by Leslie North
"Ouch. But…well, I gotta say, I can understand. There are some things too painful—and some reminders unbearable."
He gave a snort. "Ah, to be the unbearable son—yes, a good goal in life."
She sat up again, fixed her dark eyes on him, and he knew she was about to dig deeper. He sat up, kissed her to stop her words, and started to search for his clothes, saying, "We should head back to the palace."
Shaking her head, Ginni slipped from his arms and splashed into the oasis water. "Not before I've had a swim to clean up and cool down."
Chapter Eight
Ginni tried to lure Nasim into the water with her. He shook his head and dressed, but he kept that hot, amber stare of his on her. She liked knowing she could keep his gaze like that. But was their playing around like this going to make it harder or easier to do a deal with him? She dunked her head under the blessedly cool water and decided she'd worry about that later.
Somehow, Nasim had a towel for her—pulled from the back of his battered, old vehicle—when she climbed out, dripping wet, her feet sandy. Was there anything this man couldn't handle? She dried off, dressed, all the time chattering to cover her worry that she was falling way too fast for this guy. She wanted Nasim to know how great this had been—better than she imagined it would be. She talked about what Leeland could do for Zahkim with tanker trucks in terms of helping to build new roads. And of course, her babbling about one thing led to another with her mouth in overdrive, and on the bumpy ride back, she brought up Hank.
"Daddy never liked him, which was one of the reasons I got engaged to him. Bad impulse, that one, and it probably helped—along with the other things—to have Daddy thinkin' I'm not responsible enough to run Leeland Enterprises even though I'm his only child. But Hank wanted the job of running Leeland, too. More than he wanted me." She frowned. Did she sound like she was whining?
Nasim kept his eyes on the road, but his hand had tightened on the steering wheel. "Control of your impulses is important. I could help you learn."
She slanted him a glance, unsure if there was a double meaning behind that offer. Did his idea of learning involve more of them spending time together—and him pushing her to the breaking point with what he could do with that clever mouth of his? She let out a breath. She wasn't sure she could handle that—or if that was wise. Maybe this marriage was for real, maybe not. If it was, she needed to find out about annulments or divorce, and going in for a honeymoon before she was sure she wanted things to last had to be one of those irresponsible ideas that kept appealing to her and landing her in hot water with her family.
Putting her stare outside the battered, old vehicle and on the endless sand dunes they were passing now, she started wrapping one curl around her finger. "Thanks, but I'm not sure you're the right guy to teach me."
He didn't answer, so she glanced over at him only to see his lips curving in that maddening smile, the one that made her want to grab that short beard of his and kiss that look off his face.
Oh, she had it bad all right.
Business—focus on the business.
Back at the palace, she headed up to her room, showered, changed, and called for a tray to be sent to her room. That, at least, was a safe and sensible move. Her dinner—something that had her mouth watering with the aroma of roast meat—came with a note from Nasim.
Rest well—tomorrow we have a busy day, and I have the night planned.
With a groan, she leaned against the door. Somehow she had to get this turned around so he was wrapped around her little finger and willing to sign a deal that would impress her daddy.
Settling the tray on the bed, she picked at the food—okay, it was great, and she did more than pick—and pulled out her phone. She sent her folks a description of the Ash Lands and the rainbow light. She threw in a mention of how she was getting tours from a sheikh of Zahkim—might as well start laying the groundwork for the amazing deal she'd be bringing home. Her phone binged, and she opened a text from Jasmine, which offered up a big thanks and a bunch of smiley faces.
Ginni texted back, “Need a way out! Those words got me married!!!”
Fifteen minutes later, food gone—and wasn't that spicy lamb just the best—Jasmine texted back. “Ask Nasim for a divorce.”
Ginni rolled her eyes. Jasmine was making it sound easy. At least she'd sent along a link, and Ginni followed it to some dry, academic article about the laws of Zahkim. She had no idea if any of the information was up to date, but the news wasn't good.
