Desert Man

by Barbara Faith

  He put his cup down and turned to her. “I’ll take you to the desert and you will see for yourself why I love it.”

  Josie shook her head. “I’d hate the heat. I’d hate the loneliness.”

  Kumar swung his legs off the side of the chaise. “But you wouldn’t be lonely, because I would be with you,” he said softly.

  “Kumar—”

  “No, do not tell me you will not go, because you will. Some day we will be together in the desert, and I will teach you to love it as I do.”

  He picked a piece of the baklava off the table. “You have not eaten your dessert,” he said. “One small bite, yes?”

  “No, I...” She shook her head. “No, thank you. I don’t want any.”

  “I wonder why it is you always say no to me?” He moved to sit beside her on the chaise, and when he leaned close he brushed the small piece of the sweet pastry against her lips.

  His face was close. His dark eyes were lighted by moonlight. She wanted to tell him not to do this, because she did not want to feel what she had felt that night in the restaurant. But he held the baklava to her lips and looked at her with his dark desert eyes. Her pulse raced, her body softened and she ate the baklava from his fingers.

  Fingers that lingered and touched her lips with a gentle stroking motion.

  “It is good, yes?”

  “Yes.” Barely a whisper. “Yes.”

  He gave her another small piece and brushed his fingers against her lips again, and when he did she took the tip of his finger between her teeth. She gently bit and held him there as she ran her tongue back and forth across it.

  He closed his eyes and a shudder ran through him. When he opened them he took the cup of coffee out of her hand and drew her into his arms.

  “I have wanted to kiss you from the moment I walked out here tonight,” he said.

  His mouth was tender. He licked her lips, tasting the baklava and her. He touched his tongue to hers, searching, sampling, and when she moaned into his mouth he tightened his arms around her.

  She told herself she must not let him do this, but made no move to escape.

  The kiss grew, deepened and became a silken duel of tongue twined against tongue. He held her so close she could feel the frantic beat of his heart against her breast.

  Draw away, a voice inside her head warned. In a moment, she told the voice. Only a moment.

  He eased her back against the chaise, and still kissing her, kicked off his sandals and lay down beside her. The length of their bodies touched, mouth against mouth, breast against breast, hips, legs. Warmth coursed through her. Heat. Desire.

  He cupped the back of her head. He whispered her name against her lips. “Josie, my Josie.”

  No, she wanted to say. Not yours. Never yours. But she could not move away because she was a prisoner of his arms, held by him, kissed by him, returning his kisses with her hungry mouth, holding him with her needy arms.

  When he cupped her breast she put her hand on his wrist to draw him away. But he said, “Let me touch you like this. I need to touch you like this.”

  His fingers were like fire against the thin fabric of the caftan, moving in a circular motion while his thumb rubbed the already hardened nub.

  “Oh, please,” she whispered. “Please.”

  “Please what?” With his hand still on her breast he raised himself on one elbow.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  “Don’t touch you like this?” He gently squeezed the rigid peak between his fingers, then bent and through the fabric of her gown he kissed the place his fingers caressed.

  She felt the heat of his breath, and when he took the tip of her breast between his teeth she cried out and her body yearned and twisted against his.

  He drew her closer. He put one hand against the small of her back and pressed her to him so that she could know and feel his desire.

  She began to tremble, and with both hands against his shoulders, tried to free herself. He wouldn’t let her go. He held her there, so close that it was as if their bodies had already joined. He kissed her and took her breath.

  She tried once more to push him away. Tried and failed. And moved her body against his in slow, heated motions.

  When he raised his mouth from hers he cupped her face between his hands. “If we don’t stop now, I will not be able to stop. Do you understand?”

  She could barely breathe, but she managed to say, “I...I know.”

  “Is this what you want?”

  Tears like drops of morning dew rose in her eyes. She leaned her head against his chest. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

  “Do not weep.” Still holding her face, he kissed the tears that rose and fell. Then he let her go, and rolling away from her, lay on his back and looked up at the stars.

  Josie had responded to him in a way that set his blood on fire. For now he knew, no matter what she did or said, that she felt as he did. He knew, too, that one day she would come to him willingly. The day she did, he would have won. Then and only then would he be able to let her go.

  Let that day come soon, he thought in a silent prayer to Allah. Let it come soon.

  * * *

  She stood at the French doors after he left, looking out at the pool and the chaise where they had lain. Her breasts were swollen, and though she was naked her skin burned as with a fever.

  A sigh quivered through her and with a strangled cry she raced to the dresser and pulled out one of the bathing suits. When she had put it on she stepped onto the patio and ran to the pool. She sat on the edge for a moment, then took a deep breath and lowered herself into the water.

  She swam until she was gasping for breath. Only then did she lean her arms over the edge of the pool, panting, exhausted.

  When at last she pulled herself up and out of the pool she stood looking out toward the lights of the city and the desert that lay beyond.

  Kumar’s desert.

  She sighed and a shiver of fear ran through her, fear of the unknown, of him, and of the emotions she felt whenever she was with him.

  There beside the pool, with water running down her body, her hair streaming down her back, she cupped the breasts that ached for his touch. And ran her fingers over lips that he had kissed. Kumar, her heart cried. Kumar.

