“No!” The fool tugged ineffectually at his hands.
“Gibran, stop that. I’ll call security!”
“Your security is the problem.” Did Aliyah really think he was the bad guy? That hurt. “Why would he sneak in the window?”
“He’s the intruder!” rasped the guard, before yelping in pain as Gibran tugged his arms almost out of their worthless sockets.
“Gibran, please, stop hurting him!” Aliyah’s voice plucked at his heartstrings. But his training kept his grip tight. Breathless, muscles tight and bones close to breaking, the man was close to a confession.
“I came to take…” He squealed as Gibran shifted his weight over him. “To take the youngest child.”
Aliyah whimpered. Both girls now clung to her nightgown, faces pale.
“For what purpose?” Gibran exerted painful pressure on his pinned wrists.
“To extort money.”
“For who?”
There was a pause. “Me.”
Gibran kept his curses and his fists contained. He knew the man was lying, but right now making Aliyah safe was the most important thing. He trussed the intruder’s wrists and ankles with his own belt. The ideal situation would be for him to leave right now and let the family figure out all the answers. But he couldn’t abandon Aliyah and the children with this man. “Aliyah, can you summon help in a way that won’t get me shot.” He slid his phone across the stone floor to her and raised a rueful eyebrow. “And I’d trust Osman and his brothers before I’d count on this man’s cohorts.”
“Yes.” She grabbed the phone and tapped a number, then garbled a breathless story about an intruder in her children’s room and Gibran coming to the rescue. He had a feeling he’d still end up with a gun barrel against his head, and he wasn’t wrong.
Seven soldiers burst into the room, guns drawn, and thrust him to the floor. He knew better than to resist, though the temptation was strong. He held his tongue, too. No use negotiating with foot soldiers.
From his vantage point on the hard stone floor Gibran saw King Osman sweep into the room, all rippling muscles and regal demeanor. Gibran wanted to spit blood that he was being held down like a dog when he’d been fool enough to try to help this accursed family who deserved everything they got.
“Get off my brother.” Osman’s command to his men stunned him like a blow to the chest. The men released his wrists, and one removed a boot from his back. Osman extended a hand, but Gibran jumped to his feet without touching it and eyed him warily.
“This guard admitted he wanted to take Parsia and hold her for ransom.” Aliyah burst out.
“I probably shouldn’t have intervened,” Gibran said softly, with a lightning-fast glance at Aliyah. “Since I’m not officially employed here, but old habits die hard.”
“And we’re all grateful to you.” Osman grabbed him to his chest in an awkward bear hug that made Gibran want to knock him to the floor. He managed to restrain himself. Osman probably didn’t intend to be patronizing. “You’ve proved that you’re exactly the person we need here to protect the family and our people, and I’d like to extend a one year contract to you for one million dollars.”
Osman’s green eyes searched his face, hoping for the answer he wanted but clearly not sure of it.
Gibran wanted to spit a rejection, but found he couldn’t. This man had extended the hand of friendship—of brotherhood—to him. He’d trusted him when others wouldn’t, and now he wanted him to come live in their midst, and be one of them.
Not a royal prince, of course, but a proud Ubarite with a duty to his people.
“I’ll have to think about it.” The words crept out of his mouth before he could stop them.
“I’m grateful.” Osman still had a big hand on his shoulder. “And perhaps—if you’re willing—you could keep watch over Aliyah and her children for the rest of the night until we come up with a more sustainable solution. As you can see, the threat to our safety is internal, and hard to police.”
Gibran nodded. The prospect of spending the night in proximity to a grateful Aliyah was impossible to resist.
“Are you sure you have everything you need?” Aliyah plumped the pillows she’d laid on the long sofa in their sitting room. The stack of books from that night’s bedtime stories still lay nearby where she’d forgotten it in her rush to go stalk Gibran in the dark. The girls were tucked back in their beds and the guard locked in custody, but she wasn’t sure she’d ever sleep again.
She realized Gibran hadn’t answered her question. Sitting on the sofa, he simply looked at her, eyes shining in the dark.
Her nerves were jangling and the silence unsettled her further. “It’s very kind of you to keep watch over us.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it.” She gasped as he caught hold of her wrist. “Stop flapping around and come sit next to me.”
She obeyed, not wanting to seem rude. Her heart thudded so hard, and she knew it wasn’t just the near-kidnapping that had her wound up.
He cupped her hands in his, encasing her fingers with his body heat as she tried to keep her breathing inaudible. His eyes narrowed slightly and she could see emotion churning beneath their surface even in the dim lamplight. “Today has been full of surprises, Aliyah.”
“Not all bad ones, I hope.”
His rich, throaty laugh surprised her. “Not all bad, no. I didn’t know what to expect when I agreed to come here, but I had to see the place with my own eyes one more time.”
“And now you’re going to stay.” It was all but agreed. He and Osman had shaken hands on it.
He inhaled a long, slow breath. “We’ll see.”
“We need you here. You can see that.” Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought that Parsia could have been stolen from her. If Gibran hadn’t intervened at the right moment maybe she’d never have seen her baby daughter again. “I’ll never forget that you saved my daughter.”
