by Snihur, Erin
“I didn’t even see him, Adam, I swear it. He is obviously American and used to getting what he wants at the expense of others!” Mina hisses in Maarku’s direction, scanning him from head to toe. As she does, Maarku instantly recognizes the look of a woman who is not averse to his appearance. Maarku finds he enjoys her appreciative gaze and shoots her a naughty grin back.
“Do you like what you see, jamal?” Maarku croons. Calling her beauty in Arabic only seems to cause her to blush redder and the stall owner to sputter louder.
“Sir, I must insist you keep those types of comments to yourself, they are not welcome here in Kulaz,” Adam orders, though his fear is clear, he raises his chin in a show of bravery.
“I apologize,” Maarku grits out through clenched teeth. He turns his gaze on Mina, whose silvery eyes seem to alight with anger as he takes her in. She isn’t going to give up the garment and neither is he. Mostly for his pride.
“Mina, I have other green garments,” Adam finally pleads.
“Perfect, I’m sure this man would love to look them over. I would like to buy this now,” Mina says her voice full of haughty attitude and turns up her nose at him.
Smirking in amusement at her attempt to dissuade him, Maarku gives a tug on the cloth, “Not happening.”
“Cut it in half. King Solomon would be proud,” Maarku finally says, knowing she will never agree to let him have it fully.
The stall owner sputters and by the wide eyed and upset look in Mina’s eyes, Maarku knows he has won.
Releasing the cloth, Mina glares at him through squinted eyes, “Buy it then. I hope it can cover the size of your contemptuous head.”
Clever minx.
2
Spinning on her heels, Amina marches down the row of stalls. It isn’t long until she hears the sound of feet rushing towards her. During the whole exchange with the arrogant man, who no doubt is following her now, Amina had a tough time keeping her thoughts focused on being angry with him. Stopping in front of a stall filled to the brim with original paintings, Amina shivers with excitement as the arrogant man appears at her side.
“As if stealing that piece of fabric wasn’t enough, now you are stalking me?” Amina murmurs coolly as she leans in to scan the signature of a painting.
“I have a proposition for you then, to ease your righteous anger,” the man grins as Mina rises and gazes up into his with a skeptical eye.
“Go on,” Amina murmurs, one corner of her plump lips rising slightly.
Holding up the now folded garment in his hands, the man holds it out, “You can have it, for a price.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Amina stares up at him, one eyebrow raises in question, “I’m sure where you come from, there are ample opportunities for your price. Here in Kulaz, the men respect the women that live here.”
Booming laughter escapes his mouth and others around them turn to watch as this strange man’s form shakes. As his laughter eases, he holds out the cloth.
“I would never ask for something so carefully guarded,” he murmurs and nods his head behind her.
Turning slightly, Amina blushes bright red at the sight of Alexander standing a few steps away from her with his arms crossed and his eyes glaring holes in the stranger. Turning back to the man, Amina raises her chin stubbornly.
“Then what do you ask for?” Amina asks and inwardly is cursing Alexander. I can handle this myself!
“A few hours of your time,” he croons softly and pushes the cloth towards her, “If you think a few hours of adventure is worth it.”
As she ponders his offer, wondering in the back of her mind what his angle is, he asks, “You are a local, correct?”
“And you are an American?” Amina asks back, not bothering to answer his question.
Shaking his head, the man's smile grows, “No. Arabic, like you.”
Tilting her head, Amina gazes at the man’s outfit. He reminds her of a jungle explorer in his cargo shorts, hiking boots and light colored shirt with many pockets in the front. Feeling the tingles of awareness that comes with the understanding that her guard, Alexander, is moving in closer to her, Amina spins about, taking the cloth with her as she does and thrusts it into his hands.
“My lad⎼,” Alexander starts, but her wide eyes and mouthing of the word stop silences him in an instant.
Finding her voice, Amina smiles up at Alexander, “I’m going to show this man around the capital. Please keep your distance, but stay vigil.”
