Sam paused and surveyed the gathered crowd, happiness radiating from her bright smile. “What makes Christmas…well, Christmas, is the people. It’s a time when we gather together with family and friends and celebrate hope at the darkest time of the year. We plan to make this an annual tradition, and while I don’t imagine you’ll all be able to come every year, please know that you are most welcome!”
The crowd clapped and cheered enthusiastically. “I have one more Christmassy request, if you’ll all indulge me.” Sam looked around. “As you can see, we brought in some mistletoe, and within weeks it’s already gotten rather out of hand. You’d be doing us a big favor if you’d reach your hand, pluck a sprig of it—and kiss someone under it.”
Whoops of joy exploded from the crowd, and hands reached out to grab at the leafy branches decorating the arches around them, and sneaking up into nearby trees.
Mackenzie hesitated. Did she dare?
Amahd was standing there looking rather regal and awkward, as usual. He certainly wasn’t going to do anything.
Yes, she dared.
She saw an untouched sprig of the pretty gray-green leaves poking out of a flowerpot nearby. She darted over, snapped off a twig and ran back.
Amahd stared at her as if she’d just lost her mind.
Oh, go on!
She lifted the sprig in the air over his head, which wasn’t easy since he was so tall. His gaze jerked to her breasts, which were unfortunately thrust right under his chin, then back up to her face. His eyes dark with mystery and confusion—and possibly desire—he stayed rooted to the spot.
Before he could run away, or she could lose her nerve, she angled her lips up, stood on tiptoes…and realized she couldn’t quite reach.
An embarrassed blush was starting to heat her skin when she felt his lips lower over hers.
Shock mingled with relief and she kissed him back. She only wanted a quick peck! She didn’t even know the guy.
Holy Toledo. Something was happening. Sensation rushed through her like freshly tapped crude oil.
She could feel his hand on her waist, then sliding lower to cup her backside. Excitement sizzled as she found her own fingers reaching along his hard jaw and up into his thick hair.
Her breasts stirred in her flimsy dress and she pushed herself against his chest, enjoying the hard wall of muscle. Their kiss deepened, tongues finding each other and hot flashes of…something…roaming through her.
She was jerked back to reality when the band launched into a rousing rendition of “Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer”. Forgotten, the sprig of mistletoe had fallen to the floor and her hands were fisted into his hair. His were on her rear, and the two of them stood pressed against each other—right in the middle of the dance floor.
She wasn’t sure who sprang back first. Possibly they did it at the exact same time. Either way, they were both embarrassed! She’d been hoping for a quick dance, then a chaste peck, not a full-on groping session in the middle of a crowded party where she didn’t even know anyone!
“You are very beautiful.” Amahd bowed his head slightly. His eyes were dark with passion and his lips damp from kissing. “I hope you can excuse my indiscretion.”
Very beautiful? No one had ever told her that before. She blinked, still stunned as he turned and vanished into the crowd. From the sound of his apology he blamed himself for the kiss, when of course it was entirely her fault.
Still, it was pretty damn wonderful! This was turning out to be some business trip. She glanced around her and hurried off the dance floor for the safety of a shadowy colonnade. Hopefully no one had noticed their…indiscretion.
But all the same, she wasn’t likely to forget it as long as she lived.
Sam was beyond thrilled with the progression of the day’s events. The mistletoe had proved itself worth the trouble when everyone kissed under it. She could swear she’d even seen Amahd kissing that redhead from yesterday, but maybe her eyes deceived her since there was so much going on. Yes, she’d gone off the deep end a little with both the Christmas festivities and the double wedding, but everyone was having such a great time that all her hard work had already paid off in a lifetime of unforgettable memories.
Dinner was a grand sit-down affair in the largest chamber, with numerous courses of local delicacies served on silver and gold platters. There was some horror and consternation when it was finally discovered that the tender delicacy the chef had used to replace the rescued goats was actually bulls’ testicles, but everyone recovered enough to enjoy the dessert made of spun honey and rose wine.
By the end of the long and emotional day, Sam was bursting to tell Osman her news, and it was well after midnight when they finally found themselves alone in their bedroom.
Osman untied the sash around his waist. “Are you tired my love?”
“A little.” How much could she tease him?
He unbuttoned his shirt and shucked off his pants, revealing his strong, tan body. “It’s been a long day.” Mischief and desire gleamed in his eyes as he strode toward her. “But I still have plenty of energy left.”
“Oh, do you?” She lifted a brow as a smile crept across her mouth. “What a surprise.”
Osman took the hem of her dress between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it over her head in one swift movement that left her dressed in her blue bra and panties.
“What a sight for sore eyes,” he murmured. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment all day. It was a challenge having to share you with so many people.”
Sam hesitated. “You’re going to have to share me with one more person.” It was hard keeping a straight face.
He frowned. “Who?”
“Take a guess.”
“Your parents are moving here? I’m so glad. I’d love to have more family around us.”
“No! On both counts. I love my parents but I love them best when they’re thousands of miles away from me. Someone…younger than me. But still a relative.”
“You have a sibling? A brother or sister you never told me about?” Confusion furrowed his royal brow.
