Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology

by Violet Vaughn

  He led her to an open car door and helped her in. All the lights in the car were turned off, but she felt the dashboard in front of her and knew she was in the passenger seat. She heard the men speaking low just outside, and Allan climbing in, then Osman climbed in.

  His scent in the darkness only threw her further off-kilter. Not perfumed or artificial, but somehow both masculine and exotic at the same time.

  “Is our car fixed?” Allan must be leaning forward as he spoke almost right into her ear as the engine purred to life again.

  “Not yet.” She sensed Osman turning to face him. “It requires a part that has to be ordered from Tabriq. One of my men set out to retrieve it and should be back tomorrow.”

  “Goodness, I’m sorry you’re having to go to so much trouble for us.” She tried to catch Allan’s eye in the dark—she could feel his quiet fury—but he was avoiding her glance and staring straight at Osman. “It’s so kind of you to help us. I’m not sure how we’ll ever pay you back.”

  “I look forward to watching your film.”

  “It’s a video,” muttered Allan. “We’re shooting it on video, not film.”

  She glared at him. If this was jealousy, it really wasn’t that cute. He came across as surly and ungrateful. This trip was supposed to be their honeymoon and cement their union, but it was having the opposite effect. Allan fiddled with his phone again, trying fruitlessly to make a call. Why couldn’t he just accept that there was no cell coverage here?

  They drove in the dark without headlights, headlong through the empty desert, which felt like a metaphor for her life. This trip had not gone as planned. Their filming goals were on track, but she felt like something more important had gone right off the rails.

  She glanced out the back window but couldn’t see any sign of the other men following in a car. They also didn’t appear to be heading back to his palace. If anything, they were going further in the other direction, toward the more distant mountains.

  “Where are we going?” She tried to keep her anxiety out of her voice.

  “Somewhere safe.” He stared straight ahead. Probably needed all his concentration to drive so fast in the dark.

  Allan shifted in his seat, straining to look out the window. “Hey, what’s the meaning of this? You can’t just take us anywhere you feel like.”

  “No?”

  Sam stared at Sheikh Osman, blinking. Was this a joke? His noble profile betrayed no sign of humor or even sympathy. Fear pricked at her stomach. “I think you should take us back to Nabattur.”

  “Someone blew up my car. We don’t know who they are, and we don’t know how many there are. The route back to the palace could be booby-trapped. It’s only prudent to take cover somewhere unexpected.”

  Allan leaned forward until he was almost whispering Osman’s ear. “I think you should take us back to Nabattur. As American citizens we have rights and we—”

  “Sit back.”

  Allan didn’t budge. “You have basically abducted us and have kept us your prisoner for a solid twenty-four hours now—”

  “That’s not true,” Sam cut in. “He’s very graciously escorted us around the festival.”

  “Did you not have freedom to roam around and film at will?” Osman’s voice was so deep it was barely audible.

  “Within reason, I suppose.” Allan’s voice was ice cold. “But now you’re taking us off into the empty desert without even asking us. If you don’t take us back to Nabattur right now, I’m going to call the American Embassy and—”

  “With what?”

  “Tell them that some sheikh has kidnapped us and—”

  Osman didn’t even turn around. “You’re going to call the American Embassy with what?”

  Her eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see Allan’s hand close tighter around his useless phone. “He’s holding us captive.”

  His words sounded foolish, yet Sam frowned as unease crept over her. She wished she could soothe him, but nothing Osman had said was truly reassuring. He still drove at breakneck speed through the pitch-dark desert, with only one hand on the wheel. As her eyes adapted to the darkness, she realized that the other hand lay poised in his lap, fingers wound around the dark metal casing of a large handgun.

  8

  “Uh, why are you holding a gun?” Sam tried to keep her voice from shaking. She didn’t expect him to answer, but she wanted Allan to know about the weapon.

  She heard Allan swallow and shrink back, his bravado waning. “We’re American citizens,” he said more quietly. “You can’t just make us disappear.”