Seemed a man could get a divorce in Zahkim by just saying “I divorce you” a few times. A woman had to jump through all kinds of hoops. Divorce was frowned on by the royal family, but at least it was legal and around. Maybe a lawyer in Zahkim could help her out. She did a search of the biggest city—Al Resab—came up with a couple of law firms that had their website information in English, and sent off some texts on her phone. That was worth a try. Or maybe she should just try to get Nasim ticked off enough he'd say those words.
Instead of planning how she might do that, however, she fell asleep remembering how Nasim's hand had felt on her, how his mouth had left her shivering and shattered, how he'd tasted coming in her mouth like that. And how she'd like to do all that again.
The clatter of china on a metal tray woke her. Getting her eyes open, she glimpsed daylight and a dark-haired maid in one of those flowing white outfits bringing her coffee. She frowned. Not Nasim, but the maid handed her a note with a grin and left. Ginni opened it.
Seemed Nasim had government stuff to deal with, which left Ginni working hard not to feel disappointed.
She drank her coffee, showered, pulled out a flowered dress that would do well with the heat already building, and went looking for food. She found the breakfast room with no trouble, but leaned her palms on the back of a chair. Her shoulders slumped. No Nasim there, either—not that she was missing his company. No, sir. She nibbled on something like a pastry, asked one of the guys bringing in food and more coffee about a computer she could use, had a laptop brought to her, and was bowed into the library, which outdid the one her father had put in on the plantation he'd bought as a showcase of his growing wealth from Leeland Enterprises.
Settling into an oversized leather chair, she chewed on a thumbnail, checked her email from the website, downloaded her proposal for shipping Zahkim oil to fiddle with some of the numbers, and checked her phone five times to see if any of the law firms had gotten back to her. They hadn't. She considered calling the family firm back home, but they'd feel obliged to tell Daddy, and wouldn't Mama have a fit over having missed the wedding. Ginni couldn't face the ruckus. It'd be different if she had a deal in hand. Mama would still kick up a fuss about the wedding, but Daddy would be all smiles and settle Mama’s feathers soon enough.
An hour later, Ginni's stomach grumbled about her small breakfast, and she went looking for something to eat. Seemed lunch had been set up like a buffet in the room with the glass table. She helped herself but found herself pushing the food around on a china plate rimmed in gold, hardly tasting the delicate spices and exotic dishes, and that was a pure shame. Getting up, she headed for the door and almost ran into Nasim.
He caught her arms—and she caught a breath.
For once, he looked a real sheikh. He had on the full deal—white robes, the white scarf over his head, held in place with a black, rope-like ring. A golden sash wrapped his waist, and white, wide trousers ended in soft, black boots. With that trim, black beard, those amber eyes, and the thick, dark eyelashes under the slash of black eyebrows, he looked better than any movie pirate. He also smelled a lot better than movie theater popcorn; his scent of musky spice wrapped around her, leaving her light-headed.
With a smile, he kissed one cheek, then the other, and said, "Hello, wife. Sorry to have kept you waiting, but the ambassador from Dijobuli insisted on a formal meeting."
She untangled herself from his arms. "That'd be, ‘good afternoon.’ Hope it wasn't bad." Her stomach knotted. Jasmine's
dad had seemed more than a little miffed about Jasmine having ditched her wedding.
Nasim shrugged. "The formalities of untangling what should have been my marriage to Jasmine Hadad. Have you heard from her? She has not yet told her father where she is."
Ginni bit down on her lower lip and chewed on it. She really didn't want to get in the middle of Jasmine needing to deal with her family.
Shaking his head, Nasim said, "Never mind my asking. You've lunched? Good. We start your lessons today." He took her hand and pulled her with him. She went, steps dragging. Given the dress she'd grabbed, she was hoping they weren't headed for the desert again. She'd be happy to stay out of the sun. The palace went in for thick walls and open doorways instead of air conditioning, and it reminded her of her grandma's old house, with its deep porches and breezeways.
