. Close. Almost melded. And that sounded just fine with him.
The god, Ahura Mazda was probably laughing.
This reaction was stupid. Uncalled for. Insane. He’d seen her at the club. He’d known then she was beautiful. His features relaxed slightly as he devoured the sight of her face. Her chador had dropped from her head, showing him she had thick hair the color of old gold. It was long, too. He couldn’t guess the length, but it slid over her shoulders before disappearing beneath her cloak. Oh! She was more than beautiful. She carried the hint of pleasure in her every glance, the promise of satiation on her every breath. Her gaze was stopping every thought and replacing it. With something massive. Heated. And hard. Any man with a woman like this was twice blessed and threefold cursed. He’d be like clay in her fingers. Daron already was. He was probably smiling like an idiot.
Her eyebrows lifted. His heart stuttered in his chest. Hers must have, too, if her gasp was any indicator. Daron swallowed, his throat as dry as any sandstorm. And then he worked at stopping the instantaneous throbbing sensation that shot through his loins. He couldn’t think of one intelligible thing to say. Not one. But what did one say to the woman who held the key to his own personal pairi-daeza?
“Uh. Hi?”
She spoke first. His heart reacted again, swooping toward his belly and pounding away from down there. That was a new sensation, and nothing like he’d experienced in his previous existence. Daron almost looked that direction in surprise, except he didn’t want her looking there. He was afraid to draw any attention to what was happening.
“Hello,” he finally answered.
Her lips quirked slightly. It was probably to hide a smile at his discomfort. “Well. There goes my ‘shit-hitting-the fan’ scenario.”
“Pardon?” he replied.
“Hard to be mad when facing this view. Know what I mean?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’ll just move on. So, tell me. Are you really a prince?”
“Yes. I am Prince Daron. Youngest son of Dar-phernais the Great. King of kings. From the Achaemenid dynasty. Through the grace of the god, Ahura-Mazda.”
“Right,” she replied. “Well. In that case, I was runner-up to Miss Raritan Canal Days. Twice.”
He studied her for a moment. “Do you mock me?”
“Nah. I think you’re a bit full of yourself, but hey. What do I know? I studied music. I play the flute. It’s easily portable, doesn’t scare the neighbors when you practice, and impresses judges.”
“What?”
“Exactly. Now that you’re completely at sea with me, want to start again?”
“Start what?”
“Introductions. My name is Evelyn Warner. I’m known as Evie. And I’m new around here. Uh...wherever here is.”
She took a quick look to both sides before looking back up at him. She didn’t know the power of her gaze! He almost didn’t hear the last portion of her words over a distinct buzzing noise.
“This is Ecbatana Palace. Actually, this is a recreation. It was my favorite.”
She blinked several times. She had lush brown lashes. Beautiful, deep, sea-green eyes. He was caught again. His thoughts stalled.
“This Ecbatana thing. Can I hear that again? It was your favorite...palace?” she asked.
Daron shut his eyes, and reopened them to the view of the top of her head. It felt safer. “Yes. My mother was Elamite royalty. I had this palace recreated from memory. Very little remains of the original. That is true of most Persian palaces once the Macedonian, Iskander, overran the empire. “
“Um. I hear you speaking English, but this is worse than High School.”
“High School?”
“Well, I’d say college, except I signed up for those courses, so I knew what we were talking about beforehand.”
“I do not understand.”
“Bingo! So. Can you just answer the question?”
“What question?”
“Look. A woman named Tamell told me I had to get bathed and prepared and dressed like this in order to be presented to a prince.”
“Oh. Yes. Those were my orders.”
“You know...you started out as a perfect ten, Daron. Great name, by-the-way. But I’m warning you. I’m going to start deducting here.”
“Deducting?”
“Yeah. For things like giving orders and then actually expecting them to be followed.”
“My orders...bothered you?”
“If you’re asking about my spa day, then no. Solid ten for that. But, if you’re asking about being an arrogant despotic potentate that thinks he can give orders rather than ask for things, then yes. That will definitely get you a full point deduction.”
“Arrogant despotic...potentate?”
&nb
sp; He’d been wrong. She didn’t hold keys to paradise. She was wielding words of puzzlement and realms of uncertainty. He wrinkled his forehead.
“You’re serious aren’t you?” she asked.
“I am...not certain.”
She laughed and bells went off inside him. Or something as loud and joyous-sounding. He barely caught a surge of elation that would have shot him toward the ceiling. He clamped onto every portion of his frame he controlled, but that just emphasized the most noticeable one. He should have worn thicker trousers. And another robe.
She didn’t seem to notice. She sobered but her eyes had a glint atop them from her merriment. He glanced there and instantly moved his gaze. Looking into her eyes was hypnotic. It scrambled his wits. She was too lovely. Too wondrous. Being near her gave him sensations he’d never experienced. Or if he had, they’d been forgotten.
“Okay. I’m going to add half a point back in for looking really cute while confused. I’m asking about the prince stuff. You really are one? You’re not joking?”
“I told you. I am Prince Daron. Youngest son of Dar-phernais the Great—”
“That again?” she interrupted.
At the insult, Daron straightened fully before realizing the mistake. He quickly folded his hands in front of his hips, and hoped it hid him.
“Well. Let’s see. You are the son of a great king. You worship a god that sounds like a car company. You’re spouting words that sound old, if not ancient, and I must have drunk too much wine. I’ve never even heard of a – whatever you said – was it A-kay-man-id?”
She broke the word into four distinct syllables. She made it sound strange to his ears.
“You haven’t?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”