Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6 Page 15

  She snuck up on him slowly, not wanting to interrupt what could be the award-winning centerpiece moment of the documentary. The couple started to talk softly, and one gestured across the crowd.

  “Allan,” she hissed. He didn’t stop filming. “Allan!”

  He looked up and frowned. He cast a glance at her festive attire and shook his head. She decided to ignore his rude behavior. “How’s the filming going?”

  “Pretty good.” He polished the lens with a special cloth.

  “In terms of overall content, how would you say you’re doing?”

  “Okay.” He adjusted a setting on the camera.

  Frustration bubbled inside her. “Allan! We’re supposed to be a team. Why are you shutting me out?”

  He shoved the camera at her. “You want to shoot the footage?”

  “No, of course I don’t, but I want to hear about what you’ve shot. I think we’re creating something really special here.”

  “We are? I’ve been alone all day. I imagine you’ve been busy being swept of your feet by his majesty.” He didn’t even look at her. Just scanned the crowd.

  “He’s just being polite,” she protested, hoping it was true.

  “Is he? I don’t think so. I think he’s taking brutal pleasure in stealing you right out from right under me.”

  Her gut flashed a warning, maybe because his words rang true. Was Osman playing a game with her affections for his own entertainment? “I came here with you, Allan, and I’m leaving with you. Sheikh Osman and his intentions are of no consequence.” She wanted to grab him and kiss him to prove her affections still lay with him.

  Except that they didn’t. Allan had rebuffed every attempt she’d made at affection on this trip. She didn’t feel like being rejected again right here in the marketplace during a festival of romance.

  “Has he been coming on to you?” One sandy eyebrow lifted.

  “Harmless flirtation.” She didn’t feel like lying. “He’s just a charmer. I’m sure he does it with everyone.”

  “Probably. What love rite will you be sharing with him this afternoon?”

  She crossed her arms. “I don’t know what’s happening this afternoon, but why are you being so sour? Everything’s going as smoothly as it possibly could. Come back and relax with the group. Osman’s brothers are here.”

  “That’s a relief. Then I won’t be the only third wheel.”

  “Allan, you are really ticking me off.”

  “Good. That’s my intention.”

  “Why? Do you want to break up with me?” Once she’d said the words she knew she’d gone too far.

  Allan stared at her. “If you want to end it, let’s end it.”

  “It’s you who’s being difficult, not me.” She didn’t want to take the blame. Just two days ago she’d had every intention of spending the rest of her life with this man. Now everything was spinning out of control and was about to crash and burn, and she couldn’t stop it.

  “I’m trying to deal with a difficult situation the best I can. I’ve filmed enough footage for about three documentaries. What more do you want from me?”

  She swallowed and plucked up her courage. “I want love. I want affection, companionship. I want passion.” She drew in a deep breath. “I want to feel like we’re on the same team, helping each other and working together, not bickering and sniping and making life difficult for each other.”

  “Then perhaps you shouldn’t rush so easily into another man’s arms.”

  “I didn’t! I wanted to sleep with you that first night at the palace. I wanted to sleep with you last night. But you pushed me away! How do you think that makes me feel?”

  Yes, she felt guilty about the kiss with Osman—even though it wasn’t her idea at all—but it could have been avoided if Allan hadn’t left her hurting.

  A nasty thought crept over her. Did Allan know she’d kissed Osman?

  No. She didn’t think so. He’d have thrown his camera down and headed for the hills if he knew about that. She had to make sure he didn’t find out, either. It was time to pour enough oil on these troubled waters so they could finish the job here. One more day of filming and they could go home and pick up the pieces, or not.

  Allan had the decency to look distressed. He rubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Sam. Can you forgive me?”

  “Of course I can.” She neglected to mention that she’d never be able to see him in the same light again.

  “Tonight I’ll sleep with you. I promise.”

  She gulped. “Great.”

  “No matter where, no matter when.”

  “Thanks, Allan.” She patted his arm. The prospect of sleeping with him didn’t appeal at all now that she’d decided their relationship was probably best ended. Still, she’d handle that situation when it happened. “You’re one in a million. Come back and join…Osman and his brothers.” She narrowly stopped herself from saying “us.” She and Allan were supposed to be “us.”

  He shook his head. “I’m better off alone. I’m getting some really good stuff. Just come find me when it’s time to leave.”

  She agreed and walked away with a powerful sense of relief. At least she’d managed not to destroy their relationship and this almost-complete documentary project at the same time.

  Maybe this trip and its tribulations were a test and she and Allan would emerge stronger and better than ever?

  No. Just the fact that she was attracted to Osman—entirely against her will!—proved that Allan was not “the one” she’d always pledged to wait for. Right now it was hard to imagine how she’d ever thought he was.

  She wound her way through the crowd, looking for Osman and his brothers.

  “I’m right behind you.” His deep voice made her spin around.

  “What? How long have you been there?” She’d be furious if he eavesdropped on her private conversation with Allan. But if he’d been hovering behind her, surely Allan would have seen him?