She lost track of the turns they took—down this hallway, turn, down another one. More paintings on the walls, thick carpets, niches with vibrantly colored vases. She started to think this was as much a museum as a place to live. Could she maybe start complaining about that to make Nasim think he'd married the wrong woman?
And then Nasim led her onto a terrace that overlooked yet another garden, this one outside the main structure, but with a tall, white wall in the distance. She pulled in a breath, took in the flowers and lush vegetation, and wondered how anyone minded living in what was better than the best resort.
A couple of fellows in those long, white tunics waited. They smiled, swapped a bunch of words with Nasim, who'd dropped her hand and was pulling on a thick glove that came up to his elbow. One of the fellows offered her the same kind of glove—just one of them. She tried to pull it on like Nasim was doing and looked up to find yet another guy headed toward them with what looked like a hawk perched on his arm.
A black, leather hood with a tassel sticking up covered the bird's head. Brown feathers on its breast contrasted with a paler brown, and grey feathers stood out on the wings as it spread them and fluttered. Ties dangled from killer talons. The servant moved the bird to Nasim's arm. He said something to it, fed it some kind of treat, and it settled.
Slipping the hood from the hawk's head, Nasim turned to Ginni. "This is Kazakh. She is a saker falcon, and she has much to teach you."
Ginni eyed the bird, which seemed to be staring back as if sizing her up for a tasty meal. "That beak of hers—you sure she's not intending to take one of my fingers off?"
Nasim gestured for her to lift her arm. She did so—ready to jump back. The bird was still looking her over, but shifted from Nasim's arm to Ginni’s, digging into the glove with long talons in a way that left Ginni glad of the glove and also glad she worked out.
"She's no lightweight," she said, trying to balance her arm with the bird on it.
He grinned. What with him in the flowing robes and the sun sparkling in the blue sky, she thought he looked younger—happier. She kind of liked this Nasim better than the one in the button-down tailored suits.
They headed out into the garden, following a dirt path, her carrying the falcon and trying not to let her arm sag. The bird fluttered as if it wasn't happy, and Ginni caught Nasim's elbow with her free hand.
"I think she likes you better."
He took the falcon back onto his arm, soothed its feathers, and with a word to the falcon, threw it up into the sky. Ginni gasped. In the sky, the giant bird took on an unexpected grace as it stretched out its wings, beating up into the wind. It went from looking a menacing creature to a thing of utter beauty. Ginni decided the plan to make Nasim want to ask for a divorce would just have to wait.
"She's hunting now," Nasim said, sounding about as proud as a daddy watching his kid graduate.
"How does she know what to get?" Ginni asked, watching the bird soar overhead. "How does she know to come back?"
"I raised Kazakh from a hatchling. Her training has been one of the great joys of my life. But wait and watch—we hunt with her." Nasim kept talking, his voice low, almost mesmerizing. He stepped closer to Ginni and put an arm around her waist.
Ginni didn't care. She was caught up in the moment. "You ever wish you could be up there with her—flying high and free?"
Letting out a breath, Nasim nodded. "Kazakh is like me—a captive in luxury. She has the best food, the best care, but she is never truly free. Ah, look, she's spotted something—a rabbit perhaps. See how she circles. She'll dive soon, if she thinks the prey worth a chase."
He kept his stare on Kazakh, but he could feel Ginni's gaze on him now. "Ever thought about letting her go free?" she asked, her voice soft.
He looked down at her. "She is also like me in that regard—neither of us would do well without the surroundings we have grown up in. We are creatures of our world."
Ginni gave a snort and looked up at Kazakh again. "That sounds more like an excuse to me."
Kazakh's cry pulled Nasim's stare from Ginni. He needed his focus to be on the falcon now. Kazakh missed her first try at prey and came back to his arm when he whistled. He started to explain the finer points of falconry to Ginni—how it was not so much the hunt as the pleasure of watching Kazakh fly. And how Kazakh had infinite patience.
