Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6 Page 20

  “Who do you think we should use for the voiceover?” Maybe talking about the project would get them back on track.

  He shrugged. “I don’t really have an opinion.”

  “Come on. Of course you do.”

  “How about Samuel L. Jackson?” He didn’t look at her so she couldn’t tell if he was kidding.

  On reflection she thought he might be onto something brilliant. Allan did have flashes of inspiration that could transform a project. And her mom or dad might be able to make an introduction. “He’s so hot I can’t imagine he’d say yes. Still, it can’t hurt to ask.”

  Allan turned and stared at her. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll drop whatever A-list Hollywood blockbuster he’s starring in and come murmur authoritatively about Ubarite marriage rituals for us.”

  Okay, so he was kidding. She felt thoroughly smacked down. Maybe it was better not to talk at all.

  A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that Osman was following behind her at a distance with his brother Zadir. They seemed to have no problem navigating the ancient and virtually unchanged world of Ubar after spending years in the U.S. Maybe they were just the kind of people who thrived wherever they found themselves.

  The usual throng of foot traffic—on two feet and four feet—slowed down their progress as they approached Nabattur. It was even slower than usual today, since she knew guards were searching everyone to ensure that no weapons or explosives entered the walled city. When she saw Osman’s men swing off the road in front of her, she followed them across the sparse grass of the plain toward the private gate.

  “Aren’t you going to miss all this?” She asked Allan.

  “I’m going to miss you.”

  His quiet comment struck her hard in the chest. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

  “You’re the only person I know who doesn’t mind watching an entire movie with subtitles.”

  “I’m easygoing like that.”

  “I suppose that’s why it doesn’t bother you that you can’t understand a word that’s going on around you.” He stared straight ahead out the windshield.

  She wanted to laugh. “You’re right. I kind of like it. It makes me more aware of their body language and expressions. I’m picking up a few words here and there, though.”

  “That’ll come in useful when you move here.” Now he did turn to her and pinned her with a hard, pale stare.

  “I think we both know that isn’t going to happen.” She tried to remain calm and focus on the driving. She wished the car in front would slow down. The ground was bumpier than it looked and she had to grip the wheel to keep the car straight. “You can have the apartment, though. I already thought about that.” Maybe that would boost his mood. It was only two blocks from the subway, with big sunny rooms and the girl who owned it sublet it to them for a steal by local standards.

  “Thanks.”

  Sam was relieved they were able to break up in such a relatively grown-up fashion, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that the other shoe was about to drop. The car in front swung left toward the gate, and she followed, with Osman and another car of his men right behind them. Already she could hear music from within the walls of the city, so the third and final day of the festival was getting under way.

  The marriage ceremony.

  They called it betrothal, or at least that was the closest translation, but since the promise was of a lifetime commitment it also functioned as the wedding. Extended families gathered to meet and mingle and exchange gifts and promises. She’d been dying to see it in action but never thought she’d have to worry about becoming a participant.

  Sam pulled up next to the first car and climbed out with the equipment. She put the car keys in her pocket in case Allan got any ideas about disappearing. He’d been known to do that if he felt overwhelmed or otherwise disadvantaged. It wasn’t a big deal if he took the subway home from a party by himself, but she didn’t want to get stuck here in Nabattur with no means of transportation except a man who wanted to marry her that day.

  They ascended to the balcony and looked down over the crowd. People looked up, too. If they were the royal couple they’d be waving and smiling. Women always gazed at Osman with a mix of awe and admiration, and she could completely identify with them. Effortlessly gorgeous, today he looked breathtaking in the blue garb of a hopeful husband. The rich cobalt set off his tan skin and enhanced his naturally regal bearing. She could hardly believe he’d dressed to identify himself as a groom. He must know people would talk. Maybe he didn’t care.

  She lifted her chin and tried not to look too shabby in such illustrious company.

  Allan finished setting up the camera controls the way he wanted them and headed off into the crowd by himself. As soon as he was out of sight, Sam got her own small camera out and adjusted the settings for the strong light.

  “You’re shooting, too?” Osman looked at her in surprise.

  “I told Allan this morning that it’s over between us.” She said it as quietly as possible. “I figured I’d better shoot some footage just in case he decides to….” She wasn’t sure how to put it.

  “Get revenge.” Osman’s brow raised.

  “Well, not revenge exactly, but yes. What we’ve got so far is too exciting for it not to have a satisfying ending.”

  “One could say that about us, too.” Humor shone in his eyes.

  Her stomach clenched. It was hard to tell him I’m going back to America today, so stop dreaming. It was hard to think it.

  “Let me shoot some footage of you.” She wasn’t sure Allan had any of Osman. He usually tried to stay as far away from him as possible. At least she’d have something to remember him by. She’d be able to look back at the shaky footage and remember her days and nights of romantic adventure in the magical land of Ubar.

  “Go ahead.” He smiled and tilted his head to the camera. “What would you like me to say?”

  “Anything you like.”

