The final stand had mostly necklaces. They were finer than the belts or most of the bracelets, and adorned myriad stands. They were those faux mannequin necks whose white fabric contrasted so vibrantly with the glittering ore. Some ended in huge amber rocks, surrounded by filigree. A few with thin strands that seemed to center around metal pendants were almost as ostentatious as the belts from the opposing vendor. Some of the necklaces contained interwoven strands that grew thick around the front and with balls and small jewels hanging off of them. Others had three intricate golden eyes, each stacked above the other dangling from them. All were as exotic as anything she’d ever seen, even since her first day of moving into Dubai.
Her eyes trailed over the collection until she settled on a dourer one than some of the others. There was no way for her to ever see herself with necklaces that would have made a pharaoh of old blush. But there was one there that had captured her attention. A braided gold chain that ended in a bright Aegean stone. It wasn’t turquoise but had a similar texture and was cut, again, into an eye shape.
Reaching out, she ran her hand over the cool, smooth stone. “What is this pattern? I see it on so many of the necklaces.”
Her sheikh—yes, hers, at least for right now—gave the stall owner a nod and picked up the necklace in one hand. With the other, he caressed her long, blond hair. Leaning so close to her that she could feel his hardness press against the curves of her rear, he whispered, “It’s ‘the evil eye,’ and surely you’ve heard of it.”
Trudy furrowed her brow. She’d concentrated mostly on anything relevant to doing well with business and some cultural mores in school, but she hadn’t committed everything to memory. Lord, if she had, then she wouldn’t have messed up so badly with Dubaian slang and her adequate but not exceptional Arabic. Frowning, she finally answered:
“I think so. It’s a curse thing, right? Why would you make a necklace out of it?”
He chuckled, that warmth reverberating through his chest. His breath was hot and flush against her neck as he stroked her hair once more. “Hold it up for me, kitten. This is more than that. It’s to ward off evil, not invoke it. The Irish have a horse shoe. Other cultures have rabbit’s feet. We have the evil eye, and it will protect you always,” he said snapping the chain in place.
The metal was cool and inviting against her skin. A man with a graying beard held up a hand mirror for her to appraise herself. The eye was smaller than most of the medallions and jewels that decked out the other necklaces. That made sense for her; Trudy was hardly a “bling” person. Still, it was heavy and hung lower than anything she usually owned. Basically, the cerulean eye sat centered between her breasts. She had to blush and be grateful she had a T-shirt on. Otherwise, it would feel like it was nested in her cleavage.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said, and she meant it.
The stone was unlike anything she’d ever quite seen before, and it made her feel like an ancient princess to have it even near her skin. It made her eyes sparkle and her skin seem like fresh cream. For the first time, she could see the attractive qualities he kept swearing she had. It almost made Trudy think the mirror was somehow a trick, like one of those warped ones from a funhouse. After all, wasn’t Sonia the pretty one? Wasn’t Sonia always the vibrant and outgoing one? But Trudy? Could she really be everything the sheikh claimed? Before, she’d say all she amounted to was a nerd, an outcast, and a woman whose hips were just a bit larger than any boy could care for. But…maybe not. Maybe she could start to see some of the beauty the sheikh swore she had.
“Then it’s yours.”
Her eyes widened even as she caressed the amulet around her throat. “You can’t mean that. I mean, Barakaa, please, I appreciate your generosity but you’re already covering my medical costs.”
“My employee was the negligent idiot who almost made that accident happen in the first place. I could hardly do anything less.”
“Sure, but I just can’t. It’s too much.”
Laughing again, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a way that was completely appealing, Barakaa kissed her cheek. There it was, that now familiar heat flaring through her at the touch of his lips. “This is a pittance compared to what I can afford. You deserve to be as regal as a sheikha,” he continued, unhooking the necklace and asking the vendor in Arabic to wrap it up for them. “You need to get used to being pampered, my kitten, because you haven’t seen anything yet.”
Trudy was about to protest but, even as she started to, a smile spread across her face. She’d been so careful all her life, first with living the austere farm life of the Amish and later as a student barely having enough money for instant ramen. She finally had a chance to enjoy things. Just days ago, she could have been killed; she was still suffering a bit of dizziness from time to time due to her concussion. Maybe it was okay to be spoiled; it would be her first time for such an experience.
“Then show me.”
Chapter Seven
He loved the way she hesitated. True, there was a fierce side to his kitten—he’d seen her claws come out on their first meeting and again in that alley. However, the thing that made Trudy so delicious was her rolling contradictions. There was this sweet naiveté to her, probably something related to her being a farm girl from Oklahoma, or something simple like that. He wasn’t quite sure about all of her background yet, but he could tell she wasn’t very experienced, at least not much beyond a bumbling quarterback on prom night or a few trysts at homecoming in college. She was too easily startled, her cheeks too quick to blush for her to be more worldly.
Yet, it was these times when she seemed the most amazed, when she looked at his life with wonder and, yes, sometimes hesitance, that he was the most attracted to her.