“I was in the right place at the right time.”
For a second she wanted to ask why he’d been outside her chambers so late at night, but she held her tongue. It was none of her business. All that mattered was he’d stepped in to help when he could have looked the other way.
“I’ll do my best to make you feel at home here. Would you like some rose hip tea?”
“No.” He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them.
Her stomach contracted. Him attempting to seduce her in the sanctuary of her apartment was totally inappropriate. If Osman and the others had any idea of what already passed between her and Gibran they’d never have suggested that he stay here.
Maybe he thought that because she’d slept with one man she didn’t love—her husband—she could just as easily sleep with another? “I must go.” She tried to stand but he stood with her and wrapped his arms around her so fast she couldn’t escape.
Pressed against his, her body betrayed her instantly. Her nipples thickened against the hard muscle of his chest and her belly simmered with heat. More disturbing yet was the slow fire starting in her most private places. Is this what true attraction felt like? She’d never known it with her husband.
She banished the dead king from her mind, and Gibran’s kiss stole over her. Soft and tender, exploring her lips with his, then prying them gently apart with his tongue, he opened her up like a flower in the spring rain.
Her brain sent faint signals that she should resist him, but her body short-circuited them as she gave herself over to the powerful sensations rushing between them.
He was every bit as aroused and excited as her. His hard erection pressed against her hip as she stood on tiptoes to kiss him. His chest rose and fell as fast as hers, and his fingers pressed into her back with urgency that echoed her own.
“We can’t do this,” she managed to whisper when they broke for air.
“Yes, we can.” His low voice reassured her as he slid her nightgown down over one shoulder and pressed his lips to the skin next to her collarbone. “You know you want to.”<
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“I do,” she admitted. She’d been so lonely, sure she’d never feel a man’s kiss or caress again, that she’d go to her grave without knowing the passion and enjoyment that normal couples shared.
Suddenly Gibran had whirled up around her like a sand storm and she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face or make sense of which way to go. Right now, she could discover the joy of lovemaking with a man she desired as much as he desired her—was that so wrong?
Yes. It was. She’d met this man today! What respectable Ubarite woman—or any woman, for that matter—would open her body to a virtual stranger?
Worse yet, he was her husband’s son. Which made him her stepson, though in age he was probably closer to an older brother.
His lips traced kisses on her neck, stirring warmth and doubts that quickened her pulse and finally sent her hands to grab his. “Stop. Please.”
He stopped immediately. “You’re just afraid of the unknown.”
“I am. How would Osman and his brothers react if they knew that you seduced me? If they knew I’d let you?”
“They’d be pretty pissed, I’m guessing.” A wry smile accompanied his odd use of American words in Ubarite speech.
She nodded. “I can’t risk that. My children are the center of my life. You know that. I can’t risk our quiet existence here.”
“You should.”
“I can’t. I have no other alternatives.” She was growing angry. What did he think she’d do if the brothers threw her out of the palace? Her parents’ house was already overcrowded.
“You do, you know.” He stroked her cheek gently with his thumb. “Your whole future lies ahead of you.”
“Right now that’s a pretty scary prospect.”
He cocked his head. “Your past hasn’t been all that fabulous. Especially the sex.” He was still touching her, fingers stroking her hair.
She lifted her chin. “I hardly think that’s any of your business.”
“I don’t suppose it is.”
“My husband was your father.” She hoped to shock him into tugging his hand from her hair.
He didn’t pull his hand back but he did frown. “He married you for all the wrong reasons.”
“Really? Aren’t they the same reasons that you’re touching me right now?” She peered sideways at his hand.
He pulled it back. A wry smile tugged at his mouth. “Ouch.”
“One day you’ll be an old man, too. You may find yourself in the awkward position of feeling desire for a younger woman.” She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you have the power to act on that lust, perhaps you will?”
Gibran blinked. It was funny to see such a big, burly and forceful man lost for words. “Maybe I’ll have a loving wife to share my desires with.” He looked rather vulnerable right now.
“Will you? You seem to travel a lot. From what I can see you pride yourself on keeping your emotions in check, and staying an arms length from other people. Perhaps you won’t want to take the risk of sharing your life with another person.”
Mercifully the desire he’d stoked was subsiding and she could think and talk rationally. It was good to remind herself of all the reasons there could be no future for her with Gibran.
His features grew harder again, and the expression in his eyes more distant. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“I’d better go to bed. Alone, if that’s okay with you.”
A twinkle of amusement pierced the darkness of his gaze. “I promise I will not touch you again.”
“Good.” She blinked as a tiny sadness slid through her.
“Tonight.”
He walked to the sofa and stretched his long form out along it. He was so tall that his feet hung off the end.
Tonight? What did he mean? That he wouldn’t touch her tonight, but tomorrow was a whole different story?
He’d closed his eyes and pulled his arms up behind his head like a pillow.
Did she trust him? Once you’d been married to a man known to murder his wives, you didn’t really trust anyone. She’d learned how to sleep with one eye open, say the right things at the right times, and smile at each new sunrise. And that was the best she could hope for tonight.
