Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6

by Jennifer Lewis

  “Duties?” He ignored the plate of grilled shrimp hovering just to his left. Apparently, her questions were getting under his skin.

  She raised a brow.

  “I assure you that no wife of mine will have the opportunity to grow weary of my company in the bedroom.” Osman helped himself to shrimp and rice, then put down his utensils. He looked into her eyes, unblinking, until she felt her breath grow shorter. “I shall make it my business to please her so that she craves my company as much as I crave hers.”

  “Oh.” It was all she could manage. She might have a forkful of food hovering out there somewhere near her mouth, but she’d lost all focus on anything except Osman’s intense gaze. “I’m sure she’ll be very happy.” Her voice came out oddly raspy. Her mind was tumbling with distracting visions of Sheikh Osman pleasuring…her.

  Which would certainly never happen.

  She tried to convince herself that she pitied his future wife, who would find that pretending to be delirious with pleasure in the sheikh’s arms was part of her rather demanding job. If she was completely honest, Sam had to admit that she didn’t really see what all the fuss what about when it came to sex. It was pleasurable, sure, in the same way that drinking hot cocoa on a chilly day was nice, but she didn’t want to drink hot cocoa for hours on end, day after day, either. Just once a week or so was fine.

  “Have you ever been married?”

  His question surprised her. “Not to a man. I’ve been married to my job a few times.”

  “Making films?”

  “It’s one of those careers that take over your life. There’s a lot of travel, and when we’re shooting the days can be so long that there’s barely time to sleep.”

  “Does it pay well?” He sipped a goblet of some pale-green liquid he’d just poured. He had very sensual lips for a man. Not that she liked that sort of thing.

  “Not at all.” She smiled. “As you can tell, I’m pretty nuts.”

  He raised a brow. “But you love what you do.”

  “Absolutely. Each project is a big adventure filled with challenges to overcome. I thrive on adversity, I guess, because I just go out looking for more trouble after each project wraps.”

  He smiled. “The kind of trouble that finds you stranded at nightfall in a dangerous stretch of mountainous desert.”

  “Exactly. It’s not very dangerous, though, is it? I thought most of the conflicts in this region were resolved with the 1987 peace treaty.”

  He sighed. “Lately trouble has been brewing again. Terrorism to all appearances, but we’re not sure who’s responsible.”

  “I didn’t read about it when I did my research.”

  “So far we’ve managed to keep it out of the international press. They’ve been small incidents, and mercifully no one has been killed.

  “What happened?”

  “Three months ago an oil well out near our western border was set alight. We’ve had men working day and night trying to put it out. Millions of barrels of oil have been wasted and the pollution is hard to contain.”

  “You’re sure it’s arson?”

  He nodded. “There was a phone call to our security office declaring responsibility, but not claiming it for any particular group.”

  “That’s odd. Usually terrorists are dying to draw attention to their cause.”

  He shrugged. “And then last month an explosion almost totally destroyed a small temple just outside the city wall. It was one of the oldest structures in Ubar. No one was hurt because it hasn’t been used in years, but it’s a loss to those who want to preserve our history.”

  “Could it be a radical group who wants a break with the past?”

  “I suspect it’s more likely to be a traditional group that wants to prevent the changes we hope to bring.” He ate thoughtfully for a moment. “But the events don’t seem to have any coherent message. My brother Zadir was in a plane that crashed under suspicious circumstances, and last week five shots were fired at my brother Amahd when he was out riding in the desert. Fortunately, they missed, but now we all feel we have to watch our backs for the first time in our lives. I had to fight off my own security detail just to go visit an old friend alone today.”

  “It sounds like an investigation into these events might make an even more interesting documentary than the festival.”

  “Not if I can help it.” He sipped his drink. “My security staff is on alert.”

  “How do you monitor activity at a festival, where there are hundreds of people milling about?”

  He inhaled deeply. “You don’t. I’ll admit our intelligence needs some work. Even if we were inclined to invade people’s privacy by monitoring emails and phone calls, many of the houses here consider electricity to be a fad not worth bothering with.” A smile tugged at his mouth.

  His lips were quite something. She’d bet he was a pretty spectacular kisser. Which was hardly relevant. “It must be challenging being the person who has to decide which comes first, people’s right to privacy or the need to maintain public safety.”

  “It’s certainly a different kind of challenge from running the robotics company I’ve been building for the last seven years.”

  “I’m picturing R2D2 and C3PO.”

  He chuckled. “Instead, picture machinery assembling high-tech equipment. We make a few consumer goods, but they’re not our big sellers. My brother Zadir thought it would be fun to send a vacuum cleaner robot I developed out into the marketplace in Nabattur. People decided it was possessed by an evil spirit and beat it to death with broomsticks.”

  She laughed aloud. “Poor little robot.”

  “It was misunderstood, ” he said with a wistful smile. “My father was comfortable with the old ways and made few efforts to bring technology and change to Ubar.”

  “I’m guessing you feel differently.” She bit into an unfamiliar fruit, and its sweetness splashed across her tongue.

