by Leslie North
Adilan pulled out a pair of sunglasses and slipped them on. “The desert is an ocean of sand. It shifts and changes with each new wind. It’s also very unforgiving. The warnings are of the heat—and the lack of help that can be expected.”
She gave a nod and a wince as Adilan crested yet another sand dune. “I watch a lot of travel documentaries and I always wondered if the sandstorm that can bury a small town are real or just exaggerations.”
Adilan grinned. “Oh, they are very real and fatal if one is caught out in one without the benefit of shelter.”
She shivered. “That sounds like a horrible way to die.” Leaning to the side, she glanced at the sky. “I hope we’re not expecting any storms.”
He slowed the vehicle as he neared the top of another dune. “Close your eyes.” She glanced at him, but dutifully closed her eyes. She could feel the Hummer as it slowed even more and came to a stop. Adilan’s voice whispered near her ear. “Open your eyes now.”
Michelle did so and gasped. Unlike Al-Hilah, this one was not hemmed in by Rocky Mountains. Palms clustered around not just one spring, but several, forming four pools of green. Between them camels stood near a white tent. Several people in traditional white robes moved between the springs, but she couldn’t tell if they were men or women. The location was quite a bit larger than the other oasis—and lovely. She glanced to the right and could see the thin, shimmer of ocean in the distance. The mountains rose up as a backdrop. Michelle shook her head. “It is beautiful,” she said. But a small voice whispered in her head, ‘It’s not Mother’s oasis.’
“Father gave me this land when I turned twenty-one. It is called the Zia oasis.”
Surprised, she glanced at him. “Why would you make this part of the deal? How could you possibly think to give this up?”
Adilan smiled and looked at her over the top of his sunglasses. “Perhaps I am hoping I will have a standing invitation to visit your sanctuary once it is built.”
“Getting a little ahead of yourself—I haven’t agreed to anything.”
His smile widened to a grin. “You agreed to lunch.” He headed down to the oasis.
Michelle wanted to stare at everything—the carpets spread out before the tent, the camels, which smelled terrible, the people who sent cautious glances her way. Adilan leaped from the Hummer and came around to her side. She’d barely gotten her seatbelt off and the door open when the swept her out, spinning her around before putting her on feet. “Welcome to my tent.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Overdoing the sheikh just a little?”
“Impossible,” he said. At the entrance to the tent, he slipped off his shoes. Her boots took more effort, but she got them off and followed him inside. It was like stepping into an illustration—or a dream.
Incense burners and lamps set with colored glass hung from the wooden tent frame. Fabrics draped the walls and carpets turned the sand into colorful flooring. Everywhere she looked she could see cushions in vivid silks—purples, reds, oranges. A huge brass table sat on a low wooden stand. Adilan glanced at her from where he sat beside the table. He swept out a hand. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
She came over and sat down on the pillows—they seemed to enfold her. A woman brought in a pitcher, a bright blue bowl and towels. The woman poured the water and Michelle washed her hands in the cool liquid.
And then the food began to appear—carried in on large platters. She thought she recognized the smooth paste that almost everyone in the Middle East ate—hummus, or ground up chick peas. Flat bread, still warm from baking came in, along with a bowl of figs and bright red pomegranate seeds. Meat of some kind on skewers was served, with a honey dipping sauce. Salad, olives, sliced cucumbers, and then Michelle lost track of the dishes. She wanted to taste everything.
Adilan poured her lemonade from a glass carafe. He held up what looked like a small pastry made of layers of flaky dough and smelling of honey. “This is a specialty of Al-Sarid. You must try it.”
She didn’t see any way to take the pastry from him, so she let him put it in her mouth. Her lips closed over his fingers and her tongue brushed his fingertip. His eyes darkened. She swallowed the morsel of sweetness. “What is it?”
“Dates, honey—and spices. The recipe is known only to three cooks in Al-Sarid, and each bakery claims to have invented the dish. Try the lamb now.” He wrapped a small chunk of meat in the flat bread and held it up for her to take it from his fingers.
