Captive of the Desert King

by Donna Young

  “She saved your son,” Quamar repeated. “Some would say it is destiny.”

  Jarek sighed. “Yes, she did. But destiny had nothing to do with it. Jon Mercer did.”

  “Destiny…” Quamar said, amused “…sometimes needs a little help.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Sarah?”

  Startled, Sarah turned over to see Rashid at the bottom of her bed. “Rashid, what time is it?”

  “It is almost midnight,” the little boy whispered. “I had a bad dream. With scorpions. Elephant scorpions.”

  “That is bad.” Sarah opened the covers and patted the bed next to her.

  Rashid slid under and cuddled close. Sarah tried not to give into the love that tightened her heart.

  “How did you get in my room?”

  “If I tell you, will you keep it our secret?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, smiling into his hair.

  “Through the laundry vent.”

  “The laundry vent?” She pulled back and studied his face. “Do you mean the chute in the bathroom?”

  “Yes,” Rashid admitted. “One time Uncle Quamar told me of how his friend, a tiny thief, saved Aunt Anna’s life by climbing up the laundry vent. I decided to try it myself.”

  “How long have you been doing this?”

  “Since my last birthday sometime,” he confessed. “There is one in every bathroom in the palace. It’s easy.”

  “And convenient,” Sarah summarized. “That’s how you know so much of what is going on in the palace, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Rashid acknowledged reluctantly. “You will not tell my papa, will you?”

  She tugged his hair. “No. It’s still our secret. But only because the way you’re growing, you won’t be able to fit in the chute after a few more months.”

  “Sarah, why don’t you like my papa?”

  “I don’t dislike your father. We are just not close friends.”

  The little boy nodded, sighing. “My papa does not have any friends. Only Uncle Quamar and Aunt Anna. And me. And my mama, before she died.”

  “It isn’t because your father isn’t likable, Rashid. It’s just that he’s…” She struggled for a word.

  “King?” When Sarah nodded, the boy sighed. “Yes, I know.”

  “He has duties.”

  “Sarah, do you want to be a mama someday?”

  “Yes,” she answered carefully, suddenly feeling she was walking a tight rope. “When the time is right.”

  “Could it be right now?”

  Sarah hugged Rashid, wishing with all her heart it could be. “I don’t think so.”

  “Can we be friends, then?”

  “We are friends,” Sarah said quietly. “The best of friends.”

  “I don’t have many friends, either. I guess that is because I will be king someday.”

  “Maybe, you’ll be a different kind of king.”

  JAREK CLIMBED the main staircase and loosened his tie. The country didn’t suspend itself while he was on the run in the desert.

  Schedules had to be adjusted. Trips delayed. Meetings pushed back into the late hours of the night.

  Never had he complained. Never had he wished to be something other than what he was. Not even on those days, he found himself less than deserving to bear the responsibility of thousands of lives.

  The desert had been Jarek’s one freedom. A place to gather his thoughts, seek some peace, if only for a while.

  But that had changed.

  No longer could he ride the sand, watch the sunset without Sarah’s image following him.

  Jarek pushed his thoughts away. And, as was his nightly habit, he stopped at Rashid and Kadan’s nursery. He nodded to the guards on either side.

  Soundless, he opened the door and stepped into the boys’ bedroom.

  The moonlight spilled through the arched window and across the nursery beds.

  At four, Kadan still slept sideways on the bed with his blanket bunched underneath him and his bottom up in the air.

  He took a minute and readjusted his nephew, gave him a kiss on the forehead, then walked over to Rashid’s bed.

  Fear spiked through him. The blankets were rumpled but the bed was empty. Quickly, he walked to the bathroom and flicked on the light. Finding it empty, he started to yell for the guards only to snap his jaw closed.

  A note lay folded on Rashid’s nightstand.

  Jarek snatched it up and read his son’s handwriting. Swearing silently, he stalked out of the room and headed down the corridor.

  JAREK STUDIED THE WOMAN AND BOY from across the room. Sometime during the night, the satin duvet had been pushed to the bottom of the bed.

