She felt his body go still, as if he was surprised by the question. An energy, soft and dark, crackled between them. Nikki’s pulse began to race.
“The talks went exceedingly well,” he said finally. “I learned from the Rahm sheik that my father often met with clans. The men knew my father as a person who loved the desert and its people, and so remained loyal to him. My father had also informed them about his plan for democracy. They were happy to learn that I will pursue this agenda, that they will one day have a voice in the government of Al Na’Jar.” He paused. “Thank you again for your help, Nikki. It was good that I came without my guards.”
“What did the chiefs from the surrounding villages say?”
“They’re on board. Their support will enable a grassroots alliance along this entire eastern border region. If I can continue to foster relations like this among other Al Na’Jar clans, I can build support for my monarchy from the bottom up, and the handful of enemies inside my administration will be unable to topple me. Besides,” he said, smiling, “it has been good for me to reconnect with these people. They are the essence of Al Na’Jar. They share my values.”
“Your values?”
He laughed low, seductive. “Yes, Nikki. Values I’d forgotten in those boardrooms of Europe and in those nightclubs…” His voice grew distant as he glanced up at the sky. “In some ways it took this terrible family tragedy to bring me home.”
Or perhaps it’s your fear of impending blindness. The realization of your own vulnerability has shown you what really matters.
He took her arm. “This is unorthodox,” he said very quietly, close to her ear, his breath sending a warm shiver over her skin. “But would you care to join me in my hut for a drink? It will be our last time alone before my Gurkhas arrive tomorrow.”
“They’re coming here?”
“The Berbers say my bodyguards are now welcome in the village. I sent for just three of them—Tenzing Gelu, Abhi Hasan and Rajah Sadal. They’re en route by camel as we speak. The other two men have more experience in strategic planning, so they’ll return to the Supreme Palace and select a bigger security team for me. I plan to spend some time building more alliances to the northeast and will be using the Summer Palace as a base for a while.” He touched her elbow gently as he spoke, guiding her. “So, how about the drink, Nikki?”
Her heart thudded, perspiration breaking out over her skin. Everything was happening too fast. Gelu was already on his way. She needed to work out a plan.
“I’m exhausted, Zakir. But thank you for the invitation. For everything. You’ve given my children another window of hope.”
And you’ve given me some self-esteem back.
Zakir nodded, disappointed and a little vulnerable for having vocalized his need and being rejected. In silence he led her back to her hut, using Ghorab, Khaya and Tala as guides.
She stopped outside the door. The scent of the desert was cool, tinged with residual smoke from the fire.
“Good night, Zakir.” She began to pull the curtain back, but froze as he placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Nikki?” he whispered.
She straightened up slowly, and Zakir felt her lean toward him, as if wishing to linger with him. Then quickly resisting the urge, she reached again for the reed curtain. He caught her arm and turned her to face him.
Silence and tension simmered between them.
Shaded from the other huts, Zakir was unable to stop what came next. He threaded his hand into her hair and cupped the back of her neck. Lowering his head, drawing her into him, he kissed her lightly on the mouth. He felt her lips, soft, warm, open under his, and his vision spiraled into a red-and-black kaleidoscope of shadows as heat speared into his groin.
Her body seemed to sigh into his, as if every molecule in her being wanted to give into her need for him, but it was only for a nanosecond. Because Nikki stiffened suddenly and drew back. Her eyes were wide and glittering in the dark, moonlit pools in a pale face. She stared at him, then ducked quickly into the dark hut.
As the reed curtain rustled back into place, Zakir felt hot, his mouth dry.
What in hell are you doing here?
Inhaling sharply, he turned, giving a soft whistle to his dogs. He hooked his fingers lightly around Ghorab’s collar and made his way back to his hut where he paced the packed mud floor of the small interior, cursing himself.
Zakir believed he could trust Nikki enough to let her leave the country now. The presence of her orphans and the Berbers themselves had confirmed her story. She was a genuine and compassionate healer. She was not here to harm him—Zakir believed that.
