The Widow And The Sheikh (Hot Arabian Nights, Book 1)

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Never admit to them, at any rate. That is one royal trait that Daniel had in abundance,’ Julia interjected. ‘He hated to be in the wrong. There was a time in South America, when our barge—’ She broke off abruptly, shocked by the bitterness in her voice.

  ‘Your barge?’

  Azhar raised an enquiring brow, but she shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. He blamed me, and though it was ludicrous I allowed him to blame me because it was easier than arguing with him. It is mortifying, on reflection, how much I permitted his opinions to rule me.’

  ‘And to give you a very low opinion of yourself,’ Azhar said gently.

  ‘Yes, you’ve said that several times, and I’m beginning to think you’re right, which is why I’ve resolved to try not to dwell on the past. I am not incapable of making mistakes—my dragoman being an obvious example—but nor am I inept. I have travelled alone halfway across the world. I have been robbed, and drugged and carried off by a complete stranger to a remote kingdom I had no idea existed until a week ago, and yet here I am, still alive and kicking. You see,’ Julia said, smiling, ‘I do listen.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it.’

  Azhar’s smile made her belly clench. His mouth distracted her. It reminded her of the kisses they had exchanged in the garden. It made her want more of them. She shouldn’t be thinking about kisses. ‘We are supposed to be talking about your past, not mine,’ Julia said.

  She dragged her eyes away from the beguiling man to the almost-as-beguiling surroundings. It was cool in the shade of the tall trees. At the centre of the pentagon, on either side of their path, were a pair of matching fountains, their bases formed in a star shape, patterned with gold mosaic, the inside tiled in the traditional turquoise. In the centre of each, water spouted from a huge urn. Julia sat down on the edge of the nearest fountain, trailing her hand in the water. ‘It is very quiet here. I would have thought a court like this would be full of people coming and going—for it is a sort of waiting room, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Azhar said, with one of his fleeting smiles, ‘a waiting room. An empty one.’ He sat down beside her, leaning back on the edge of the fountain to gaze up at the inner wall, visible above the cypress trees. ‘My father was always very wary of foreign traders,’ he said. ‘He believed that Qaryma should be self-sufficient, that the wealth we had should be protected. He knew this desert like the back of his hand, but he rarely ventured beyond the boundaries of his domain, save on official visits.’

  ‘My own father never leaves Cornwall. He says that everything he needs is there, and in a way it is,’ Julia said. ‘He has his home, and he has his gardens, and he has his society meetings—men of science like Papa, who meet once a month to discuss the latest discoveries.’ She made a face. ‘Actually, what they mostly do is regurgitate their own work.’

  Azhar laughed. ‘You make it sound as if they chew over their papers and spit them out.’

  ‘That is more or less exactly what they do,’ Julia replied. ‘In Cornwall, Papa is respected and admired, an established expert. Celebrated, in a way. Botanists travel from all over England to see his gardens, you know.’ She chewed her lip. ‘His fame in his field is well deserved, but it is a small field. He disapproved of Daniel’s book. He said it was far too wide in scope—that the best works concentrated on a narrow field of study.’

  Azhar caught a small darting fish in his hand, its tiny scales flashing gold and green. ‘Then I assume he disapproves of your finishing it?’

  ‘Actually, he doesn’t know that’s what I’m doing,’ Julia confessed.

  Azhar placed the wildly flapping fish gently back in the water. ‘Then what does he think you’re doing here in Arabia?’

  ‘He doesn’t know that either. He thinks I’m on a Hebridean island—that is in Scotland, the most remote part of Britain I could think of. I told him that I needed solitude to recover from Daniel’s death.’ Azhar looked so astonished that Julia laughed. ‘I wanted to surprise him with with the book when I had finished.’

  ‘I think you will do rather more than that.’

  ‘You think he’ll be angry?’

  Azhar shook his hand dry. ‘In my experience men like your father do not like to be upstaged, especially by their own children.’

  ‘Do you think your father was afraid that you’d make a better king than he?’

  Azhar snorted with derision. ‘My father thought no one would make a better king than he. What he was afraid of was that I wouldn’t make any sort of king, which is why he refused to allow me any sort of freedom.’