  Sarah lay on her side, with her bad arm stretched across Rashid’s stomach. His son lay in the curve of her belly, cuddled close with his head resting in the hollow of her shoulder.

  Jarek forced the fury in him to calm before he approached the side of the bed. She might have saved his son, but that didn’t give her the right to build up Rashid’s hopes.

  Gently, he picked up his son and carried him to the guards. “Take him to his room,” he ordered softly. He handed Rashid to Bash, the older of the two guards. “You can tell me later how he got past the two of you.”

  Waking, Rashid blinked, then frowned. “Papa? What time is it?”

  “Time for Bash to take you to your own room,” Jarek whispered.

  “You got my note.” Rashid nodded sleepily. “Papa, do you think you can make Sarah stay?”

  “Everyone has their place in this world, Rashid. Sarah’s is not with us.”

  The words were harsh, harsher than he intended.

  When Rashid said nothing, Jared tapped his son’s nose. “Sarah will be here, tomorrow. And for the ball.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” Jarek’s mouth twitched. “Right now, it is time for more sleep. Soon it will be morning. You have breakfast and your lessons. If I am not mistaken, Trizal will be looking for you when your tutor calls.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Rashid leaned over and kissed Jarek’s cheek. Something he hadn’t done for a very long time. Emotion squeezed Jarek’s chest.

  “Take him back, then return,” he ordered the guards. “Both of you.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Bash answered, lifting the boy high against his chest.

  Jarek watched the guards take Rashid down the hallway for a moment before he stepped back into Sarah’s room.

  Not thinking about the wisdom of his decision, he crossed to her bed.

  Suddenly, as if sensing him, her eyes fluttered open. “Jarek? What are you doing here?” She glanced to her right, obviously looking for his son.

  “I came in to check on you and found Rashid in your bed.” Jarek reached over to the bedside lamp and switched it on.

  Light flooded the room. Sarah blinked. “Yes, he crawled in during the night.” Sarah sank back into the pillows, relieved. “He had a nightmare about scorpions, I think. He wanted to see how I was.”

  “How did he get past your guards?”

  “I have guards?” Sarah asked, then frowned. “Am I a prisoner still?”

  “How did he get past the guards, Sarah?”

  “I don’t know,” she lied, not wanting to get the boy in trouble again. “I was asleep. Sandra gave me some pain killers for my arm.”

  “I appreciate what you did for Rashid on the ledge.” The reminder forced him to soften his attitude. “But Rashid is becoming too attached to you, Sarah. It can only make things difficult later.”

  “You mean when I leave.”

  “Yes. When you leave.”

  “Have you decided when that will be?”

  Jarek hadn’t decided. “Just stay away from him, Sarah.”

  “Or what?” Maybe it was the pain killers, or the lack of sleep. Or maybe she was just afraid of the power this man and his son were gaining over her heart.

  The same heart that would break the moment she said goodbye to them.

  “Or deal with
me.” Jarek turned on his heel and started for the door.

  “Anytime you’re ready,” Sarah sniped. “I’m not the one who keeps handing out orders, then running away.”

  “Running?”

  Slowly, Jarek swung back. The anger rippled over his body, reminding her of a sleek dark panther ready to pounce.

  “Yes. From our hotel room in New York. Then yesterday, when you didn’t turn up in Morocco.”

  Jarek raised his eyebrow.

  “Rashid told me how he followed you into the desert. That you wanted to be alone before I arrived.”

  “And you assume I was running from you. That I’m afraid of you?”

  She recognized the angry flash in his eyes. How could one not when it practically seared the carpet between them? But something drove her, something pushed her to taunt him. “Why else would you not want to deal with me? It isn’t the job, or the fact that you don’t trust me or even dislike me. I’m sure you’ve met many others over the years you don’t trust and don’t care for. But very few you are afraid of.”

  “Do you want to do this right now?” The silk was back in Jarek’s tone. Smooth and sharp as ever. “Right here?”