  A tiny smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, and he began talking in the idiomatic local dialect. She couldn’t understand a word, but she filmed silently while he talked with his hands as well as his broad, sensual mouth.

  When he was done, she lowered the camera. “What did you just say?”

  “I guess you’ll have to hire a translator to find out.” He smiled mysteriously.

  Sam took that as a reassuring sign that he knew she was going back to the States without him. “Shall we go down and walk around?”

  “Of course.”

  She couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit of pride walking next to the most handsome man at the whole festival. Thank goodness no one knew that she’d spent the night in his arms. He beamed at the crowds, happy and confident. She felt kind of bad that she wasn’t marrying him. What an adventure that would be! Queen Sam. How her friends back home would laugh. And Osman could charter a plane to fly them all out to visit.

  Not that Osman was ever going to be her husband! Her imagination was running away with her today. It must be the nights of interrupted sleep and all the unfamiliar food wreaking havoc on her system.

  She filmed several couples and even had them sign releases with Osman’s interpretive assistance. He also assured her that releases weren’t necessary as he, the crown prince, would vouch for his people’s willingness to participate in her documentary.

  “How do you know that?” She laughed. “You can’t speak for them.”

  “Officially I can.”

  “Maybe if you were elected democratically. You’re being thrust upon them, not chosen by them.”

  “They’ll find I have their best interests at heart.”

  She shook her head, smiling. “I’m not sure if your self-confidence is awe inspiring or frightening.”

  “Running a country is not so different than running a business. I’ve been doing that since my teens, and Ubar is considerably smaller than some of the companies I’ve run. I’m confident I can do it justice and make our people proud.”

 
; She couldn’t help thinking he was right.

  Around midday they ate a picnic that his men laid out on the balcony. More fragrant chicken and rice with an ambrosia-like fruit salad and a milky, sweet rose-flavored drink.

  “I’m going to miss the food here,” she said with a satisfied sigh.

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re not leaving.” The sparkle of humor never left his eyes. She tried not to look at him too much because every glance reminded her of the effect he’d had on her body last night. Worse yet, the effect he was having on it right now.

  “You’re going to keep me here as your prisoner?” She made sure to keep an edge in her voice, which wasn’t difficult under the circumstances.

  “Oh, no. I won’t need to.” Again that infuriating cocky reassurance.

  “I’m not marrying you,” she whispered. “Do you seriously think I would? We’ve only just met.” She hoped none of his men could hear. Even though he fully deserved to have everyone in the marketplace know what he was up to. Though they would probably sympathize with him since apparently two days of courtship was enough for everyone in Ubar. “I realize it’s in your DNA to gamble your whole life on a two-day acquaintance but I’m from more ponderous European stock.”

  “I know.” He stood and extended his hand to help her up. “Shall we go watch the couples make their vows?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sam brandished her tiny camcorder like a weapon. Surely Osman wouldn’t make any kind of move on her on camera? He glowed with what appeared to be genuine happiness as they moved among the couples and their families, gathered in groups for the betrothal. Sam expected to see at least some of the girls in tears or the young men chewing their mustaches in terror, but they all looked excited and fairly relaxed. Of course, life was different in a traditional society. These girls would still be surrounded by the family and friends they’d known since birth, and their mom and sisters would live within shouting distance if they needed help or a shoulder to cry on. It wasn’t like they were being asked to move to a foreign country where they didn’t speak the language and didn’t know a soul.

  Except one very arrogant and commanding sheikh.

  They watched as one boy’s family placed a necklace of coins around the girl’s neck.

  “Is that her mahr?” Mahr was a traditional gift of money or items of value that a groom presented to his bride in this part of the world. Sam kept the camera running.

  “Symbolically, yes, but the necklace is not meant to be broken up and used as currency. Most aren’t even that valuable. The real mahr will be livestock, or a house hand-built by the boy’s family.”

  “It’s interesting that in this culture the woman is given money upon marriage. In other societies the bride’s family was expected to come with some wealth in the form of a dowry to pay for her upkeep.”

  “Perhaps women are considered more precious in Ubar.” His velvet voice sent an annoying shiver of arousal to her core. Worse yet, he reached into his sash and brought out a necklace of coins. Unlike the one she’d just filmed, this one was bright-yellow gold.

  She filmed him—the camera as her shield—as he held it out in his hands. “I offer this to you.”

  She swallowed, trying to ignore that this was a de facto proposal from the most amazing man she’d ever met, and she had to say no. Best to focus on practical details. “Is that twenty-four karats?” She couldn’t even imagine how much something like that would cost.

  “Of course.” He lifted it, apparently eager to put it on her neck.

  She took a step back but lowered the camera. “It pains me to turn down a gift probably worth more than I’ve earned in the last five years but you already know my answer.”

  “Just accept it as my gift. No strings attached.” He held it closer.

  She shook her head. “I can’t.” Everything had strings. That was the way of the world. “Next thing I know I’ll be legally married and I can’t let that happen.” She’d seen her parents acting on pure emotion and hurling themselves from drama to drama, never stopping to think of the consequences for those around them, and she’d taken pains to live her life as differently as possible. She was sorry that it had to be all or nothing and that they couldn’t just date for a while or something. She’d really like to get to know Osman better.