  “It’s a dilemma. Most people here have lived the same way for centuries, taking donkeys to the market instead of cars, talking to each other over coffee instead of texting. Who am I to say the new ways are better? Although we have some key reforms planned, when it comes to smaller things I prefer to allow people to pick and choose.” He shrugged. “But I’m making high-speed Internet access a top priority because I’ve forgotten how to live without it.”

  She leaned, feeling relaxed with him. He was easy to talk to as well as gorgeous. “I know what you mean. I feel lost without my phone right now. It’s rather pathetic how dependent we’ve become on all these devices.”

  Something urged her to turn around, and she looked right across the table into Allan’s plaintive face. She realized she was smiling broadly and beamed it at him. Then she lifted her cup of goat’s milk as if to toast him. His expression remained wary.

  Could he be upset that she was enjoying her conversation with their host? Surely he knew she had to be polite. Allan couldn’t be jealous. He was too smart for that.

  “If you give me your phones I’ll have them charged for you. I’m sure we have the appropriate charging devices somewhere.”

  “Oh.” She wasn’t sure she trusted this man enough to hand over her phone. Who knew what he could do with all information on it? Though even her most private texts and emails were hardly classified. “That would be very kind of you.”

  “In the morning, I’ll give you a tour of the palace while my men retrieve your vehicle.”

  He was so charming and personable that she wanted to smile and say yes. But what if he brought their Land Rover back here and didn’t fix it? “I think it would be better if we just met a tow truck out there. It’s important that we don’t miss the opening day of the festival.”

  She couldn’t think of any good reason why he’d want to keep them here any longer than he had to, but she’d learned on her travels that people’s motivations could be hard to fathom.

  “Perhaps I can drive you to the festival? I’d be happy to give you a tour of Nabattur and point out the
highlights. Not being familiar with our culture, you might miss things that I can easily show you.”

  “Wow, are you serious?” Her misgivings shrank back, and enthusiasm boomed through her. It wasn’t like she was filming political events and had to be careful not to become biased. It was a festival of romance, and seeing it through the eyes of the local crown prince was sure to give the documentary an authentic sparkle she couldn’t have dreamed up if she’d tried.

  “Of course I’m serious. I’m always serious.” The humor in his eyes suggested otherwise. But she was willing to take a chance, as long as he really would get them to the festival. Once they got to Nabattur they wouldn’t need a car. The ancient walled city was less than half a mile across. “Tomorrow’s the day the men choose their mates.”

  She’d seen grainy sixteen-millimeter film footage from the 1960s of the ceremony. Each man rushed up to a woman and flung a garland over her neck. In the film all the women looked delighted, even as they sometimes pretended to try to pull it off or throw it back. “How come the men choose the women? Why not the other way around?”

  “Some would tell you that’s exactly what happens. The women flirt with the men, and encourage their pursuit. Then the men must court them and win their affections, all within the three days of the festival. On the third day, they marry.”

  The festival was a courtship in miniature. Or maybe courtship was a strong word. In many ways it mimicked the abduction scenarios that probably counted as courtship for much of human history. On the first day the man claims his mate, on the second day he serenades her in song and dance, and on the third day all the couples are wed in a spectacular group ceremony in the center of town.

  “Do the marriages started this way actually last? I can see how people get caught up in the moment and swept away on a tide of romance and mass hysteria, but what happens when they wake up six months later and wonder what they were thinking?”

  Sheikh Osman tilted his chin. “There is no divorce in Ubar. It’s forbidden by law.”

  She raised a brow. “Is that why you’ve never married?”

  A mischievous grin snuck across his mouth. “Quite possibly.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After dinner they moved outside to a lovely sitting area near a fountain in the garden. The trickling sound of water and the dancing reflection of the torches on the walls created a soothing atmosphere. Sam found herself seated next to Osman again, on a low sofa scattered with embroidered cushions, but this time Allan refused to be coaxed aside and insisted on sitting right on the other side of her.

  She placed a reassuring hand on his knee. “Allan, Sheikh Osman has offered to take us to the festival tomorrow. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “You can call me Osman.” His deep voice filled the space between them before Allan had a chance to reply.

  “I’d rather go there in our car.” Allan ignored their host and spoke directly to her. “That way we’ll be able to come and go as we please.”

  Sam felt a twinge of embarrassment at his rudeness. She had to admit she was looking forward to seeing the ancient city through its future ruler’s eyes.

  Eyes that rested on her right now with a disconcerting effect. Why did her blood pressure seem to rise every time he even glanced at her?

  Maybe it would be better if she and Allan drove themselves.

  “Cars don’t fit down the narrow streets of Nabattur,” said Osman with a sly smile. “So they’re only useful for getting there in the first place. And I think you’ll find you’re able to catch more of the nuances of the festival with a guide who knows and understands the traditions behind it.”

  “I agree, Allan. I haven’t heard from the translator who was supposed to meet us there. He might have called my phone but it’s dead. Now we’ve missed our appointment with him we might never find him. I don’t even know enough of the language to ask the right questions of participants, let alone understand them.”

  Allan shoved a hand through his hair, “We need to get our phones charged.”

  “Osman’s offered to do it for us. Do you have yours on you?”