  “If this is what it takes. I’ve done interviews in stranger places.”

  “I’m not talking about our interview.” The challenge was there, thrown down between them. A gauntlet he dared her to pick up.

  “No, we’re talking about a war. Between you and I.” She tilted her head back. “The trouble is in a war nobody wins. Everyone walks away bloody and—” she stopped, unwilling to go any further. Unwilling to be the only one wearing emotions on their sleeve.

  “And,” he snapped. “What?”

  She unleashed the panther and struggled for footing—on a dangerous, slippery slope.

  “Heartbroken. Damn you.” She punched the pillow with her hand, then cried out in pain.

  “Of all the—” Jarek let out a long, frustrated sigh.

  “Don’t,” she bit out and cradled her injury to her chest. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.”

  “Sorry?” He let out a string of obscenities. “Of all the emotions you raise in me, pity is not one of them.”

  He grasped her shoulders, bringing her forward. “When I saw you in the plane, the years fell away. You hadn’t changed. You tempted me, the first time I saw you and every minute in between.”

  “And now?”

  “Especially now,” he stated, with an arrogance that almost softened her heart. Almost.

  His lips trailed lightly over her shoulder, nibbled on her neck. “I keep telling myself if I give in to temptation, I’ll be satisfied.” His mouth skimmed her jaw, kissed her temple. “If I tasted you, the craving would leave.”

  She shivered against him, heard him groan.

  “Say my name,” Jarek demanded softly, his gaze meeting hers before drifting down to her mouth as it had in the cave. “You said it earlier in fear when the Al Asheera nearly caught us at the plane. Say it now.”

  His fingers slid over the nape of her neck, buried themselves deep into the thick, strands of hair. He tugged her closer. “Say my name. This time without the fear, Sarah.”

  Her mind shouted at her to make some pithy remark. Something cutting and defensive. But in the end, she was left no choice.

  She spoke from the heart.

  “Jarek.” She breathed the name against his lips, taking in the taste of him. A cigar, sweet wine. Both heady enough to make her mind swirl, her chest flutter.

  His mouth captured hers, his tongue quickly moving inside. He tasted, stroked and explored until she moaned from the onslaught. Until she was the one shuddering, and he was taking the pleasure.

  “Again.” His palm slipped over her chest, through the silk of her nightgown, sending jolts of desire quaking through her.

  “Jarek.”

  Slowly he raised her wrist and kissed the inside just under the bandage. His mouth lingered over the pulse until it fluttered.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. The soft caress hurt her heart more than any insult or harsh words. “Haven’t you already gotten what you want?”

  “I’ve been fighting what I want,” Jarek murmured. “And I’m too tired to fight now.”

  Unable to stop, Sarah’s arms slipped around his back, ignoring the wince of pain beneath her bandage.

  Desperate for more heat, her fingers parted his shirt from his pants, flexing then curling into the hard, tight skin at the base of his spine, the ridges that scoured—

  Sarah gasped, her fingers frozen over the scars that crisscrossed his back. “My God, Jarek. What happened?”

  Jarek stiffened. “Nothing.”

  “You call those scars nothing?”

  Slowly, he shifted out of her arms, then stood. “As you said before, it’s just a mark. And I have many others.”

  His words frosted the air between them. Cold enough to make her shiver, her heart freeze. “How many scars did they leave inside you, Jarek?”

  “Too many.” His eyes swept over her, his features carefully controlled. “You asked earlier for me not to pity you. Do not make the mistake and assume that I want sympathy from you, Sarah.”

  He walked to the door and paused. “I asked you earlier to limit your time with my son. He is growing attached to you and I don’t want to see him hurt when you leave. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Sarah waited for the door to shut, for the emptiness she felt inside to fill the room. “I think I finally do understand.”

  ANNA AL ASADI was born curious. A trait her husband, Quamar, considered a flaw. One that left him frustrated most days, but one he took pleasure in most nights.