  She watched Sheikh Osman’s face for a reaction. It was slow in coming, but it arrived as a loud guffaw of laughter that made her jump.

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you’re not being very nice.” She sounded like an angry sixth grader, but dammit, she was getting mad.

  “I’m trying to drive in the dark, Samantha. It’s taking all my concentration.”

  “It might help if you used two hands.” She managed to sound calm. “Would you like me to hold your gun?”

  “No, thanks.” He shot a sideways glance at her, and she saw his eyes flash in the dark. “I suspect I have more training in how to use it effectively if I need to defend us.”

  Maybe he was just trying to keep them safe. Still, she didn’t like the high-handed way he took charge. “Where are your men?”

  “They’re taking another route to the same destination. I’m following the less obvious path around the outside of the city.”

  “How do you know where you’re going in the dark?” She couldn’t see a thing out the window except the silver-outlined peaks of the distant mountains.

  “The mountains guide me. I hunted these plains a thousand times as a boy. I know them like I know the contours of my own body.”

  “Oh.” She let out a shaky breath, trying not to think about the contours of Osman’s body. “At least there are no trees to crash into. And I suppose the animals run away when they hear the car coming.” The luxury sedan covered the grassy terrain with surprising ease.

  Sam braced herself with a hand on the dashboard as the ground grew rougher and the car bumped over rocks. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re climbing into the foothills.” He kept his eyes forward. “We’re almost there.”

  “Where?” Allan spoke for the first time in a while. He sounded nervous.

  “My men are setting up an encampment in a well-concealed area. We’ll stay here overnight and be back in Nabattur in plenty of time for you to film the festival tomorrow.”

  She couldn’t believe he still sounded so calm after all the suspicion he’d just endured while trying to protect them.

  If he was telling the truth, of course. She couldn’t explain why, but she believed him. And not because of his expensive Western education. There was something about Sheikh Osman that inspired confidence and trust.

  Or maybe his traffic-stopping good looks had deprived her of her sanity. Allan couldn’t stand him. She could feel him quietly seething behind her in the backseat.

  The car drew to a stop, and Osman cut the engine and did something with his gun that made her breath catch.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just putting the safety back on.” His smile gleamed in the dark, not entirely reassuring.

  “Oh. Good.” Their doors opened at the same time, making her jump, and she recognized the faces of two of the men who’d followed them around all day. They retrieved the bags from the trunk and carried them on their shoulders.

  Sam looked for Allan in the dark. “It’s one night. We’ll be back at the festival tomorrow.”

  “We hope. Not much we can do about it either way, is there?” She could tell he felt helpless and hated it. Sympathy swelled in her heart.

  “All part of the adventure, I’m afraid.”

  Allan fiddled with his phone to no avail. “I feel like civilization might be a dream I once had.”

  “It is peaceful out
here, isn’t it?” She looked around, trying to make out shapes in the darkness. The once-distant mountains now loomed over them like giants. She could still see the walled city of Nabattur far away across the plain, its gleaming torchlight tiny bright dots in the blackness.

  “Come this way. We’ll climb to a hidden crevice.”

  Sam didn’t much fancy spending a night on the mountainside, but as Allan had observed, they didn’t really have a choice. She followed Osman and his men along a rocky trail that led up the shallow base of the mountain. One by one, they disappeared behind a giant boulder that looked like a huge sugar cube in the moonlight. As she rounded it herself, she felt her jaw drop.

  A large tent rose up before her. The open flap ushered them into an enclosed space lit with filigreed lanterns and floored with richly patterned rugs. The tent itself was blue. She could see that much by the light of a big fire that burned outside it, over which the two other men barbequed fragrant meat.

  Inside the tent she could also smell coffee, and a smoky brazier of incense thickened the atmosphere. Cushions on the floor and the rich patterns of the rugs made the inside of the tent feel homey and relaxing, even though the whole thing must have been erected while they were still driving.