“Uh, I can manage,” she told him.
He shook his head. “It is custom to feed a guest. In turn, you may choose to feed me.”
She bit down on her lower lip. She wasn’t sure if he was feeding her a line more than any food, but she glanced over and saw one of the robed women watching them. The woman rolled her eyes, a giggle was smothered, and Michelle straightened. She wasn’t letting anyone think she was some stupid American who couldn’t adopt local customs.
Leaning forward, she parted her lips. Adilan placed the lamb on her tongue, and whispered, “Savor it.”
She let the meat linger on her tongue. Spices exploded in her mouth—a mix of mint, thyme, something sweet, and something a little tart. The bread seemed to melt away, and the lamb—she’d never had anything so good.
Glancing over at the women serving them, she saw expectation in the woman’s dark eyes. Michelle scooted a little closer to Adilan. She swept up one of the honey dates with her fingers—there were no forks, not even so much as a napkin—and held it up for him. Green eyes dancing, Adilan opened his lips. She fed him the date, and his mouth closed on her thumb and fore finger.
His tongue darted out, licking the last touch of sweetness from her thumb. Shock darted up her hand to her heart, sending it skidding fast. She licked her lips.
Adilan leaned even closer. She could smell his scent, something musky and warm. “I have a surprise for you.” Standing, he held out his hand to her. She put her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet.
He kept her hand as he walked her to the front of the tent. There stood a tan camel—the kind with one hump. A tasseled saddle sat on the animal’s back and a matching tasseled bridle wrapped around its head. The camel turned and stared at Michelle with dark eyes and the most ridiculously long eye lashes. Then it gave a belch that smelled like something fermenting and a loud, grumbling complaint.
Michelle eased closer to Adilan. “I don’t think it likes me.”
“She.” He stepped forward and held out a date that the camel quickly found and ate. “This is Dena. And we are going to see the Zia oasis from her back.
Chapter 8
Michelle gave him a sideways glance and stepped back. “Adilan, I don’t even know how to ride a horse.”
It was the first time she had used his name. A surprising touch of something wrapped around his heart. He frowned. He did not know why it should matter to him how—or even if—she spoke his name, but suddenly he wanted to hear her say it again.
He put a hand on her waist. “Never fear, we will be riding tandem.”
She gave him another look that made him want to laugh—she was so suspicious, his American. Giving orders, he had soft boots brought to Michelle and for himself—good desert boots made of goatskin. He took the reins and stick from the boy who had brought Dena to the tent and he tapped the camel on her leg to ask her to lie down so they could mount.
Dena complained as always, but it was a good sign that she had not spit at Michelle. Settling Michelle in front, Adilan swung his leg over the camel’s back, and gave Dena the command to stand. She did so, lurching up in front and then behind. Michelle gave a gasp, then a giggle.
Adilan tapped Dena on the shoulder and then on the haunch and he steered her away from the tent.
“You sure she’s safe?” Michelle asked.
“More so than any car. She is a ship of the desert.” He set off to show Michelle the land.
He wasn’t sure what part of good sense had come into play when he’d decided to take Miche
lle for a camel ride. She was sitting in front of him, her nicely rounded ass pressing against his groin. The rocking of the camel forced her against him and then away—all too stimulating a move.
He wrapped his arms around Michelle so he could guide Dena, and that put him into even closer proximity to her. If he turned his head a fraction, he could nuzzle her ear, licking the skin beneath her earlobe.
Ah, but he was playing with fire. With the fire in her hair, and in her eyes. He wanted her—but he was the one who was supposed to seduce her into doing his bidding. Instead, all he could think of was how to make her smile again. How to make her laugh—and how to make her say his name again.
They spent a half hour touring the Zia oasis. He spoke of the dates palms that produced the sweetest fruit in all Al-Sarid, of the sweetness of the water. “There is a legend that if you bath in these waters, you will have great health, a long live, happiness, and true love.”