As she turns back to the man, Amina inwardly chuckles at his mixed expression. Holding out her hand, Amina tilts her head slightly, “I am Mina and welcome to Kulaz.”
Chuckling slightly, the man shoots Alexander a strange look before turning his cool gaze back on her. Grasping her hand in his softly, the man raises her fingers to his lips and brushes them against her smooth skin. Just the briefest touch of his lips cause tingles to shoot up her spine. Although a part of her aches to pull her hand away and scold the man for being improper, she can’t help but be caught in the man’s greenish brown gaze.
“Lovely to meet you Mina, you may call me, Batin,” Maarku croons, which only causes Mina’s heart to thud faster.
“After the Islamic god?” Mina asks and swiftly pulls her hand out his, “I was right. You do have a big head.”
“Or are there perhaps, two of you? Like a split personality?” Mina asks further, grinning when the man, Batin, snorts at her assumptions.
“I prefer god,” Batin mutters and then motions around the marketplace, his voice mocking, “Forgive me, Mina, but I am a lowly god wishing to avail myself on the pleasures, the capital city of Kulaz has to offer a mere immortal.”
Shrugging with ease, Amina motions to the bustling market, the afternoon heat causing things to speed up.
Walking a few steps away, Amina calls over her shoulder, “Try to keep up!”
3
Inwardly, Maarku knew giving Mina a false name was wrong. But at the same time, he doesn’t regret it. Let her think that for the day, she’d met a charming stranger. At the end of the day, he would disappear, complete his mission for his brother and return to Aman without the familial guilt hanging over his head.
Over the last few hours, Maarku had become more and more interested in getting to know the young woman with the hulking bodyguard that followed them through the beautiful capital. Now, standing over a small ravine that rushed down from Kulaz’ mountain range, Maarku watches in amusement as Mina’s bodyguard shifts on his feet. The man obviously wishes to whisk the independent woman away from Maarku.
Wanting to try his luck once more and figure out exactly who this woman is, Maarku observes as Mina throws rice off the bridge that is built over the small ravine. On one side of the bridge sits the upper class of Kulaz’ capital and their homes and on the other side, lives the middle class. None of Kulaz’ populace is poor by any standards and it impressed Maarku to no end.
Below them, ducks and small birds splash about in the small pool of water that collects underneath the bridge. Most of the birds gathered upon Mina’s arrival and even a few children appear begging for handfuls of rice to throw to the birds.
Leaning against the railing with his back to the water, Maarku meets her guards gaze once more and murmurs to Mina, gaining her attention, “You have a guard. Yet, from what I’ve seen, the capital is an extremely safe place. The army and police fractions move frequently enough that I’ve yet to see a crime committed.”
“You mean other than your intimidation of innocent women, dear Batin?” Mina pipes up cheekily.
Grinning, Maarku shifts and turns his body to the side so that he can watch her at a more opportune angle. Her hijab remains in place, though a few tendrils of sleek, dark hair peek out from their day of exploring the markets, enjoying the local food and watching performers celebrating their crafts.
“You know I was reaching for the fabric first. Admit it,” Maarku demands teasingly, enjoying the way the woman blushes at his comment and no d
oubt at his close proximity.
Shrugging delicately, Mina folds the bag of rice in her hand and turns her head to gaze up at him with her silvery eyes, “I will admit to nothing.”
With that, she turns and bends over to hand the still full bag to a young child whose eyes widen and she shrieks her thanks. As the child races off to show her friends her new treasure of rice, Maarku surprises not only Mina, but himself, in offering her his hand to help her rise from her kneeled position.
She hesitates, staring at his hand as if it will bite her. Her bottom lip quickly disappears as she bites it and Maarku nearly loses it then. Was it possible for a woman biting her bottom lip to be too sexy? Mina was.
“It won’t bite,” Maarku murmurs, reaching out his hand closer to her.
Silvery eyes meeting him from her crouched position, Mina huskily answers, “I’m not so sure.”
