by Ella Brooke
His whole life, his father had been larger than life. Even when Jamsheed had grown taller than the old man, he never felt as if he crowded over his father. It was just the sheer presence that Walheed Rahal projected. He was the sheikh, he was in charge, and he could set everything right. Whether that had been banishing nightmares for Jamsheed when he was just a child, or the way he navigated his country’s policy and kept Zomelia a peaceful nation while nearby countries crumbled, the old sheikh had been commanding and powerful. It was a legacy so large and demanding that Jamsheed wasn’t sure how any one human being lived up to it—let alone Jamsheed.
He could run a company, sure. He loved Zomelia with all his heart; that went without saying. But he was a playboy, a roustabout, and he had none of the skill his father had to fight wars or keep peace. Those were things that had to be forged from experience, and he never led more than a Fortune 500 company in his life.
Jamsheed set one hand over his father’s and was careful to not tangle it in the myriad of leads and tubes coming from the comatose man. “I wish there was anything I could do. I’m still flying in a specialist from UCLA and one from Hopkins to consult with the royal physician. You can’t die yet. You know that you can’t. Zomelia needs you. I need you. Hell, I may have found someone I can have an heir with. Why would you want to miss out on grandchildren now?”
There was no answer, of course, except for the wheeze of the air through the machines breathing for the old sheikh.
Jamsheed reclined back in his chair but didn’t stand. He was afraid to even take his hand from where it rested over his father’s, as if his father would fade from existence before his very eyes. “Please don’t do this. I can be ready. I can learn or try. You had to learn on the job too, at least some things. Everyone does. But I don’t want to do it without you. I don’t want to have children running these palace halls without their grandfather to chase them. Please, Father, I know you have life left in you.”
“How quaint,” Abir said, clapping theatrically before him as he entered into the hospital wing.
Jamsheed gritted his teeth. “You’re not welcome here.”
“He’s my uncle, too. I care about him. I visit him twice a day. Ask anyone. While it’s taken you three extra days to come home from the decadent West, I’ve been here making the arrangements on the ground. Don’t presume to tell me how I feel about Uncle Walheed, especially considering what a bastard my father was to me.”
“It runs in your side of the family,” Jamsheed said, reluctantly standing and moving away from his father’s bedside. “You’re all rotten to the core, and if you think I’ll let you just take the throne.”
“I will take the throne, and your scam to impregnate your maid before it’s time won’t work. I’ve come too hard and built my family and my reputation as COO of our company, to prove myself as a capable surrogate son to Uncle Walheed too,” Abir said, starting to pace. “You were the one running off everywhere, having fun with whatever flavor of the week woman you wanted. I held the front here home together.”
“You’re not the heir.”
“Well, until you have a child growing in that woman’s womb, then you’re not either. Jamsheed, I know you. Ms. Mckann will have to consent. I know that’s who you are and how you believe, all that Western sensibility coursing through you. Then you’ll need to explain to her smoothly that she was brought here to be a brood mare. I can tell from how confused she was earlier that you didn’t mention that hiccup in this desert adventure for her. Well, Cousin, you don’t have much time so speak fast, but know this.”
“Know what?” Jamsheed demanded, clenching his jaw tightly after he spoke. “You won’t have this. You’ve earned nothing. You would drag our country back to the old ways.”
“The ways that guided Zomelia well, kept us away from foreign influence until fifty years ago. Yes. But that will be good for us, to be purely Zomelia again and to no longer worry about globalization.”
“No, I won’t let you take us back to that, erase what Father started.”
“The you better work fast and convince Ms. Mckann or find yourself a new whore.”
For the second time that afternoon, Jamsheed felled his cousin with a single blow.
Chapter Seven
Brenda rose the next morning and rubbed at the back of her neck. Between the shitty arrival with Abir mocking both she and Jamsheed, and the long flight, she felt as if most of her muscles were locked up. Standing, she arched her back too, trying to crack the stiffness away from all of her joints. Then her eyes spied the so-called outfit laid out on the vanity table beside her king-sized bed.
