by Cara Albany
She didn't laugh, just frowned at him. Then the car lurched forward and turned to face the desert. He revved the engine, probably just for dramatic effect, she told herself. Then the car shot forward and bounded across the sand.
For the next half hour Dakota was jostled and thrown around like a rag doll. Beside her, Zariq roared with laughter, his eyes bright with delight as he gripped the steering wheel. He guided the vehicle expertly around the dunes. He seemed to possess a sixth sense as far as direction was concerned. More than once she asked him if they were lost, because there was no sight of the village. Every time he just waved away her question and concentrated on his driving.
The few times she glanced behind them, Dakota saw the other cars having the same experience trying to negotiate a path through the dunes. Occasionally it was necessary to climb a rise and the car often slid precipitously around as it struggled to make its way to the peak of the dune. And then there was the terrifying drop down the other side as the car lurched from side to side, heading for the bottom of the dune. There were times she'd been sure he would lose control of the vehicle. But he never did. She knew he was probably showing off. To her and to those following behind.
By the end, she felt exhausted and was relieved when, finally she saw the village in the distance. It sat in the base of a long valley through which a river ran from north to south. She guessed there were around a hundred small, adobe houses there. It didn't look like much, but she knew how important it could be to her.
Finally, they emerged from the sea of dunes and drove up the narrow main street of the village. At the far end of the street, just on the edge of town, she saw the tents, a cluster of four large ones, which had been set up by the forward party sent ahead from the palace. It had been their job to ensure that Dakota and Zariq had a safe and comfortable place to sleep for the night. The plan was to stay the night. It would give them more opportunities to make the kind of impression which had brought them out here.
Zariq pulled the car to a halt in front of the four tents. Dakota got out, relieved to be standing again after the long journey. She stretched and examined the camp. The security cars came a halt, creating an instant, natural barrier between the media and the royal couple.
The media cars slid to a halt and the journalists piled out, eager to capture footage of the royal couple and their arrival. Some of the journalists tried to get near Dakota and Zariq, but the security men held them firmly back. Dakota saw Elena trying, and failing, to push past one of the security guards.
Dakota stood alongside Zariq as the royal press liaison spoke with the journalists, no doubt reminding them of the rules of engagement while the royal couple were visiting the village. She saw plenty of frowns on the faces of the journalists as they listened to the press liaison laying down the law.
Dakota knew she and Zariq were being filmed. For some reason she couldn't fathom, she stretched out her hand and clutched Zariq's hand. He glanced at her in obvious surprise, but he kept her hand firmly in his. This one gesture set off a flurry of activity amongst the journalists.
Then Zariq turned and led Dakota to the royal tent. It was one of the old-fashioned tents she'd seen in images of desert life in Qazhar. It was a brightly-colored red and robustly constructed of a heavy, carpet-like material. It looked like a storm wouldn't even knock it down. And it was larger enough to house a family.
Zariq paused at the tent, still keeping hold of Dakota's hand. He smiled back at the journalists as he lifted the entrance flap of the tent and gestured for Dakota to enter. She knew this was all part of the act. She was getting used to being so careful with every one of her gestures, knowing that each nuance, each detail, would be scrutinized. She smiled up at Zariq and then turned back and faced the journalists.
She could imagine the kinds of stories being concocted right now. The sheikh and his American wife sharing a desert retreat before she would pay respects to her dear ancestor.
Then, she smiled at Zariq again, released his hand and dipped her head, stepping into the tent. He followed her, closing the flap behind him. She stood in the center of the room and gazed at the luxury on display. The floor was deeply carpeted. In the middle of the space which was as large as the sitting room of their suite back in the palace, she saw a low table and sofa. Hanging lamps provided soft light. The interior was surprisingly cool, which was a major relief after the heat of the long drive.
"So this is our home from home?" she asked.
Zariq came to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist. She glanced at him, wondering if she should remind him that such gestures should be saved for when the cameras were on them. Right now, after how well they'd been getting on during the journey, that seemed churlish. She let him continue to hold her.
"It's nice," she admitted. "But I guess you're used to this."
He shrugged. "Maybe you'll get used to this, too," he suggested.
She moved away from him and saw his brows furrow slightly. "I did some camping when I was little. But, nothing as grand as this." She knew it was a poor attempt at defusing the slight tension she'd felt when he'd touched her. But it was all she could think of under the circumstances. "I guess we're kinda trapped in here, while they're outside waiting," she said.
"We've planned a brief appearance for this evening. And then the main one at the shrine tomorrow morning. We'll be back at the palace by late afternoon."