  A nagging thought occurred to her. “Won’t the fires be visible to your enemies?”

  Osman shook his head. “The high walls of rock create a visual barrier. If it was daytime, they could see the smoke rising above the crags, but at night we’re well protected here. Our position is easy to defend as well.” He gestured to the two men who’d led them up. Both of them now stood guard near the sugar-cube rock, fearsome semiautomatic weapons crossed over their chests.

  For the first time since they’d left Nabattur, she could see Osman clearly. She much preferred to look right into his handsome face, not just see his teeth or eyes gleaming in the dark.

  On the other hand, looking at Osman had a very unsettling effect on her. You think she’d be used to him by now. Yes, he was good-looking. So what? She was here on a professional assignment—with her fiancé, no less—and it was entirely inappropriate for her pulse to quicken when he turned those gold-green eyes on her.

  “I’m sorry you’re stuck with us for another evening.” She needed to say something. The incense-scented silence was becoming oppressive.

  “Your apology implies that our hospitality is not welcoming enough.” His expression was so stern that she couldn’t tell if he was joking. “You should know that your presence brings me great pleasure. Come, sit, take a drink, and my men will bring food when it’s ready.”

  Not about to argue with him, Sam lowered herself onto the soft cushions along one wall of the tent. She patted the area next to her and smiled at Allan.

  “I’ll stand.” He wore his camera bag on one shoulder and clutched his useless phone.

  “All night long?” Osman looked amused.

  “If necessary.” Allan looked around the tent suspiciously. “This area has deadly scorpions and snakes.”

  Osman chuckled. “My people have lived in tents here for thousands of years. Somehow we’ve managed to survive.”

  “Don’t worry, Allan.” It would be embarrassing as heck if he really refused to sit down and accept all the hospitality they’d been offered. “The fire will keep them away.”

  Osman nodded sagely.

  She almost sighed with relief when Allan lowered himself gingerly to a cushion.

  Sam turned her attention to Osman, determined not to let his good looks intimidate her into being rude. “What a lovely tent.”

  “Thank you. Tents have fallen into disuse in this region in the last few centuries, but my mother was a Berber from the south. She grew up traveling about the desert in a tent and said she never slept as well inside solid walls.” An odd expression crept into his eyes. “Sleeping in a tent makes me think of her.”

  “Does your mother live in the palace?”

  “She’s dead. Let me bring water for us to refresh ourselves.”

  He disappeared before she could even offer her condolences, sweeping through the door to the outside. He returned a few minutes later with a big bronze bowl etched with intricate patterns. One of the men who’d been cooking carried two plastic gallon jugs of water. Osman set the bowl down, and they each poured a jug of water into its sparkling golden surface.

  “Water never looks more beautiful than when you’ve been without it for too long,” he murmured. “Go ahead.” He gestured for her to use the water.

  She hesitated for a moment, then dipped her hands into it and began to rub them together. There was no soap.

  “Splash some on your face. You’ll feel refreshed.” Osman encouraged her.

  She did, and he was right. He offered the same to Allan, who glumly shook his head. If he were a toddler, she’d probably have given him a time out by this point for simple rudeness. He was certainly behaving like one.

  She took in a deep breath and tried to dispel her anger toward Allan. He was scared and confused and out of his element. This wasn’t the real Allan. She tried to remember the urbane man who entertained their friends and charmed her parents, who could tell Kenyan coffee from Brazilian just by the smell.

  Osman rolled up the sleeves of his robe, revealing muscled forearms that almost made her swoon. His skin was a rich golden brown that contrasted artistically with the sparkling bronze bowl. He splashed his face and head and let the water run over his proud features and drip onto his robe. She tried not to stare too hard. Her whole body grew warm, despite the desert temperature dropping since the sun went down.

  “Allow me to wash your feet.” Osman crouched low in front of her.

  “What?” She and Allan both exclaimed it at the same time.