"She never minds if she misses. Never gets frustrated and quits. She knows that sooner or later, she will succeed."
In the end, Kazakh came back with a snake in her talons. That had Ginni giving a small screech and hiding behind Nasim. He almost laughed at her, but she glared at him, warned him snakes were no laughing matter, and told him he could just get rid of it, and she didn't care if it was already dead or not.
He rewarded Kazakh for her hunting, gave orders for her to have some of the snake in her meal that evening, and led Ginni from the rear gardens and back inside. They'd spent more than a few hours outside, and he was glad to step back into the cool of the palace. Ginni walked with him, asking questions about how he'd gotten started with falconry, if it was popular in Zahkim, and if he'd ever lost one of his falcons, having it just take off.
"I mean, don't you think they'd want to be out in the open sky, really?"
"Perhaps. But Kazakh has always come back to me when I call. I think that must mean she is content. As I hope you will be." He ushered her into the central gardens.
He'd ordered a meal to be waiting for them—fresh oysters, crab and lobster flown in just for this meal, the finest aged beef from Japan, pheasant from his favorite restaurant in London, capon from Paris, and even a few dishes from Ginni's New Orleans, made with catfish and alligator. Ginni's eyes widened as she took in the candlelit table—set with the palace china and crystal only for the two of them. Nasim snapped his fingers, and music from a jazz band hidden at the far end of the garden sweetened the evening air.
Ginni glanced at him. "Wow—you sure know how to impress."
He held her chair for her, and the dishes were served to them, one after the other. Her delight in food had him smiling. "You, Virginia Leeland, are a sensualist."
She sipped at the beer he'd made available for her. "I've been called worse."
They finished the main courses, and servants cleared the table, leaving behind delicate pastries, fresh fruit, and cups of chilled sorbet. Ginni glanced at them and groaned. "I couldn't eat one more bite, but I'd sure like to.
Pushing back his chair, Nasim stood and held out his hand. "Dance with me."
She glanced at his hand and then up at his face. "Well…we should talk some business. But I could do with working off some of that meal."
"You can talk and dance."
She gave a laugh. "I sure hope so."
Taking hold of her hand, he pulled her onto her feet and into his arms. Now he could see the use of those once much-hated dance lessons he'd been given. He twirled Ginni around and pulled her back into his arms. "So why should Zahkim contract with Leeland Enterprises? Your father's company has a reputation for—"
"For what?" She pulled back a little bit and met his stare. Her hips, however, pressed against his, moved against him. "Bein' smart?"
"Ending up owning others." He twirled her again, under one arm, and then wrapped his arm around her waist. "Zahkim could expand its current fleet of tanker trucks."
"And train a whole bunch of operators fast enough? Then there's the logistics of loading and unloading, plus you don't have a fleet of tanker ships waiting on any docks, now do you? You hire ships, and that costs you." She touched a finger to a spot just under his jaw and ran her touch down his neck. "Takes time and money to build all that structure—a lot more than you'd be paying Leeland."
He smiled and pulled her closer. The music slowed. He swayed with her under the just-emerging stars. "What assurance do I have that Zahkim will not end up paying…too much?"
"Isn't business always a risk?" she asked, her voice breathy now. "But…we could put clauses…in the contract. Now couldn't we?"
She stared up at him, eyes huge. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her hips swayed, and he could no longer think about business. Lips pressed tight, he swept her up in his arms. She gave a small squeak. "Cher, I'm no lightweight."
"No, you're my wife." Carrying her out of the garden, he headed for the stairs.
She put her head on his shoulder. "I always wished a guy'd come along and sweep me off my feet—never figured I'd find one."
"Well, I could throw you onto a saddle and ride out into the desert with you."
She giggled. "That sounds…uncomfortable."
Reaching his room at the palace, he stepped inside, kicked the door closed and carried Ginni into the bedroom. He put her down and pulled off his keffiyeh.
Eyes alight, Ginni sat up. "Keep going." She kicked off her shoes.