Michelle gave a laugh and glanced back at him. “Very romantic, but I’m not certain how water could do all that. And, what, no wealth?”
“In Al-Sarid, if a man has all the other things, he is considered very wealthy indeed. Do you care to put the legend to a test?”
“Don’t tell me—you have swimsuits here.”
He grinned. “I was thinking more that our skins are suits enough.” He swung down from the saddle and held up a hand to Michelle. “Come, there is no one other than me to see you and you cannot say you have fully experienced the oasis until you have bathed in the water.”
She shook her head but she climbed down from the saddle. “And I also smell like camel now.” Glancing around, she asked, “Where did everyone go?”
He waved a hand over the dunes. “My staff has gone back to the city.” Letting go of Dena, he allowed her to wander off. “Dena will also find her way home—or she may stay to graze. Now…what about a swim?”
Michelle glanced at the cool waters. He could tell she was tempted, so he took her hand and led her to his favorite pool. The clear water was shallow enough to show the bottom of the springs. Letting go of her, Adilan turned his back. “I promise not to look—but you should bath. The waters are indeed special here, with minerals and warmed not just by the sun but by heat deep underground.”
She bit her lower lip and glanced up at him. “Really—no peeking?”
He sat down, his back to a palm tree. “You have my word as an Adjalane that you may undress in utter privacy.” He heard the rustle of her boots coming off and then of clothing. It took a great deal not to look—he wanted to see her skin, her body, but he had given his word.
Water splashed and then Michelle let out a deep sigh. “Okay, maybe there is something to this legend.”
He glanced over at her. Water shadowed her figure, but he could see hints of curving white skin. She floated on her back, staring up at the sky. He was entranced. She looked an enchanted houri, or a woman from fable with her hair darkened by water and spread out around her.
Dena gave a low bellow, and Adilan turned to watch the camel lope up the sand dunes, heading back to the city. Frowning, he stood. Dena would not have run, unless…
He turned and strode from the grove. He felt the wind first—sharp and stinging—then heard the low howl that Dena must have sensed. A storm was whipping up.
Heading back to the springs, he picked up Michelle’s shirt. “Come. You must get out. We need to return to the tent.”
She turned onto her front and eyed him. “Is this some ploy to see me naked?”
Closing his eyes, he held out her shirt. “This is some ploy to get you moving—a sandstorm is coming.”
He heard the splash of water, and her shirt was tugged from his hands. Opening his eyes, he saw a flash of pale breast—and the sight of her legs robbed him of thought for a moment. She grabbed her boots and pants. “How bad is it? Can we make it back to the city?”
He shook his head and grabbed her wrist, pulling her with him. “We will stay. The tent will be better shelter, and if the sand is bad, it will only clog the engine, leaving us stranded. That is how people die.”
“A tent? Seriously?”
Pulling her with him, he stepped into the tent. His people had done well, putting it up in the old style, with the edges buried. Letting go of Michelle, he pulled fabric over the opening, layering the material so nothing would get inside. “We are at the center of the Zia oasis, and as far as memory goes back, these springs have never been covered by the sand. The desert tries to take it back, but the way the dunes are situated, they act as natural wind breaks.”
Michelle shivered and rubbed her arms. Outside the wind began to howl. She stepped closer to him. “Are you sure we’re safe? Buried by sand…” She let the words trail and shivered again.
Coming over to her, Adilan draped an arm over her shoulders. “Come and sit. I will make us tea.”
He led her back to the cushions. A stone circle with coals in the center waited only for a match. While the wind howled and the tent shivered, he lit the fire and began to brew water for a calming rose tea.
Chapter 9
Michelle pulled her shirt tighter. She’d left off her pants and now she wondered if she ought to stand up and get dressed. Instead, she curled up in the cushions. She wanted to pile them over her until she couldn’t hear that howling noise. She glanced over at Adilan. “You’ve been through storms before here?” She was hoping he had.
