“Can you help? I’m scared for us. For my children.”
Her faith in him touched his stony heart. And her beauty and sensuality touched an entirely different part of him. He took her gold-ringed hand and pressed it to his lips, enjoying the softness of her pampered skin and drinking in the rich, female scent of her. “I’d like nothing more than to help you.”
Aliyah didn’t know what to think of this brusque new stranger. She didn’t like him. She certainly didn’t trust him. His sleek suit contrasted with his sun-scorched skin and rough manner. He spoke her language like a native, but didn’t act or move like an Ubarite. He showed no deference to her, not even common politeness.
And now he’d taken her hand and kissed it. Frozen to the spot, she had no idea how to react. Should she snatch her hand back and run, or was that the reaction he’d hoped for?
She gritted her teeth and tried not to react at all. The touch of his mouth on her skin was gentle, surprising since everything else about him was so harsh. No doubt a man like this expected women to swoon at his feet. His looks were both flashy and rugged, with the aristocratic features of the man he claimed as his father and a seductive beauty that must have come from his mother. Her husband took only the most beautiful women to his chambers. He’d told her that himself.
Would he never give her hand back? She struggled to keep her feet still as unfamiliar sensations gathered inside her. He’d lifted his lips from her skin but held her fingers close, inhaling her scent like a stallion sniffing a mare.
She’d suffered through worse. Much worse! And always been grateful that she hadn’t made a scene. Live to enjoy another day—that was her motto. As long as her children were carefree and happy and could benefit from the education she’d been denied, she could put up with almost anything.
Finally he let go of her hand, very slowly and with an odd look on his face. She tucked it into the folds of her dress, anxious to rub away whatever evil magic now made her skin burn hot and cold.
“Am I interrupting something?” A female voice, filled with curiosity and amusement, made her start.
It was her new sister. Samantha was Osman’s wife and everything Aliyah wished she could be herself. Brilliant, accomplished, educated, and well-traveled. She was also kind and warm, and Aliyah hoped desperately that as they both overcame the language barrier between them, they could become firm friends. And now Samantha would think she’d indulged in some kind of inappropriate flirtation.
“Nothing at all!” She spoke quickly. “I just greeted a stranger here in the garden.” She tried not to stammer in her haste to distance herself from this odd and uncouth man. “His name is Gibran…” Did he use the dead king’s name like her, or his mother’s? “He’s here to discuss security matters with Osman.”
“Ah.” Samantha’s manner chilled slightly as she sized up the tall, sun-bronzed stranger. No doubt she had far greater insight into character than Aliyah, whose knowledge of the world barely stretched from here to nearby Nabattur. “My husband is on his way.” In a casual dress of white linen, with gold sandals on her feet, and her long dark hair falling down her back, Samantha looked as regal in Western clothing as she did in the ornate local attire. She wore little jewelry or makeup but outshone the most highly decorated women in the land. No wonder Osman had fallen madly in love with her at first sight. “I understand that you are his half brother and thus a member of our family.”
Gibran looked at her steadily. “The rumors are true.”
“I’m glad to welcome you back to Ubar. I hear it’s been many years since you visited.”
“Your welcome is unnecessary.” He seemed to grow even taller in the silence that followed his gruff statement. “I visit Ubar regularly since my mother still lives here. I built a home for her in the southern hills.”
“That’s wonderful. I didn’t realize she was still alive.”
Aliyah froze. The untimely deaths of all the king’s former wives were never discussed.
Gibran cocked his head. “Since the king never saw fit to marry her or claim her as his woman, he never had a need to murder her, either.”
Aliyah could barely breathe. How did he dare to speak so boldly right here in the palace? If her husband—his father—was still alive…
Thank Heaven he wasn’t.
“That’s something to be grateful for.” Aliyah admired Sam for coming up with a thoughtful response.
“Indeed it is.”
Aliyah’s heart ached for Gibran. She could tell that his brashness sprang from deep hurt, and suddenly she longed to embrace him into the bosom of the family. Except that she lived here as an outsider herself, hoping each day not to accidentally annoy the new king who’d returned, like Gibran, from many years in exile.
All Gibran’s brothers had come of age abroad, sent to boarding schools and universities in England and the U.S.A, and had only returned home when their estranged father’s will surprised them by dividing the country into three provinces, and making each brother the ruler of his own region.
“Gibran!” King Osman’s voice boomed from the archway leading into the garden from the palace. “I’m pleased to finally meet you.” He marched forward, hand extended. He also wore a dark Western suit with a pale shirt and a dark patterned tie. She, Aliyah, was the only person dressed in colorful native attire, like a child among adults. Her cat Tassi rubbed reassuringly against her legs. At least one creature looked up to her.
Gibran shook Osman’s hand, his body rigid as if braced to take a blow. Both men were so tall, so imposing, their features different but chiseled from the same noble stone. She hoped they could become friends and brothers.
“I never thought I’d be invited to set foot in this place.” Gibran cocked his head slightly. “You surprise me.”