She nodded. "That sounds like something I can handle," she said.
He shifted awkwardly on his heels. "Make yourself comfortable, Dakota. I'll get someone to bring us some food and drink."
He turned and headed to the entrance. As she watched him exit through the open flap, she wondered just what it was going to be like sharing her first night in a desert tent with her royal sheikh husband.
CHAPTER TEN
When they emerged a few hours later from the tent it was dark. Two of the other tents had been set aside for the media, and the journalists had already organized themselves well enough to seem comfortable. At least for one night.
A campfire had been built, casting a warm glow. Some of them sat around eating what they'd brought for food. Zariq had made sure his entourage had brought extra food to offer to the journalists. It looked as if the offer had been accepted. There were nearly two dozen journalists and technical crew on this trip. That was pretty typical for a royal outing, especially one designed to promote the royal interests, and provide food for the ravenous media outlets.
Zariq walked alongside Dakota, mingling with some of the journalists. They exchanged the occasional remark with them as they made their way through the throng. On the whole, the journalists obeyed the unspoken and unwritten code of conduct between the royals and the media. This dictated that whenever the royal couple were around outside of the times for formal photoshoots or media opportunities, they were to be left alone. This gave Zariq and Dakota a chance to have some moments of semi-normality.
Zariq held Dakota's hand as they walked through the makeshift campsite. This time though, there was nothing forced about his desire to it. He genuinely wanted to hold onto her, to feel the warmth of her skin, the softness as he snaked his fingers through hers. He saw some of the journalists glance at the royal couple. He was sure they were itching to grab their cameras and capture images. But they all restrained themselves admirably, Zariq observed.
From time to time, Dakota smiled up at him. In her flat shoes, she seemed much smaller than usual. He liked her petite stature, especially combined with her full figure. She wore jeans and a tight-fitting white shirt which she tucked into the narrow waist of her jeans. He thought she looked stunning. She was the kind of woman who didn't need fancy clothes to look great.
Just looking at her made need flare in him. He hadn't stopped thinking about how her body had felt against his when he'd held her against the wall of the suite back in the palace. In fact, he couldn't get those memories out of his mind. Not that he'd really tried.
It was a beautiful night. He glanc
ed up at the dark sky. A shimmering scatter of stars lit up the night. He felt the awe which always took hold of him every time he was out in the deep darkness of the desert night. Now, with this beautiful woman alongside him, it was even more intense, even more breathtaking.
As if to spoil the moment, he saw Elena making her way over to them.
"Looks like we've got trouble," he murmured to Dakota. He saw her eyes narrow as she watched Elena's steady advance.
"What does she want?" Dakota complained.
Zariq released Dakota's hand. "Let me deal with her," he said. "Stay here for a moment," he told Dakota. He saw her frown and he was sure she was about to object. But, he moved off quickly, determined to intercept Elena's path.
Elena halted and glanced past Zariq. "Sheikh Al Kharif. I wondered if I could talk with you for a few moments."
Zariq narrowed his eyes at Elena. "You know that's not the way we do things here," he stated firmly. "You know the rules. Everyone else seems happy to follow them." He peered at Elena. "Except you."
"I know I'm supposed to leave you both alone at this time," she said. "But I only wanted to get a reaction from you."
"Reaction to what?" Zariq asked.
Elena looked over Zariq's shoulder. He glanced behind himself. Dakota looked impatient. But she'd granted his request to stay away from Elena. For the moment. He wasn't sure how long that would last.
"I got a message from my editor," Elena said quietly. There was a conspiratorial tone to her voice now. He wasn't sure he liked it. He didn't want to keep secrets from Dakota. Anything Elena had to say to him should be shared with Dakota. Before he had a chance to say anything, Elena grabbed Zariq's elbow and tugged him to one side.
Zariq glanced down at Elena's hand. He considered issuing a stern command that she should remove her hand, but he restrained the impulse. Elena led Zariq to the side of one of the tents. Over here, there was shade from the lights of the campfire. Zariq knew that in this corner of the camp, he probably couldn't be seen by Dakota. And neither could Elena. He felt a rush of indignation that the pushy journalist, his ex-girlfriend, had taken upon herself to lead him to this secluded part of the camp.
"What's on your mind, Elena?" he said impatiently.
"My editor told me something that might interest you," she said. "In fact, I think you might find it quite disturbing."
"Really," he said ironically, hardly believing what she was about to tell him could in any way be described as interesting or disturbing. Still, he couldn't help feeling the stirrings of unease as he gazed into the woman's bright eyes.