“Jazmina!” she hollered, impressed when the older woman hurried in from the salon in under a minute.
The older woman pushed her errant braid back behind her ear. “Yes, Ms. Mckann?”
“What is that?”
“It’s traditional,” Jazmina said, a grin playing on her lips. “These lightweight pants and bandolier top will be far more comfortable for you for today’s activities than any pair of jeans or t-shirt you’ve packed.”
Brenda picked up the pants, which honestly reminded her of M.C. Hammer or Princess Jasmine, except for their gossamer-like top sheath of fabric and bright jade coloring. “This can’t be practical.”
“But it is traditional, and it’ll be close to one hundred and twenty degrees today. You’ll need something light to be out in.”
She frowned. “And where are Jamsheed and I going? Doesn’t he need to look after his father?”
“The team of doctors can watch him for a few hours, and I think you both need some fresh air after everything Abir said to you.”
“I’m confused about half of what he said. I thought that Jamsheed was next in line for the throne?”
Jazmina bit her lower lip. “He is, miss, but things are very complicated. It’s nothing you need to worry about during your camel ride and picnic today.”
Her eyes widened. “A camel ride?”
Jazmina nodded and tapped the fabric of the bandolier, which was also a creamy jade, but at least it was plain, no coins or metal bangles adorned it. “They spit, you know. Do you want your own clothing to be ruined?”
Brenda flinched, thinking that over. “I don’t think I’d like that, no.”
“Assuredly not. I think you’ll find the traditional clothing of Zomelia quite comfortable.”
“It’s definitely colorful,” Brenda agreed before taking both pieces and slipping into the bathroom. “I’m just not sure it’s my style.”
“Maybe,” Jazmina said on the other side of the door. “That’s the point. This is an adventure, a chance for you to reinvent yourself. I know so few women ever get that, especially after our young ones are born. Today, miss, you can be anything you want.”
Brenda thought about that as she slipped her sleep shirt over her head.
That sounds great, but I’m still not sure who I want to be, especially after Abir was so awful. What am I really doing here?
But it was hardly a question to ask Jazmina, so Brenda hurried on getting ready for her outings so that maybe some long overdue answers from Jamsheed would give her a clue.
***
When she walked out to meet Jamsheed, it was far later than she assumed. She slept in until about one o clock in the afternoon, which made sense considering her exhaustion and jet lag, and then it had taken time to be prepared for the date. There was intricate braiding or her hair, kohl to rim her eyes, and precious baubles of gold and pearl to weave in through her hair. By almost four o’clock Zomelia time she was ready, and now was rushing out to the stables in the back where both the royal steeds and the royal camels were kept.
She expected Jamsheed to be in traditional robes, something similar to what Abir had greeted them in yesterday, but he was not. Instead, the sheikh greeted her in plain dark wash jeans and a plain green cotton shirt. He looked far more American currently than she did with her hair done up and a veil covering every part of her face besides her heavil
y-made-up eyes. On the other hand, as she walked to the already saddled camel, the wind was blowing hard. Without the veil and flowing clothes to protect her, the grains of sand might have really dug into her skin.
Jamsheed smiled the moment he saw her, that same beaming grin that had lit up his face on the London Eye. This was the look that had won her over, the one that had tempted her into coming to a foreign land, the one that said he saw more in her than just a maid or a middle-aged mom. He saw her, and she was trying to remember the last time a man had. Maybe never, and men of her past had only faked such an expression, and she bought it. But she never would never be so naive again. Not now that she’d seen someone show such faith in her—and lust for her.
“You look amazing. I’m going to have to give Jazmina one hell of a raise. I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful, my phoenix,” he said, passing a hand over her hair as she came to stand next to him. His hand hovered over the soaring eagle pendant in her hair, one adorned with real emeralds that shone vibrantly in her locks. “Yes, she’s also earned a vacation.”