“You’re the best at what you do. We need your help. I hope that the family connection will only enhance our business arrangement, if we can agree to such an arrangement, of course.” Aliyah could hear a slight edge of steel in Osman’s voice. He didn’t fully trust this virtual stranger. “Let me show you our defenses.”
Sam shot Osman a pointed look. Aliyah saw it clearly, though Gibran couldn’t because Sam was behind him. Sam didn’t trust him. She didn’t think he should learn their secrets. And perhaps she was right. He’d been so rude and prickly, perhaps his intentions were ill.
Osman showed no sign of having noticed and placed a hand on Gibran’s broad back as he ushered him toward the inner tower of the palace, where the security staff monitored images from hidden cameras and where the antimissile defenses were located. Aliyah stayed behind, with Sam. Once they were out of earshot, Sam turned to her, a tiny frown on her lovely face.
“He’s not quite what I expected but I’m going to try to like him.”
“He’s…different.” Aliyah had every reason not to like him. He’d insulted her to her face. Pressed his lips to her hand until her body heated and it was all she could do not to turn and run.
She’d never met anyone so defiant of convention and the basic rules of common politeness. Especially right here in the royal palace! She spent her days tiptoeing around trying desperately not to offend anyone.
Maybe that’s why she found him so intriguing.
CHAPTER TWO
Gibran followed Osman along a stone path toward the center of the palace complex.
“Thanks for coming,” Osman turned to him. “I didn’t want to explain the situation fully until you were here.”
“In case I decided to side with your enemy?” Gibran couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t wanted to come here. He knew he’d feel a fresh wave of anger and resentment at being the black sheep of the family, the bastard son no one acknowledged.
Osman stilled, turned to him and stared him right in the eyes. Energy flashed between them with palpable force. Each of them could crush a smaller or less determined man quite easily, but against each other they would be formidable foes.
His half brother might not have Foreign Legion tr
aining, but he could destroy an enemy with a soft-spoken order, should he be so inclined.
“I invited you here as my brother.”
Osman’s words took him by surprise. Odd emotions welled in his chest at the unfamiliar hand of friendship being offered. He shoved them down. “The only brother who did not inherit a share of the kingdom.”
Osman lifted a brow. “Some could argue that I am the one who should be angry that I didn’t inherit it all.”
“Are you?” The kingdom had been divided into three in the late king’s will, a portion for each of his three estranged and exiled sons.
A smile tugged at Osman’s broad mouth. “No. We all bring something different to the table, and we’ll work better as a team than individually.”
“Very generous of you.” Gibran allowed his skepticism to show in his voice.
“Although I can’t offer you a share of the kingdom, I would like you to participate in securing it from our enemies. I’m in a position to reward you handsomely.”
“I’m sure you are.” He cast a glance at the lavish mosaics of semi-precious stone that seemed to decorate every surface in the palace. “Although I have no pressing need of your money.”
“I’ve read of your success in protecting Sultan Atullah from the rebels, and helping stabilize his nation. And in securing the Febriz oil wells from ongoing sabotage.”
“I have also saved the life of the French president and rescued a Columbian heiress from a kidnapping, lest you think I never leave the Middle East.”
Osman gestured for them to continue walking. “Your skills and talents are no secret. You should be proud of all you’ve accomplished.”
“Pride makes one foolish.” He wanted to curse his arrogant half brother for patronizing him. He didn’t need any praise or pats on the back, especially not from a man born suckling on a silver rattle and a queen’s breast.
“True. But we need your expertise. Since I returned to Ubar we’ve been under constant attack. A couple of small, low-tech explosions didn’t worry us too much at first. But now we’re being targeted with rocket-propelled grenades. Although two of the bombers have died in their efforts, and we were able to identify them, we still have no clear picture of their motives.”
“Has anyone issued demands?” They swept along a wide hallway and up some stairs toward a heavy wood door.
Osman held up his palm to a flat black screen and an ancient-looking lock on the door clicked. He pushed it open. “No demands, no warnings, no contact of any kind. It’s exasperating. We have no idea what will happen next, since we don’t know what they want.”
“You’ve been a target?”
“Yes, and my brothers. And of course my wife Samantha is in danger since we are usually together. My fears for her safety prompted me to call you.”
“Someone’s trying to scare you.”
“But why?”
Because they hate you and want you gone. A man like Osman, born with the world at his feet and smiling servants to do his bidding could have no idea of the naked resentment and malice that could grow in the heart of less fortunate individuals.
“The love of money is usually at the root of all evil.” Gibran followed Osman into a dark room. Monitors, flashing with images of the palace interior and perimeter, provided the only light. Two robed men rose and bowed. “Sometimes it disguises itself in ideology, but ultimately it’s about power.”
“So why no ransom demand?”
Gibran looked sideways at the two guards. Harsh experience had taught him to trust no one.
“Because they’re not after a bag of cash. They want you to pack your Louis Vuitton luggage and go back to America.”
Osman laughed, loud and genuine. “That’s not going to happen.”
“I suspect they’ve figured that out, and will continue to up the ante.” He followed Osman around a bank of monitors, to a dashboard of sorts. “So we must find a way to flush them out of the shadows and reveal their true motive.”
