by Kim Lawrence
He merely shrugged again. “As you say, then.”
“Are you going to give me the job?”
“That depends on you, Genie.”
Genie tamped down on the irritation uncoiling within her. She wasn’t about to ask him what he meant. She didn’t need to.
She turned to watch the city glide by. Al-Shahar was more modern than she’d thought it would be. Cars rolled down wide streets with tall glass and steel buildings. There were sidewalks, manicured trees and plants, and designer shops lining the streets on both sides. It was still early enough that people populated the sidewalks—the men in business suits or traditional robes, the women either wearing colorful abayas or Western clothes.
They also passed through an older section of town, where the buildings were mud-brick and she saw more than one donkey pulling a laden cart. The air smelled of spice, exotic and fresh, and she wished she could get out and explore the old bazaars. But the Hummer continued toward the palace, finally passing through the arched gates and pulling to a halt in front of huge double doors that looked as if they were made of gold.
Zafir’s door popped open. Someone had unrolled a red carpet, and he stepped out onto it, then turned and held out a hand for her. She accepted, scooting across the seat and joining him on the walkway. The car door slammed again and the vehicle moved away—everything a perfectly coordinated dance of efficiency.
Black-clad men with headsets and Uzis flanked the palace doors, while several other men fanned out behind them.
“Is it so dangerous here you need this many guards?” she asked.
Zafir frowned. “Not at all. It is simply custom.”
Another thought wormed its way into her consciousness. A worrying thought. “Zafir, you said you were putting an end to an old feud in the desert. Are you in any danger from those men?”
The double doors whisked open and they passed inside while men and women bowed low. It was disconcerting to be reminded so forcefully at every turn how exalted a being Zafir now was.
And he’d wanted to renew their physical relationship? With a woman who crawled around in dirt and mud on a regular basis? She was beginning to doubt his sincerity on that score.
He stopped at another ornate door. “I am not in danger, habiba. Do not worry yourself.”
“I wasn’t worried,” she lied. And she didn’t believe him. He’d said there were those who clung to the old ways and didn’t want change. When people felt threatened, they were capable of many things. In a volatile environment such as this, would someone go so far as to try and harm the King?
“Go with Yusuf,” Zafir said. “He will show you to your quarters. I will see you for dinner tonight.”
She could only stare after him as he turned to go.
But then he looked back at her. “And be sure to wear something sexy, Genie.”
Zafir entered his private office and went to his desk to see what papers his secretary had left for him. But his mind was on the woman he’d left standing in the hall. It was dangerous to want Genie Gray again. He had too many things he needed to do as a new king trying to cement his rule. Distractions were unwelcome.
Most of his father’s ministers had accepted him as king, though there were those who grumbled he’d spent too much time in the West, that his education in America was dangerous to tradition and custom. He was careful to pick his battles, and swift to act once he had. This issue with the blood feuds was one he intended to put a stop to as quickly as possible.
Now that he was king, he was also being pressured to marry again. A king needed heirs, and his ministers were anxious he should get started on the task. He would do so in his own time, however.
His experience with marriage thus far had not been the most pleasant. Jasmin’s death had shocked him. She’d been impulsive and high-strung, and when she’d threatened to do herself harm he’d not believed her.
He still didn’t believe she’d meant to kill herself.
She’d most likely meant to scare him when she’d taken the pills. She’d counted on him to find her, to call an ambulance, but he’d been delayed that day. By the time he’d found her—it had been too late. He still blamed himself for not taking her seriously, for not getting her the help she needed.
Four years after her death he’d bowed to the pressure to marry again. A mistake.
And now Genie was here, back in his life by accident when he’d never expected to see her again. Her presence brought a feeling of normalcy to the circus his life had become. She’d known him before, when he had been simply Prince Zafir, when he’d been excited about his studies and the things he would build.
Perhaps it was wrong to keep her here, but he didn’t care. Because she gave him something he’d thought lost, something he hadn’t realized he needed until she’d ripped off her veil in the tent.
Genie Gray gave him a sense of himself as he’d used to be. She made him feel less alone in this world, and he truly needed that right now. Oddly enough, he also felt a pang of guilt over the way they’d parted ten years ago. Perhaps he should have told her about his arranged marriage when they’d first met. Perhaps he should have given her the chance to decide for herself if she wanted to take the risk of being with a man who came from a world so different from her own.
And what choice are you giving her now?
He shoved the thought aside brutally. He would not force her into his bed, no matter what he’d told her. He’d been angry, and he’d said things he did not mean. But he would bed her again. It was as inevitable as the sandstorms that swept across the desert.
Genie stood in the middle of the cavernous quarters she’d been shown to—the old harem, Yusuf had explained—and studied the tilework over her head. The room was vaulted, the mosaic inlaid with gold and precious gems. It was an extraordinary room.
There were marble columns, soaring arches, stained glass, and a crystal chandelier that must stand twice as tall as she if it were lowered to the floor and she could measure herself against it.
