by Dana Marton
“Let me show you an old Bedu trick,” he said against her lips and reached between them to unzip her pants.
“No,” she said.
His hands stilled, his gaze full of emotions, confusion being prominent. “I don’t know what’s happening between us.”
That wasn’t what she needed to hear. She was conflicted on the issue already. His doubts weren’t helping any. “We should not have gotten involved. I— It was my fault.”
“This is not a mistake,” he said with force.
“No,” she sighed. However much it would hurt later, she would never regret it.
Why couldn’t she have this with some nice American man? Preferably someone in the SDDU who understood her work and was on the same crazy schedule. Why did she have to fall for the one man with whom any relationship was completely impossible?
The last few days with him were like stepping on a live mine. She was still reeling from the explosion of sensations and feelings.
She wouldn’t think about the feelings. Maybe she could distract herself with the sensations. Too soon the touch of his hands on her skin would be nothing but a memory anyway.
She wanted that closeness, their two bodies to be part of each other’s one last time.
“About that Bedu trick—” She brushed her lips across his.
“Mmm?”
“Maybe you should show me. I mean, for the sake of cultural exchange.”
He cut off with a kiss whatever else she might have babbled. He moved her legs until he could slip off everything—an involved process, but he managed without making her feel awkward—careful to tuck her clothes behind the saddle. Then came his garments, although by that time she barely noticed what he was doing with his hands since his lips were closed around her nipple.
He cupped her buttocks and he let go of the nipple to take her lips as he pulled her up and forward onto his lap, onto him.
She moaned as he stretched her, filled her with instant pleasure. He had spoiled her for life, she thought. Nobody would do after him. She was going to die an old maid—a very, very horny old maid.
“You like this?” he asked with a conceited grin.
“You’re a regular circus act.” She tightened her legs around his waist and drew him in deeper, flashing a smirk of her own at the stunned look that appeared on his face.
The saddle moved back and forth with the gait of the horse, and they with it. All other movement on their part was unnecessary, nothing to do but enjoy the steady rhythm and let their hands discover each other’s bodies.
The wild pleasure his body gave her took her by surprise each time. So did his gentleness. It had never been this way for her with anyone.
When they were like this, the world disappeared around them. She didn’t want it to return. He was an addiction, a compulsion. Somewhere along the way her body had become convinced that he was necessary for her survival, and overrode her mind.
She refused to worry about tomorrow, the next hour, the next minute even. She just wanted to enjoy the here and now. She wanted to savor every moment of their time together, preserve it forever in her memory and take it with her when she left.
She would not think that this might be the last night they spent together. She would not think beyond the pleasure of the very moment they were sharing.
He kissed her lips, long and tender as the horse plodded on, taking them on to new heights of ecstasy.
“I like the Bedu ways,” she gasped out the words as tension tightened her body. She felt the first spasm of her muscles then felt him surge inside her as they rode into mindless bliss together.
NASIR DIDN’T COME BACK until dawn, forcing them to wait another day so they could have the cover of darkness as they approached the city. The old hand-me-down B-52s Majid’s air force used weren’t equipped with night vision. The Bedouin army meant to take advantage of that weakness, but the waiting was hard. Tension and impatience vibrated in the camp. The men were ready to fight.
Dara looked over the small hill of weapons piled in the tent that had had to be enlarged to hold them all and shield them from the prying eyes above. Crates of semiautomatics, hand grenades, grenade launchers, blocks of TNT. Everything brand new, standard military issue. The little hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She glanced at Saeed, who was talking to the elders of the clans.
She wanted to be by his side, but understood that it would hold him back. He needed to be with his men, strengthening alliances and reinforcing connections. The presence of a foreigner, especially a woman, would be in the way.
For a moment, she wondered if she would ever be fully accepted in his world, then it occurred to her how little it mattered. She would not be in his world much longer.
She ambled toward him and caught his gaze. He came over a few minutes later.
“Miss me?” He flashed her a cocky grin. “I promise to give you lots and lots of undivided time once we take the palace.”
She snorted to cover up the fact that her blood raced at the thought of them spending some private time together in the near future. “You are the father of your people. Get your mind out of the gutter and try to act with some decorum.”
He raised an ebony eyebrow. “You want to talk about the attack?”
She shook her head. “Where did Nasir buy these weapons?”
Saeed looked at her for a moment as if he didn’t fully comprehend the question. “He has connections.”
“Smugglers?”
He drew back at the disapproval in her voice. “It’s hard to make a living from the herds anymore. Not all Bedu have oil.”
“You sent your brother to the same gun smugglers who supply the terrorists?” A sense of betrayal choked her. Damn it. He was supposed to be one of the good guys.
“The world is spotted,” he said, not looking the least bothered.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s an old Bedu saying. It means the world is full of good and bad. Every action has many consequences. Without the weapons, I cannot defeat Majid, but by obtaining weapons I gave money to the illegal gun trade.” He fell silent for a moment. “You should understand hard choices.”