  Allan looked doubtfully at Osman. “Perhaps you could lend us a charger?”

  “My staff will need time to locate the right ones. It will be easier if you allow my people to take care of them overnight.”

  “Come on, Allan, we’ll have them back by morning.” She stroked his arm, trying to reassure him.

  Osman cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on her hand, which seemed to sizzle under his gaze. She pulled it back.

  Why did she feel uncomfortable stroking her own fiancé in front of this man? It must be all in her head because Osman’s expression remained quite pleasant and impassive. “I’ll go to my room right now and get my phone.”

  “I’ll go, too.” Allan rose creakily to his feet from the low sofa.

  Osman didn’t budge. “I’ll await your return.” He accepted another cup of coffee from a pretty female server. How did these people ever sleep with all the coffee they drank? She already wasn’t sure she’d get any shut-eye in such a strange and exotic place, with all her plans hanging on the goodwill of an important man who Allan seemed determined to offend.

  As soon as they got into the hallway, she chastised him. “You do realize that without his good graces we won’t be able to get to the festival at all and months of hard work will go down the drain? Not to mention that we might have to pay back the money I raised.”

  “You’ll never have to pay back the grant. They don’t work like that.”

  “Well, I don’t intend to disappoint them. I plan to film this festival, and since you’re the director, I sincerely hope you’re still on board. With the fresh angle of having the country’s future king with us, we could take this project to a whole new level.”

  Allan frowned. They walked briskly along the main hallway toward their rooms, where spider-webs of light from ornate lanterns flickered over the ceilings and walls. “You’re not suggesting we put him on camera.”

  “Why not? He’s charismatic and engaging, and he speaks perfect English.”

  “No.”

  “What’s your objection?”

  “He’s trying to take over our project. We don’t know anything about him, except that he lives in this pile”—he gestured to the high stone walls—“and he’s trying to get hold of our phones. We have no guarantee he’ll ever take us back to the Land Rover again. For all we know, he considers us hostages.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He went to Harvard Business School.”

  “Along with most of the corporate sharks destroying our country and our world.”

  “Oh come on, now is not a time to polish the chip on your shoulder. We’ve been presented with this intriguing opportunity, let’s jump on it.”

  They’d reached her door. She tried the handle and it opened easily. There was no lock, so someone could wander in and rifle through her stuff at any time. Her phone sat on the dresser, untouched and lifeless as the dresser itself. She picked it up. “Come on, let’s get yours.”

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” he growled.

  “It’ll be fine.” She stroked his back through his shirt. “I have a very good feeling about it. Maybe we’ll even make something spectacular enough to be nominated for an Academy Award. I know you’ve had your Oscar speech written for a couple of years.”

  “That was just a joke. I knew that film would never get nominated.” Allan had won several minor festivals two years earlier with a probing documentary into the lives of three strippers, each of whom had descended depressingly into drugs, prostitution or both. It had garnered high praise, and she knew Allan had been crushed when it didn’t get picked up for theatrical distribution.

  She accompanied him to his room, which was a more masculine version of hers, with neutral-colored fabrics and carved wood furniture, where hers was all jewel colors and elaborate inlays. He hadn’t unpacked his bag. He pulled his phone out of a hidden inner pocket in his duffel bag. “W
hat if he doesn’t give them back?”

  “Then we’ll buy flip phones at the airport on the way back.”

  He looked suitably appalled.

  “I’m kidding! Of course he’s going to give them back. He’s just being nice. I don’t know why you assume he’s up to something. It’s the suspicious New Yorker in you.”

  She slid her arms around his waist and tried to give him a hug, but he couldn’t relax enough to accept it. She was used to that. He didn’t like to be affectionate when he was stressed out. Luckily, that wasn’t too often.

  “Don’t worry. I have a feeling that everything is going to work out perfectly. We’re going to get the most amazing footage to ever come out of this region, and we’ll be on our plane back to New York by Friday with enough stories to dine out on for a year.”

  “I hope you’re right.” He squeezed her shoulder, and she smiled warmly at him as they headed back down the dimly lit main hallway. Allan had grown up in Manhattan in a large and smothering family who tried to control every aspect of his life growing up. The effects were oddly incongruous: He deliberately sought out people and situations that most would avoid—which made for interesting documentaries—and he had a hard time coping with situations not directly engineered by him. Sam liked to think she had a positive effect by encouraging him to step outside his comfort zone to face new creative challenges, and by simultaneously creating a haven for him in their shared home.

  People often asked if she minded that he, being the director, got all the credit, and she could honestly reply that she didn’t. Bringing Allan’s creative visions to life was a reward all its own, and she’d learned a lot about people and life since they’d been together.

  When they returned to the fountain, Osman was laughing loudly at what must have been a hilarious joke. His two brothers sat near him on low chairs, rocking with similar mirth, but the laughter died down to a chuckle as she and Allan appeared in the arched doorway.

  She wished she could understand enough of the local dialect to know what they were saying. They all surveyed her and Allan with amusement, which gave her a nasty twinge of unease. Maybe Allan was right and she was being too trusting.