  “You’re so stubborn.”

  “Yes.” She looked right into those mesmerizing olive-green eyes and defied them to work their magic on her. “I am stubborn. And sensible. And you’ll thank me for it later.”

  His pupils darkened with desire. “Later, when you’re in my bed.”

  Heat surged through her, making her sweat. How did he do this to her? Indignation flared in her chest at the effect he had on her without even lifting an eyebrow. “Would you stop! I’ve already told you I won’t marry you.” She glanced around, hoping she hadn’t raised her voice too loud. “You said that your father had women killed when he got tired of them—or at least you’ve implied that—and I wonder if you aren’t more like him than you think. You don’t think about anyone’s feelings but your own, you’re single-minded in the pursuit of what you want, and you won’t take no for an answer. Today you want to marry me and you apparently won’t quit until you break me down. Ten years from now—or two—you’ll wonder what you were thinking and decide to get rid of me just as quickly. Listen to yourself!”

  Her hands shook and she realized she was still recording, even though she was no longer pointing the lens at anything. She fumbled with the on-off switch on the camera as she certainly hadn’t meant to record such a personal moment.

  Osman stood rooted to the spot, eyes dark and features hard. Was she finally going to see the ruthless despot—whom he claimed to despise—in him? He blinked, as if the sun hurt his eyes, then he drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.

  “See, Samantha? This is why you are the perfect woman for me.” She watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. “You are strong enough to hold your own opinions in the face of mine and challenge me to examine my thoughts and actions. My brothers and I already intend to make divorce legal, so that men and women can choose for themselves how to spend their lives.”

  He clutched the coin necklace in his fist, gathering it out of sight into his palm. “I have no intention of being like my father, I promise that to you.”

  “You say you like my independent spirit and that I speak my mind, but you’re not listening to me. It might be Ubarite tradition to marry on two days’ acquaintance, but I’m not Ubarite. If you keep trying to force me into marrying you—today!—then I can only assume you will be a ruthless dictator like your father in the future, too.”

  A pained expression crossed his face. “I hear you and I understand you.” She watched his chest rise as he drew in a long breath. “And I will never be like my father. I beg your forgiveness for offending you.” He bowed low, turned and strode away through the crowd, his oddly formal words still ringing in her ears.

  Sam stared after him, an odd sense of urgency swelling in her chest. She wanted to run after him, tell him to wait, because….

  Because she wasn’t ready to let go of him. She could go find Allan, gather up their gear and head for the airport pretty sure of a job well done. People were getting toasted on a local brew made from fermented fruit, and the crowd had grown raucous. Music from the wandering musicians clanged against her eardrums, rattled her nerves. Her chest ached as she looked around, unable to even see him in the thick crowd of revelers.

  Osman’s hell-for-leather courtship scared the heck out of her, but the prospect of never seeing him again suddenly scared her even more.

  Emotion burned in Osman’s heart, hotter than the blazing sun, as he pushed through the throng of people.

  “What’s the matter?” A hand clapped on his arm, and he looked up to see Zadir.

  “My brother. Samantha has turned me down and with good reason.”

  “What? You
were sure she’d say yes.”

  “I was sure I would marry her. I didn’t much care if she said yes.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “She’s pointed out that’s exactly what our father would have done.”

  “I warned you to take it slow with her.”

  “You were right. She’s right. I’m too impatient and insistent. When I know what I want it’s hard for me to stop until I achieve it. What sensible woman would trust her life to a man like that?”

  Zadir gestured around the marketplace. Pretty young girls all around them looked shyly at him. Osman scowled back at them. Couldn’t they tell what kind of man he was? They were so blinded by his title and his wealth that they just didn’t care. He felt disgust for them and for himself.

  “So you blew it.” Zadir lifted a brow. “And now we all have to sit around waiting for you to make it right.”

  “How can I make it right? She thinks I’m a despot!” His voice cracked with distress.

  “You’ll talk her around, but not today. American girls are taught to consider all the angles and to get to know a guy—even to sleep with him before marriage to test him out. Did you really believe she’d leap at the chance to marry a foreign stranger she’s just met?”

  “I felt the pull of destiny.” He pressed a fist to his chest. “Surely she can feel it, too.”

  “Calm down, brother.” Zadir placed a soothing hand on his upper arm. “You need to date her.”

  “Take her out for dinner?” Osman scoffed. Zadir probably didn’t know they’d already shared the most intimate act there is.

  “Yes. Take her out for dinner. Or maybe even start with coffee. Approach her with caution and deference, neither of which comes at all naturally to you.”

  “Or you,” he retorted.

  Zadir shrugged. “True. We’re both rather challenged in that department, but I’m learning from my mistakes and so can you.”

  Osman stared back at where they’d stood together in the marketplace. When he didn’t see her he felt panic race through him. “Where is she?”