Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology

by Violet Vaughn

  “It might be a challenge to cram centuries of tradition and experience into a tight production schedule. Perhaps you could work with some of our local musicians to compose a soundtrack once the film is complete?”

  Allan was fiddling with the camera settings. “That sounds too complicated. We’re on a budget.”

  Osman smiled. “I’m sure we could come to some mutually acceptable arrangement. Our musicians are not exactly international pop stars used to raking in millions.”

  Allan looked him dead in the eye. “I prefer to work with my usual team.”

  Sam wished Allan would stop trying to lock horns with Osman. It made him look foolish. It was sort of cute that he seemed to be jealous. She’d never seen him act like this before. Usually he couldn’t care less if she went out to events without him, so he often had little idea who she was with or what she was doing. She’d assumed he trusted her completely, though sometimes she’d wondered sadly if he just didn’t care all that much. Now it amused her to see him bristling with indignation when Osman attempted to bestow his royal favor. Allan obviously didn’t like the idea of her being impressed by the sheikh.

  “I think local musicians are a wonderful idea.” She couldn’t bring herself to call him Osman. “Your Majesty” seemed more appropriate now that she’d watched people kowtow to him all day. “We’ll figure out the details later.” She shot a warning glance at Allan. Since she was the producer, it was as much her job to secure the music as Allan’s, and she suspected that Osman’s traditional artists would be a budget buy compared with New York studio musicians.

  “Excellent.” Osman said it with a rich dose of suggestion and a loaded glance.

  Sam swallowed. Was he trying to unsettle her? Or was this his way of poking back at Allan. Either way, it worked. She was hyperaware of his every move. He had an adorable way of gesturing with his big hands to emphasize a point, and he sometimes pursed his lips after speaking, which was oddly exotic and intriguing. Sometimes he lifted his chin and looked down his aristocratic nose at things, as if he could see more clearly from that angle. The overall effect was intoxicating.

  After the three-day festival was over, she’d never see Osman again. She already felt sad about it.

  The first garland was thrown about an hour before sunset and took them by surprise. Allan wove through the crowds capturing subsequent pairs pledging themselves to each other. Excitement and romance filled the air along with the scent of the crushed rose petals scattered on the ground. By the time the sun began to sink below the mountains on the other side of the city, he announced that he had enough footage to make a Ken Burns-length epic about the festival. They decided to climb up to the balcony and watch the crowds while the sun set.

  To Sam’s relief, the four men still accompanied them and had kept all their equipment safe. In the sanctuary above the crowds, one of them served a drink tasting of roses and another brought little cookies decorated with sliced almonds. They’d shed their equipment and started to relax when an unsettled feeling crept over her.

  “Allan, don’t you think you should throw a garland over my head?”

  “What?” He munched on one of the cookies.

  “Since we’re engaged. It’ll be romantic. Something special to remember this trip by.”

  “I don’t think I’ll forget this trip any time soon.” Allan cast a sideways glance at Osman, who gamely pretended not to notice.

  “Come on.” She rose to her feet, adrenaline now pumping with excitement about the idea. There was probably another ten minutes before sunset. “Let’s find a garland.”

  Osman spoke rapidly in the local dialect and two of the men darted down the stairs and returned only seconds later bearing a big garland of rose petals.

  “Goodness, isn’t it lovely.” Sam stroked the fragrant pink and white petals. “How do they grow enough roses for such romantic extravagance in this arid climate?”

  “With love and care,” said Osman softly.

  Allan looked at the garland like it might be toxic.

  “Come on, Allan. Humor me.” It was embarrassing, and maybe even a little depressing, that she had to beg him to throw the garland over her head. Then again, if he wasn’t enthusiastic enough to claim her the way all the other men had done that day, maybe getting married to him wasn’t such a hot idea.

  “Okay.” He shuffled over and lifted the garland with both hands. It was about the size of the garlands worn by racehorses and rather unwieldy. The two men had held it between them to keep it intact on the way up the stairs, and she began to worry that it would disintegrate before he could throw it over her head.

  “You have to swing it,” said Osman quietly. “Give it some lift in the air so that it will clear her head.”

  No one ever missed. They’d probably watched a hundred people do this, so it couldn’t be that hard. Then again maybe they’d all been practicing for years.

  “Go on, Allan. The sun’s about to set.” Somehow it seemed important to get the ritual right. It wouldn’t be the same if the sun had already vanished behind the mountains.

  Allan frowned, focusing like he was about to throw a big pitch in the local softball league. Then he lowered the garland, lifted it high as he took a step forward and flung it at her.

  She staggered back as it hit her full in the face. She’d tried to duck and catch it with her head, but it was still too low and it crashed to the stones at her feet. “Oh. Gosh. I guess we should try again.” She tried not to show her disappointment as she rubbed her sore nose.

  Osman lifted the wreath off the ground. Miraculously, it was still intact, though a few of its lovely petals now lay sprinkled at her feet. “You have to put your elbow into it. Like this.” Osman bent his elbow, then thrust the wreath at her. It cleared her head and settled neatly on her shoulders.

  A look of triumph spread across Osman’s face.