  “I stood at a distance. I didn’t invade your privacy.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that.” Her hand wandered to her hair, where she tucked some loose strands back into her chignon. Osman’s gaze made her suddenly self-conscious. He looked at her as if she were a rare art object—or at least that’s how it made her feel. She almost wanted to turn and look behind her to find what he really regarded with such interest and admiration.

  “I’d like you to hear me sing.” He lifted his chin slightly as he said it, as if preparing for the blow of rejection.

  This unfamiliar sign of insecurity touched her. “I’d love to hear you sing.”

  “Excellent.” He wound his arm through hers with no further sign of bashfulness and led her across the crowded town center, under the fluttering red-and-yellow banners. She heard male voices but couldn’t see any of the men singing. She glanced around to see if Allan was watching. She didn’t want him to see her arm in arm with Osman if she could help it.

  Not that she could help it. Osman took charge with such force she never felt she had any choice but to go along with it, which was oddly refreshing after years of waffling men who waited for her to take the lead in everything.

  He led her toward a tent about ten feet across. It was beige in color, and she noticed about thirty of them had sprung up across the marketplace. “People do know how to erect a tent fast here.”

  “It’s in our DNA.” The glint of humor in his eye stirred that annoying attraction she couldn’t seem to ignore. “Permanent structures are overrated. When you tire of the size and layout of your residence or the location, you simply move things around.”

  “I guess that’s fine as long as you can survive the heat without air-conditioning.”

  “I doubt there’s a single air conditioner anywhere in Ubar. I suppose that’s why the palace is made of stone. It releases the heat during our chilly desert nights and stays cool during the day. Still, you don’t mind warmth, do you?” He jostled her and she giggled.

  “I guess I don’t.
I like the heat, actually. I hate winter.”

  “Excellent.” He beamed. She realized that was the second time in less than five minutes that he’d pronounced something excellent. She glowed a little to have the Sheikh Osman seal of approval.

  The inside of the tent was totally empty, illuminated by sun shining through the canvas and turning it gold. He let go of her arm but took hold of her hands. Her fingers felt supersensitive inside his, and she tried to stay calm and keep her breathing even. His green-gold eyes glowed with anticipation, which was surprisingly adorable. She wanted to make fun of the situation, as the air of expectation was becoming oppressive, but he seemed so excited that she didn’t dare break the mood.

  His chest rose with a deep breath, and he launched into a low melodious chant that filled the space of the tent. His expression remained deadly serious while his eyes sparkled with pleasure. She knew enough about music to recognize an untrained voice, but his passionate delivery shone with raw talent.

  The words were in the esoteric regional dialect and she understood little but she could feel the emotion vibrating from his core and it stirred something deep inside her. She felt tears well up as he sang a thoughtful-sounding passage, holding her hands with tender intensity and singing to her as if his life depended on it.

  She knew it was a love song. Probably one of the traditional songs from the festival in which he pledged his life to her. She still had no idea why he’d sing such a song to her and to sing it with such force that her chest rose and fell in sympathy with his.

  Maybe he was practicing for the real thing. Maybe he just wanted her to experience the festival like an Ubarite so she could better describe it to people back home.

  Or maybe he did intend to marry her in the ceremony tomorrow. Possibly without asking her or telling her what was going on.

  Fear punched low in her gut, and the powerful force of his song became overwhelming and oppressive. Maybe he saw something in her demeanor, because he softened his singing and trailed off with a series of sweet notes. “What’s the matter, Samantha?”

  “Why are you singing this to me? It’s a love song. I don’t understand.” Sheer panic made her honest.

  His impressive brow furrowed slightly. “It’s a traditional expression of admiration.”

  “Of a man for his future bride?” She heard the quaver in her voice.

  “Yes.”

  She tried to pull her hands from his and was almost surprised when he let them go. “You don’t know me. We’ve barely even spoken. Are you just practicing on me?”

  He narrowed his eyes as if trying to understand. Then he laughed. “Practicing? No.” She watched his chest rise again as he drew in a breath. “Do you believe in love at first sight, Samantha?”

  “No,” she said with conviction. She recalled the way he’d looked her in the eye and kissed her hand at their first meeting. It felt pretty intense at the time, but that had nothing to do with love. “And I doubt you do, either. We’ve both been around long enough to have fallen in love before.”

  “Mere crushes. Affairs. I admit that I’ve known and cared for several women over the years, but never one I’ve wanted to marry.”

  “And you want to marry me?” It made so little sense she had trouble forming the words.

  “Yes, Samantha. I want to marry you.”

  She straightened her back. “Well, you can’t.”

  “You find me objectionable?” He gestured to himself, obviously sure there was little to object to. He was right. A more delicious male specimen had never walked the earth.

  “Not personally, no. In fact, I find you charming and personable and very handsome.” She bit her lip. Un-nameable emotions churned in her chest. “But I have a whole life back in the U.S. with good friends and a loving family and an interesting career, and I have no intention of leaving it all behind to move to Ubar and become your royal bride.” Something akin to regret washed over her as she rejected him so finally.