Slowly reaching up, Mina takes his hand and he pulls her to stand, inhaling deeply as the force of his pull brings her closer to his chest. As he inhales, the scent of vanilla oil wafts around him. He’d smelled it when he had kissed her hand and instantly had hardened at the intoxicating scent. It reminds him of a sweet treat and he knew he would enjoy licking up every inch of her sweetness, Khalid’s mission be damned.
Maarku, in a daze of vanilla and silver eyes, leans his face in slightly, his gaze now transfixed on her lips. Mina’s pink tongue escapes to wet her lips and in that moment, Maarku releases a tormented groan. Intent clear, he tilts his head, going in for the kiss. Just as Mina’s eyes close and her lips react instinctively to the hair's breadth distance between his lips, a throat clearing causes both warm bodies to freeze in place.
Mina’s guard.
Maarku glares at the man who now stands close by, arms crossed behind his back and his face revealing nothing, but the icy glare of his own eyes. Turning his attention back to Mina, Maarku watches as her once desire filled eyes seem to evaporate and is replaced with shock and something else. Dismay?
“We must leave,” her guard insists coolly, his unspoken words clear. This was not a suggestion, but an order.
Inhaling deeply, Mina pulls away, leaving Maarku feeling cold and aching.
“You’re right.” she murmurs, though she doesn’t look at the guard as she continues and instead backs up a step, away from Maarku and smiles shakily, “Thank you for the fabric and… the day. I will never forget it.”
As she rushes to her guards’ side, the man places a hand at her back, though not touching. As he guides her across the bridge towards the upper class side of the capital, they both disappear into a throng of people.
Tongue loosening by her absence, Maarku whispers into the wind, “Neither will I.”
4
Maarku slides the suite key through the card reader and opens the door to the hotel suite he reserved in the capital. Kulaz’ only premier hotel, The Midas, named after the gold enthused king, was elegant and overly grand. They really took the gold part of their name literally as every suite and even the hallways and elevators were decaled in gold.
As he pushes open the door, shouts and curses can be heard from the main room. The large TV that dominates the fireplace below it is no longer being used for pleasure, but instead has been set up with a wireless camera and is displaying an angry version of his brother as he watches Haseem pace and wave his hands about in confusion.
“He gave me the slip. First, he went to one of the hotel bars and then before I know it, boom, gone. He could be anywhere by now!” Haseem growls in exasperation as Maarku’s brother, Sheik Khalid, curses through the video.
“Just perfect! I knew I should have sent you with a larger detail! Find him, Haseem!” Khalid orders.
Stepping into view of the camera and Haseem, Maarku smirks at both before meeting his brothers gaze in the camera, “Careful, brother, one might think you actually care about my safety.”
Both Haseem and Khalid stare at him in shock before shouting at the same time, “Where have you been?”
Raising his hands in a show of peace, Maarku shrugs and then collapses into one of the armchairs facing the TV, “I told Haseem I wanted to explore the capital. I guess he and I got our wires crossed, as Amelia would say.”
At the mention of Khalid’s wife, Maarku’s brother visibly relaxes and shoots him a familiar disapproving look. Both men had inherited that familiar look and used it sparingly when it came to their younger siblings.
“You can’t just wander off without protection. What if something had happened to you?” Khalid asks, his voice sounding stilted through the video.
“Worried about the alliance that much, are you?” Maarku sneers back.
“You know that’s not what I meant, Maarku,” Khalid sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. Maarku watches and for a brief moment, his anger over his brothers attempts to boss him around dwindle. His brother is visibly tired and even paler than before Maarku’s departure.
Leaning forward, his arms on his knees, Maarku inquired, “Are you ill?”
Stiffening, Khalid snorts and looks over the camera, at what Maarku can’t make out.
“Morning sickness has really taken its toll on Amelia. She can’t sleep. The doctors worry she might need to be hospitalized to ensure she doesn’t succumb to dehydration,” Khalid finally admits and sheepishly tries to keep a yawn at bay, “It’s been difficult these past few nights. I’ve moved my office into her office so I can be closer to her while she sleeps. The doctors want her to remain in bed until the morning sickness phase passes.”