  Sam froze. Had Osman just claimed her?

  No. Already he and Allan were lifting it back over her head. Still, her heart had skipped at least three beats, and something very strange was going on in other parts of her body. Osman had—accidentally—raked his fingertips along her arm has he lifted the garland over her head again. The effect was deeply unsettling.

  Allan’s face grew white with irritation. Lips pressed together, he got into position and did a couple of practice swings. Then he stepped forward, hurled the garland into the air, and they all watched it disintegrate into a cloud of loose petals that floated slowly toward the stone floor.

  7

  Stunned, Sam kept waiting for the garland to reach her. At that moment, the sun vanished and a cold shadow descended across the balcony. “Sunset,” she murmured, looking down at the petals now covering her sandaled feet.

  “They’re not very sturdy, are they,” growled Allan, staring at the mess of petals.

  “They’re only meant to be thrown once.” Osman looked directly at Sam. His gaze stole her breath. “They’re fragile.”

  “Like love,” said Sam. She regretted the words the moment she’d said them. Was her love for Allan so fragile that it could crumble away like the garland?

  She turned to look at Allan but a sudden flare of light on the horizon caught her gaze. Followed by a loud boom very close at hand.

  “Get down!” shouted Osman.

  She crouched low to the stone floor. Screams and shrieks pierced the air from the frightened crowd below.

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  “Sounded like a rifle shot,” whispered Allan, glancing around.

  “Did you see that flare of light out by the mountains?”

  “Nope.” He started to climb to his feet. “And that bang was probably just a car backfiring. Lets go find a hotel.”

  She looked for Osman, but he was nowhere to be seen. The four men had disappeared as well, leaving them alone in the tiled chamber open to the balcony, with its fountain trickling away as if nothing had happened.

  “Where’d they go?” She looked around. She
hoped Osman wouldn’t put himself in danger. Then again, maybe it was just a car backfiring. She should stay focused on their work. “I’m glad you got great footage. I have a really good feeling about this whole project.”

  “I’m glad at least one of us does,” he muttered. “I can’t wait to load this footage onto the Internet so at least we have a backup copy. I feel like I don’t know what’s going to happen from one minute to the next around here.”

  She realized she was kneeling in the pile of half-crushed rose petals. “Don’t feel bad about missing me with the rose garland.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t. Are you going soft on me? You don’t seem like you’d be into that kind of sentimental garbage.”

  Indignation flared in her chest. “It’s an ancient rite. There’s something mysterious and powerful about it. And why did you agree to take a week out of your life to come here and shoot the festival if you thought it was sentimental garbage?” She’d been planning this project for over a year and probably done nearly a thousand hours of planning, grant writing and organizing to get to this point. Now he was dismissing it as? “Don’t you have any feelings at all?”

  She realized she’d almost shouted her last question.

  Allan looked up and raised a brow. “Yes, actually, I do. I didn’t much like seeing some pompous sheikh claim my bride as his own.”

  “You know that doesn’t mean anything. He just wanted to help you throw it right.” If he thought the whole thing was pointless, then what did it matter? Yet she knew in her heart that it did matter, and that this romantic misfire would come back to haunt them, possibly for the rest of their lives. It was the kind of thing that would be brought up during arguments, and presented as evidence that they were never meant to be together. She’d heard enough of those arguments between her parents, shouted over the third bottle of wine, to last a lifetime.

  “I’m sorry my throwing isn’t adequate.” Allan zipped his camera back into the bag. “Now I have fresh admiration for all those lanky teens who managed to get it right.” He looked at her and frowned. “Can we get the hell out of here?”

  Where had Osman and his men gone? Of course now that they were in Nabattur they could go find a hotel and film the rest of the festival without any help from Osman. Not that a hotel was likely to have any space right now, with everyone and their donkey in town for the festival. Their reservation must have been given away, since she never called to cancel or change it due to her phone being dead. Even in the center of town, their phones still didn’t work.

  “I don’t think we can just leave.”

  “I know. He’s holding our stuff hostage in his palace. Not to mention our car. But I can’t stand to wait here like one of his servants.” Allan looked forlorn, and she rubbed his back to soothe him.

  The crowd below the balcony seemed to have almost forgotten the loud noise, probably excusing it as something innocuous the way she and Allan had. Flaming torches lit up the night, and people started to dance to music made by musicians roaming through the crowd with drums and horns and flutes.

  “I wonder if we should go down there and film some of this.” She loved the way the dancers swayed almost like flickering candle flames. Many of the women still wore their garlands, which disintegrated aromatically and cast rose petals in all directions.

  “Let’s go.” Osman’s voice boomed from behind them. “Hurry.” His tone urgent, he grabbed her by the hand.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “An explosion just outside the walls. The car is destroyed.”

  Sam gasped. Allan dropped a curse. “Who would do that?”

  “Someone who’s trying to send me a message.” He scowled into the darkness.

  “Are they trying to kill you?” Fear clawed at Sam’s gut. She wasn’t as tough as she liked to pretend.

  “If they are they’re not doing a very good job.” He lifted a brow and she saw that familiar flash of humor in his eyes. “My men are fetching another car. We’ll also leave by a different gate just in case there’s someone lurking in the dark.”