She shook her head mysteriously. “Keep guessing.”
He glanced at her belly, and she realized with a jolt that her hand had unconsciously wandered there.
“A baby,” he breathed.
She smiled. “Yes. Ronnie made me take a test this afternoon. And she was right, all my tears and hysteria and manic organizing of festivities can now be blamed on hormonal upheaval.”
Osman stared at her, first her face, then her belly, then her face again. “A baby. Our child.”
He took her in his arms and she could feel his chest heaving with emotion. “I love you so much, Sam. And I look forward to sharing you with our son or daughter. I promise you I’ll be the best father I can be.” Emotion cracked his voice.
Osman’s own father had been a tyrant who thought of nothing but his own pleasure, quietly killing his wives when he was done with them and packing his lonely sons off to distant boarding schools. She knew Osman was determined to be a real father, who shared his life with his children and loved and enjoyed them.
“I know you will.” She kissed him, soft and gentle at first, then more passionately, as she let the emotion and excitement of the day flow between them like electric current.
“This is the best Christmas present ever,” he whispered, when their lips finally parted.
“Can you see why I wanted to bring Christmas to a country where it’s never really existed?”
“I can. Everyone is enjoying it so much.”
“And Christmas did start in the desert, after all. When a baby was born in a manger and three wise men set out on camels to follow a star.”
“I still don’t understand what that has to do with fir trees with glass balls on them.”
“Or mistletoe. Or a beaded man with a sack of gifts for that matter.” She smiled. “Christmas is rather like a snowball rolling down a hill, gathering up all the traditions that came before it and incorporating them
so that it feels welcoming to everyone.”
“Or like these butterflies.” Osman looked at a pretty one fluttering near their bedside lamp. “That adapt to a new environment and make themselves at home.”
He kissed her again, long and soft and slow. “Merry Christmas, my queen. I look forward to celebrating many of them with you…” He glanced at her belly, and she could see the emotion in his face. “And our family.”
Her heart was so full she could hardly bear it. “Merry Christmas to you, too, my love.” She smiled and stroked his rough cheek. “But now we’d better get some sleep because the guys I hired to play the wise men on camels are arriving before dawn and I need to figure out which of those smelly boxes is frankincense and which is myrrh. Oh, and I’d better coach Rifal on how to play Santa for all the little kids, and I have to make sure they use a quiet donkey for the manger scene, not one that will kick, and—”
“Don’t worry, Sam. I have a feeling it will be the merriest Christmas in the history of the world.”
She could see his chest shaking with laughter. “I know you think I’m crazy.”
“You are crazy.” He gazed at her, eyes shining. “And I’m crazy in love with you.”
THE END
DESERT KINGS
Gibran
Return of the Rebel Sheikh
By Jennifer Lewis
Gibran: Return of the Rebel Sheikh
Widowed queen Aliyah has resigned herself to a life of loneliness until a rough-mannered stranger intrudes on her solitude. A professional warrior and protector, Gibran has kept his distance from the palace he once called home—until his royal half brothers invite him into their midst. By profession and inclination, he keeps his emotions on lockdown, but finds himself falling under Aliyah’s quiet spell. Will these two lonely people dare to seize the love they crave?
.
CHAPTER ONE
Those who called him a ruthless bastard were right on both counts. The unclaimed son of a king and a servant girl, Gibran Al Nazariyah learned to blaze his own trail through life. Once hungry for a father’s love, he now rejoiced that the old man was dead and cold, and he could tread his hallowed halls as—at least for now—an invited guest.
“Are you lost?”
A woman’s voice disturbed him from bitter rumination. The trickle of a courtyard fountain concealed the sound of her approach, which set his nerves on edge.
“Never.”
She was young, almost a girl, dressed in rosy silk shot with gold thread and leading a black leopard by a golden chain. She gazed at him with big brown eyes. “I’m Aliyah.”
“Of course you are.” He took in the full vision of the king’s fifth and last wife, young enough to be his granddaughter. His heart filled with disgust for this young girl who’d shared an old man’s bed long enough to bear him two children.
“Who are you? I don’t often see someone new in the garden.”
So foolish in her innocent curiosity. “My name is Gibran.”
“I’m glad to meet you.” Her feline companion rubbed against her legs, pulling her dress close to reveal a shapely figure.
He grunted. He couldn’t say the same. This woman in her finery enjoyed the privileges of a king’s consort, unlike his mother, who would have been cleaning this leopard’s cage if she had the misfortune to still work here.
“Are you looking for someone?”
“I’m waiting for someone.” His esteemed half brother King Osman of Ubar was apparently taking an important call in private. A servant had led Gibran here and abandoned him to wait. Rather like leaving a wolf inside a den of cozy sheep, like this one with her soft, eager gaze and her sweet pink mouth. He cursed the arousal that flared in him. He’d been too long without a woman to satisfy his needs.
“Maybe I can help you find him?”
“He doesn’t want to be found.” He narrowed his eyes, partly to block out the annoying vision of her too-pretty face. No doubt that had been her meal ticket. “Perhaps you can show me around the garden while I wait.”