Despite everything that had clouded her mood from Abir, Brenda couldn’t help breaking into a face-splitting smile. “Are you saying that she didn’t have good raw material to work from?”
He reached down and spread his palm over the exposed skin of her abdomen, a five inch wide strip that the bandolier couldn’t cover. She had to grimace a little at his choice. One of her hated spots were the stretch marks she had from her pregnancy over twenty years ago. Yes, they faded over the years, but she didn’t have an unmarred stomach anymore; nothing like some of the lovely models he’d been with even in the last month.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, trying to get back to her teasing mood. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she said, looking down at his hand. “I know where my trouble spots are.”
He kissed her then, his tongue probing and hungry. When he pulled back, he stroked her belly. “You gave life. You did something amazing.”
“A lot of women can,” she said.
“That’s not the point. What I mean is that every part of you is a testament to the woman you are now, and you’re someone I care about very much. I think you couldn’t be more gorgeous, my fiery phoenix.”
“Aww, I’m going to melt right here if you keep making me gush,” she said. Then Brenda turned to the camel and frowned. “I have no idea how to even get up there!”
“There are steps,” Jamsheed started, even as he rushed to her side and swept her up in his grip. “On the other hand, I prefer to put you on the saddle myself.”
She squealed, her heart feeling light again. Brenda had to banish her insecurities. If Anne were here, her friend would tell her that when a hot sheikh told a girl she was gorgeous, she should believe him. No sadness, and Jazmina promised everything about Abir and inheritances would be revealed. Right now, she was in the arms of the man she had a crush on for months, the man who made her heart race on the London Eye, and the man who made her heart pound late at night as she touched herself.
Jamsheed helped her ease into the saddle and she settled toward the back, settling into the leather as well as she could. In one fluid motion, he leapt in front of her and grabbed the reins. His ankles tapped against the camel’s sides and, as she watched, the animal spit once into the sand. Then it was off at a steady pace.
The first step made her almost slip from her seat. She’d never even ridden a horse, let alone a camel, and Brenda fell forward, grabbing tightly around Jamsheed’s waist. His back was broad and felt like solid steel. As she burrowed into him, finding safe purchase there, Brenda was caught up in his scent: that heavenly tease of turmeric and male musk, that exotic sense of spice that set her body on fire.
“Do you like it so far?” he asked, as the passed the dunes, set off by the orange and magenta of the fading sun.
The breath caught in her throat as Brenda looked out at the rolling hills before her. The Manilla walls of the castle faded from sight as the swirling sands spread out to meet them. The wind still blew strongly, and hints of sands flicked against her hair.
But it didn’t matter. She was with Jamsheed, and she felt protected and cherished. Everything else would come with time.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Jamsheed glanced over his shoulder and smiled back at her, his amber eyes as alluring as ever. “I was thinking the same thing.”
***
Brenda leaned against the fuchsia silk pillow beneath her. The tent they arrived at was made to mimic the old style of ancient Bedouin caravans. On the outside, the plain canvas flapped in the wind and sand but kept most everything out. Inside, sumptuous fabrics hung from the ceiling and one dramatic, crystalline chandelier adorned the center of the tent. It wasn’t camping. It wasn’t even the “glamping” or “glamorous camping” that Anne had tried to sell her on for vacations in the past. No, this was luxury. It was a window to the past, to the way that some of his people—some of the citizens of Zomelia—had lived their lives for centuries.
The food laid out before them was quite the spread: perfectly roasted lamb, falafel, dates, olives, pita bread, and a half dozen dishes heavily spiced that made her stomach rumble greedily and been labeled with names that were impossible for her to remember. All Brenda knew was that it was the best meal she’d ever eaten in her life, and if she moved to Zomelia permanently, she’d end up as big as a house.
It would be worth it.
