“Of course they aren’t. Abdu Resaba is nothing like Il Hamaan.”
“Aren’t the women in your country, like the women in Jahan and Il Hamaan, veiled? Aren’t they considered second-class citizens?”
“Second-class citizens?” Kumar frowned, and tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “Our women are treated with the utmost honor and respect. We treasure and guard them.”
“Guard them?” Josie asked. “You mean you hide them behind their robes and their veils, don’t you?”
Kumar bristled. “We protect them. There’s a difference. We believe that a woman must not show either her body or her face to anybody other than her husband and close relatives. That is done not because we consider them of a lower station, but because we love them. They are as free as we are. They have professions, as we do, and in the last few years many of them have become lawyers and teachers.”
“But they still wear the veil.”
“Of course they do, when they’re out on the street or meeting with strangers.”
“Because men say they have to. Because men run the country and because, no matter what you say, women are second-class citizens.”
“No,” he said, getting angry. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand all right,” she muttered under her breath, and after that she didn’t speak except to tell him where to turn and which highway exit to take.
At last they turned into the private road that led to the ranch. When they did, Kumar pulled to the side of the road and turned off the ignition.
“What are you doing?” Josie glared at him. “Why are you stopping?”
“You were being judgmental before,” he said. “You had a bad experience in one country and so you see fit to judge Abdu Resaba without knowing anything about it. You criticize something you don’t understand.”
“I understand all right. I understand countries that are run by a lot of chauvinistic males.”
He turned on the seat to face her. “Ours is a centuries-old culture, Miss McCall. We adhere to the old ways, the old customs. I assure you that we hold our women in the highest esteem. If that means not wanting them to walk around in the kind of ten-inch skirts some of your women wear and exposing themselves to every male eye, then yes, we are a chauvinistic society.”
His eyes grew dark with anger. “We believe that what is between a man and a woman is something wonderful and special, not to be shared by others.” He leaned closer. “If I loved a woman I would protect her, and yes, I, too, would shield her from any eyes except mine.”
“You’d make her wear a robe and a veil and hide her behind great stone walls.” Josie shook her head. “You’re a chauvinist, Kumar, probably the biggest chauvinist in Ali Baba or whatever that place you’re from is called.”
“Abdu Resaba.” He took a deep breath and tried to speak calmly. “You don’t understand our culture. Perhaps you’re right in saying that we’re chauvinistic, but that is because we are the stronger sex and we know what is best for our women better than they do. We love them, and because we do, we care for them as though they were precious jewels, or children who must be guided in the ways...” He stopped as Josie opened the door. “What are you doing?”
She didn’t bother to answer. She simply got out of the car and started up the road toward the house.
He smacked the steering wheel and swore an ancient Bedouin curse before he got out of the car and hurried after her. By Allah, this woman tried his patience!
He caught up with her, took her arm and turned her around. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “Get back in the car.”
“I’d rather walk.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her arm. “Just because you don’t agree with the customs of my country is no reason why you should be angry. You’re acting like a spoiled child.”
“Or like a woman,” she said furiously.
He took a step closer. “The most aggravating, the most opinionated woman I’ve ever met.” He gripped her arms. “I’d like to take you home with me so that you could see for yourself how a proper woman behaves.”
“Thanks, but no thanks, Valentino. It’d be a cold day in hell before I’d even set foot in your country.”
He said something she didn’t understand but knew was probably an oath, and before she could move away he pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his.
For a moment she was too startled to protest. When she did, she tried to get away. But his arms tightened around her and his mouth moved hard against hers.
She smacked his shoulders with the flat of her hands, but he wouldn’t let her go. Furious at being held this way against her will, she continued to struggle. But hard as she tried he wouldn’t release her.
The kiss was angry, demanding. She pressed her lips tightly together and when she did he ran his tongue across them and nipped the corners of her mouth before he trailed a path of moist kissing bites down the line of her throat.
His breath was hot, his tongue seared her skin. He came back to find her mouth again, and his mouth was hard and insistent against hers.
She fought against him. And God help her, against the flame that warmed and excited.
“Kiss me back,” he murmured against her lips. “Kiss me the way I want you to, Josie.”
He pronounced it “Sho-zee.” Seductively. Softly. Coaxing a response she didn’t want to give. But at last, as if of their own volition, her lips parted and softened under his.
“Yes,” he whispered, and there was triumph in his voice. “This is what I wanted. This is the way I knew it would be.”
He touched his tongue to hers and it was as if a thousand volts of electricity went off inside her. She tried to resist, but tentatively, slowly, her tongue touched his.
He sighed against her lips and brought her closer into his embrace, no longer holding her as if she were a prisoner, but with strength and tenderness.
She was on fire, every nerve ending alive as sensation after sensation coursed through her. His mouth was so warm. He tasted her. He licked her lips, nipped and suckled them. She felt his heat. And her own.
He put a hand against the small of her back and she felt him hard against the thin fabric of her dress.
She moaned low in her throat and knew from his whispered response that the sound excited him. He drew her even closer. White heat flamed through her body and the flame he had kindled snaked down, burning a path of pure fire, making her go weak with longing.
