Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology

by Violet Vaughn

  How could she sleep in such a frazzled state? Her body still hummed with stray energy that Osman had put there. “I think we should share a bed.” She said it with a hint of seductiveness in her voice. Admittedly, she wanted affection as much as sex, but some warm lovemaking would be nice, too, to help to dispel all the tension of the day that seemed to have driven a wedge between them.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not?” She gestured around the softly lit chamber with its wall hangings and ornate furniture. “We may never get to make love in such a beautiful setting again. Tomorrow we’ll probably be in the Al Cheapo Motel, if we can even find one now that we’ve blown our reservation. The town will be packed for the festival. Next we’ll be bunking in the Land Rover.”

  “Frankly, I’d prefer that. Here I feel like we’re at the mercy of his majesty and his hordes of mysterious staffers. Who are all these people, anyway? There must be fifty different people working here.”

  “He’s a source of local employment,” she said with a shrug.

  “He’s an Old World pasha used to being waited on hand and foot. I think it’s disgusting. When he finally gets the throne he came running back for, he’ll probably be a despot of the worst magnitude.”

  “Possibly.” She sighed. “Still, the palace is lovely.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’d rather live here than a walk-up in Carroll Gardens.” There was a hint of wariness in his voice.

  “Of course not. I’m sure the bagels here are terrible. Still, it’s a bit like spending the night in a fairy tale. Can’t you just enjoy it as an unexpected honeymoon adventure?”

  “How can we be on our honeymoon if we haven’t married yet?”

  “Now you’re being overly traditional,” she scolded. “I think it’s quite progressive to have the honeymoon first. Maybe we can even skip the whole marriage thing.” Truth be told, she’d had some nagging doubts about that lately. Everyone said that marriage changed things. On the other hand, she did want to change things. She’d like to have children, for example.

  “So now you don’t want to be married?” He cocked his head.

  “Of course I do. It’s just that we don’t have to rush into it right away when we have so many deadlines. And maybe marriage is not such a great idea if you don’t want to sleep with me.” She was only half kidding.

  “Baby,” he uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, then placed his arms around her. “This room could be bugged or who knows what. I wouldn’t be able to relax.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment unfurled in her chest. “I suppose we should both get some sleep, then.”

  “Exactly.” He squeezed her cheek gently as if she were a toddler. She wanted to frown but managed not to. There was no use pouting and being childish with Allan, all it did was make him go quiet.

  “Anyway, I came to tell you we have to leave half an hour before dawn. Will you be able to wake up?”

  “I’ll wake you, baby.”

  “Great.” She managed a bright smile, then exited the room with a sinking heart. For some reason it truly bothered her that he wouldn’t sleep with her, at least to offer some companionship and comfort, if nothing else. She wondered what Sheikh Osman would do in similar circumstances and quickly came to the conclusion that he’d flash those intense eyes and invite her under the covers.

  Of course that was just fantasy. She probably wasn’t sheikh Osman’s type at all. She could picture him with a buxom blonde or a shapely Nubian goddess, not a willowy brunette who rarely wore heels over one inch.

  She checked in the mirror to make sure she’d removed all her sultry eye makeup. If she shed a tear or two—which hopefully wouldn’t happen—she didn’t want the evidence smeared all over her face when the sun rose.

  The blare of trumpets woke Osman from a dream that he was an eagle circling over an empty landscape. A glance at the windows confirmed that dawn was still some time away. The head of the household staff had apparently insisted on waking every living soul in the palace simply because their lord and master needed to get up early.

  Sometimes it could be exhausting to assume the mantle of tradition.

  He climbed out of bed and stretched, anticipation sending a much-needed surge of adrenaline to his muscles. He hadn’t been to this festival since he was a boy of eight or so, when he and the rest of the family accompanied one of his older cousins to find her mate.

  Several of his relatives had met and married their partners there since, but he’d been too busy jetting from meeting to meeting to attend. As far as he knew, they were all still married, which wasn’t exactly unexpected given the forbidden status of divorce.

  He emerged from the shower to find his two brothers lounging on the cushions in his bedroom suite. “You two are not coming.”

  “What do you mean, bro? We need to get married, too. None of us can assume our new roles without a wife.” Zadir’s mischievous grin ticked him off. And they’d both dressed for a celebration in robes of rough-woven silk.

  “I’m the oldest, and I must marry first.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair when I’m the youngest and the most sensible.” Ahmad scowled. “You two better hurry up. Especially since we can’t exactly date here. If I even look at a girl, her family starts calculating their bride price.”

  “You’ll get your turn. Just be patient.” Osman pulled on his raw-silk robe. “I plan to claim my bride today.”

  Zadir clapped his hands together. “This I have to see. She’s going to slap you across the face.”

  “She’ll do no such thing. Samantha Bechtel will answer the call of destiny with dignity and grace.” He let a smile wander across his mouth.

  “In your dreams. And her boyfriend will punch you.”

  “He’s not her boyfriend.” He wrapped a colorful sash around his waist and tucked an ornamental dagger into its folds. “They slept separately last night. I checked.”