  * * *

  From the balcony of his room he watched her turn and go toward her room. “Josie,” he said. And knew that soon she would be his.

  Chapter 11

  Rashid Ben Ari was an impressive figure of a man. As tall as his son, but of a broader build, his hair was thick and black and only the temples were touched with silver. He was a powerfully virile man who, before and after his only marriage—to Kumar’s mother—had enjoyed more than his share of women. Even now, two years away from his sixtieth birthday, there were few women who could resist him.

  Certainly Jasmine, daughter of the head of the tribe of Abedi, could not. Three years ago when Rashid had turned the running of Abdu Resaba over to Kumar and had gone into the desert to live with the Bedouins, he had met Jasmine. They had been together ever since.

  Rashid had been content with Jasmine and with his life in the desert. But when word had come of the troubles in the capital, he knew he must return to be of whatever help he could to his son.

  Saoud brought Kumar the news that his father had returned. “My father?” Kumar rose from behind his desk. “Show him in at once.”

  But before he could get to the door it opened and his father strode in.

  Father and son embraced. Rashid held Kumar away from him and kissed both his cheeks. “By Allah, it’s good to see you,” he exclaimed.

  “And you, Father.”

  Rashid motioned Jasmine forward. “You remember Jasmine?”

  “Of course.” With a smile, Kumar took the lady’s hand and kissed it.

  An attractive woman in her mid-forties, Jasmine Abedi seemed very small beside his father. She wore a robe, but now that she was here in the privacy of the palace, she had removed her veil
. While not a classically beautiful woman, her olive skin was flawless and her dark eyes sparkled with life and intelligence.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, madame,“ Kumar said. “I trust your journey here was enjoyable.”

  “Three days riding a camel through incredible heat is not a pleasant way to travel, Prince Kumar. Though I am a daughter of the desert, I much prefer the city.” She turned to Rashid. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I would like to take a decent shower and rest in a decent bed.”

  “Of course, my dear.” He turned to Saoud, who had posted himself at the door. “Will you call someone to have the lady Jasmine shown to my rooms?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Saoud motioned to Jasmine, and when the two of them had left the room Rashid said, “I hope my coming will not inconvenience you.”

  “This is your home, Father. I’m overjoyed that you’re here.” Kumar took Rashid’s arm and led him to a chair. “How are things in the desert?” he asked.

  “The tribes quarrel, as always. They need a leader, someone who is more diplomatic than I am.” Rashid sighed. “I know my failings, Kumar. The Bedouins need a strong hand, but a diplomatic one. I’m afraid my brand of diplomacy has me brandishing a pistol in one hand and a bullwhip in the other. It worked in the old days, but no longer. That’s why I’ve come.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The pistol and a bullwhip are needed here in Bir Chagga. Your kind of diplomacy is needed in the desert.”

  Kumar’s eyebrows rose. “You want me to go into the desert?”

  Rashid nodded. “I’m convinced you can do a far better job than I can in bringing the tribes together.” He reached into his robe for a cigarette, lighted it and said, “You are of the desert, just as your mother was. She was Bedouin, Bedouin blood runs in your veins. They’re your people, Kumar. Your heritage. You understand them far better than I ever will.”

  Kumar studied his father’s face, then he, too, reached inside his robe for a cigarette. Five years had passed since his last long visit to the desert. He had stayed for six months, made friends and earned the respect of many of the desert chieftains. He’d ridden with them and fought beside them, and for a while at least he had felt that he was a part of them.

  But that had been five years ago. How would they feel about him now? How would he feel about returning to the desert? And what of Josie? The thought of leaving her hit him like a physical pain, yet how could he deny his father?

  “I haven’t been there for a long time,” he said.

  “But you’re a desert man, my son.” Rashid clapped a hand on Kumar’s shoulder. “Why do you hesitate, Kumar? War is coming to Abdu Resaba and we need the Bedouins. If you can bring the tribes together as one great fighting unit, we stand a good chance of winning. Without them...” Rashid shook his head. “Without them I’m not sure how much of a chance we have.”

  He drew in on his cigarette and through the waft of smoke asked, “What of Sharif Kadiri? Have you been able to find that bastard son of a she-camel?”

  “No, father. I’ve had some of our best secret-service men looking for him. They’re pretty sure he’s in Azrou Jadida.”

  “Gathering an army,” Rashid said with a frown.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “We have to be ready when he strikes. By then, with the help of Allah, we’ll have the Bedouins with us. While you’re in the desert, I’ll be here in Bir Chagga. Between the two of us we’ll wipe out Kadiri and his followers.” Then, as if it were a fait accompli, he said, “When can you leave? My caravan waits at the city gates.”

  “There are things I must take care of first. Will the day after tomorrow be satisfactory?”

  “Yes, of course.” Rashid rose. “I shall see you at dinner, then?”

  Kumar nodded. “I have a guest,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll ask her to join us.”

  “Her?” Rashid raised one eyebrow. “A woman?”

  Kumar nodded. “She’s an American with International Health.”

  “I thought all American personnel had left the country.”