This room connected to another—a smaller room this time, with a large bed on a dais in the center. The furnishings were ornate, more modern than appropriately suited this space, and luxurious. She went through another door and found a bathroom that would more or less be considered a spa where she lived. A cutout high in the roof let natural light in, and it shafted down over a pool—yes, pool—from which steam arose.
A natural hot spring. Marvelous.
On a long shelf there were scented oils and cosmetics in an array of delicate blown-glass bottles. She passed into another room, and came up short. This was a dressing room, and one wall was lined with clothes. But whose clothes? His ex-wife’s? A mistress’s?
She plucked at the first garment. A tag was still attached to the sleeve. Galliano. She dropped the tag as if it burned when she saw the price. How many zeroes were possible when you were only talking about a dress?
Genie picked up the next garment, and the next. All had tags. And all had cost far more than a month’s wages.
She passed back into the large reception area, to find a woman laying out a teapot along with small cakes and a selection of fruit near one of the divans.
“Please, madam,” the woman said. “His Majesty sends you greetings.”
She indicated an envelope on the table. Genie went over and picked it up.
“Tea?”
“Um, yes. Thank you,” Genie replied. It’d been hours since breakfast, and she had no idea when, or if, lunch would be served.
Ripping open the envelope, she pulled out a piece of heavy cream paper upon which Zafir had scrawled, ‘Choose a dress from the closet. They were sent over for you. Dinner is at eight.’
He’d bought the dresses for her? The thought was both disconcerting and warming at the same time. Disconcerting because there were so many, and they were so expensive. Warming because he’d thought to do so.
The afternoon that followed was long and lonely. Though it frustrated her to putter around the harem when she could be working
, Genie still managed to soak in the hot spring, take a long nap, and find a suitable dress. The one she chose was a soft blue-gray silk with jeweled spaghetti straps. It fell right above the knee, and though it was very nice she wasn’t sure she would call it sexy.
In fact she’d worked hard to find the least sexy dress she could in the lot.
But as she looked at herself in the mirror she began to wonder if she’d succeeded. The color brought out the gray of her eyes, and her coppery hair was curlier than she would have liked due to the steam in the mineral spring. The jeweled straps winked in the light, and her bare shoulders seemed too exposed while the dress clung suggestively to her breasts.
It was too late to change, however, because Yusuf had arrived to escort her to the dining room.
Except it wasn’t the dining room he showed her to. Yusuf opened a door and bade her enter, then disappeared before she could ask if there was some mistake.
This room was even more ornate than the harem. There was a living area with couches, chairs, and a flatscreen television on one wall. Off to one side she could see a bedroom, with a large canopied bed. Across the room a series of arched doorways opened onto what looked like a terrace.
She was just wondering what to do when Zafir emerged from one of the darkened entryways. Her breath stopped. He’d changed out of the traditional robes and into a dark tailored suit. He wasn’t wearing a tie, however, and he’d unbuttoned the first three buttons of his snowy white shirt.
She had a sudden urge to go to him, to press her mouth into that hollow at the base of his throat, to taste him the way she’d once done. He’d always tasted exotic, spicy. She’d never forgotten the way he smelled, the way his skin felt beneath her fingers. Thinking of it now was not something she wanted to do, and yet her heart wouldn’t stop throwing the memories into her head.
Zafir was staring at her, his eyes moving appreciatively over her form. “You look lovely, Genie.”
She tried not to blush. When was the last time she’d been dressed up? The last time a man had complimented her for the way she looked? She couldn’t honestly remember. Other than a few social functions tied to funding for her projects, she didn’t get out much.
“Thank you. You look pretty good yourself,” she added. “I have to admit that I’m surprised you remembered my size.”
“I remember a lot of things.” His voice was low, suggestive. It stroked across her sensitized nerves, set up a humming in the back of her head.
But she didn’t want to know what kind of things he remembered. Her pulse was already going haywire just from being here with him. To hear the things he remembered about her…?
No.
Zafir saved her by holding out a hand instead. “Come, we are dining in the courtyard.”
She let him lead her outside. The courtyard was enclosed on all four sides, making it very private. There was a long table in the center, one end set with candles and flowers, the glassware and delicate china sparkling in the soft light. Flickering gas lamps provided additional light around the perimeter.
Palm trees stood nearby, their fronds sighing together where the tops towered over the enclosed walls. The breeze occasionally wafted down to the floor of the courtyard, but since darkness had settled it wasn’t hot or uncomfortable.
Zafir pulled her chair out for her, then lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. Tingles radiated down her arm, over her breasts, her nipples tightening in response.
And, lower, another response gathered in her feminine core. Oh, God, she ached with want for this man. How long had it been since she’d felt this kind of heat and want?
She had to force it away, had to keep her head. It was wrong to want him when he’d hurt her so badly. She had to keep her cool, had to be all business.
“This scene is set for seduction, Zafir,” she said as he took the seat opposite.
His smile was wicked with intent. “Do you think so?”
Breathe, Genie. “You know it is.”
“And is it working?”
Be cool, unaffected. “I suppose that depends on what’s in the food.”