She snuck a glance at him. He wore a Western T-shirt and light cotton pants that clung to the thick muscles of his chest and thighs. He really was a spectacular specimen of manhood, and she couldn’t blame herself for being tempted.
“What are you looking at?” One dark eye peered at her.
“Nothing.” She tried to stop the tiny smile sneaking across her mouth.
“Wake me up if anyone tries to break in, okay?”
“All right.” She smiled. He wasn’t mad at her for putting the brakes on his seduction and speaking some hard truths. And she knew that if anyone broke in again, he would protect her.
Now she just had to figure out how to protect herself from Gibran.
CHAPTER FIVE
“So three perpetrators are in captivity?” Gibran asked Osman. They were helping themselves to a hasty breakfast in a room off the palace garden.
“Yes. The security guard from last night is locked up in the old harem.”
“Here in the palace?”
“Yes. It’s not really a harem. More of a dungeon.” Osman lifted a brow. “Very secure.”
“I know exactly where you mean. With the iron rings on the walls.” That place always gave him the creeps.
Osman buttered a piece of toast. He was more Westernized than Gibran had expected. Almost as much has himself. Hardly surprising since they’d both spent more than half of their lives in exile. Both of them wore dark cotton pants and T-shirts. “There’s another captive at an old converted storage facility in Nabattur. He ditched a plane in the desert, stranding Zadir and Veronica in the Empty Quarter. It’s a miracle they survived.”
“Who’s guarding him?” Gibran frowned.
“Guards from the palace.”
“Hmm.”
Osman nodded. “I know what you mean. I’m not sure who to trust any more.”
“So you decided to take a chance on me.” He raised a brow. Did his “brother” really trust him?
“I know you’re the best at what you do. Even if you weren’t family I’d have tried to convince you to come here.”
“And who’s the third captive?”
“He started a fire at the power station and knocked out power to the palace and Nabattur during some celebrations. We suspect he had further mischief planned but we haven’t managed to extract any information out of him. He’s being held in a building out near the power plant. So far we can’t find any connection between them.”
“Do any of these people have lawyers?” Gibran was curious to see how much the old ways still ruled here.
Osman sighed. “We’ve offered them our version of public defenders, but they won’t even speak to them.”
“They probably assume it’s a trick to coax information from them.”
“They might even be right.” Osman sat at the inlaid table and sipped from a steaming cup of coffee. “The truth is we can’t get a word out of them. We still have no real idea why they’re trying to sabotage our facilities and threaten our lives.”
“It is unusual that they haven’t made demands of any kind.” Gibran tasted his own coffee. Damn, he’d missed the fierce, delicious brew of his homeland.
“Or named a cause they support. If the motive isn’t financial, and it isn’t ideological, what is it?” Osman shook his head. “They’ve got us stumped.”
“It’s financial.” Gibran took a bite of a sesame seed cake. “That I’m sure of.”
“So why aren’t they demanding money?”
“Because they want something more than a bag of cash. I need to talk to them so I can figure out what.”
“Well I hope you have better luck than us. And I’m sure you wouldn’t do this anyway, but we’ve banned torture.”
“Shame.” He was kidding. He didn’t make t
hat obvious, though. Better to have all these comfortable rich men a little wary of him. At least until he knew where he stood with them. “I’d like them all brought here. To the old harem, as you call it.”
Osman frowned. “We deliberately moved them out of the palace because we don’t want to give the appearance of being a dictatorship.”
“Or an absolutist monarchy.” He chuckled. It was funny how dictators hated being called dictators. “But sometimes creating that appearance will get you the results you seek. Bring them here, into your bosom. Cut them off from the outside world. Let them know that there’s no way out and they can languish in those dungeons until they’re old, like many have over the centuries. Then maybe they’ll feel more talkative.”
“I suppose you have a point.” Osman pulled out his phone and gave the order.
Gibran felt a moment of satisfaction that his advice was being taken. He wasn’t entirely sure it would be. Getting his own clients on his side was often the toughest part of his job.
“While they’re being transported here, I want to interview each member of the staff. I’ll need a quiet room where I can talk to them without being overheard.”
“The ladies’ dining room should work. Our ladies prefer to dine with us so it doesn’t get used. It’s windowless.”
“I’ll bet it is.” Gibran chuckled. “The good old days, huh?”
Osman stared at him for a moment with a strange look on his face. “I had no idea you were our brother.”
“You, Zadir and Amahd were probably the only people in the palace who didn’t know. People were kind to me, though. They knew it wasn’t my fault that I was a bastard.” He liked the way that word rolled off his tongue—losing its power over him each time he claimed it.
“Nor your mother’s, either, I’m sure. The old man took who he wanted and didn’t worry much about their feelings.”
Gibran nodded. “Sometimes I’ve wanted to ask her if she did have feelings for him, but it doesn’t feel right to pry.”
“I’ve wanted to ask Aliyah the same thing. It seems so strange for a lovely young woman like that to marry such an old man, even if he is a king. I’ve kept quiet because I suppose she had no choice in the matter.”
Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6 Page 49