He had Osman’s full attention. “How do we do that?”
Gibran shrugged, a gesture as old as Ubar. He hadn’t decided to take this job. If they could see the festering anger that surged inside him right now, these people would shoot him on the spot. He’d learned to hide his feelings, first for the sake of his mother, who wanted to keep the peace, and later when he realized the advantage it gave him over others.
“Let me show you more.” Osman was still sizing him up, eyes slightly narrowed, but he’d decided to trust him enough to show him their inner sanctum of security. “So you can see what you’d be working with.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” He couldn’t resist prodding, to see what lay under that cool, regal façade.
Humor danced in his brother’s olive-green eyes, along with a reassuring hint of wariness. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Aliyah couldn’t stop thinking about the handsome stranger. Would he come live here with the family? Part of her hoped so, and part of her shrank from the idea. He excited feelings in her that had nothing to do with family. At sixteen, she’d had a crush on Eril, a boy in her small village. Every minute she thought about him. How could she run into him? Would he look at her? What would they say? Her heart was constantly aflutter with panic and hope and other emotions she couldn’t name. Of course, their flirtation was doomed from the moment the king saw her in the marketplace, measuring fabric at her father’s stall. She’d assumed her duties as wife of a man more than forty years her senior and, in time, Eril had married another girl.
She’d certainly had no such feelings for the king, or anyone else. Her passion for Eril was long gone, and she often spoke with Eril and his wife in the marketplace.
But now that anxious fluttering had returned. And the burning questions! Would Gibran sleep in the palace tonight? Would he eat dinner with the family? Aliyah usually ate early with her children in their quarters, and didn’t join the others for dinner. Mostly she was afraid she’d be unable to join the conversation and they’d think her stupid.
Perhaps she could catch a glimpse of him if she walked in the garden after dinner. The family often sat around the fountain enjoying sweets and coffee after the meal. It would seem quite natural if she happened to be walking by with her cats Tassi or Megu. She wouldn’t even have to say anything. She could just look.
Aliyah bathed and changed into a blue dress the color of the midsummer sky. Blue-and-gold sandals on her feet and sapphires in her ears.
Was she really dressing up to impress a man she had no business even talking to? Sam had already said she didn’t like Gibran. Osman always took his wife’s wise counsel, so Gibran might be gone from the palace for good by dusk. Still, alarm at her own feelings warred with growing excitement as dinnertime drew near.
This time of the evening she always told the children stories then tucked them into bed. She loved watching them drift peacefully off to sleep and always sat with them until she heard their breathing deepen.
Then the lonely hours began. Remarriage did not seem possible. Her duty now was to raise her children here at the palace and not make waves with any selfish desires. She usually spent some time with her feline friends, then retired to bed alone. She didn’t sleep much. She’d lost the knack since she came to the palace, rattled first by the whispered rumors about the king’s murdered wives, then worries about her precarious position in a new king’s orbit.
But in the morning her children woke with the sun, and she shared their simple joys for another day. She didn’t think much about her own needs and wants, mostly because she didn’t have any.
Until Gibran showed up.
In one brief appearance he’d lit a flame inside her that she had thought was extinguished for good. Suddenly her breath quickened at the thought of touching a man. Of kissing him, even. People spoke of romance, of lovemaking, with such reverence and anticipation. For her, so far, it had been a chore. Part of her duties as the king’s wife. She’d borne it bravely and tried to make him
happy, but she couldn’t claim to have felt anything akin to pleasure.
But with a man like Gibran?
She leapt from her dressing room stool and ran for the safety of her children’s playroom. These thoughts had no place in her practical and usually sensible head!
“Mama, you look so pretty!” Nasri was four, and as bubbly and carefree as a girl could be. “Like a princess.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Nasri was a princess herself, but Aliyah saw no need to belabor the point. Especially since she had no idea what the future held for all of them.
“What are you all dressed up for? Is there a party?” Her big brown eyes flashed with excitement.
“No, nothing like that.” She tried to act natural. “I just thought I’d try on this dress I bought a while ago. You like the blue?”
Little Parsia ambled to her and picked up the delicate fabric between her chubby finger and thumb. “Soft.” She was the quiet one, shy and affectionate, who loved to curl up on her lap and suck her thumb while Aliyah read to her.
“It is soft, isn’t it? Like you.” She sat on a low couch and held out her arms. Parsia climbed into them and hugged her. “Would you like me to tell you a story?”
“Yes please, Mama.”
“Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who got kidnapped by a witch.” Nasri wandered over, a half-dressed doll clutched in her hand. “And the witch kept her imprisoned in a tall tower.”
“Did she have very long hair, Mama?”
“Yes.” Aliyah smiled. They knew their favorite stories well. “Her hair was so long she had to tie it in seven knots so it wouldn’t drag on the floor behind her when she walked.”
Nasri sat next to her, eyes shining. Aliyah’s heart felt so full when she sat with her two bright and happy young daughters. She didn’t take any of these precious moments for granted.
Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6 Page 47