“I’d be happy to.” As he’d hoped, she turned and walked ahead, black cat slinking beside her and doing him the favor of tugging her dress tight over the most enticing backside he’d seen in months. There was something to be said for the mysteries of Ubarite dress. Her concealed body excited him far more than all the short-shorts he’d left behind in California.
“You have two children.”
She turned, eyes wide. “Yes, Nasri and Parsia. How did you know?”
“It’s my job to know everything.”
She blinked, showing lashes that would make a Paris prostitute cry. “Why are you here?”
“I don’t know yet. If His Majesty ever returns, maybe I’ll find out.”
The lovely Aliyah was beginning to realize she’d made a mistake in welcoming him so warmly. No doubt she lived such a sheltered life here at the palace it never occurred to her there could be a hostile intruder in her sanctum.
Her leopard must have sensed something in his energy because it arched its strong back and stared at him with glittering green eyes. Animals were dangerous in his business. In some ways they knew so much more than humans. “Can I pet him?”
“Yes. He’s a little tense around strangers.”
“Very wise of him.” He bent and stroked the cat’s richly mottled black fur. The action placed his face next to her gold-ringed hand, skin soft and nails patterned with henna. So different from his mother’s work-worn hands.
Anger flared in his chest that this woman sold her soul to the old devil in exchange for a life of ease. He rose, towering over her by almost a foot. “Your husband must have been three times your age. Did you keep your eyes closed and think of a more appetizing lover?”
Her soft pink lips parted in a gasp. She stepped back, tugging the cat with her. She was going to run away. He realized in a flash that he didn’t want that to happen.
“Excuse my foul manners. I’ve lived among rough people for too long and forgotten how to act like a civilized man.”
He felt her gaze burning into him, taking in the expensive Saville Row suit that belied his words. He’d deliberately worn Western dress to set himself apart from this Arabian Nights setting and all its ancient and—for him—painful history.
“He was my husband.”
“I know. And I doubt that was your choice.” He spoke softly. “I know how it works here, where the old ways rule.”
Tears had sprung to her pretty eyes, and she tugged at her cat, trying to leave again. The black beast wouldn’t take its eyes off him.
“Don’t go. You’ve been so polite and welcoming, and I’ve repaid you with venom you didn’t deserve. My mother once worked here. Nabila Al Nazariyah.”
Her face showed no spark of recognition. No doubt she hadn’t arrived until after he’d rescued his mother from scrubbing the floors here and placed her in a palace of her own.
He paused, wondering if he’d regret what he was about to say. “The king was my father.”
She blinked, long lashes wet with tears, mind working a mile a minute. “Your mother was one of his wives?”
“No. She wasn’t.”
Her mouth formed a round O as that sank in. Gibran’s mother was the king’s mistress. The one no one ever spoke of. His Majesty Nizwan Bin Rashid Al Kilanjar outlived four wives—murdered them, if rumors were to be believed—but his mother had never been acknowledged and nor had he. A lowly servant was hardly the appropriate consort for a monarch.
He saw the tiniest hint of a frown mar her perfect brow. “Why are you really here?”
“Don’t worry, the king knows who I am. He’s taken the bold step of inviting me here to talk about security measures to protect all of you. Perhaps he hopes that DNA runs thicker than resentment in my blood.” He attempted a smile, but from her reaction it obviously wasn’t successful. Social niceties were never his thing. He was more comfortable blowing stuff up than making small talk.
Which was a shame, when h
e was here with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and could do nothing but offend her.
“Did you grow up here?” She turned her body half toward him, as if reconsidering flight. Her cat never blinked.
“Until I was eight. Then my father decided I was too much of a loose cannon and packed me off to boarding school in France. When I’d had enough of that I joined the French Foreign Legion. Now I specialize in security. I’ve protected several world leaders.”
He cursed himself for bragging. But this woman’s steady gaze unmanned him. He could see how a king might risk the humiliation of taking such a young woman to his bed just to enjoy her soft touch in private. He’d like to get her alone and peel off her expensive dress. Which would not be a good idea.
“So you’re here to figure out who’s bombing us.”
He paused. Bombing us? He’d been told of a car explosion, no more details than that. He’d assumed a small device wired inside. “Is the country under attack?”
“The palace is. It has antimissile defenses, and I know Osman wants to make sure they’re up to date.”
“Because missiles have been fired.” He tried to sound matter of fact.
“Yes.” Distress tightened her pretty face. “Several people have died.”
Interesting. The situation here was more complicated—and deadly—than he’d been told. That piqued his professional interest and his personal curiosity. “Do you know who the targets are?”
“King Osman, King Zadir, His Majesty Amahd.”
“Who will be king of the third province as soon as he takes a bride. Someone is targeting the ruling family.”
She nodded. “We never experienced anything like this when my husband was alive. Things were quiet and had been for decades.”
“For centuries.” He cocked his head. “Something has stirred a hornets’ nest here.” Gibran had a fondness for hornets. They could take down prey larger and faster than themselves and live to do it again.
Desert Kings Boxed Set: The Complete Series Books 1-6 Page 46
