Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6

by Jennifer Lewis

  “We really shouldn’t leave eggnog out on the table in the dining room. It’ll spoil in the heat,” she called to one of the waiters. The staff meant well but they had no idea how Christmas worked and hung all the stars upside down. Sam felt like the Grinch going around fixing everything.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” Osman materialized behind her like a genie, his deep voice a balm to her nerves.

  “It’s hard not to! We have three hundred guests arriving and the place is in chaos.”

  “They’re here to celebrate our wedding, and Zadir and Veronica’s. They probably won’t even notice the decorations.”

  “You say that because you’re from Ubar, where Christmas doesn’t exist. Where the closest thing to Santa is a djinn who leaves figs in peoples shoes.”

  “Figs are a delicious treat.” He pulled her into his big, strong arms.

  “Not if you’re used to candy canes.” She felt her stress levels dropping as he pulled her close. “But you’re right. It’s about friends and family, not getting the decorations perfect. I don’t know what’s come over me. I don’t usually turn into Martha Stewart at Christmastime. When I was a kid, my family brought out the same garish fake tree and decorations year after year and it was just fine.”

  “I know what you need.” Osman’s low voice challenged her as he bumped his chest against hers and shot her a sultry glance.

  Desire crept through her and she tried to stop a smile spreading across her face. “Tempting, but we’ll have to save it for later. We have guests to greet.”

  “They can wait.” He pressed his lips to hers and heat flashed through her.

  She pulled herself back with difficulty, and sighed. “Now you’re just tormenting me. You know we can’t just disappear off to our bedroom.”

  “Says who? I’m the king around here.” His green eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “You do have a point.”

  “Sam!!” A shriek made her jump and spin around.

  “Mom!” She detached herself from Osman and hurried across the stone floor before her mom could skid on it in her high heels. “I’m so glad you made it.” She inhaled her mom’s signature scent—expensive Dior perfume—and wrapped her arms around her for a hug. Which made her notice something very strange. “Mom…” She pulled back and looked down. “Are you...?”

  “Pregnant. Yes, darling! Isn’t it wild?”

  Sam stared. She’d been trying to get pregnant for the last four months, and nothing. Now her mom was having a baby. “But you’re fifty-two.” This didn’t compute.

  “Shhh. Darling. That’s nonsense. I’m forty-six, just like Halle Berry was when she had—”

  “I’m your daughter. I know what year you were born.” Oh dear. Already they were falling back into their familiar roles. Sam as the boringly organized and practical daughter and her mom the charismatic and kooky star of stage and screen. “But seriously, I’m thrilled for you. What a surprise.” She searched for her father in the crowd. “What have you done with dad? It is his, I hope?”

  Her mom’s laugh boomed through the arches. “Darling, you’re such a card. Get out of the way so I can hug that handsome husband of yours.”

  Osman gracefully accepted the perfumed embrace, while Sam’s father ambled forward, still handsome and dashing in a cream summer suit, his thick hair kept brown by Hollywood’s expert colorists. “Hiya sweetie. Quite a bash you have going on here.”

  She smiled as she kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so glad you could come, dad. I know it’s hard for you guys to get away at this time of year.” Her parents often appeared in Christmas Spectaculars. “It means a lot to me.”

  “I wouldn’t miss my little girl’s wedding for the world.”

  “She’s already married, darling.” Her mom scolded him. “We’ve missed it.”

  Osman shook her dad’s hand warmly. “We’re man and wife by Ubarite convention, because I claimed her during our annual marriage rites, but this is the first proper celebration we’ve had.”

  “And it looks like quite a shindig.” Her mom swatted at a red and green butterfly that tried to land on the tip of her nose. “Who are all these people?”

  “Osman and his brothers have friends from all over the world. You’re having a baby. That’s amazing.”

  “It was your mother’s idea.” Her dad grinned sheepishly. “She always said she still had the body of a twenty-five year old, and now she’s proving it to the world.”