She eyed him hesitantly again as they neared the end of the road where the Land Rover was about to head off into the sands. He’d filled the car up thoroughly as they’d passed onto the outskirts of Abu Dhabi and on the way towards Arabian Nights Village. If it were just him, he’d have stayed at one of the five star hotels at the heart of the city. Although he’d heard it was lovely, Arabian Nights Village definitely felt more like a tourist trap or something designed for people who hadn’t already grown up understanding the Bedouin ways. He wasn’t one, but his mother had been, and he had visited his grandfather, seen the lands and proud tents his kingly grandpa had controlled once upon a time. However, he was sure Trudy hadn’t seen some of those sites yet in her whirlwind time so far in Dubai and Abu Dhabi.
But the best part of the Village was how they were getting there.
“Are you serious?” she asked as they started out into the sands. “What if we get lost out here? Did you know that the human body can only go without water for three days? I bet it’s a lot less in temperatures this high, even if it’s still just spring here. If you’re just going to gallivant in the desert…”
He grinned and kissed her nose. Something that adorable from his kitten deserved to be treated as such. “I’m off-roading. You’ve never lived until you’ve scaled some of these massive dunes. You have no idea what it’s like.”
“Then we’ll come back?” she asked, clutching the simple wrap and bag that held her new necklace.
He’d also had his assistant pick something up for her to be waiting back at the Village, and he couldn’t wait to see how well that complimented Trudy too. He knew she’d be stunning in both items, especially when they were paired together so they could play off of each other.
“Where we’re going is out across the desert. I assure you I know the way.” And he did. He’d done off-roading before during business deals, he found outdoor and macho things tended to help relax the other side of the bargaining table. After all, if he was a good guy, he couldn’t possibly be trying to snake things out of them with the fine print.
Or maybe he could be.
Never trust an asp, after all.
Besides, by the time he was fifteen, he’d already been off-roading in Dubai— he would crest hills so big it felt like
the engine was buckling under his demands, just to meet what he needed.
“But…” she countered, innocent eyes brimming with concern.
“I promise,” he said. “You’re going to be all right. I’ve done this so many times that I could assuredly do it blindfolded. After all, everything else bends to Sheikh Tahan’s will, so why wouldn’t nature?”
She rolled her eyes, and he was glad for that. Already, Barakaa knew the easiest way to put Trudy’s mind at ease was to make her laugh at him and his hubris, even if he played it up for her. It was a flaw that oddly intrigued her and seemed to make her flippant.
But he didn’t need the desert to bend to his will, he really was one of the best damn dune drivers there was. He’d always bested his cousins in races, and had always been able to force the Jeeps or Land Rovers to climb the hills his childhood friends had claimed impossible. He wouldn’t take risks quite so dramatic with his kitten, especially as she was still recovering, but if she thought they were going for a simple Saturday drive or that he’d become lost in the run between here and the Village, then she was sorely mistaken.
Grinning, he slammed the car into third gear and started flying through the sand. Beside him, Trudy shrieked and gripped his arm as tightly as she dared. Her fingernails dug into his skin and created the most delicious pain. It reminded him that, again, there were so many things he wanted to introduce Trudy to, and this was only the beginning. The wind whipped through his hair, making his bangs fall into his eyes and rippling through his beard. Her golden locks were a fluttering mess, but she clung tighter to him, her delicious lips curled back in a scream of delight as they crested the first of the massive sand dunes stretching out before them.
He felt the force of gravity pulling against them both, the lurch in his stomach—so satisfying in its own way—as they worked up to the final part of the dune’s edge and then started the bumpy descent back to the sand floor. Barakaa handled the wheel deftly, working hard to make sure that he kept the Land Rover from spinning out from under him. Grinning, he hazarded a glance back to Trudy who was still screaming, as if she’d finally realized how akin this all was to riding a roller coaster. The jeep jostled again and she fell into his side. He almost lost the grip on his wheel, yet he maintained, even as his erection grew. One thing he’d not quite counted on was what a distraction she presented, how her scent—so like vanilla and spring—assailed his nostrils and how the heat of her arms made him wish they were already at their tent and ready to make love.
Tonight, kitten, I will make you mine. You have no idea how much I’m going to teach you …
* * *
Once they’re checked into the collection of reproduction Bedouin villages that comprised the Village, he’d scurried off to the main dining hall. He was already seated in a private corner on soft, golden-threaded cushions waiting eagerly for his kitten’s arrival. He knew she was prudish, and that she might be too shy to dress in front of him. It was something he intended to rectify after this evening, but he also liked the thrill of anticipation. In his own nightly delights and appetites, he’d learned that waiting was the ultimate aid to pleasure, and that sometimes it was the anticipation that truly set the mood.
Frankly, he could barely wait to see what she’d look like in the necklace and the surprise he’d gotten her. Trudy could leave his member hard just wearing her usual black skirt and plain white blouse. When she was decked out, he was sure she’d make people stare openmouthed at her and stop hearts.
Allah knew that she had captured his own.