  “I hope we haven’t brought you any trouble.” She glanced at Allan.

  “I’m sure it has nothing to do with you.”

  “But you wouldn’t be at the festival if it wasn’t for us intruding on your life.”

  “I’m glad to have attended the festival today.” He squeezed her hand gently and she tried not to notice the flare of warmth inside her. She also avoided his gaze, which she could tell was firmly planted on her face. He must have known it would be awkward and embarrassing for her if he managed to throw the garland over her head when her own fiancé couldn’t.

  She really should be mad at him. Right now, however, she had other things to worry about. “Do you think there will be more explosions?”

  He let out a ragged breath. They walked—fast—down a long corridor that must lead along the inside of the city walls, which curved directly to their left. “In general, the pattern is just one. This is the fourth incident since I returned home for my father’s funeral. But we don’t know what caused that flare of light in the mountains at the same time. We’ve not seen anything like that before.” He squeezed her hand again, and she felt her heart constrict a little at the same time. “This way.”

  He let go of her fingers and pointed to a ladder leading directly up the wall to their left. The ladder was made of sticks bound together with what looked like twine and seemed far too tall for such insubstantial construction. He noticed her hesitation. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you.”

  “I’ll be right behind her,” growled Allan. Spurred on by his irritation, she put one foot on the ladder, then the other. It didn’t wobble, so her confidence grew as she rose higher, one rung at a time. She glanced down to see Allan mounting behind her.

  In truth, she was glad Osman still stood on the ground. She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but she’d feel safer falling into his sturdy arms than into Allan’s. Her fiancé might be a genius, but he wasn’t exactly built for power and strength.

  “You okay, sweetie?” She felt guilty about her treacherous thoughts.

  “I’m fine, babe. Keep going.”

  A man leaned over the edge above her and held out a hand to encourage her. When she neared the top he grabbed her above the elbows and hauled her up over the wall. She found herself standing in a kind of exposed corridor running right along the top of the crenellated city wall.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the moonlight, she could make out mountains in the distance, their craggy peaks bathed in silver. A grassy plain spread out around the city like a rumpled silver sheet. The whole landscape looked empty and magical, with headlights making tiny pricks of light on the road winding toward the city.

  “Allan, you must get some shots of the view from up here. It’s like something out of a fairy tale.”

  She watched Osman’s men haul him over the wall. “Too dark. It’ll be grainy.”

  Sam thought about arguing that they could fix it in postproduction but decided not to. “How do we get down the other side?”

  Osman climbed over the wall and pulled the ladder up after him. He grinned in the darkness. “Same way we came up.”

  Going down was a lot more hair raising than going up, but Osman led the way and seeing the flimsy ladder bear his impressive physique she knew it could handle hers. Soon they were all at the base of the wall, standing in pitch darkness.

  “What are we going to do now?” Allan was trying, not too successfully, to conceal his frustration.

  “We can’t use any light.” Osman’s deep voice came from the shadows. “Since we don’t know if the bombers are still at large. A car is almost here.”

  The quiet purr of an expensive engine grew louder, though the headlights were turned off so they couldn’t see it approach. The men who’d calmly carried their bags all day now bore semiautomatic weapons, pointed out into the darkness. The fun and festive day had taken on an atmosphere of menace,
and for the first time since they’d arrived, Sam wished she were back in her bed in Brooklyn.

  “You’re shivering.” Osman spoke softly into her ear. She hadn’t noticed him come close.

  “Just tired. And a little scared.”

  “Don’t worry. My men will protect you.” His confidence should have been reassuring, but she began to get a sense that he was about to touch her and that made the tiny hairs on her arms stand up, which was unnerving. The moon shone on the other side of the city, and the high walls cast them into deep shadow where you could barely see people’s eyes in the blackness.

  “Are you okay, Allan?” She looked for his familiar outline amongst these big, strapping men in their long robes. He probably wouldn’t be too pleased about Osman crowding in on her again. She wanted to let him know that he was still her main man.

  “I’m fine,” he said curtly.

  “You’ll have some interesting stories to tell the guys at your poker game.” She thought it would cheer him up to remind him of something he enjoyed.

  “If I ever see them again,” he growled.

  “Of course you will,” boomed Osman. “The car is armored. There’s little danger.”

  “I was kidding.” Allan seemed to be in very ill humor. Sam wished she could glare at him. There was no point in being snippy with Osman when their safe passage out of here depended on him. “I’ve spent my whole life in New York City. I’m hardly quaking in my boots over a few yahoos with Molotov cocktails.”

  Sam smiled at his display of backbone. “Sometimes I forget you’re used to tough characters.”

  He didn’t respond. This thick darkness was disconcerting. She’d heard the car arrive, but now she couldn’t see or hear it.

  “This way,” Osman’s breath heated her neck, and she felt his cupped hand under her elbow. The sensation made her catch her breath. Why did he have this effect on her when she couldn’t even see him? In the daylight his looks were admittedly breathtaking, all dark olive skin and piercing green eyes, but even now he was getting her hot and bothered.