  ‘That is a recipe for disaster. He must have known a child with such an adventurous spirit as I imagine you would have been, would grow into a man who wanted to explore the wider world. If only he had permitted you to travel when you were younger, to satisfy your natural wanderlust...’

  ‘It was not so simple,’ Azhar said with a sigh. ‘It was not only my desire to experience a world beyond Qaryma, Julia, it was the fact that for me, Qaryma was...’

  ‘...a gilded cage,’ she finished for him with a smile. ‘A very beautiful one, and one that no longer contains your father.’

  ‘If I remained here, it would contain me though, for the rest of my life.’

  ‘Surely you exaggerate?’

  Shaking his head, Azhar got to his feet, taking her hand to help her up. ‘Come, we can continue our tour later. I have ordered refreshments to be brought to us.’

  * * *

  ‘This is the reception room for the Divan next door,’ Azhar said, stepping aside to let Julia enter in front of him. ‘The Divan is the room used for meetings of the Council, where foreign visitors are received, and for ceremonies such as weddings and coronations.’

  ‘So it’s a throne room?’

  ‘That is one use. I will show it to you after we have eaten.’

  He sank on to one of the velvet cushions scattered beside the low marble table, but Julia continued to examine the room. As one of the first chambers which visitors encountered, it was opulent, designed to both intimidate and impress, but Julia, Azhar noticed with amusement, was rather entranced than awed, running her fingers along the ornate mosaic patterning on the walls, gazing for almost a full minute, her neck craned, at the stained glass of the domed ceiling, circling around the twelve pillars which formed the portico to the Divan itself, trailing her fingers through the fountain in the centre of the of the room before finally joining him at the table, occupying the cushion beside him and eyeing the fruit and pastries with undisguised relish.

  ‘I’m ravenous,’ she said. ‘I have never eaten such delicious food in my life as has been served to me here. I shall go back to Cornwall with a huge tummy.’

  She patted her patently concave belly, and bit into a pastry. ‘Almonds, of course, there are always almonds. And raisins. And—chicken?’

  ‘Guinea fowl.’ There was a stray flake of pastry on the corner of her mouth. Azhar watched, fascinated, as she licked it before popping the remainder of the pastry into her mouth, closing her eyes so as to savour it.

  He shifted uncomfortably on the cushion. Did she know what she did to him? She plucked another sweetmeat from the platter, a pastry tube coated in sugar and cinnamon. Azhar’s shaft stiffened. She could have no possible idea of the visions she was conjuring, he doubted she had ever even caressed a male member. He poured himself a cooling glass of sherbet and took a long drink.

  ‘Delicious!’ Julia said, quite oblivious of the effect she was having. ‘May I have some sherbet? I’m hot.’

  And he was on fire. ‘Let me cool you down,’ Azhar said, taking a small lump of ice from the silver chafing dish and sliding it into her mouth. Her lips formed into a perfect ‘oh’ of surprise, and Azhar surrendered to the impulse to cover them with his own.

  Cold ice, the warmth of her lips, the softness of her tongue, the heat from his body, made him shiver with delight. Though he longed to devour her, he savoured her, holding himself rigid, restricting the contact to their lips and their to
ngues. She smelled of jasmine. The ice melted, and he reached blindly for another piece. Julia opened her mouth, her eyes slumberous, her cheeks flushed, and when he covered her lips with his, kissed him back with a fierceness that threatened to overpower the fragile grip he had on his self-control.

  The next lump of ice, he trailed down the column of her throat, easing her back on the cushions, unfastening her tunic buttons to push the garment aside. Her skin was milky white. Her nipples were pale-pink peaks. He let the ice melt on them, watching her shudder, aware of those big beguiling eyes of hers fixed on him, then he took one of the icy cold buds in his mouth and sucked hard.