He held her there and began to move against her in a touch so intimate she cried out. He took her cry and his arms tightened around her. The kiss deepened. He wouldn’t let her go.
A sob rose in her throat. She was frantic with desire, desperate in her need to be closer, closer.
“Sho-zee,” he whispered. “Sho-zee.”
He cupped a breast, and when he ran his thumb across her nipple, she trembled and tried to move away.
“No, stay,” he pleaded. “Let me touch you this way.” He held her with his hand and caressed her with his fingertips. He ran his nails across the peak and she swayed against him, weak with desire.
He murmured words she did not know or understand against her lips. Arabic words. Arabic...
Dear God... With every bit of her strength, Josie pulled away from him. Her heart was beating hard against her ribs, her breath came in painful gasps. She looked at him. His dark eyes were narrowed, hot with passion.
He said “Josie?” and held out his hand to her.
“No,” she whispered. “Oh, no,” and with a cry she turned and ran toward the house.
Kumar didn’t move. He watched her go, clenched hands to his sides, and took deep, painful breaths to try to ease the terrible ache in his body. A shudder ran through him. “Josie,” he said aloud. “Come back.”
But the only sound he heard was the whisper of the wind through the cottonwood trees.
“If you were mine...” He spoke th
e words aloud. A smile that was not altogether pleasant crossed his face. If Josie McCall were his...if she were in his country, in Abdu Resaba...
The thought hung suspended in the soft night air and an idea began to form.
He was smiling when he got back into the car and drove slowly toward the ranch.
Chapter 3
The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear. Though Josie knew what an exciting day lay ahead, she did not want to move from her bed. She had slept fitfully. Every time she’d drifted to sleep, thoughts of Kumar Ben Ari had stirred her to wakefulness. When at last she did sleep, it was to dream strange, erotic dreams of him....
Kumar against the backdrop of hot desert sands, in tight, white riding breeches and flowing shirt, legs apart in a threatening stance. A riding crop in one hand, beckoning to her with the other....
Kumar astride a black stallion, racing across the desert toward her. She ran in slow motion, feet sinking into the sand, legs refusing her command to go faster...faster. The sound of hoofbeats thundering after her, a hand reaching out for her....
In his arms, pressed close to his body. Her heart beating wildly in her breast. His arms strong around her. The heat of his body warming her. The movement of a black stallion beneath them as they raced together across the desert sands. Toward—
She had been trembling when she awakened, her body heated with strange desires. Now, tired and out of sorts, she propped herself up on the bed pillows and glared into the room. A man had kissed her and she had responded. It didn’t mean anything. She’d had too much champagne. It had been a mistake, but it wouldn’t happen again. As for her dreams...
“Josie?” There was a light tap on the door. “Josie, are you awake?”
“Sure, Jen. Come in.”
“I can’t. I’ve got a tray.”
“Hold on.” Josie scrambled out of bed and hurried to the door, and when she opened it Jenny came in.
“Everybody else is still asleep. I thought we could have coffee and talk. I’m...maybe a little nervous.”
“That’s understandable.” Josie took the tray and put it on the table by the window. “Coffee and chocolate doughnuts sprinkled with nuts.” She sniffed the familiar aroma and grinned. “Just like old times.”
Jenny sat down and pulled the robe more tightly around her against the early morning California chill. “I needed the chance to be alone with you for a little while,” she said. “I keep thinking about the first time I got married. You were my maid of honor then, too.” She put a dollop of cream in her coffee. “I expected so much, Joze, and I got so little.”
Josie reached across the table and took Jenny’s hand. “It will be different this time. Mike’s not like Aiden. He’s a good man and he loves you.” She squeezed Jenny’s hand before she released it. “And he’s your own kind, Jen. This time you know who you’re marrying.”
Jenny smiled. “I really do love him. He acts tough and talks tough, but I know the kind of man he is.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I’ve missed you, Josie. I wish you weren’t so faraway.”
“So do I.” Josie bit into a doughnut, said, “Umm, that’s so good!” and dabbed at a bit of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. “I like Guatemala, Jen, and I love the people and the work I do. I’ve managed to staff and set up small clinics all around the countryside. We immunize children and adults against malaria and tuberculosis, talk to young women about birth control, to everybody about AIDS, do minor surgeries, treat gunshot wounds—”
“Gunshot...” Jenny’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding!”
Josie shook her head. “No, I’m not. Things aren’t as bad as they were a few years ago, but there’s still the occasional skirmish, sometimes close to the clinics.”
“But that’s dangerous! You could be killed.”
“Not likely. It’s better than it was when I first went there.” She took another bite of her doughnut. “Besides, I may not be there too much longer. There’s been talk of a promotion, that maybe I’m next in line to be head of either the Washington or the Paris office.”
“Paris! That would be great.”
“Yes, wouldn’t it? I’d miss the nursing part, but actually I do very little of that now because I’m in more of a supervisory position. I have a feeling it’s time for a change, and I’m crossing my fingers on Paris.” She smiled at her friend. “What about you, Jen. Where will you and Mike live?”