He glanced at her and smiled. “Here? No. But other places, yes.” Getting up, he moved to light the lanterns overhead. The day seemed to have become suddenly dark, and Michelle could imagine the sand so think that it blotted out the sun.
He strode back to her. The flickering light gave the tent a romantic feel—if not for the wind poking at the tent, Michelle might have enjoyed the moment. Adilan finished making tea and handed her a steaming cup. She took it, her hands shaking.
With a frown, he took the cup from her and put his arms around her, pulling her close. She put a hand on his chest to stop him, but he whispered, “Shush. You feel the pull too. I know you do. This is no shame.”
She leaned her head against his chest. “I do. But…I’m not in the habit of jumping into bed with every hot guy who crosses my path.”
He gave a small laugh—she could feel it in his chest. “I am glad you think I am hot—and also that you do not have such a habit. Shall I teach you some Arabic?”
Pulling back, she stared up at him. “Can I trust you to give me the right translations?”
He pulled a mock frown. “I did not peek at the spring.”
“No…you looked.”
With a grin, he tightened his arms around her. Her shirt rode up, exposing her legs, so she pulled a pillow over her thighs. “Esmee means my name is. So you would say esmee Michelle. If you wish to know if someone speaks English, say, hal tatakallamo alloghah al enjleziah?”
She gave a groan. “I’m rotten with languages. My mother knows five of them—including Arabic. She used to try to teach me just one of them. It was agony—her going over the words again and again, trying to get my accent just right. Every session would end with me in tears and her throwing up her hands and wondering how should could end up with a boring, dull daughter like me.”
He pushed his hand into her hair. “Michelle, you are not boring or dull. How could you think such a thing? Even my father saw that you are your mother’s daughter—and by what I know, she was…she is a force of nature.”
The wind pushed at the tent, shaking it, and she clutched his arms. “Are you sure we’re safe?”
He gave a laugh and pulled her closer. “Safer than anywhere else. And more comfortable than in any car—sand always finds a way inside any vehicle. “Now should I teach you to ask where is the toilet?”
She straightened. “Is there one here?”
Waving toward the back of the tent, he said, “There is a fine bucket you can use. Now say, ‘ma esmoho bel arabiah.’”
“What does that mean? Am I asking you something r
ude—or intimate?”
He touched a finger to her cheek “You are asking what is that called in Arabic.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “And now I will ask you—do you wish to forget about the wind and the sand?”
She stared up at him, unable to speak. She could only nod. She felt safe in his arms—shielded. This was crazy—mad. This was something her mother would do. This wasn’t wise to fall for this guy, but she was lost in those green eyes, in those strong arms. She wanted him—she was honest enough to admit that. And she wanted what he was offering—a short time to forget her problems, forget why she was here, forget that damn wind that sounded like it could steal your soul. She’d rather give into him for a short time—she wanted the promises in his eyes. The touch of his hands warmed her face, left her tingling. For once, she wanted not to be the sensible, staid Michelle Reynolds. She wanted instead to be Deborah Reynolds daughter.
Tilting her face up, she put her hand on his chest, her fingers spread wide. “Teach me to say other things, Adilan. For once I want to be more like my mother’s daughter. I want adventure and excitement and all the things I’ve always avoided.”
He cupped her face and kissed her lips. His mouth was soft, questioning, careful. The sweep of his tongue into her mouth set off a fire inside her. He still tasted of honey and sweetness. She parted her lips and wrapped her arm around his neck.
Leaning back, he pulled them both down on the pillows, his fingers slipping along her legs in a caress that left tingles behind.
She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, got her fingers onto his skin. The hair on his chest was surprisingly soft and springy. He bent his head and through the fabric of the shirt, put his mouth on one nipple. She arched her back and moaned.
Sitting back, he smiled and put his hands on her bare thighs, stroking her skin. He leaned back so he could kiss her ankles, then the inside of her calf, his mouth hot. He kissed her knees and stroked the soft skin behind them. She’d never known that was a sensitive spot—a spot that sent sparks shooting through her.