  It was the same curiosity that pushed her to see Quamar for the first time lying injured in a hospital room many years before, and the same curiosity that brought her to Sarah Kwong’s room that afternoon.

  Of course, the fact Quamar mentioned Jarek’s past attraction to the female reporter didn’t hurt, Anna mused as she knocked gently on the huge, oak doors.

  There was nothing on earth she treasured more than family. Having lost a brother to an assassin years before, she understood how easily family could be hurt or taken away.

  And Jarek was family.

  When the door swung open, Anna held up the pile of clothes draped over her arm. “I’m Anna Al Asadi. My husband, Quamar, mentioned you’re in need of a few things to wear.”

  “Why, yes,” Sarah answered and stepped back. “Thank you.”

  Anna took in the soft, curtain of ebony hair that settled around a graceful neck, the exotic lines of her face, the laser-sharp green eyes. Intelligent. Feminine. Beautiful.

  “Please, come in. And it’s Sarah.”

  Gracious.

  “Then you must call me Anna.” Definitely, queen potential, she thought, hiding her pleasure behind a sunny smile.

  Word spread quickly in Taer. Stories even quicker. The fact that the Taerians found out about Sarah Kwong’s heroism, her devotion to their young prince, had already endeared her to many.

  Anna walked over to the bed and laid the clothes across the bottom corner. “I hope you’ve been comfortable?”

  “Yes,” Sarah answered, then gestured around the room. “I’d be pretty hard to please, if I wasn’t.”

  It was the best of the six guest suites and Anna’s favorite. A classic with its high ceilings, its strong but simple lines. But what she liked the most was the touch of romance and elegance with an oversized fireplace, the deep burgundy drapes and Persian rugs.

  Across from the fireplace was a small sitting area that contained a floral print, flanked by rose-colored Queen Anne chairs.

  Lavender filled various vases, both bone china and crystal, making the air sweet and soothing.

  And it was also the bedroom closest to Jarek’s quarters. A fact Anna definitely found interesting.

  “Thank you for letting me borrow some of your clothes.” Sarah stroked the mixture of silk
blouses and cotton dresses that lay across the duvet.

  Anna laughed. She’d long ago accepted her curves, blond hair and baby blue eyes. But every once in a while, the wish to be exotic…

  “These aren’t mine. Jarek had these ordered for you and brought up from the city.”

  “Really?” Instead of pulling her hand away, Sarah fingered the fine silk blouses, the brushed cotton skirts. “How did he know my size?”

  “From the camisole and pants, before I had them burned,” Anna answered. “You seem surprised.”

  “I guess I am,” Sarah admitted then stepped back from the bed. “I didn’t expect him to take the time.”

  The hurt was there, just beneath the surface, hidden by the set of her chin, the arms hugging her body.

  Anna had been prepared to like Sarah. The fact that Lara Mercer had nothing but good things to say about her friend, had endeared Anna immediately.

  What she hadn’t expected were the protective feelings that arose almost instantly. Or the fierce sense of loyalty.

  Anna nearly tsked in disgust. Lord knew, Jarek had suffered over the past several years. But misery, did not need company in this case. And no matter how Sarah tried to disguise her emotions, the woman was definitely miserable.

  “You saved Prince Rashid,” Anna explained, hiding her thoughts behind a sympathetic smile. “I think providing you with clothes was the least we could do.”

  “Yes, Rashid. I’d forgotten…” Sarah looked at Anna. “How is he?”

  “He’s fine—”

  A soft tap on the door interrupted Anna. “Come in.”

  A woman entered with a tray of tea and scones.

  “Hello, Miss Anna. Miss Sarah.”

  “Sarah, this is Nashemia. She will be taking care of you during your stay.”

  Sarah placed the servant’s age at forty. Her chestnut hair was coiffed smoothly in a bun at the base of her neck. The severe style emphasized her slender build, the heart shaped face and big, somber eyes.

  Nashemia smiled at Sarah, revealing a pretty row of white teeth. “I thought you both would like some tea.” She set the tray down on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.