“We’ve bought a small ranch just outside of Las Vegas. It’ll be a good place to raise children. Mike and I want at least one more.” She patted her stomach. “After this one, I mean.”
“You’re really crazy about him, aren’t you?” Josie smiled. “So why are you nervous?”
“Wedding jitters. The excitement of everything, wondering if my hair will be all right, if Mike will like my gown. But no doubts at all about how I feel about him.” She took another sip of her coffee. “Now what about you?” she asked. “How’s your love life?”
“What love life? I’ve been too busy the last couple of years to even think about a man.”
“Oh?” Jenny shot her a speculative look, and with studied nonchalance, said, “What do you think about Kumar? Now that you know him a little better, I mean.”
“He’s...” Josie hesitated. “All right,” she said carefully.
“All right? Come on! Kumar is one of the best-looking men I’ve ever met!” She leaned forward. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’d bet my wedding garter that he’s attracted to you.”
“Well, I’m not attracted to him!” Josie frowned at her coffee. “I’ll admit he’s a good-looking man. But I’m not interested. Okay?”
Jenny sighed. “I’d been kinda hoping you would be. Kumar’s been a wonderful friend to Mike and to me. He’s loyal and true, brave, fearless—”
“Oh, come on, Jen. You’re making him sound like a superhero!”
Jenny’s blue eyes flashed. “He is a super nice hero. Next to Mike, he’s one of the finest men I know.”
“Okay!” Josie held her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. So he’s wonderful. I get the picture. But that doesn’t mean he appeals to me, because he doesn’t.”
But even as she said it, Josie knew it wasn’t true. Last night when Kumar kissed her, it had been explosive enough to set the California redwoods on fire. She’d never been kissed like that before, had never responded to anyone with that kind of passion. And that, she supposed, had scared the hell out of her.
“Look,” she said, “you know how I feel about Middle Eastern men. I honestly don’t think mixed marriages work, not with any nationality, but especially with men like Aiden and Kumar. You’ve seen it yourself, Jen. You know what Aiden put you through. As for me, I’d join a convent before I ever got mixed up with a man like that.”
“Kumar’s different.”
“No, he isn’t. We talked last night when we were driving back here. I asked him about the women in his country, and he’s all for their being robed and veiled. He admitted he’s a chauvinist and he actually said that men were the stronger sex and that they make the decisions because they know what’s best for their women.” Josie shook her head. “Uh uh,” she said. “A man like Kumar Ben Ari is strictly off-limits.”
* * *
The wedding began at four. Though this was Jenny’s second marriage she had wanted it to be a big one, and it was. She wore a gown of ivory satin trimmed with chantilly lace and tiny seed pearls. Instead of a veil she wore a scattering of seed-pearl petals in her hair.
The men, even Timmie, wore tails. The three bridesmaids’ dresses were daffodil yellow and Josie’s gown was the same shade of green as her eyes.
Kumar watched her as she came down the aisle ahead of Jenny. Instead of the chignon, she wore her hair soft about her shoulders. Small green orchids were scattered through it. She looked like a forest princess, so beautiful she took his breath.
He remembered how she had felt in his arms last night, and how, for too brief a moment, she had responded to h
im. Anger and desire mingled as he watched her take her place opposite him. She kept her eyes lowered and did not look at him.
He had never been to a Christian wedding before. Jenny was not veiled as the brides were in his country. Only at the end of his people’s ceremony would the veil be lifted by the groom as if, as it had been in the customs of old, he were looking upon the face of his bride for the first time.
He didn’t understand western customs or the freedom given to women here. As any man would, he appreciated a woman’s beauty, her face and form. And yes, when he was in the West he, too, turned his head to admire a nice pair of legs shown off to such advantage by a miniskirt. But he would have been appalled and angered, as would any man of his country, by the sight of a Middle Eastern woman behaving in such a manner.
Though he had gone to school in the West and had traveled extensively, he had never become accustomed to western ways or western women. They were too opinionated, too independent. He still remembered the first time he’d sat in on a political discussion at Princeton, how appalled he’d been when the girl he’d been dating began to argue a point with him.
He simply did not understand western women. Nor did he understand the men who did not want to shield and protect them from all other eyes except their own. Did western men not know what joy there was in slowly undressing a woman who belonged to you, to know that no other but you had looked upon her exquisite face and form?
When he married it would be to such a woman, a woman of his own kind, whom no other male eyes had gazed upon. She would be pure in every sense of the word, quiet, not given to argument or raising her voice to give an unasked for opinion. She would be...
“May I have the ring?” the minister said.
Timmie nudged him and Kumar, startled out of his thoughts, took the ring the little boy gave him. He handed it to Mike and watched as Mike took Jenny’s left hand in his.
“With this ring and with my heart I pledge my love for you,” Mike said as he slipped the plain gold band on Jenny’s finger.
Josie handed Jenny the ring she had placed on her own finger so that she wouldn’t lose it.
Desert Man Page 3