  You had to laugh. “You guys are awesome. And I really mean that. Come get some eggnog before it curdles.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous in my life.” Ronnie Baxter applied lip gloss with shaking hands in the bedroom she shared with her almost-husband Zadir.

  “Why?” The look of concern on his handsome face made her laugh.

  “Not because I’m getting cold feet about the wedding.” She squeezed his hand. “But it would mean so much to me if my parents were here and yet I’m worried they’re going to ruin everything.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  Ronnie bit her lip. “You know I really want my dad to give me away, right?”

  “Of course, that’s tradition.”

  “And since I’ve been to four of his weddings, he pretty much had to agree.” She tried to smile. “But I didn’t tell my mom he was coming.”

  “What? Why not?” His surprise reminded her how little they knew about each other.

  “Because she’s not over him divorcing her twenty-some years ago. She’s still in love with him.”

  “And he’s arriving with his fourth wife.”

  “Fifth. And she’s my age.” She cringed a little every time she remembered that.

  Zadir pretended to wince. “Ouch.”

  “I told you my family was screwed up.”

  “Mine too, remember? At least your dad didn’t have your mom killed so he could remarry.” He stroked her cheek, and the warmth of the gesture soothed her.

  Ronnie exhaled. “True! Thank heaven for small mercies. Still, I’m worried she’ll make a scene, or just turn around and leave. She’s a bit of a diva. She was a professional singer, after all.”

  Zadir moved up behind her and laid a soft kiss on her cheek. “Everything will work out fine in the end.”

  She smiled for a second—his kisses usually had that effect on her—but her doubts lingered. “Will it? Everything seems so nuts lately. I’m happy that I’ve moved across the world to be with you, but the insurgents are still causing trouble, our house plans keep hitting snags and Sam’s big fat crazy Christmas has turned the palace into a madhouse. Where have all these butterflies come from?”

  A butterfly was perched right on the bedpost. And another two on the window shutters. “You can’t even go to the bathroom lately without a butterfly watching.”

  Zadir laughed. “Butterflies flourish wherever there’s a source of the food they live on. I think it’s the mistletoe Sam ordered to make garlands. It seems to be so perfectly suited to the environment here that it’s reproducing like a virus.”

  “I suppose there are worse things that butterflies in your hair. Or mistletoe in your date palms.”

  “Unquestionably.” His soft blue gaze rested gently on her face, and the tension slipped from her body as he slid his arms around her waist. “Now that you’re here with me I find I can’t worry about anything very much.”

  His lips lowered over hers, sparking heat low in her belly. She sucked in a breath. “As long as we end up married, everything will be fine.”

  “Exactly. I can’t wait to see you in your dress.”

  “I can’t wait to see it myself.”

  “What do you mean?” His eyes widened.

  “The seamstress took my measurements three weeks ago and that was the last I heard. Sam keeps insisting she’s on top of everything and since her plate is so full lately I don’t want to bug her about it.”

  Zadir lifted a brow. “What if she’s forgotten?”

  “T
hen I guess I’ll just have to borrow one of your long robes,” she teased.

  He looked worried. Zadir was such a romantic he once filled her bedroom with rose petals so she had to walk across a carpet of them on the floor. He probably wanted everything to be perfect even more than she did. “Don’t stress about it. Sam’s a film producer so she’s used to juggling a lot of different things at once. It’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” He shoved a hand through his dark hair.

  “See? Now I’m reassuring you.”

  He kissed her again, this time with a cheeky amount of tongue that made heat flash inside her. When he pulled back her heart was pounding.

  He smiled. “Perhaps we should go see to our guests. Maybe your parents are already here and getting along like a house on fire?”

  Anxiety raced through her at the thought. “A house on fire is exactly the kind of imagery I’d prefer to avoid. Let’s go.”

  2

  Royal brothers Osman, Zadir and Amahd formed a sort of receiving line in the main entrance arch that afternoon, along with the two brides, so they could greet their arriving guests. Amahd envied his older brothers their easy manner and broad circle of friends. For himself he’d be far happier tucked quietly away in his office analyzing exploration data from their newest oilfield.