  “She was injured when the American consulate was attacked and I had her brought here.”

  “I see.” Rashid stroked his chin. “Yes, by all means ask her to join us. I’ll leave you now. Dinner at eight-thirty?

  “Yes, Father.”

  “It’s good to be back, my boy. And damn good to see you.”

  “And you,” Kumar said with a smile.

  He lighted another cigarette when he was alone. As the smoke wafted up to partly cover his face, his smile faded. He would do as his father asked. He had no choice. Even though it meant leaving Josie.

  * * *

  Fatima brought Josie the news that Sheikh Rashid Ben Ari, the father of Kumar, had arrived, and that she was to join the two men for dinner that evening.

  At eight she bathed and dressed in a blue satin caftan. With it she wore the star-sapphire necklace and earrings Kumar had given her.

  She had returned his gift the day after she received it, but when he had brought her here after her injury she had found the necklace and the earrings, still in the velvet box, among her underthings.

  When she began to apply her eye makeup, Fatima said, “Why don’t you use a bit of kohl, madame? Your eyes are beautiful, but with the kohl they will be even more beautiful.”

  Josie had never worn it before, but now with the tips of her fingers, she applied the smoky cream to her eyelids, and admitted to herself that, yes, it did make her eyes more exotic.

  For Kumar? A shiver quivered down her back with the thought of him and of how close they had come to making love.

  I have to leave, she told herself. And soon. For if I stay... She looked into the mirror, looked into her eyes made smoky green by the kohl, and knew that if she did not, sooner or later she would succumb to him and to the fires that burned whenever he touched her.

  When she left her rooms she found Saoud waiting to escort her to one of the dining rooms. He wore a scarlet robe tonight. His head was covered by a clean white cloth and he had leather sandals on his feet.

  He touched his fingers to his forehead when he saw her, and motioning her to precede him said, “Tonight you are as beautiful as the flowers of the desert, madame.“

  “Shukran, Saoud,” she said. And with a smile added, “And you are as handsome and as colorfully brilliant as the birds that fly in the summer sky.”

  His lips twitched. “I see you are learning our ways. Perhaps we will make of you an Arabian woman, after all.”

  “I very much doubt it,” she answered with some asperity, but she was smiling when she entered the dining room and her smoky green eyes were alive with laughter.

  For a moment Kumar didn’t move, he only stared at her, struck by the thought that she was different each time he saw her. Tonight she was a temptress, an exotic flower in her soft blue caftan, with the jewels he had given her sparkling at her throat and in her ears. She was so beautiful she took his breath.

  “You are the American.” Rashid Ben Ari hurried forward, his hand extended. “My son has told me that you were injured when the consulate was attacked. But you are better now, yes?”

  Josie took his hand. “Yes, thank you.”

  He led her toward the other woman in the room. “This is my friend, Jasmine Abedi.”

  “Madame,” Josie said. “My name is Josephine McCall. My friends call me Josie.”

  “Then so will I. And please call me Jasmine.”

  Kumar came to join them. “You look lovely tonight, Josie.” He took her hand in his and kissed it, and when he lifted his gaze his eyes rested on hers, but only for a moment.

  Aha, Rashid thought, so that’s the way the magic carpet flies. That’s why Kumar hesitated when I asked him to go into the desert. He doesn’t want to leave the American woman.

  He wondered if they were sleeping together. If they weren’t, they soon would be. The sexual tension between them was like crackling static in the air, so alive
you could almost touch it.

  That’s the way it had been between him and his lovely Zenobia. She had been so beautiful, so untouched, and yet so ready to come into his arms on their wedding night. They had loved each other for ten years. He had been faithful to her and when she had died a part of him had died with her.

  Thinking of her brought a sadness to his dark eyes. He watched the American woman and his son trying not to look at each other, and he felt an unfamiliar longing for days that had been and were no more.

  “My lord?” Jasmine offered him a dish of dates and there was a look of empathy and understanding in her dark eyes he had not thought her capable of. For the last three years she had warmed his bed and seen to his every comfort. In his own way he loved her. Perhaps one of these days... But, no, he did not need to think about that now.

  The breast of chicken cooked in water buffalo milk was delicious, and the kuftah, lean lamb ground with onion and parsley and spices, the best he had ever eaten.

  “I have missed such food,” he said, wiping his mouth. “And you, my boy, had better enjoy this while you can, for I assure you, you will not have a feast such as this when you’re in the desert.”

  “The desert?” Josie looked across the low table at Kumar. “You’re going into the desert?”

  “My father has asked me to unite the Bedouin tribes, to bring them together into one strong fighting group.”

  “I see.” She looked down at her plate, and not meeting his eyes asked, “When will you leave?”

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  “Before you go I must know everything you can tell me about the situation here,” Rashid said. “Which of the ministers you trust, the general mood of the people and whether the majority of them are for or against us. I, in turn, will tell you about the men you must deal with in the desert.”

  “Tomorrow,” Kumar said. “We will discuss all of this tomorrow.”

  He looked from his father to Josie. He saw the questioning look in her eyes and knew that if he went into the desert without her she would be gone when he returned. How could he let that happen? How could he leave her?

  * * *