  Osman turned his head to Allan. “It’s a custom in our lands to greet and settle a guest by washing their feet.”

  “How come you didn’t do it yesterday?” asked Allan with narrowed eyes.

  “I forgot.”

  Osman turned back to her and started to unbuckle her sandals. Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of his broad tan fingers, with their clean, pink nails, moving over her feet. She was glad she’d taken the time to paint her toenails a pretty coral. Her feet were awfully sensitive and ticklish, and sensation sparkled through her when his fingertips brushed them even slightly.

  Once her sandals were off, he took her right foot in his hand and lowered it gently toward the bowl. She gasped as her skin touched the cool water.

  Water still dripped from his face and his almost-shaved scalp, as he smoothed the water over her feet. She did everything in her power to keep her breathing inaudible. Osman exuded masculinity and authority, so to see him perform such a gentle and humble act was literally breathtaking.

  And he was so unbelievably gorgeous that it was hard to act normal around him at the best of times.

  She managed to look up at Osman and not grin like an idiot. Pleasure crept over her body, and yet it was torture because she couldn’t let either of these men know how much she was enjoying this.

  “Really?” Allan sounded exasperated.

  “Allan, you really should let him wash your feet. It feels sensational.” She wasn’t sure which of them she wanted to annoy more. Osman was clearly enjoying the power he had over her right now. He rather deserved to have to wash Allan’s long pale feet with their bony toes. And Allan might enjoy watching Sheikh Osman perform the ritual act.

  “No, thanks,” he snapped.

  Osman caught her eye as if to say, “Thanks a lot.” She wanted to wink, “You’re welcome,” but managed to smile pleasantly instead. When he was done, he dried them with a soft, fine cotton cloth. She didn’t feel like putting her dusty sandals back on again, so she sat barefoot and cross-legged on the cushions, hoping it wasn’t a massive social faux pas.

  Dinner was brought to them inside the tent. A large platter of rice, with roasted meat piled in the center and sliced fruit around the outside.

  “That smells unbelievable,
” she murmured. “I can’t believe you can conjure such luxury in the middle of nowhere at a few moments’ notice.”

  “Centuries of experience.” Osman smiled as he watched her help herself to the feast. Even Allan reluctantly piled some food on a plate and perched on the edge of a cushion to eat it. After dinner, the men retrieved the plates and brought a sweet iced drink similar to the mango lassi she’d had at Indian restaurants, but with rose petals in it.

  During the meal Osman managed the seemingly impossible feat of engaging Allan in conversation. He started by asking about his films and appeared deeply interested in the one about the lives of the three strippers. He then explained that Nabattur had a red-light district of women who had found themselves outside the conventional bounds of family and society by circumstance or choice. Sam wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or relieved when Allan asked if he could visit it that night.

  “Of course. One of my men can escort you and translate for you.”

  “Is it safe to wander around the city at night?” Sam didn’t like the idea. And she didn’t want to go. She found Allan’s interest in the sex trade to be rather depressing, despite his insistence that the sale of sexual favors was the oldest profession in the world.

  “Nabattur is safer than any city in America. Because it’s small and people know each other there is almost no crime.”

  “I won’t be gone long, Sam. It’ll be interesting to get a look at the oldest profession here in an ancient culture.”

  She didn’t like the idea at all, but this was the first time since their arduous journey yesterday that Allan had showed any enthusiasm. How ironic that he could be obsessed with the sex trade when he avoided sex with her.

  “Your staff will take care of him?” She looked pointedly at Osman.

  “I can take care of myself, Sam.” Allan didn’t even look put out. He was already rising to his feet and brushing rice crumbs from his jeans. “I’ll be quite at home in the dark streets of a city at night. Why don’t you come with me?”

  Sam had accompanied him on one or two depressing ventures into strip clubs during the filming of a previous project. “That’s okay. I’m tired. I’d rather get some sleep.” Allan, bristling with enthusiasm and camera equipment, headed for the car with a man named Rifal.