  Her moan made his groin tighten. The second nipple, delightfully hard, swapped ice for fire as he enveloped it with his lips. Still she watched him, her eyes glittering, her hair, free from her headscarf, glinting fire in the dappled light from the stained-glass ceiling. He knew that she longed to touch him, but he knew that she would not, without a cue. She learned quickly. And she was untutored. The combination of voluptuary and innocent was intoxicating. That they were indulging in such carnal pleasure here, right next to the Divan, added an extra frisson to Azhar’s enjoyment.

  He opened the last of the buttons which held her tunic together. Another lump of ice, teasing down her body, pooling in the dip of her naval. He licked it dry. He undid the sash of her pantaloons.

  ‘Azhar, someone might come.’

  He laughed. ‘That is not a possibility, Julia, it is a certainty,’ he said, tilting her bottom up to swiftly remove the garment.

  ‘Azhar!’

  ‘Julia, we will not be disturbed. No one dares enter without my permission.’ He took one final piece of ice from the dish.

  ‘What are you going to do with that?’

  She had no idea. The knowledge that he would be the one to initiate her only heightened his desire. Smiling wickedly, Azhar put the ice on his tongue, knelt between her legs, and slid his tongue inside her.

  She arched up under him. He lifted her higher, his hands cupping her rear. The ice had already melted, but it had served its purpose. She was wet, hot and already swollen. The last time he had lingered, this time he brought her to a climax swiftly, licking over her and into her and then over her, the sweet rush of her orgasm making him pulse in response, his tongue sweeping over her as her climax ebbed, bringing another rush, and then a final one. Her hands were digging into his shoulders. The soft flesh at the top of her thighs was damp. She lay sprawled on the scarlet cushions, her hair spread like a halo around her, her breasts heaving delightfully, her face suffused with colour. And her eyes, cloudy with sated passion, still fixed on him.

  It was a primal response, this surge of male pride that he had given her such pleasure, but he relished it. His shaft jutted painfully in the constraints of his trousers. He could not remember ever feeling so aroused. Five, six strokes inside the slick heat of her, would be all it would take. But Azhar wanted much more than five or six strokes. He could wait, even if it meant tipping the last of the ice down his front. He looked at Julia, all creamy flesh and pink nipples and dark auburn curls between her legs, and he realised what he needed most was to stop looking at her.

  He got to his feet, reaching for her hand to pull her upright. ‘I will leave you to—to rearrange yourself,’ he said.

  ‘But what about you?’

  ‘I too need to rearrange myself,’ Azhar said wryly.

  ‘No, I meant...’

  ‘I know what you meant. This was simply another staging post on our journey of discovery, Julia. Not one I had planned, but I promise you, a most delightful way station for me as well as you.’

  * * *

  Julia was eyeing the pastries with intent when Azhar returned, his hair wet, the flush faded from his skin. It was foolish to feel shy but she did, and even more foolish to be embarrassed by the appetite their lovemaking had given her, but she was.

  ‘Eat, please,’ Azhar said, when she turned resolutely away from the table. ‘But avoid the cinnamon-and-sugar ones, for the sake of my sanity.’

  She studied him from under her lashes as she took sustenance. Would anyone be able to tell what they had just shared, by looking at them? Azhar, staring off into space, his plate of food all but untouched, looked his usual remote self, while she felt as if the wild, sensual creature she had become must still surely be etched on her face, even if she had rearranged her clothing and subdued her hair under her scarf.

  She nibbled on a sugared almond and poured herself another glass of sherbet. Fifteen minutes ago Azhar had been flushed with passion. Not long before that, his face had been set, his eyes dark with anger. Though it still seemed incomprehensible to her that he could walk away from all this, she did understand his desire for freedom. Bad enough being wed to Daniel, but to marry a kingdom...

  Bad enough! Julia set down her sherbet glass carefully. Her marriage was not bad. She had not been unhappy, and she knew of worse, far worse marriages. But she had not been happy either. Azhar had likened Qaryma to a gilded cage. Julia smiled at the notion of describing her marriage in such a way, yet there was no doubt she had felt confined by it. The promises she had made to Daniel constrained her still, though in a way, they had also helped her grasp her freedom. Without the impetus of completing his book she would not have come here, would not have tested her resourcefulness, would never have discovered the sensual side of her nature which had been subdued for so long. Would never have met Azhar.