“Well, I don’t understand how you could make this one.”
He took a deep breath. “While hunting terrorists in Afghanistan, the allied forces made over five thousand accidental kills. That’s the number of innocent people who were taken out by accident, a number the Pentagon publicly admitted. But it doesn’t mean that going after the terrorists was wrong. It was right and necessary, and yet, in another aspect, a terrible price had to be paid.”
Heat crept into her face and voice. “Damn it, don’t you tell me about that. I was there. I flew twenty-two missions.” She swallowed. “I probably killed some of those innocent people.”
“You did what you had to do and in the end you probably saved the lives of ten times as many,” he said quietly.
She looked at him for a while, then back at the trucks. “You are breaking the law.”
“I am about to lead a rebellion. In case you haven’t noticed, this whole enterprise is illegal.”
“The men your brother is doing business with are probably the same ones who shot down my plane and killed my team.” She heard her voice rise as Harrison’s and Scallio’s faces flashed into her mind, Miller’s.
“Your plane had no business being in Beharrainian airspace,” he said, but there was no heat in his words.
“So you’re glad it was shot down?” Anger whipped through her.
“I’m glad I found you,” he said quietly.
The look in his eyes took the wind out of her sails for a second.
“When you’re king—”
“When I’m king my first priority will be to make the desert safe again. I’m going to make sure that all the tribes can survive and make a living legally, so they don’t have to turn to smuggling.”
She gave him a skeptical look.
“‘The country we build, we build it for our sons.’ My father
used to say that. I will uphold the law.”
And it filled her with relief to know he meant it.
“I cannot win against Majid with daggers and the few old rifles that have been handed down from father to son in the tribe.”
He couldn’t. She knew that. But damn it, he could have asked her for help. She could have had the Colonel arrange for a weapons drop. “I’m going to need to talk to Nasir and get as much information as possible.”
“He is my brother.” Saeed’s voice carried a fair dose of warning.
She held his gaze.
“We will go together,” he said.
“DID YOU GET the TNT from the same people?” Dara watched as Nasir’s face hardened. He disliked being questioned by a woman, answered her only because Saeed was there.
“Of course. I didn’t have time to wander all around the desert shopping. I was lucky to get any at all. They were taking a big shipment to the border for someone. It cost me plenty to have them give me even a little of it.”
“Which border?” She figured Yemen.
“Saudi,” he said.
Saeed sat up straighter. Dara understood his sudden focus. His sisters and son were in Saudi.
“If there was a large-scale terrorist attack, what would be the obvious choices? The U.S. embassy, company compounds with Western interest, U.S. Air Force bases.”
“Call Gedad and warn him, just in case,” Saeed said to Nasir as he stood. “I’m sending men for Salah, Fatima and Lamis.”
Dara held her hand out for his cell phone. “I’m calling this in.”
Saeed dropped the phone into her palm. “Nasir will tell them everything he knows.”
And from the look he pinned his brother with, she was pretty sure Nasir would.
Chapter Nine
Majid looked up as the door opened. “Any news, Jumaa?”
The prime minister bowed. “The tribes are moving around, but not uniting.”
“Not as stupid then as I had thought,” Majid said with some relief. He had the air force out with orders to bomb anything that looked suspicious, take out any gathering force. A good chunk of his army, as many men as he could spare, was set up a few miles from Tihrin to catch any small groups that might escape the air force’s attention and think to march on the city. “And my cousin?”
“Still missing. Perhaps we should let him be. He is too popular right now. Once things settle down, he could meet with an accident.” Jumaa worried his beard with his stubby fingers.
He was nervous. Majid watched him as a hawk watched its prey. Jumaa was weakening. He did not understand how important it was to have Saeed out of the picture. He understood little, but knew too much—a liability.
Majid reached for the carafe and poured coffee in two china cups, sprinkled something extra on Jumaa’s.
They drank, and he watched the man go pale as the first muscle spasm squeezed his chest. Majid reached for the cup, not wanting the five-hundred-year-old Persian carpet beneath their feet soiled. “Are you all right?”
Jumaa took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped off the beads of sweat from his forehead. “Please excuse me—”
“No need for an apology. Should I send for a physician?”
“No…yes.” The man clutched his chest.
Majid picked up the phone and ordered the royal physician to be sent to his office at once, knowing that before the doctor even got the message, Jumaa would be dead.
He watched the man slide down in his chair, gasping for air as his eyes rolled back in his head. He waited until the last tremors left the prime minister’s body, then left the room.
Something in watching others die made him feel more alive, a heady feeling that had him seek out the torture chambers from time to time. He smiled as he crossed the reception room, his body humming with energy.
He was in a good mood, pleased to see his youngest wife and latest son coming through one of the many doors.
“Come.” He went to his favorite sitting room and when they followed, he motioned to the nanny to bring the child closer. Yes, he appraised the boy, he would be a strong son. He had many and needed many more. They were the only ones he could fully trust. He wished they would grow faster.