Maarku snorts then, imagining his headstrong sister-in-law being confined to bed, “I’m sure that’s going well.”
Shrugging, Khalid smiles, though his gaze is far away, “She’s already tried to sneak out twice to go visit the horses in the stable. Her mare has just had its little colt, so she’s particularly upset about missing his first few days.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, Khalid sighs and finally focuses on Maarku, “How is Kulaz? Anything we can use to our advantage?”
Inwardly, Maarku feels a twinge of guilt for using Mina as his guide today. She’d shown him so much of Kulaz that had shocked and amazed him. From their clean water and plumbing system that allowed for their wells to be restocked, to the market and mountain side fields that grew all of the food they could ever hope to use in the city. Even the villages that were higher up in the mountains had trucks filled with food and supplies that they had delivered weekly. This country was by no means overly wealthy, they were prospering. If things improved with Kulaz’ new leader, Maarku could see it becoming one of the wealthiest countries in the world.
During her tour, Mina hadn’t even been fazed when he had asked about any problems her people faced living in Kulaz. The only issue she mentioned was the bit of unrest along their borders. Apparently, some nomadic tribes did not like having their laws governed by a Sheikha. Before he could ask her further on the subject, she’d rushed off to show him the beauty of the art district in Kulaz’ capital. He’d been distracted of course, while she prattled on about a few well-known artists who made a name for themselves in Kulaz. Maarku had been distracted, not with the beauty of her homeland, but with her beauty. It was as if she didn’t even realize. He’d been caught staring at her numerous times and he’d done it so often that he enjoyed the way her soft skin blushed at the feel of his gaze.
“Maarku?” Khalid’s voice pulls him out of his daydreaming and when Maarku gazes up at his brother he was met with confusion and Haseem’s disgust over Maarku’s disrespect.
“Yes?” Maarku asks back, rubbing his temple to try and relieve the headache that is forming there from being under his brother’s intense stare.
“Kulaz? How did you find it?” Khalid asks slowly.
“Perfect,” Maarku grumbles.
“Perfect?” Khalid repeats.
Frustrated with the direction of the conversation, Maarku stands and rubs the back of his neck to relieve the tension, “The only thing
I can find that is wrong, is what we already know. The border tribes are unruly with their new Sheikha. Something we cannot assist with.”
Sighing, Khalid shakes his head, “That is disappointing.”
Haseem snorts from his spot as he watches Maarku pace, “Perhaps your brothers’ usual charm when it comes to women will work in our favor this time, your Highness.”
Skin tightening at Haseem’s words, Maarku glares at the man, unintimidated by his size or experience, “Watch your tongue, Haseem.”
Shaking his head, Khalid curses, “Settle down, both of you. We don’t want a scandal to be caused between Kulaz and Aman. Instead, Maarku, play nice. Make friends with the new Sheikha. Tell her about Aman and how Amelia is very much looking forward to meeting her at this summer's Royal Arabian Summit. Every royal within our mass will be there to celebrate peace. Explain to her that our allegiance can withstand any storm.”
Rolling his eyes, Maarku grumbles under his breath, “How poetic.”
“Maarku…” Khalid’s voice trails off in warning.
“And I suppose I shouldn’t mention the fact that I was considered the black sheep and cut off from the family since your marriage to Amelia and have only now been welcomed into the fold?” Maarku hisses, his anger over their family blow up surfacing.
Khalid’s green eyes flash and he coolly replies, “Be thankful my wife is ill, brother. Or you and I would be having words and not with our mouths.”
Turning his cool gaze on Haseem, Khalid effectively blocks Maarku out as he mentions a few minor issues going on in Aman and then ends the call with a curt, “Keep me informed on your progress.”
As the screen goes black, Maarku turns his unsure stare on Haseem, “You lied to him.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Hassem grumbles and marches towards the fridge in the suites full size kitchen area. An area that neither men would even attempt to use. Cooking is not a strong quality amongst Arabian men. One his mother claimed was a fault in her parenting. To which, he and his siblings rolled their eyes every time it was mentioned.