One eyebrow arched. “Are you suggesting I would have to drug you to succeed?”
“I’m not sure what lengths you would go to,” she replied. “I hardly know you anymore.”
“We could rectify that tonight, habiba.”
A team of waiters arrived then, saving her from a reply. One shook out her napkin and laid it across her lap, while another poured water and wine. A third man began to serve them, but Zafir said something in Arabic and the man set the dish down on the table. Then he moved the serving cart closer and bowed. The three men filed out, and once again she was alone with Zafir.
He stood and pulled the covers off the dishes. “Allow me to serve you, habiba,” he said.
“It’s not necessary.”
“No, it’s not.” He dished out fragrant rice, vegetables, chicken and flat bread before filling his own plate. His movements were quick, efficient, and she thought that he must not have much freedom anymore to do these sorts of things. Indeed, the waiters had looked slightly askance at their king’s request they leave, but they could do nothing except obey.
“I’ve never been served by a king before,” Genie said, taking a sip of her water.
Zafir gave her a grin as he took his seat. “Ah, but you have, many times over. I was not exactly a king then, however.”
She tore off a piece of flat bread and dipped it in the sauce over the chicken. The food was aromatic, alive with spice and flavor, and she happily ate at least half of what he’d given her before she looked up and found him watching her with an amused expression.
Heat crept into her face. “This is so much better than the camp food I’ve been eating for the last few weeks. No matter how you try, sand seems to get into everything.”
“You have been living the life of a nomad,” he replied easily. “Is this what you expected to be doing when you were in school?”
“I expected to spend time in harsh places, yes.” But she’d also expected more glamour and adventure. She’d soon learned, after beginning to study archaeology as an undergraduate, that the adventurous life of Indiana Jones was more than a bit exaggerated.
He cocked his head. “It is a very odd choice for such a beautiful woman. I must admit that I never envisioned you doing such things.”
“No, you envisioned me in a harem.”
He sighed. “I thought we were good together. I did not wish it to end simply because I had to return to Bah’shar.”
Genie fixed her gaze on her plate. She’d been so naïve back then. It was humiliating to remember how happy she’d been when he’d asked her to go with him. Before she’d understood that he was not proposing marriage and never would.
“But I should have told you about Jasmin,” he said. “From the beginning.”
Her head snapped up. His eyes were on her. Hot, dark, intense. Did he mean it, or was this simply another attempt at seduction, at lowering her resistance?
“Yes,” she said, “you should have.”
Genie’s eyes flashed fire as he watched her across the table. So passionate, this woman. So vibrant and alive. She had no problem challenging him, and he found he rather liked that, even while it sometimes irritated him.
“Arranged marriages, especially between royals, are such a part of my culture that I did not consider how it might affect you. Nor did I feel it necessary to explain my life to you in the beginning, when I hardly knew you.”
“And now you admit you were wrong?”
“Yes.” He hadn’t meant to say it tonight, because he hadn’t wanted her to think he was being insincere—and yet he found he needed to do so. He wanted her to understand, wanted to explain what he’d been too young and arrogant to explain that night so long ago.
“I appreciate that, but it doesn’t change anything, Zafir. Even if I’d been the sort of woman who could accept such an arrangement, I wouldn’t have been able to p
ursue my work here.”
“Bah’shar is filled with ruins that need exploring by scholars. You could have done so.”
She shook her head emphatically. “No, don’t go there. It was impossible. I could never have accepted the kind of arrangement you were offering me.”
“I know this now,” he said, shoving back from the table and drawing her up from her chair.
He was growing as tired of talking about the past as she was. It did nothing but wound, and he wanted to think of other things this evening. He had enough pain in his life.
“Let us concentrate on tonight,” Zafir said, pulling her close. She didn’t resist as he began to sway to imaginary music. “Do you remember this?”
“Of course,” she said a touch breathlessly.
They’d often danced together when the mood had hit them, and rarely had there been any music to accompany their steps.
It amazed him how right it felt to do this, how soothing it was to his senses. He’d been living in a pressure cooker for so long, yet the simplest touch from this woman relieved all the strain.
She was as light in his arms as she’d ever been. Her hair smelled exotic, like jasmine and spice, and he found himself cupping her head, threading his fingers into her short curls.
He simply had to have her, or he would die.
She leaned back to look up at him. Her fingers curled into his lapels. “You should let me go, Zafir. Tell the Sheikh the truth and let me go back to my dig.”
A dull pain pierced his heart at the thought. “Perhaps I should,” he said. “But I am not going to do so.”
CHAPTER FIVE
GENIE’S SENSES WERE on high alert as Zafir held her close, their bodies swaying together. The longer she was with him, the less she wanted to be anywhere else. And that was dangerous, so very dangerous.
His body was warm, hard, and her skin sizzled where his fingers rested against her back. The dress that had been so comfortable before now felt like the roughest cloth against her sensitive skin. She wanted out of it, and yet she did not. To take that step was to go down a path she’d never thought to travel again.
