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 rushed 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 secur
ity 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.
“I think you need to start a radio station.” He shot her a pointed look.
Sam glared at him and snuck a glance at Allan. He’d probably die laughing if he knew Osman had spent the afternoon trying to convince her to live in Ubar.
More static and another station with someone talking more softly. She still couldn’t understand it, though. Arab phrasebooks were useless when everyone spoke an archaic dialect.
The palace was getting closer. Most of the other cars turned off and headed to the left, toward a village of low, stuccoed houses that she could see in the distance. She turned off the radio and stretched.
And that was when the road in front of them exploded.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The force of the blast threw their car off the road, and it rolled at least twice before coming to rest on one side. When Sam opened her eyes, she was dangling from her seat belt, with the airbag deflating in front of her. She could hear her blood pounding in her head.
Osman had seen that she was breathing and was already climbing out through the shattered windshield.
She turned to Allan. “Are you okay?” Thank God he was wearing his seat belt.
He hung sideways, stunned, but nodded. “What the hell happened?” He looked as white as a sheet.
“Something blew up right in front of us.” She struggled with the latch on her seat belt. She was on the upper side of the car, hanging in the air, so she braced herself with a foot so that she wouldn’t crash to the opposite side. When she freed herself, she tried to pry the door open, but it must have been crushed closed. “Do you need help getting out?”
“I’m okay. I’ll be bruised as hell tomorrow, though.” He’d already freed himself and was gathering the camera equipment that had flown out of his bag. “Are you alright?” he asked as an afterthought.
“I’m okay.”
Osman reappeared and helped her out. “We have to run for cover.” He helped Allan out, too, and they dashed for the vehicle driving behind them. It was far enough back to be completely untouched by the blast. Osman’s men muttered furiously into their satellite phones, weapons brandished, and made room for Sam and Allan on the rear seats as Osman climbed into the driver’s seat.
She buckled in, grateful she’d done it the first time—and the vehicle took off at speed. It was horrifying to see the smart Mercedes they’d been driving in dented and turned on one side by the road.
It was far worse to see that the car in front of them, carrying two of Osman’s men, had been obliterated and was nothing but a smoldering ruin.
“Oh, no.”
“They’re dead. No one but God can help them.” Osman drove, his expression grim. “And now we know what caused the flash in the mountains. That explosion was the result of a rocket-propelled grenade, fired from a considerable distance.”
“Why would they fire at your guards?”
“I’d imagine that they missed and that they were targeting me.”
The horror of the situation crashed over her in a wave of emotion, and Sam felt tears spring to her eyes. She fought them back. She used to want to be a reporter! They dealt with situations even more horrifying than this.
Osman sped across the desert at about a hundred miles an hour, and all the time she was braced for another explosion to rip apart the road in front of them or behind them…or worse. But nothing happened. Osman’s men sat silently, weapons pointed out the open windows. The silence was so oppressive she could hear herself breathing, could hear all of them breathing.
“We’re almost at the palace.” Osman scanned the horizon.
“Surely they could launch an attack there. It’s a perfect target.”
“It has antimissile defenses. They’re on high alert right now. We’ll be safe there. In fact, we’re entering the guarded zone right now.”
Sam grabbed
Allan’s hand and squeezed it for reassurance. His skin was cold as ice. “Are you in shock?” She’d never seen him so pale.
“I’m in some kind of shock, but I don’t think it required medical attention. I wasn’t expecting to be thrust into a war zone.”
“This area’s usually peaceful. The embassy doesn’t have an advisory issued.” She glanced at Osman, whose focus remained intently on the road ahead. “And we didn’t have any idea we’d find ourselves directly in the firing line.”
“Could you please arrange for someone to drive us to the airport tonight?” Allan spoke up in his most authoritative voice. “Not you, obviously. Someone who isn’t under air attack would be preferable.”
“My apologies that your visit to our country has been marred by violence.” Osman spoke softly. “But I’m afraid it won’t be safe to leave the palace again tonight.”
“So you’re keeping us as your prisoners.” Allan scowled.
Osman’s eyes glittered. “Think of it as protective custody.”
Allan seethed silently in the back seat as they drove through the arched opening flanked by flaming torches. Sam heaved a sigh of relief to be out of immediate danger. Osman pulled to a stop in a courtyard and the guards jumped out and ushered Sam and Allan to follow.
Still shaken by the explosion, Sam felt her knees tremble. It had been a long day and promised to be an even longer night. Osman briefed his men on how to handle the wreckage and asked them to bring him the contact information for the two other guards next of kin. When told that they lived in a nearby village, he asked for their addresses so he could visit immediately.
Sam was touched that he cared about the family members of his fallen security guards, especially since he’d only been here a short time himself. Anyone would have understood if he let another member of staff or one of the remaining guards, handle it.
The courtyard swarmed into action. Including their first night, Sam realized she must have seen at least a hundred employees within the heavy stone walls of the palace. A pretty young woman directed them back to their rooms, and Sam climbed into the shower as fast as she could get her clothes off. She couldn’t wait to wash off the tension and drama of the day.
Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6 Page 16