  “The plot thickens. At dinner last night he told me they were engaged.” Amahd lifted a brow. “Maybe she’s saving her virginity for marriage?”

  A twinge of unease tightened Osman’s shoulders. “She’s an American and in her mid-twenties. I very much doubt she’s still a virgin. And if she is I shall be as gentle with her as she needs.”

  “Your confidence is inspiring, brother.” Zadir leaned back, looking much amused. “At least we can hope to enjoy the footage they’ll be shooting.”

  “I’ve arranged for one of the footmen to record footage of the festival, too. In case Samantha and whatshisname get distracted.”

  “By you stealing whatshisname’s fiancée out from under him.”

  Osman shrugged. “All’s fair in love and war.”

  “What if she rejects you?”

  “I anticipate and accept rejection as part of my path to true love.”

  They both stared at him. “True love?” asked Zadir, finally. “I thought you just wanted to claim the throne.”

  He threw back his shoulders, ready to meet the day. “I want it all, brother.”

  6

  The predawn drive to Nabattur took less than twenty minutes, and Sam managed to maintain businesslike chatter with their host, who drove. Allan sat in the backseat, futzing with the camera settings. She felt unreasonably nervous, like she was heading for the front lines of a war, not a picturesque regional festival. She’d worn her own clothes—khakis and a coral polo shirt—sure that dressing in Osman’s silky finery would throw Allan into a daylong funk.

  As they approached the walled city the road filled with elderly Jeeps and Land Rovers, the occasional BMW or Mercedes and more than a handful of camels and donkeys, bearing both people and packs. Their progress slowed to a crawl by the time there was enough light to see that the road was also surrounded by people approaching the festival on foot.

  “How far do people come for this event?” she asked Osman.

  “Some have walked for a day or more: shepherds and farmers living in the foothills, goat herders from
high in the mountains. Families who have little contact with society all year long bring their sons and daughters here to find their mates and increase their family.”

  “I suppose it’s practical when you have a population that’s spread out. In a way the festival functions like a dating website, where everyone logs on and gets to peruse the offerings before going after their favorite.” Sam was quite pleased with herself for the analogy.

  “Except that you can’t try them on for size here,” muttered Allan from the backseat. “You pick a dud and you’re stuck with them for life.”

  “We Ubarites recognize the role of the hand of fate in governing our lives.” Osman held his chin high. “We are all bit players in a grand drama, and our individual freewill is subordinate to the will of the creator.”

  Sam looked sideways at him. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  He lifted a brow, and she couldn’t be sure if that sparkle in his eye was humor or indignation. “Far greater men than myself have believed in the pull of destiny.”

  “It’s a romantic idea, I suppose.” Sam tried to wrap her mind around the possibility that free will was an illusion. Her brain rejected it. “But rather oppressive. Why try to improve your lot or anyone else’s if it’s just destined to be a certain way?”

  Osman smiled at her. “People come to this festival to embrace their destiny. They made the choice to journey here and choose a mate. That is their free will.”

  “Or is it?” poked Allan cynically from the backseat. “Maybe we’re all just puppets on the fingers of some ancient god we’ve never even heard of.”

  Sam quietly drew in a deep breath. She hoped Allan wasn’t going to be difficult today. He’d woken her up this morning as promised, but not with the kiss or caress she’d hoped for. His first words were: “Time to rise and do Sheikh Osman’s bidding.”

  She turned to Allan. “Let’s hope it’s in our destiny to shoot some spectacular footage today. Is there anything else you need before we start shooting?”

  “It would be nice to know what’s happened to our Land Rover overnight.” Allan shot a suspicious glance at their host. Which wasn’t really fair because he’d given them their phones back—charged but still useless due to no signal.

  “As I promised, my men will retrieve it today.”

  “If it’s still there.”

  “If it isn’t, they’ll find it.” Osman flashed his teeth at Allan in something between a grin and a snarl. Sam wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or amused.

  “We’re grateful that you’re going to so much trouble for us.” She shot a warning glance at Allan, who pressed his lips together as if he was trying to resist a retort.

  The traffic ground to a halt, and Sam looked around in amazement at the sight of people abandoning their cars and trucks by the side of the road and continuing on foot. “What are they doing?”

  “The city is too crowded for more traffic today. They’ll walk in.”

  “Should we get out, too?”

  “Not yet.” Osman took a right off the road and headed across the pale, grassy terrain. Sam grabbed the handle above her head as his Mercedes jumped and rolled over the bumpy ground.

  “Where are we heading?” She couldn’t help asking.

  “A different entrance.”

  They rounded the high, sand-colored city walls with their crenellated tops. The smooth stucco surface was punctuated only by openings large enough to allow defensive artillery, but Sam assumed they must be heading for another gate. None of the other vehicles on the road followed them. By this time, the sun had risen almost fully above the horizon and hung in the east like a lit bulb just behind the mountains.

  “How long will it take us to get in? I don’t want to miss the opening.”

  “Nearly there.” Osman screeched to a halt near an opening in the wall covered by a heavy iron grating. As she watched, the grating lifted to reveal a studded wood door, which opened. Four men rushed out and bowed deeply.

  Sam stared, as one of them hurried to open her door. “Is this some kind of royal entrance?”