“Leave us.” He turned from the nanny and focused on his wife.
She bowed, trembling slightly, the very picture of submission. He found it arousing.
“I thought I might leave the palace today to shop for our son,” she said, her voice tentative, unsure. “If you would give permission and select the guards to come with us.”
He barely heard the words as he ran his fingers over her perfect breasts, enlarged with milk. He turned her and pushed her against the desk, bent her face down, lifted her dress up, ripped her pants with impatience.
She parted her legs obediently and he shoved into her quick and hard, one hand on her hip, the other squeezing a firm nubile buttock.
Three thrusts and he erupted into her, the powerful burst making him dizzy for a moment, then he stepped away, pulled up his pants.
“You may go shopping tomorrow. I don’t want you to lose my seed by walking all over the city. Go rest,” he said.
The phone rang just as she was closing the door behind her. At first he ignored it, resenting the intrusion into his moment of bliss, but then he picked up the receiver. Too much was going on in the country, the stakes too high, and he was the only one who could make everything work out right.
He listened to the man on the other end and smiled, glad he decided to take the call. “His son? Are you sure?”
SAEED HELD DARA IN HIS ARMS in the back room of the tent. He could not sleep, but instead spent the hours thinking over their plans, looking for any possible flaw, any opportunities they might have overlooked. They were to leave camp between 1:00 and 2:00 a.m. and get to the city just before dawn.
He had called Gedad’s house twice, but got the answering machine both times. They were probably in bed already. His sisters’ cell phones were turned off for the night. He should have told them to leave the phones on at all times until this was over. It didn’t matter now. His men should be there soon to take them to safety. He missed the boy. Worried about him, too, although he knew his son would be kept safe. Still, he hated the idea of them being apart; the frustration of it ate at him.
Dara stirred in his arms, drawing his attention to another concern. He hated the idea of her going into battle with him, but struggled to accept it. He must because this was who she was. She would come to Tihrin to protect him, and he would do everything in his power to protect her.
“Once we have Majid, the fight will be over fast,” she said.
“You’re awake.”
“You’re worrying.” She burrowed her face into his neck.
“Just thinking over our plans.”
Taking the fight to Tihrin, the king’s stronghold, was risky business, but had many advantages. For one, the air force could not fight them. Majid would not order the bombing of the city. Not while he was still in it.
A plane went overhead. They were covering the desert all day, but so far they had not attacked. All military equipment was carefully hidden in tents, the encampment appearing like any other ordinary clan on the move with its grazing animals. Orders went out for lighting no fires during the night.
Saeed’s cell phone rang, and when he took the call, a strange man’s voice came through.
“It’s for you.” He handed Dara the phone, and waited while she listened to whoever was on the other end.
She sat up. “If there’s any news of a five-year-old boy, Salah ibn Saeed and his aunts Fatima and Lamis—”
His heart stopped as she spoke the names.
“Yes, thank you,” she said and handed the phone back to him.
The line was dead. “What happened?” Fear squeezed his heart.
“The U.S. Air Force base over the border was attacked by terrorists about half an hour ago. There’s some damage, much less than there would have been had we not warned the
m.”
He was dialing Gedad’s number as she talked. The phone beeped, went dead and then the dial tone came back on again. He got to his feet. “I’m going over there.”
“The Colonel is going to order a priority search for your family. He will let us know as soon as there’s any news.”
He swallowed. He was too far, damn it.
“There’s more,” Dara said. “It seems there is a connection between Beharrain and the attack. It’s been arranged from the very top.”
That brought him up short. It couldn’t be, could it? His cousin was not the most scrupulous man, but surely he was not a terrorist. What would he gain by such an act? Why try to disable an American Air Force base?
Unless he was planning on doing something he was worried the Americans would interfere with.
“Satellite pictures show the entire Beharrainian army has mobilized. Would he attack Saudi?”
Saeed shook his head. “It would make no sense. They’re twenty times bigger than us and armed to the teeth.”
“Yemen?”
He nodded, remembering Majid’s resentment of the borders established by the international community that he claimed had dissected his heritage. Majid had always thought of the entire southern desert as his, legacy of the larger-than-life great-grandfather he idolized.
Majid was on the brink of thrusting the country into war. And they were in no shape for it, neither their people nor their army. Saeed had a clearer picture than his cousin, whose generals feared him enough to tell him only what he wanted to hear.
Tens, perhaps hundreds of thousands would be dead for nothing. He had to stop Majid, had to get to him before he ordered the troops on the southern border to attack. Once war broke out, nobody would be able to stop the killing.
But his son and sisters needed help, too. He reached for Dara’s hand in the darkness. “Can I trust your people with my family?”
Her response was instant and sure. “As you trust me.”
It wasn’t easy for him. But he did trust Dara. And his people needed him, all of his people. He wrapped his kaffiyeh around his head. “We leave for Tihrin right now,” he said.