So why was he messing with her, touching her? Why was he letting himself be distracted? He had a duty to fulfill, problems that needed attention. Like the insurgency. Like his rapidly failing vision. Like finding a wife.
Irritable, Zakir grabbed his satellite phone, dialed Tariq on the encrypted system.
This was his first moment of total privacy in a day, and he needed medical advice from his brother. He glanced at his watch as the phone rang. It would be late in Washington, but he knew Tariq, the dedicated neurosurgeon, would still be at his office. Zakir paced as he listened to the phone ringing an ocean and continent away, and his thoughts drifted back to Nikki and her haunting eyes. Oyoon el waha, he thought—eyes of the oasis. A place of sanctuary, in which a man could drown himself.
So absorbed was Zakir that he started at the sudden sound of Tariq’s voice.
“Zakir?” His brother sounded concerned. “What is wrong? Has something happened?” he said in Arabic.
Zakir explained the sudden episodes of blurred vision and blindness. Tariq asked several questions, then fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, Zakir’s heart sank at his brother’s tone.
“Once there have been several episodes of this nature and duration,” said Tariq, “things could happen fast. Much faster than we at first anticipated. You will find vision in your left eye will go completely, first. This will be followed by decreasing central vision in the right eye, and then the optic nerves will fail completely in that one, as well.”
“How fast?” Zakir said very quietly.
Tariq cleared his throat, “Perhaps within a few months the blindness will be permanent in both eyes.”
Zakir clenched the phone. “A few months?” he whispered.
“It could even be weeks, or days.” His brother was silent for a beat. “I am sorry, Zakir. You will need to marry soon, brother.”
Zakir inhaled deeply, fist tensing around the phone. “I’ll call my emissary in Europe right away, make it clear that I need to marry before the month is out.”
“In the meantime, you can perhaps delay onset of blindness by taking medication to reduce blood pressure. You need to stay calm, Zakir. Stress will hasten vision loss.”
Zakir laughed drily. Calm was not possible—not with the tasks that awaited him. But Tariq was right—the only way to safeguard the throne was to find himself a queen and to be officially crowned. Then he would quickly change the constitution so he could govern blind.
Al Arif Corporation lawyers in Paris had already drafted the contract that Zakir and his potential bride would sign. The candidate of his choosing would agree to a finite term, along with hefty financial compensation, during which she would appear on Zakir’s arm as his queen. She would also try to bear him a child. After the term was up, and once Zakir’s rule was secure, the marriage would be annulled by royal decree, unless both parties mutually agreed to extend the terms and remain married for an additional period of time.
“Shokrun ya akhi,” he said crisply. Thank you, my brother.
He killed the call and sat on his bed, feeling the weight of the future on his shoulders. And suddenly Zakir wanted nothing to do with the women of his past—the kind who’d eagerly agree to marry and sleep with him for hefty monetary gain. The ones for whom he’d never hold any real affection.
He wanted Nikki.
Which was ludicrous. Sh
e was not the type to enter into a marriage arrangement for money. Besides, he barely knew anything about her. She’d have to be properly vetted. He’d have to hire an investigator to comb through her past in America.
Zakir lay back on his bed, hooking one arm behind his head while he kept the other on the hilt of his weapon. He would not sleep. Not until his bodyguards arrived. But as he lay there, the idea of possibly entering into a business arrangement with Nikki began to entice him on more levels than Zakir cared to admit.
Irrespective of his growing attraction to her, Nikki was potentially an ideal candidate. She spoke the language of his people, she loved his desert, she was bold and she seemed to be skilled at diplomacy. And as much as Zakir hated to think about it, he knew Nikki would be able to handle his blindness. He’d witnessed her capacity for tenderness in the way she cared for the children.
Malaak er-ruhmuh.
That’s what the Rahm Berbers had called her. An angel.