Even if this was some Hansel-and-Gretelesque scam to fatten her up for nefarious purposes, at least Brenda could say she died after living her best days in the romantic deserts of Zomelia.
She leaned back and opened her mouth wide so that Jamsheed could hand-feed her the mouthwateringly sweet morsels of baklava that his personal chef had prepared for them. He lowered the last piece to her lips, and Brenda took it gratefully but didn’t stop there. She let her tongue trail out to lave delicately over the length of his forefinger. It tasted of salt but also of him, promising that pure sensuality that poured from Jamsheed. That part of him that was so utterly male, and so utterly divine.
“You know,” she said, as she pulled back and swallowed the last bits, her voice taking on a deep alto lilt. He did that to her; made her feel more like a woman than any man before him ever had, called to something primal and elemental within her. “There are other types of dessert we can feast on, and I’m ready to do more than what we did at the London Eye. I might not be ready to be in your bed full time or to move into your wing yet. That’s a huge commitment.”
Jamsheed nodded. “We can get to that.”
“But, I know I’ve come for you, and I want to show you how much that means to me. How much you mean to me.”
Jamsheed leaned forward and kissed her, his tongue warm and powerful against her own in their joined mouths. After moments locked in their embrace, he broke the kiss and said, “You never have to do anything to ‘prove’ you care for me.”
She snaked her hand out and trailed it up his thigh, letting her nail slide against the thick denim of his jeans. “I’m not proving, but I do want you to be happy. You have so much on your shoulders right now. Literally, the fate of a whole nation.” She frowned, her mind coming out of her bliss-filled fog and recalling the ugliness with Abir the night before. “At least I think you do.”
Jamsheed sighed and opened his arms wide. “Come sit.”
Brenda didn’t have to be asked twice. She scooted into his open arms and tried to keep herself focused even as the hardness of his length settled against her hips. She knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but she could see sadness in his eyes.
How bad are things with Abir, really?
“There are certain rules about succession, and I need to be honest with what I’ve learned about the way heirs are fully chosen in Zomelia.”
She quirked her head so that she could see him over her left shoulder. The sheikh kept his chin held
high but that hesitance seemed to shadow his eyes.
“How are they chosen?” she asked, her voice low and reverent.
“The line of succession does go through me, but I need an heir. It only needs to be a child already conceived. If my father dies while the baby is still in utero, then I’m still the next sheikh. If I have no discernible heir at all, it will pass to Abir as he has several children already. So, yes, I do need a child, and soon.”
She swallowed hard and bolted up from him. Pacing seemed easy then, natural. She needed to get the anxiety out of her, needed to let her frustration out somehow.
This can’t be, it can’t!
He brought her there because he needed an heir.
“So I need some IVF treatments now? Is that the real cost of helping Haley? You do that, and then I owe you my body?” she asked, vibrating with anger. Jamsheed started to stand, but she held her hands out in front of her defensively. “No, please don’t. I need to understand this. Was this ever even about me? About us? Or is this about needing an heir? You didn’t ask me out until your father was sick, and now you need me to be a surrogate or something even more?”
Jamsheed did stand then but was wise enough, it seemed, to stay on his side of the tent. “The rules don’t need us to marry. They do need us to have a child and, yes, the ancient laws have been interpreted by our judges as the old-fashioned way. Father was trying to change all the succession rules these last few years because…”
“Because you’ve been a man-whore.”
He laughed ruefully. “I’ve been busy, yes, but he couldn’t get leeway on our laws. I do care about you, and I think that morning, seeing you try and act like walking in on me didn’t bother you, really made me think about everything. I wasn’t feeding you lines. I was being sincere. Hardly anyone cares about me or sees more than the money and the title. You do.”
“And don’t you think that this is too much to ask? Maybe no woman but me asked about how you were dealing with your father being sick because of how you treated them. I’ve been the one on more than one occasion to head groupies off at the pass. You want love? You have to act like you deserve it. Bringing me here without telling me everything? That’s not worthy of love!”