  “The pleasure is all mine!” Another overdressed woman with fake eyelashes flirted outrageously with him. Why would anyone wear fake eyelashes?

  “Amahd, I think she liked you.” His brother Zadir ribbed him after she’d sashayed off on ridiculously high heels. “She’s a supermodel these days.”

  “A woman is most beautiful when she is modest.” He spoke primly, partly knowing it would amuse his brothers to tease him, and partly because it was true. “All this makeup and tight clothing does me the favor of letting me know that the woman wearing it is not the one for me.”

  “You’re traditionalism is admirable.” Osman said it as if he was serious, but Amahd knew better. Both of his brothers had recently chosen wives who were not only foreign—Americans, no less!—but were glamorous, forceful and opinionated women with high powered careers. Clearly tradition was not foremost in their minds when choosing their brides. “But I have a feeling you’re going to be single forever unless we find you a woman.”

  “I agree.” Zadir raised a brow. “For one thing, you’re always working. How are you ever going to meet someone?”

  “There are certainly plenty of lovely and suitable women here tonight.” His sister-in-law Sam smiled at him. He felt patronized and annoyed. Though he had to admit she looked beautiful in the deep rose colored Ubarite dress she wore, with her long, dark hair in a sleek bun. “I’m sure we could find someone to introduce you to.”

  “No need. I’ll be fine.” He must have shaken hands with two hundred people in the last three hours. He couldn’t wait to sneak off and find some peace and quiet. “You concentrate on enjoying your wedding.”

  “Have you ever fallen in love, Amahd?” His sister in law Veronica—everyone called her Ronnie—appeared from the crowd with a glass of punch for her almost-husband Zadir. He had to admit that she also looked lovely in a crisp white dress that contrasted prettily with her smooth dark skin, and an elegant diamond clip sparkling in her short hair. Still, these bold American girls weren’t for him.

  “Never.” The few foolish “relationships” he’d indulged in while stranded overseas for years had left him determined to hold out for the perfect woman.

  “I’m sure you’ve broken some hearts,” Ronnie continued, taking a sip of her own punch. “You’re dangerously handsome.”

  “What nonsense. I’m glad to be of sound mind and body and that’s all that matters to me.” He was beginning to sound grouchy, which always amused his brothers. If only they’d all leave him alone! “I have no interest in toying with the affections of women.”

  “Very sensible of you.” Ronnie patted his arm. “And thoughtful, too. A lot of men don’t even think about the woman’s feelings.”

  Amahd harrumphed. More condescending sympathy. It was irritating that both of his brothers had suddenly found the woman of their dreams, so now all eyes were on him. They stood to claim their titles as king after their weddings tomorrow. Like them, he couldn’t become king until after he married, so there was considerable pressure on him to take a wife.

  “Do any of you know who that redhead is?” Sam pointed at a woman, standing alone next to a column. A sprig of holly had caught in her bright hair and she was trying to pry it free, which made a long strand come loose and fall across her face. She glanced around awkwardly, apparently hoping no one had noticed, as she tucked it back in.

  They all shrugged. Amahd didn’t remember her coming down their receiving line, but there had been so many people he’d probably just forgotten her. She was pretty, if you liked redheads.

  “She looks so lost. Let me go talk to her.” Sam hurried over, and soon the girl was chatting and smiling. The in-flow of guests had slowed considerably as the night drew on.

  Amahd cleared his throat. “Would any of you object if I called it a night? I have some figures to go over before and I—”

  “Figures to go over?” Zadir shoved him playfully. “All these beautiful women here tonight, and you want to hunker down with a spreadsheet? You’re a hopeless case, brother.”

  “Some of us are trying to bring Ubar into the twenty-first century.”

  “We all are,” Osman cut in. “But it doesn’t have to happen in the first year. Slow and steady will get us there just fine.”

  Sam now headed toward them with the redhead in tow. The cheery smile plastered on Sam’s face, and the way she was staring right at him, made Amahd want to run for cover.