  “You don’t like my country.” His eyes looked sad.

  Her heart squeezed. “I like it very much, but I don’t even speak the language.”

  “Beshwistar.” He spoke the unfamiliar word softly.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means have faith.”

  “I haven’t come this far in life on faith. I prefer to rely on hard work and planning.”

  He cocked his head slightly. A shaft of golden light shone through the tent wall and picked out the hard edge of his jaw. “Have you achieved everything you want to in this life, Samantha?”

  “Of course not.” Her stomach clenched. It was hard being put on the spot like this. And something was building in the air, thickening it and making it hard to breathe. “I’m only twenty-six.”

  “What do you dream of?” His expressive hands made a shape that suggested they were ready to carry her dreams.

  She blinked. “Winning an Emmy.” She was trying to focus on things he couldn’t possibly give her. “And maybe an Oscar.”

  “You’re ambitious. I like that.” One side of his mouth curved a little higher than the other. The effect was unbearably sensual. “I believe you’ll achieve your goals.”

  “Beshwistar,” she said with a smile.

  His eyes shone. “See, already you’re learning our language.” His hands seemed restless, like he wanted so badly to take hers back into their custody that he couldn’t keep them still. “Have you other dreams?” He lifted one dark brow.

  “Of course. The usual stuff.” She tried to sound casual. “I’d like to have children.” Now, why was it a thousand times easier to say that to Osman than to Allan?

  “You’d be a wonderful mother.”

  “How do you know? I might be impatient and spank them.” She couldn’t help smiling.

  “No, you’ll give them just enough discipline to balance your love but mostly you’ll enjoy them.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You know everything, don’t you?”

  His self-confidence was both appealing and irritating at the same time. She lifted a brow.

  He shrugged. “Not everything. And your willingness to challenge me is one of the things I find most attractive about you.”

  “Oh.”

  “I need a strong woman who can be my equal and bring out the best in me.”

  “That’s good. But I’m not—”

  She didn’t have a chance to say what she wasn’t because Osman stepped forward and claimed her mouth in a rough kiss.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Patience was never his strong suit.

  Osman wrapped his arms around Samantha, gripping her in his embrace. The energy gathered between them had no place else to go but into this kiss.

  Sam kissed him back with fevered passion that confirmed what he knew all along—she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Her protests that she didn’t want to marry him were understandable. The three-day nature of the festival made courtship a precipitously short affair, and if you weren’t prepared for that by your elders, then of course it was scary.

  And wonderful.

  Samantha was the one. He’d never been so sure of anything in his life. Every word that came out of her mouth, every gesture she made, only strengthened his conviction that he’d met his match.

  Their tongues tangled, and he felt her fingers fist into his robe, clawing at his back. His muscles stung with the energy coursing through them. She couldn’t deny the powerful attraction between them. Her concerns were more practical: place of residence, work opportunities, access to friends and family. He’d take these issues one at a time and reassure her that her life would be different, but better.

  He loved her sharp intelligence and her ambition. Of course his wife would win an Oscar! He’d make sure she had every resource at her disposal. And he knew she’d be a fine mother.

  He didn’t remember his mother well. Just a few faded memories of warmth and affection still traveled with him through life. And his anger. She’d been taken from him
so his father could satisfy his urges and still claim to be a moral and upstanding monarch. No man in Ubar shall ever divorce! No. Better to kill them.

  Bitterness surged through him, and he clutched Samantha tighter. He’d never cheat on his wife. And he certainly wouldn’t end her life. His marriage to Samantha would cement his claim to the throne and begin a new era here in Ubar. With her at his side he’d be a father completely unlike his own—loving and supportive, enjoying his children and sharing his days with them as well as his beautiful wife.

  Her nipples pressed into his chest, firm peaks of arousal. His hands roamed unchecked over her lovely body, exploring the slim arc of her waist and the lush curve of her behind through the silky dress he’d chosen for her. She looked so graceful and beautiful in Ubar’s native attire, with her long dark hair cascading down her back. He loved the way she walked through the marketplace, proud and tall, as if she’d lived her whole life here. Samantha was born to be an Ubarite.

  Emotion filled his chest until he thought it would burst. How fortuitous that his future bride should appear—stranded and in need of assistance—on the eve of their traditional marriage festival. Yet another sign of the powerful call of destiny.

  He’d grown hard against her, but she didn’t back away. Her fingers groped up his neck and touched his face, exploring, as their kiss deepened. The scent of her—like fresh, raw honey—almost undid him. It would be hard to wait for their wedding night to satisfy his passion for her, even if that would only be tomorrow night.

  Tomorrow was the third day of the festival. The betrothal ceremony.

  Samantha let go a sweet moan that heated his blood to fever pitch. He kissed her ear and neck before filling her mouth with his tongue the way he wanted so urgently to fill her with his thick erection.

  But he could wait.

  He tugged himself back gently and lifted his eyelids in time to see her eyes open, too, dilated with desire. Her lips red and swollen with kissing and her cheeks flushed with passion, no woman had ever looked more radiant.