As he watched, his length already uncomfortably hard under the loose fabric of his linen pants, Barakaa grinned widely when his kitten finally arrived. He’d have to give his assistant, Nadula, the biggest raise, for the older woman had outdone herself with her preparations. Trudy was dressed up traditionally in the billowy pants and flowing bolero of a harem girl. The fabric was an indigo, like her eyes, and it complimented the mesmerizing evil eye pendant that hung low between her full breasts. The bolero itself was encrusted with Swarovski crystals and twinkled under the lights of the chandeliers above them. The pants flowed around her body and were sheer on the legs, allowing him to see the golden muscles of her claves and the curve of her thighs. He’d be grabbing those soon enough, one could bet on that.
Finally, her make-up was glamorous, done in the style that he preferred in his women. Well lined, dark ruby lips that accentuated her full, kissable mouth. Her cheeks were highlighted expertly with blush, giving the rosiest of glows to the apples, and her eyes were rimmed with kohl. It all served to make her more alluring than she already was.
He stood then, thankful for the flowing garments he wore, and bowed low for his guest. Taking her right hand, he brought it to his mouth and kissed the back, relishing even the sweet taste of the body wash with which Nadula had scrubbed her. She tasted of dates and figs, so delicious and fruity. He’d enjoy tasting her other nectars soon.
“Words cannot describe how ravishing you are tonight, kitten.”
She blushed. “I don’t know about that,” Trudy said as she eased herself down onto the cushions beneath them both. “I almost feel like I’m playing dress up, like this couldn’t possibly be me.”
“But it is you,” he corrected. Those indigo eyes seemed so sultry, as if there were more knowledge behind them now. Maybe there was. They certainly were doing their best to drill into him, to sear that impression onto his soul. “This is how I’ve seen you for a while, Trudy. Why can’t it be how you see yourself?”
She sighed and smiled politely as the staff set their food before them. He’d taken the liberty of ordering traditional Emirati dishes for her to try. He assumed she’d already had some basic things around Dubai, but nothing prepared with the expert eye and palette of the chefs here. He wanted her to sample the delicacies of his region, wanted her to fully embrace and understand the things she’d only read about before.
“This I’ve had before, mostly,” she said, pointing to the main platter before her and scooping it onto her side plate. For this meal there would be no utensils, as matched with ancient custom. Besides, there was something more intimate when you handled your food directly. Hell, when you handled anything directly. “It’s the Koshari. I’ve had some that’s just noodles and chickpeas before.”
“Well this is simmered with the finest spices and also topped with grilled onions, roasted lamb and lentils. I’ve also procured date bread, as well as pink diamond oysters from the waters of the nearby seas.”
“Because they’re an aphrodisiac?” she asked.
“Because they’re delicious,” he countered. “You’ve never had seafood, let alone a mollusk, until you eat these. The fishermen catch them fresh,” he said, adding a bit of tartar sauce, lemon, and cilantro to one of his. “Do you know how to eat one?”
“You avoid them or fry them up.”
“Of course, you’re from Oklahoma. I assume everything must be deep fried there.”
She scowled back at him, and he wanted to bite her lips so desperately, but he wanted to tease her even more. “Not everything is like that in Oklahoma.”
“Fine, then whatever you need to believe,” he said, winking at her, loving the way her cheeks colored in consternation. “Now,” he said, standing up and easing himself behind her on the cushions. It allowed her delectable, rounded ass to sit over his erection. Leaning his head beside her, he watched as her eyes grew wide when she realized what he was promising her.
And it had very little to do with the damn seafood.
“I’ve loosened it a bit with my fork. You just bring the tip of the shell to your lips, and tilt your head back. It will slurp from the shell and down your throat.” Barakaa leaned in closer, breathing against her neck, relishing the way he was able to make the hair there stand on edge. “Just suck it all down.”
Her cheeks were the color of the red setting sun, but those indigo eyes twinkled with mirth. Pushing the tip of the shell to her mouth, she sucked the mollusk down. She m
oaned, a low, mewling sound that went straight to his member, and he ground a bit against her ass.
“That was great!”
He nibbled on her ear. “I know what you mean, my love.”
A sharp gasp came from her throat, and he realize what he’d done. He hadn’t said he loved her—how could he be sure of that at such a point, even if she captivated him. However, he had used a different pet name, brought that heavily weighing “L” word between them.
Before she could fully respond or he could continue to enjoy her hot little body on his lap, the real entertainment of the night danced their way into the room. The belly dancers employed at the Village were dressed in small boleros that basically covered their breasts, exposing their stomachs to everyone. He went with a longer look for Trudy because she was his, damn it, and no other man needed to see that much of her. She was for his pleasure only, and the more demure full drape was more than enough to satisfy him until he could pull it off her in a couple precious hours. The other reason was she seemed sensitive about the womanly curves that drove him mad. He had been half afraid if he even hinted she should expose certain parts of herself that he’d scare her into refusing to leave their tent.
Someone had spent a long time hurting Trudy and forcing her to believe she was inferior or second rate; that much he could tell.
He was going to build her back up if it killed him.
Still, there were the three girls who entered, their dark hair decorated with bronze coins and barrettes, with multiple rainbow colored scarves jingling around their waists as they moved. They each wore a different color to help differentiate them. There was the soft saffron-yellow, a deep violet, and a baby pink. The girl in saffron sashayed her hips to their table, and he smirked as she reached for Trudy.
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