  Looking at him, recalling what had passed between them right here less than an hour before, she felt the most delightful shiver. She was not yet free, but the process of claiming her freedom was proving far more enjoyable than she could ever have imagined.

  * * *

  Azhar ushered her through the marble pillars. ‘Why are there no guards?’ Julia asked.

  ‘Because I had them stand down while we are here.’

  ‘Oh. What about the Second Court, did you have that cleared too?’

  ‘Not cleared, it is the main thoroughfare through the palace, but I asked that only those with urgent business be allowed to pass through.’

  ‘Asked or commanded?’

  Azhar shrugged. ‘To most here it amounts to the same thing.’ He lifted the heavy iron bar that held the double doors together, and threw them wide. ‘The Divan.’

  The room was about fifty feet long with a domed roof crowned by a gold crescent in the very centre. Gold constellations were painted on the ceiling, and the floor was worked in an intricate pattern of turquoise-and-gold mosaic. In contrast, the walls were stark white relieved only by a thin band of gold and turquoise. Aside from the huge carved chair upholstered with cloth of gold, the vast space was completely empty.

  ‘My brother and I used to play in here as children,’ Azhar said. ‘We used to race with our wooden horses, stage mock fights with our wooden scimitars.’

  ‘So you were close when you were younger, then?’

  ‘There are only two years between us,’ Azhar replied. ‘Our mother died in childbirth two years after Kamal was born, and our father never took another wife.’

  ‘Is that unusual?’ Julia asked in surprise. ‘Wasn’t he lonely?’

  ‘My father married as all kings of Qaryma marry, for the sake of an heir. Since my mother provided him with two, he did not feel the need to take another wife. As to whether he was lonely—if you mean did he take lovers then the answer is yes. He enjoyed the company of women in that way. It is one of the few things we have in common.’

  ‘Two things,’ Julia said, before she could stop herself. ‘You both take lovers, but neither of you offers love.’

  The look he drew her was measured. ‘As you say. And what about you, Julia?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Do you still have room in your heart for love?’

  ‘If by that, do you mean will I ever marry again, the answer is an unequivocal no. My freedom is not quite so hard-earned as yours, but it is every bit as precious,’ Julia said. ‘But we are
not here to talk about me. Tell me more of the Council meetings that take place here.’

  ‘Under my father they convened three times a week, though Kamal has reduced it to once. Membership is hereditary, representing the oldest families in the kingdom, although the King also has the authority to invest a man with specialist knowledge or skills. The Chief Overseer in charge of the diamond mines, for example.’

  ‘So the Council which meets now is the one your father selected?’

  ‘Kamal has nominated a number of younger men. A number of my father’s associates have stepped down.’

  Azhar was pinching the bridge of his nose. It was a habit he had when he was unhappy about something, Julia had noticed. ‘That may be a good thing. Younger men often have a more progressive outlook,’ she suggested.

  ‘Or they may be more easily swayed. Although the King of Qaryma wields absolute power, it is easier to rule with the Council on your side. My brother has always been overly fond of getting his own way. He does not take well to having his will thwarted, but nor is he particularly strong-willed.’ Azhar grimaced. ‘A compliant Council is an ideal solution.’

  An ideal solution for a weak ruler. Julia braced herself, for she understood now how very much he did not want to hear her question. ‘Are you quite certain that you wish to hand over your kingdom to such a man? Can you trust Kamal?’

  ‘Have you seen enough?’ Azhar walked away, holding open double doors at the other end of the Divan. ‘These will take us out to the Third Court. I am not ignoring your question, Julia,’ he said, as she passed him. ‘I am considering how best to answer it.’

  The Third Court was about half the size of the Second, and a very different space. Two large pavilions sat adjacent to each other. There was a fountain in each corner, a low, precisely trimmed maze, and more mosaic paths. ‘This court is reserved for the royal family,’ Azhar said. ‘Those gates in the wall lead to what was once the old-style harem complete with concubines and eunuchs. My mother had it opened up, and turned into what is simply the women’s quarters. Some of her former maidservants still reside there along with Kamal’s wife.’