It irritated him that he even wanted this kind of tenderness from a woman. Then he thought of the sensation of her mouth, soft and warm under his, and desire stirred in his groin.
Would she even think of doing it? Could he persuade her to enter into an official engagement with him while he secretly had her investigated?
Anticipation sparked through his chest—the old thrill of the hunt. And the more Zakir thought about it, the more sense it made. If she agreed, then he could immediately put her name before the King’s Council as his potential wife. It would be a solid first step to securing his reign. It would send the right message to his enemies. Meanwhile, he’d continue to run his search for a wife in Europe. If Nikki’s background check fell through for some reason, he’d still have an acceptable backup waiting in the wings, ready and vetted. And in the interim he’d have enjoyed the security—and the intimacy—of a betrothal.
I can get to know her better. I can touch her. Taste her.
But the clock was ticking. Could he do it? Could he manipulate Nikki into a betrothal of convenience—and seduce her into his bed—before he went blind?
Chapter 10
Dawn was harsh, the sky clear as Nikki went to the well for yet another pitcher of water. Samira had taken a bad turn during the night and was running a higher fever. Nikki was doing her best to keep her cool and hydrated.
But as she reached for the pump handle, she glanced up, saw two of Zakir’s red-turbaned guards rounding the corner, kukri knives bumping against their thighs as they strode quickly toward the king’s hut.
Fear shot up her spine. Quickly, she filled the clay pitcher and hurried back to the hut. She had to get Samira and the others out of here. She had to get away from Zakir and his men, this country. It was not her battle.
She elbowed the reed curtain aside, ducked into the hut and gasped, almost dropping the pitcher.
Tenzing Gelu.
Sitting on the edge of Samira’s bed.
Nikki began to shake. “What are you doing in here?”
He stood, his mouth twisting into a crooked smile, his eyes inscrutable behind mirrored shades. “I am merely checking that the village remains secure for the king.”
“There’s nothing in here. Get out, now!”
Samira’s eyes widened into round, dark circles at Nikki’s tone. The other children stilled, picking up on her fear.
Gelu placed one hand on the hilt of his knife and held the other out toward the door. “After you, Ms. Hunt.”
She swallowed, her gaze flicking around the room. “Solomon, come, take this jug. Use the water to keep damp cloths on Samira’s forehead.”
“Where are you going, Miss Nikki?” Solomon watched Gelu as he spoke, his little fists balled tightly at his sides.
“I’m just going outside for a minute.”
Worry etched into the small boy’s features. “I’ll be fine, Solomon. Here, take the jug.”
“Yes, Miss Nikki.” He solemnly took the water pitcher from her.
Nikki stepped out into the blazing sun, heart hammering. Gelu followed, motioning with a quick flick of his head for her to step behind the wall. He stood in front of her, one hand against the wall above her shoulder, his other resting threateningly on the hilt of his weapon. “What have you got for me, Ms. Hunt?”
“Don’t you ever come near those children again,” she growled at him.
He bent his head lower toward hers, dropping his voice. “If you cooperate, there will be no need.”
Her gaze flicked around, desperate. But Gelu had chosen a spot where no one could see them. “I…I won’t do this,” she hissed. “I will not spy on Sheik Zakir.”
“Then little Samira—” He smiled slowly at her surprise. “Yes, she told me her name. A very sweet girl. But she’ll be dead by nightfall.” His voice was cool. It held no intonation, no emotion. It made his threat all the more deadly.
Nikki felt blood drain from her face. She’d met men like him—the rebels in Mauritania. Sam. You didn’t mess with a man like Gelu.
She had to buy time.
She had to give him something, anything. Preferably information he’d easily learn himself anyway. Information that would not hurt Zakir. “Sheik Zakir met with the chief of the Berber village and his council last night,” she said quietly.
“What did they discuss?” Still no intonation.
A pearl of sweat slid down from her temple. “The Berbers will support him. There were other leaders from surrounding mountain villages there, too. Sheik Zakir will have their support as well.”