  “Exactly.” Osman climbed out and spoke rapidly to the men in the local dialect. They smiled and bowed to Sam and Allan. She nodded her head slightly, hoping she didn’t offend anyone, then helped Allan retrieve the rest of their equipment from the trunk. She was lifting the strap of the bag with the extra lenses over her head when one of the men tried to tug it away from her.

  She resisted on instinct.

  “Let him carry it for you.” Osman spoke softly. “He’ll be right with us.”

  Sam glanced at Allan, whose slit-eyed gaze seemed to say, “I told you so.” She handed the bag to the strange man in his long robe. Allan was not asked to part with the camera, thank goodness, because that probably would to have led to a scuffle and who knows what else.

  “We should hurry,” said Osman. “Once the sun fully clears the mountains, the festival begins.” They stepped through the wood door into a chamber with a high wood-beam ceiling and the walls and floor decorated in colorful mosaic tile patterns. A fountain sparkled in the center. Osman strode around it, toward a door on the other side. When she caught up with him, Sam discovered that it led to a balcony looking over the wide marketplace of the city.

  “Allan, this is a good spot for some establishing shots.” She helped him set up the telescoping tripod. The open space below thronged with brightly dressed men and women of all ages. Donkeys and horses in brilliant tasseled finery mingled with the crowds, and music rose from the drums of strolling musicians.

  A piercing trumpet blast announced the official start of the festivities, followed by an enthusiastic ululation from the crowd. Sam was tempted to join in with the whistling noise she’d perfected at baseball games with her dad, but she didn’t want to mess up the sound Allan was capturing.

  The crowd’s excitement was palpable. Sam glanced at Osman to see if he could feel it, too, and she wanted to smile at the look of pride and joy she saw on his handsome face. This man clearly loved his people and traditions, despite all the years he’d spent abroad. As if he’d heard her thoughts, he leaned in and whispered, “We should go down among the crowd. That’s where you’ll find what this festival is all about.”

  They packed the tripod and let one of the men carry it as they descended a set of stone steps down to ground level. It was initially hard to tell who were the hopeful men and women here for romance and who were the bystanders, but once Osman pointed out that those seeking love wore a green item somewhere on their person, she began to seek them out and gain pleasure in recognizing them.

  She also observed that Osman himself had chosen a sash of mostly green fabric, but she refrained from voicing her observation.

  The drumming continued, the pace increasingly fervent, as the men and women milled around the marketplace, weaving in and out of each other. The women looked so fresh and lovely in their colorful dresses and scarves with elaborate beading and gold and silver trim. Many of them wore thick bracelets and ornate rings and Osman confirmed that they were real gold and silver and worn to demonstrate the wealth of the girl’s family.

  “I guess that’s the old-school equivalent of driving Daddy’s beamer,” murmured Allan. Sam could tell he was enjoying himself, though. He darted about the crowd with the camera, finding the quiet personal moments he had a knack for capturing.

  Some of the boys looked young and awkward, with a thin line of beginner mustache across their upper lip and pride warring with terror on their handsome faces. Other more practiced charmers moved easily amongst the throng, kissing hands and exchanging loaded glances, building hope in the chests of eager young girls.

  “When do they throw the garlands?” Sam asked Osman, as they took a break and ate crunchy candied nuts from a roving vendor.

  “Right at the end of the day, just before sunrise. Once they’ve had a chance to talk and flirt with everyone who catches their eye, then they’re ready to make their choice.”

  Osman a
ttracted a significant amount of female attention, even though he was several years older than most of the grooms. None of the girls spoke with him, though. He smiled at them but didn’t engage. “Do they know who you are?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How?”

  “They’ve known me since I was tiny. Their parents watched me grow up. Their children always knew I’d be their king one day. I suppose to them I’m like one of those mountains in the distance, changing with the days but ever present.”

  “And they’re too intimidated to talk to you.”

  Osman held her gaze with a stare that made her insides turn to hot liquid. “Or maybe they’re just not interested.”

  Hardly.

  She cleared her throat. “What happens if a boy or girl is too shy to talk to the person they really want? Surely the most aggressive individuals have a distinct advantage.”

  “Isn’t that always true in life?” Osman’s lifted brow dared her to argue.

  She couldn’t. He was right.

  “You’re not exactly a retiring wallflower yourself,” he continued, a smile tugging at his mouth.

  “Over the years I’ve learned to speak up for myself. I hope I’m not obnoxious.”

  “I like that about you.” Was he flirting with her? He looked like he was about to say more but at that moment Allan returned, glowing with enthusiasm.

  “I just got some great footage of a boy and girl whispering to each other. They were positively sparkling with would-be love. I’ve also got some nice filler stuff of the crowds, and the musicians and the food sellers. For the soundtrack I’m thinking we could buy some of the local drums and have one of the studio guys re-create some pieces for us to play under the narration. I’ve captured enough by now that they can pick up the rhythms.

  Osman looked amused. “These drums are passed down from father to son over the centuries, along with the techniques and rhythms.”

  Allan squinted in the sun. “I’m sure our studio musicians can tweak everything in postproduction so it sounds the same.”