  “Amahd! Come meet Mackenzie. She’s from Texas and just arrived here this afternoon. They’re trying to get some dancing started on the dance floor, but everyone’s too shy. Would you two do us a huge favor and go dance for a few minutes, just to get things going?

  Amahd wanted to scowl at her. He was probably the last person on earth you should ask to “get things going” on a dance floor. Still, he prided himself on being a gentleman. He stuck out his hand and the redhead shook it firmly and with a warm smile.

  “Nice to meet you.” She looked as embarrassed by Sam’s request as he did.

  Still, at least it would get him away from his brothers. They were both watching him like hawks, probably wondering if this strange American woman might be his future wife. What a concept!

  “I’m very pleased to meet you,” he murmured. “And I suppose it would be helpful if we did as Samantha suggested.”

  The redhead nodded. What was her name again? Never mind. He’d have forgotten all about her tomorrow. He simply had to gyrate on the dance floor with her for a few minutes and then he could slip away. His brothers would be none the wiser and he’d be out of this mess until the ceremony tomorrow morning.

  It was awkward trying to usher her through the crowd without touching her, since naturally—as a gentleman—he wanted the woman to go first, but she didn’t know the way. Eventually he was obliged to cup her elbow gently with his hand, which sent an unpleasant surge of heat right up his arm.

  The silky fabric of her black dress clung to curves that were just a little too full and eye-catching to be on display. He was taller than her, so he got a disconcerting eyeful of cleavage every time he glanced at her.

  Really, what was Sam thinking? What if some traditional and modest Ubarite woman was to see him right now, leading this strange American with her flame colored hair and buxom body, as if they were a couple?

  He’d have to get this over with as quickly as possible.

  The dance floor was in the garden, where a wood-parquet floor had been laid out under the date palms, and a band played soft music. The musicians had tried several different styles but still the dance floor was empty.

  “What kind of music do you like?” he asked her.

  “I like country.” Sh
e smiled. His heart sank. Musicians from Ubar probably didn’t even know what country music was. Sam had been drilling them on a million Christmas carols and holiday tunes until they could barely remember their own names. Still, he asked the bandleader if he could play a country tune and the older man nodded enthusiastically.

  Amahd led her out onto the floor, painfully aware of all the eyes on both of them, as the band struck up their tune. His heart sank when he recognized the song: Stand by Your Man. Many of the oilfield workers here in Ubar were from Texas, Oklahoma, etc., and loved country music, so he’d been subjected to a lot of it while out in the field.

  A big grin spread across the redhead’s face. She had freckles across the bridge of her nose. “It’s an oldie, but a goodie.”

  “I suppose so.” He attempted to sway to the music in a reasonably dignified manner.

  Other couples followed suit and wandered onto the dance floor. To his horror they all put their arms around their partner. Apparently this was a “slow song.” He shuffled forward and took one of her hands, then put the other around her waist. He didn’t want to appear overly standoffish, as that would be rude.

  Frankly, she looked as embarrassed as he did, which was to her credit. “Did you fly in this afternoon?” he asked, in a lame attempt to make polite conversation.

  “Uh, yes, I did. What a beautiful country.”

  My, this was awkward. Especially since her hand was growing hot in his and he was getting very warm inside his robe. Her breasts bounced and jiggled alarmingly close to his chest and although he wanted to be appalled he felt himself growing aroused.

  He glanced around him, looking everywhere for a distraction. If he could just make it through this song, he could take off.

  “Do you live here?” She had full, rather red lips. He couldn’t tell if she was wearing lipstick but he thought they might be natural. They contrasted with her pale, freckled skin and her amber hair. That one loose strand was now tumbling over her face again and she tried to dislodge it with a breath of air from her pursed lips.

  He cursed the surge of heat that shot through his groin. Wait, she’d asked a question! What was it? “Uh, not here in the palace, no. I live a few miles away.” He sounded like an idiot. “How about you?”