“What else?”
“That’s…all. I…I didn’t understand the dialect very well.”
He studied her for several long beats. “You need to do better than this.”
She swallowed the ball of dry fear swelling in her throat. “He… The Berbers said they were pleased to hear that Sheik Zakir would be following in his father’s footsteps and that he would begin a transition to democracy.” She inhaled shakily. “The tribesmen are very keen to have representation at the government level.”
Something darkened in him.
“You will continue to inform me as long as you remain close to the king. That is, if you truly wish to keep your children safe.” Gelu swiveled abruptly and ducked around the side of the wall.
Nikki stood there, shaking.
She had to get out of this country. But she couldn’t risk moving Samira now. She needed a plan. Wiping sweat from her brow, Nikki decided she would continue to feed Gelu superficial information about Zakir until Samira was safe to travel.
She had no other choice.
And once she was out of Al Na’Jar, she’d find a way to let Zakir know that he had a traitor in his midst.
Zakir strode with renewed vigor toward Nikki’s hut. He was going to propose a betrothal arrangement, and defeat was not in his lexicon.
But as he neared he saw Nikki carrying a clay urn from the pump at the well. A determined urgency bit into her stride, her skirt swishing across her sandaled feet. “Nikki!”
She swung around, eyes flashing. Disquiet furrowed into Zakir as he caught her expression. He clicked his fingers, distracting his hounds from sniffing something at a hut. “Is everything all right?”
She inhaled deeply. “It’s Samira. The other children are fine to travel today, and I wanted to leave right away, but…” She looked crestfallen, broken suddenly in spirit. “Samira’s fever is much higher, and because of it her cramps are increasing. She could go into labor soon, Zakir, and I haven’t been able to turn the baby. She needs a hospital.”
Energy coursed through him at this news. He placed his hand on her shoulder, hating himself for being thrilled at the excellent opportunity this afforded him. He knew Nikki cared more about her orphans than herself. They were a tool he could use to manipulate her into a betrothal.
“Nikki…” He infused his voice with the kind of calm authority he employed to sway high-powered but jittery investors around a boardroom table. “The hospitals in my country are in terrible shape at t
he moment—short on staff, devoid of equipment. I have a far, far better alternative for Samira and the other children. And for you.”
And me.
“As I mentioned, I have further negotiations planned for the tribes to the north, closer to the Moroccan border,” he said. “In order to make this easier, I will be staying at the Summer Palace in the north mountains. It is an ideal base for this operation. A fortress, well guarded, and the castle also has every facility, including a physician’s surgery room. Bring your children there, and I will fly in the doctors and equipment you need.”
“It’s not possible, Zakir. Samira won’t make a trip down the mountain on camel. I cannot move her.”
“One of my Black Hawks will be landing here within the next hour. I summoned it earlier today. We can fly her at once. In fact, I will call Tariq right now and ask him to recommend and send a top obstetrician from the States.”
Her lids flickered fast, her cheeks heating. She glanced quickly to the hills, as if suddenly seeking escape.
Frowning at her reaction to Tariq’s name, Zakir continued. “You and your children can rest at the palace, Nikki, with the best care. Under my guard, your orphans will have an opportunity to just be children for a while, as you said you wished they could be. You can travel again once Samira’s baby is born, once you are all ready.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes, surprising him.
She remained silent for a long while, and he realized that her hands, still holding the heavy jug of water, were trembling.
“Forgive me,” he said, reaching to take the clay pitcher from her. She angrily swiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve, struggling with something. “Nikki?”
She inhaled deeply, looked away again. Then suddenly she steeled herself, and her eyes met his. “Thank you, Zakir. We will all be deeply grateful for your hospitality.” She reached to take the jug of precious water back from him. But something had shuttered in her, closing him off in some subliminal way.
Zakir was disturbed by how viscerally her rejection—even as she accepted his invitation—affected him.
Under Command Page 10