"Did Dakota tell you about our meeting on the day of the photoshoot?" Elena asked.
"She did, Elena. And she wasn't too happy about it," he said. "In fact, neither was I. Seems you like to overstep the mark sometimes. I don't think it's your business who's asking questions about Dakota. Especially after the questions you wanted to ask at the palace."
Elena frowned, ignoring Zariq's taunts. "She told you about the journalist who's digging for a story?" Elena asked. Undeterred as usual, the woman didn't know when to give up, Zariq told himself.
He nodded and then glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't see Dakota. He wondered where she'd gotten to.
"He's found something," Elena announced.
Zariq whirled around and peered at Elena. There was a curious expression in the woman's eyes. Was that triumph he could see? Victory? "Found what?" he asked sharply.
"You really sure you want to know?" Elena asked evenly.
He frowned. "I want to know everything there is to know about Dakota," he told the dark-haired journalist. "She is my wife. In case you've forgotten," he added in an acid tone of voice.
He heard Elena draw in a deep breath. Had he offended her with that last reminder? He suddenly remembered what it was about her he hadn't liked when they'd been together as partners. There was a nasty edge to the woman's personality. It had been revealed early in their friendship, once their relationship had become physical. It hadn't taken long for Elena to become possessive and to assume that she owned Zariq. Luckily he'd taken action to end their relationship. It looked like the memory of that still burned inside Elena.
Elena's dark eyes shimmered in the shadows. He couldn't be sure, but he thought there was a hint of anger in the way she was looking at him. Elena opened her mouth as if to say her next words, but she was interrupted by a voice from behind Zariq.
Dakota's voice was loud and clear. "There you both are," she announced. "Is this private, or can I join in?" she added sardonically.
Zariq turned to face Dakota. "Elena was trying to tell me something," he said tentatively. He turned to Elena. "Weren't you."
Elena took a step to one side and the light from the campfire illuminated her face. She looked uneasy, her gaze shifting from Zariq to Dakota.
"Anything I should know?" Dakota asked ironically. Zariq saw his wife gaze expectantly at Elena.
Elena paused for a few long moments. Then she smiled hesitantly. "Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow," she stated. "I better get back to the tent," she said moving past Zariq and Dakota.
"Don't let me spoil your private chat with my husband," Dakota said acidly as Elena walked past her.
Elena halted a moment and glared at Dakota. "Your husband knows what I was talking about." She flashed a harsh glance at Zariq. "Why don't you ask him."
Then she was gone.
Zariq drew in a deep breath, feeling the tension in the air begin to dissipate. He turned to Dakota and saw that her eyes were bright with curiosity. "What was she talking about?"
"Let's go back to the tent," he said. "We can talk there."
"Why not here? You were happy to talk to her while you were both hiding here."
Zariq sighed heavily and cupped her elbow in his hand. She pulled it free and stared at him.
He let his shoulders drop. Irritation seized him, but he wasn't going to argue with Dakota. Not here where they might be overheard. "The tent, Dakota," he demanded.
He saw her jaw tighten and a sudden, indignant brightness in her eyes. "Is that a royal command?" she snapped. Her voice was louder now, and he was sure it could be overheard by anyone who was so inclined.
"That's not funny, Dakota," he retorted.
She shrugged. "I wasn't joking," she said and pouted at him.
"Let's go," he instructed, gesturing for her to precede him. Her eyes narrowed and he saw a momentary defiance written on her features. Something inside him shifted. Why did he find these arguments so arousing? It was a mystery to him why he found her so attractive whenever she stood up to him. Whenever she defied him. Was it just that it raised the prospect in his mind of dominating her, of claiming her? Because that was what these moments of rebelliousness made him think about doing.
There was one more moment of defiance and then she walked ahead of him. He seized her hand, desperate to maintain the appearance of harmony they'd portrayed earlier. He felt her try to remove her hand, but he held tightly onto it.
As he walked back to the tent, holding onto Dakota, he wondered what Elena had been about to tell him. Whatever it was, he knew it probably wasn't going to make the following day any easier.
Nor the coming night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"So what was she saying?" Dakota asked Zariq once they were safely back inside the tent.
He shrugged. "She didn't get a chance to tell me. You came along and stopped her."
Dakota frowned. "She's not still talking about that story someone's trying to dig up on me," she declared.
"She knows something," Zariq stated. He didn't sound happy.
Zariq moved into the center of the room, sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Then he went across to the low table and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher. Dakota watched as he drank it down, his head back, his powerful looking chest thrust proudly out. She felt a vague stirring of need as she watched him.
